I didn’t stop him because it would be easier to move my things on that cart but when he hauled all of my belongings out onto the dock, heading straight for the embarking line, I opened my mouth and yelled, “Ladrón! Thief! Help! He’s stealing my things!”
The well-dressed tourists glanced at me in alarm, shuffling their children away from the spectacle. I gaped at them, hoping one of them would assist me by tackling the stranger to the ground.
No such help came.
Capítulo Dos
I glared after him, his laughter trailing behind him like a mischievous ghost. Prickly annoyance flared up and down my body. The stranger had everything except for my purse, which contained my Egyptian money, several handfuls of bills and piastres I’d found after scouring the manor, and Argentinian gold pesos for emergencies. Which, I suppose, was the most important thing. I could try to pry the cart away from him, but I strongly suspected his brute strength would prevent any real success. That was frustrating.
I considered my options.
There weren’t many.
I could follow him meekly back onto the ship where Argentina waited for me on the other end of the journey. But what would it be like without my parents? True, they spent half the year away from me, but I always looked forward to their arrival. The months with them were wonderful, day trips to various archaeological sites, museum tours, and late-night conversation over books and art. Mamá was strict but she doted on me, allowed me to pursue my hobbies with abandon, and she never stifled my creativity. Her life had always been structured, and while she made sure I was well brought up, she gave me freedom to read what I wanted and to speak my mind and to draw whatever I wished.
Papá, too, encouraged me to study widely, with a concentration in ancient Egypt, and we’d loudly discuss what I learned at the dinner table. My aunt preferred me quiet and docile and obedient. If I went back, I could predict what my life would look like, down to the hour. Mornings were for lessons in running an estate, followed by lunch and then tea—the social event of the day—and back home for visits with various suitors over dinner. It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t the life I wanted.
I wanted one with my parents.
My parents.
Tears threatened to slide down my cheeks, but I squeezed my eyes and took several calming breaths. This was my chance. I’d made it to Egypt on my own, despite everything. No other country had fascinated my parents, no other city felt like a second home to them, and for all I knew, maybe Cairo was their home. More than Argentina.
More than me.
If I left, I’d never understand what brought them here, year after year. To learn who they were so I wouldn’t forget about them. If I left, I’d never learn what happened to them. Curiosity burned a path straight to my heart, making it beat wildly.
More than anything, I wanted to know what was worth their lives.
If they thought of me at all. If they missed me.
The only person who had answers lived here. And for some reason, he wanted me gone. Dismissed. My hands curled into fists. I wouldn’t be forgotten again, tossed aside as if I were a second thought. I came here for a reason, and I was going to see it through. Even if it hurt, even if the discovery broke my heart.
No one and nothing was going to keep me from my parents again.
The stranger with my belongings strolled farther down the dock. He craned his neck over his shoulder, his blue eyes finding mine unerringly amidst the swirling crowd. He jerked his chin in the direction of the boat, as if it were a foregone conclusion that I’d follow after him like an obedient lapdog.
No, sir.
I took a step back, and his lips parted in surprise. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He rolled my belongings a few inches forward, somehow not managing to hit the person in front of him waiting in line to board. The stranger with no name beckoned me with a crook of his finger.
A surprised laugh burst from my lips.
No, I mouthed.
Yes, he mouthed back.
He didn’t know me well enough to understand that once I’d made up my mind, there was no changing it. Mamá called it stubbornness, my tutors thought it a flaw. But I named it what it was: persistence. He seemed to recognize the decision on my face because he shook his head, alarm tightening the lines at the corners of his eyes. I spun around, melting into the crowd, not caring a fig about my things. Everything was replaceable, but this chance?
It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity.
I snatched it with both hands.
The mass of people served as my guide, leading me away from the tugboats lining the docks. The stranger yelled, but I’d already skipped too far away to make out his words. Let him worry about my luggage. If he were a gentleman, he’d hardly leave them unguarded. And if he weren’t—but no, that didn’t quite fit. There was something in the way he carried himself. Confident, despite the irreverent grin. Put together, despite the alcohol on his breath.
He seemed aristocratic, born to tell others what to do.
Conversations broke out in different languages, surrounding me in every direction. Egyptian Arabic, English, French, Dutch, and even Portuguese. Egyptians dressed in tailored suits and tarbooshes skirted around all the tourists, hurrying to their places of business. My fellow travelers crossed the wide avenue, skirting around horse-drawn carriages and donkeys laden with canvas bags. I was careful not to step on any of the animal droppings adorning the street. The smell of expensive perfume and sweat wafted in the air. My stomach dropped at the sight of the crumbled buildings and piles of debris, a reminder of the British bombing two years earlier. I remembered reading how the damage had been extensive, especially at the citadel where some Egyptians had tried to defend Alexandria.
Seeing the battered port in person was far different from reading about it in print.
A crowd who’d come from the docks ventured to the large stone building adorned by four arches situated in front of a long train track that spanned outward for miles. The railway station. I clutched my purse and crossed the street, looking over my shoulder in case the stranger had decided to pursue me.
No sign of him, but I didn’t slow down. I had a feeling he wouldn’t let me go that easily.
Up ahead, a small group conversed in English. I spoke it much better than French. I followed the crowd into the station, sweat making my hair stick to the back of my neck. The square-shaped windows provided enough lighting to see the discord. Piles of luggage were scattered everywhere. Travelers shouted in confusion, calling to loved ones, or running to board the train, while others pushed carts filled with trunks teetering ominously. My pulse raced. I’d never seen so many people in one place, dressed in various degrees of elegance, from plumed hats to simple neckties. Scores of Egyptians dressed in long tunics offered to help with suitcases in exchange for tips.
With a start, I realized I’d lost the Englishmen.