I got the sense he was asking for much more than directions to the nearest fast-food joint, and was suddenly sure of a few things. First, he was way out of his element, literally a stranger in a strange land. Second, although he was definitely comfortable in his own skin, he was experiencing moments of confusion and doubt, which made him unsure of himself and hesitant, and he chafed at those feelings. Third, he really seemed to need me. That above all else rang loud and clear.
Maybe the solution was simple. Perhaps if I just bought him a burger and pointed him in whatever direction he needed to go, this pseudo-hypnosis thing would end, we could amicably part ways, and I could head home and try to make sense of all this. I hypothesized that perhaps some unknown force had brought the two of us together, and my role as this guy’s guardian angel would soon be over. If that wasn’t the case, I had no idea what was going on.
I often found that the most obvious solution was the right one. He wanted to eat, so I’d feed him and then take it from there.
“Well”—I scanned the street for a place to eat—“in New York City they have a little bit of everything.”
“This city is called New York?”
“Yes,” I said slowly, watching his expression. If he was playing at not knowing where he was, he was an exemplary actor.
“Excellent,” he said. “Take me, then, to a little bit of everything.”
I gave his skirt a pointed look. “Um, I think the only place you would fit the dress code for would be a hot dog stand.”
Wrinkling his nose, he exclaimed, “You eat…dogs? That is almost as bad as people!”
“No!” I snickered. “Boy, you are from out of town. Hot dogs are made from pork or beef.”
“Ah, I understand. Then I would like a hot…dog.”
“You got it, Ali Baba.”
“Why do you call me this?”
“I have to call you something. You still haven’t told me your name.”
I spotted a food cart across the street and indicated for him to follow me to the crosswalk. He tagged along placidly, and while we waited to cross, he said, “Amon. My name is Amon.”
“Right. Amon.” He didn’t pronounce it like Ammon. His version was a much more swoon-inducing “Ah-moan,” providing, of course, that one would swoon over a guy who was obviously not all there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Amon from Thebes.”
“I am not from Thebes.”
“No?”
“I was born in Itjtawy in the time of the Dark One’s reign.”
“Right. And Itjtawy is in what country, exactly?”
“You would likely know my land as Egypt.”
Really, why did the good-looking, interesting guys always have to end up being MIA upstairs? His body had reached cruising altitude, but the pilot had obviously called in sick. “So should I call you Pharaoh Amon or King Amon?” I teased, playing along.
“I was to be a king, but the time of the pharaohs was after my own.”
“Uh-huh.” This was getting easier. I finally felt like I was getting back in control. “Well, that’s okay. You shouldn’t feel bad. Titles don’t make the man. Am I right?”
Amon folded his arms across his chest and regarded me. “You are laughing at me.”
“Never. I wouldn’t mock an almost-king-slash-non-pharaoh.”
His expression was doubtful and a little more shrewd than I felt comfortable with, but he let it go, watching the action on the street instead. He seemed fascinated by the traffic—the honking, noisy, fist-waving, tire-screeching action. It was almost like he’d never seen a car before. Which was impossible. There were maybe—maybe—only a handful of people in the entire world who didn’t know what a car was.
When the light changed, Amon waited for the traffic to come to a stop. He didn’t move until I took his hand.
“Come on!” I entreated. “The light will change soon and the drivers don’t really care if you’re still in the way.”
After I mentioned the possibility of another accident, he rushed forward, gripping my hand and tugging me along as he weaved quickly among the other pedestrians to get safely to the other side. “I do not trust those golden chariots,” he declared, while giving the taxis the evil eye.
“Yeah, well, travel by golden chariot is pretty much essential in Manhattan.”
“I thought you said we were in the city of New York,” he said as I guided him to the hot dog cart.
“We are. Manhattan is the name of the island.”