We wait until the group moves on, then look down through the clear panel. I have never been very good with meters-to-feet conversions, but the ground is an uncomfortably long way down. After fifteen hundred years, I’m not sure why the church isn’t sagging in the middle, but it’s pretty amazing it’s survived for so long.
From the Hanging Church we go see the crypt, visit a well said to be where the holy family drank, and stop to take pictures of the remains of the Roman fortress. There are a bunch of churches in the area, but Adam and I agree that two is enough for one day. Instead we wander the narrow alleyways, where vendors have tables filled with religious trinkets and replica icons like the ones inside the Hanging Church. I buy Virgin Mary icons for Hannah’s mom and both my grandmas, as well as a crucifix for Mom. We don’t have one in the apartment yet.
“So, um . . .” I don’t want to assume Adam cleared his whole day for me, but I’m not ready for it to be over, either. I like spending time with him. Like listening to his accent. And I really like looking at his face. “Is there anything else—?”
“Would you—?” Adam says at the same time. We both stop and he clears his throat. “Perhaps you would like to try a coffee or tea before we go?”
“I would. Yes.”
Down one of the labyrinthine alleys we find a tiny coffeehouse with a couple of tables outside and an all-Arabic menu. Adam calls it an ahwa and explains that coffeehouses are popular places to hang out in Egypt.
“Sometimes on Sunday mornings, if I am not working, I will meet my friends to play football,” he says. “Then we go to our favorite ahwa for coffee, maybe a little shisha, and watch English football on TV.”
“Playing soccer would be so great,” I say. “I haven’t played since I left home.”
“My team is only for men.”
Our silence is not the comfortable kind as we claim an empty table. The boundary between us seems mutable. Sometimes it feels as if Adam and I are becoming friends, but other times a wall slams down between us, reminding me that his culture has so many strange-to-me rules. Finally I say, “I wasn’t asking to be invited.”
“I misunderstood,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
Desperately wishing we could hit the reset button on this whole conversation, I switch topics. “So, um—coffee?”
“You can choose no sugar, light sugar, or heavy,” Adam says as a waiter comes out to take our order. “Egyptian coffee is bitter with no sugar, so I don’t recommend it.”
“What would you recommend for someone who doesn’t drink coffee?”
He pauses for a beat, as if the idea is incomprehensible. Then, “Will you trust me to order something for you?”
“Yes, of course.”
I listen as Adam speaks, trying to recognize familiar words, but Arabic is so fast and so different from English. Picking up the language is going to take baby steps.
“My mom wants me to learn a little Arabic,” I say after the waiter leaves. “Aside from counting, I really don’t know where to start.”
“The first lesson is this,” Adam says. “Muslims greet one another with as-salāmu alaykum, wishing God’s peace upon the other person. There is endless disagreement over whether non-Muslims should be included in this greeting, so there may be fundamentalists who will not respond to you if you say it. But most people will, if your salaam is said with sincerity.”
“As-salāmu alaykum.”
“Yes. Good. And then I would reply wa’alaykum alsalam, or—if I were of the opinion that I should not be offering God’s peace to a Christian but did not want to be rude—I would simply say wa’alaykum, which means ‘the same to you.’?”
“Sounds complicated. Maybe it would be easier to just say hello.”
He does the nod-shrug, which seems to be a trademark move for him. “Maybe. In that case you would say marhaban, which is more formal, or ahlan wa sahlan. The most common is simply ahlan.”
I laugh. “Arabic is not going to be easy, is it?”
“English is also not easy.”
“You speak very well.”
“My father believes that understanding English is important,” Adam says. “Most Egyptian schools do not have strong English-language programs, so he taught us himself. I practice more than my mother and sister.”
The waiter returns, carrying two short glasses—one filled with coffee, the other with ice and a red-colored liquid. A lime wedge hangs on the rim of the second glass.
“Karkadeh is my sister’s favorite,” Adam says as the waiter places the red drink in front of me. “It is tea made from boiling the hibiscus. Because the day is hot, I thought you might prefer it to be cold.”
I take a sip. The karkadeh is slightly tart—a little like cranberry juice—and sugary. “This is perfect. Shokran.”
Adam smiles. “Afwan.”
“I have a question not related to language.”
“Okay.”
“How hard is it to wake up for the dawn prayer?”
He leans back in his chair and the sun glints off his curls as he shakes his head. “Fajr is so difficult for me. I set two alarms and still my mother must help me wake.”
“Do you ever go back to sleep?”
“If I must work early—” He stops abruptly and looks a little stricken, as if it’s just hit him again that he’s sacrificed his dream. “Well, now perhaps I can go back to sleep.”
“I don’t think so. Tomorrow I need a driver.”
“Caroline—” His eyes meet mine and I trap my hands between my knees to keep from reaching across the table, to keep from touching him. “This is not necessary. Already my family cannot repay the kindness your family has shown to us.”
“Kindness isn’t a debt.”
“But—”
“Should we hire a new driver?”
He shakes his head, his cheek dimpling as he fights back a smile. “No one’s skills would compare to mine.”
“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” I say, and my own mouth curves in response to his laughter. “So where will you be taking me tomorrow?”
CHAPTER 15
Mom is at the clinic and I’ve already been down to the bakery for bread when Adam arrives for our next outing. He is wearing dark jeans and a blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled. The color looks so good against the warm brown of his skin that the urge to tell him so creeps into my mouth. Instead I say, “Ahlan.”
He opens the car door for me, giving a little bow as he motions me in. “Masā’ al-khair.”
“What does that mean?”
Adam goes to the other side of the car, answering only after he is behind the steering wheel. “It means good afternoon and good evening.”
“So fancy.” I smile at him in the rearview mirror. “Just like your shirt.”
“I wore it because we have a new customer.” He pulls away from the curb and a horn blares behind us. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I will be providing airport service two times a week for an American expatriate, but it will not interfere with our arrangement.”
“Excellent news. Hopefully you’ll get back to cooking sooner rather than later.”
He nods. “Inshallah.”
I decide not to ask where we are going today, to just let myself be surprised by whatever he has planned. Even though visiting churches wasn’t the most exciting thing to do, yesterday turned out to be just right.