My mouth bounced open dumbly, and Jie’s eyebrows lurched high. Oliver, however, simply flipped up his hand and drawled, “It is a euphemism, Miss Wilcox. For a . . .” He lowered his voice and whispered, “bastard. No father, you know.”
Allison stiffened even more, statuesque if not for the breeze through her curls. “Oh? And since when do bastards speak all languages?”
“That was a joke, Miss Wilcox.” Oliver gave her a look of such withering disbelief, even I thought it was all in jest. “Sarcasm,” he added. “You have heard of it, I daresay?”
As Allison’s cheeks scorched pink, Oliver’s gold eyes met mine.
Well played, I thought at him, wondering if he could hear my thoughts.
His smile told me that he could.
We continued on until Heliopolis had passed behind us and cornfields slid by. Jie pointed out flocks of white birds with black, plumed heads and long, curved beaks hovering above the fields. “What are those?” she asked, and Oliver resumed his role as tour guide.
“Ah, that is the Sacred Ibis, Miss Chen. They once protected Egypt from a great winged serpent—or so the story goes.”
“Wasn’t there a god with an ibis head?” Allison’s forehead scrunched up.
“Thoth, I think.” I wasn’t sure why I knew that, yet Oliver nodded as if I were a particularly apt pupil.
“Precisely, El.” He leaned into me with a playful nudge. “Thoth is the god of wisdom and balance. He and Anubis judge your soul in the afterlife.”
“You speak as if they are real,” Allison said with giggle.
He flashed her an arch smile. “And how do you know they are not, Miss Wilcox? Perhaps they speak all languages too.”
Yet again Allison’s cheeks turned bright red. I glared at Oliver—and at Jie too when she actually snorted into her hand. Jie quickly covered her laugh with an overly interested point at a series of donkeys with buckets, and the conversation shifted to the primitive—though effective—irrigation system of Egyptian farms.
Eventually we left the farms only to pass a modern train depot packed with people . . . and then finally we trudged beneath an enormous gate of wide stones into Cairo.
“One of the Babs al-Cairo,” Oliver declared, pointing at the fortress-like archway above us. “From the Middle Ages. And look—over there are remnants of the Turkish city.” He motioned to a series of narrow lanes that shot off beyond the gate. Houses hung over the streets, meeting in the middle, and their elaborate lattice screens spoke of another time—a world like the one from Scheherazade’s tales.
But I’d barely caught a glimpse of that exotic, old Cairo before our sugarcane cart carried us into a fantastically modern city. Wide boulevards were lined with hotels and theaters, while gardens and trees hid behind new buildings and gates. Cairo had an almost Parisian flair to it, and the pigeons fluttering everywhere were identical to those back home in Philadelphia. If it weren’t for the people, I might have forgotten where we were entirely.
But there was no missing the people—there were faces of every color and type, from as white as mine to darker than Joseph’s. And the clothes! Some women wore veils, some wore Western-style dresses; some men donned turbans and fezzes, and others went exposed. Children trotted around on donkeys, and carriages raced behind horses.
For a brief time all I could do was stare. During the quarter of an hour we clattered through Cairo, I was simply Eleanor again—and finally traveling the world.
And the best part was that I had friends with me. There was already more color in Jie’s cheeks than I’d seen in two days. She was here, she was trying to move past what Marcus had done, and I would be at her side for each step of that journey.
Just when I thought things in Cairo were quite exotic enough, the road split off in either direction to ring an enormous park.
“Ezbekieh Gardens,” Oliver declared as we veered left to circle it. “A popular spot—as you can see.”
And I could see. The pathways winding into the park teemed with people. Antiquity merchants shouted their wares beside mimosa trees, while charmers prodded at their snakes next to chrysanthemums. I had never in my life seen such vividness of color or people: jugglers and puppeteers, cucumber vendors and flower girls. Everywhere my eyes fell, I saw something new.
At last our cart slowed before a palatial building. Four stories of elegant balconies and awnings made it look both modern—like a Western hotel—but also classically old, like a sheikh’s palace. Patios out front were covered with cushioned wicker armchairs as well as the well-dressed and well-to-do.
“Here we are,” Oliver declared.
“That is Shepheard’s?” It was even more elegant than the Hotel Le Meurice. I scrambled off the cart and wiped at the dust on my pants.
“That is Shepheard’s,” Oliver confirmed.
“Finally,” Jie muttered. She rubbed at her head. “My scalp is getting sunburned.”
“That is why I have a parasol,” Allison said primly.