Birds of the Nile (12 page)

The discovery frightened him. His eyes were his world – he couldn’t lose them. He stood beside his tripod, clasped his hands firmly together and pressed his eyelids tightly shut. Breathing deeply he counted to ten. If he focused hard, perhaps he could make the problem go away – or better still, he could convince himself that it was all part of a dream and had never really happened. But when he opened them again, his eyes were the same – nothing had substantially changed.

He told himself not to panic. It was probably a strain brought on by tiredness and excessive use of the scope and the binoculars. At least he could still see, albeit strangely. He convinced himself that what he should do was get back to the ship where he could lie down in his cabin and rest for a couple of hours until the
tiredness had gone – then it would be alright. He packed up his telescope, slung it over his shoulder and headed back down the path toward the town.

He was facing south now, straight into the sun, and he pulled at the brim of his hat to give himself relief from the glare. He never wore, or carried, any sunglasses. His theory was that they got in the way when you were birding – he couldn’t be doing with forever taking them on and off when trying to use the scope. It was a habit he now regretted. Somehow he needed to cut back the light – perhaps it would be better if he looked down.

But that was even worse and the sight of his two feet doubled made him feel queasy. Rather than endure that, he chose to remain facing forward with eyes half-closed and his free hand over his brow. He stumbled on, trusting himself to the narrow pathway and hurried toward the ship. It had taken him a quarter of an hour to reach the boundary wall on the way out – at this speed it must surely take less to return.

Halfway home, he became aware of the pain in his head. A nagging discomfort at first, it grew steadily in intensity with each passing step. Soon it was pounding at him like a jackhammer – until by the time he reached the gangplank it was as if someone had clamped his eyeballs in a vice and was gradually turning the screw. He blundered into reception, fearing the axe that was trying to split open his skull.

Someone (was it Keith?) called out.

“Michael?”

But he ignored it and marched directly on. There was only one thought thumping through his mind.
Get to bed
.

The few seconds that it took him to find his room key and apply it to the lock left him in agony. As soon as he’d got inside and shut the door, he let go, dropping tripod, scope and backpack onto the floor in a heap, then climbed straight between the sheets. He didn’t even stop to take off his shoes – it was much too painful to bend.

Once beneath the covers his problems simplified. He didn’t need to worry about Lee Yong or Reda or birding anymore. Gone was the harshness of daylight and the double vision – all that was left for him to deal with was survival and the war inside his head. He tried desperately to think of nothing at all in the hope that by emptying his mind, he could also cleanse it of pain. Something impure had got hold of him and he needed to get rid of it.

The day before, after lunch, he’d lain in exactly the same position. Then he’d taken comfort from the chatter of the crew and the metallic sounds of the engine room. Now they were a torture to him, each spoken word a jabbing prick into the silence, each clang like a pair of cymbals clashed between his ears. The pain was relentless.

Blake buried his head deep beneath the pillows. His journey into darkness had begun.

He slept for in excess of twelve hours – but when he awoke, he was still hiding beneath the covers, not daring to open his eyes. His headache had mercifully abated and when he did finally expose himself to the morning light, so had the blurring. The memory, however, equally as painful, still remained.

It was not the first time he’d experienced such symptoms – blurred vision, headaches – he’d had them before. There had been other ‘episodes’ such as the one on the riverbank, moments of extreme pain when some inherent weakness would flare up and attack him. He’d always put them down to the over-zealous use of his telescope and binoculars – there must come a point at which continually staring at birds had a deleterious effect.

When it had developed into full-blown migraine, he’d usually attributed the cause to dehydration. For example, on the day in question, despite having the presence of mind to furnish himself with two pieces of fruit (neither of which he’d eaten) he’d neglected to take any water. It was a mistake for which he’d paid a heavy price.

But he didn’t ascribe this particular incident purely to his failure to drink fluids. He was riddled with a sense of guilt and he believed it was more likely karma rather than the effects of the sun that had reduced him to his present condition. Consciously or not, he had set out along the riverbank with the intention of intruding into the lives of others. This had been unacceptable and in a form of retributive justice he was being made to pay for it. He tried to redeem himself with the idea that he’d never wanted to intrude and that what he’d discovered was there for all to see. As with Reda’s laptop, he’d never meant to spy, all he’d wanted was confirmation.

But it was of no help. He shuddered and the desire to observe Reda and Lee Yong evaporated like an early morning mist in the heat. He could admit to being vicarious – but in no way was he
voyeuristic. This foolish pursuit would have to stop. Anyway, hadn’t he already proved his point? How much more ‘evidence’ did he need? He resolved to put an end to these adventures and from now on he would restrict himself to the ship where he could potter about the sun-deck with his binoculars and his illustrated guide, watching birds.

After an hour of immobile contemplation, he forced himself to get up and went down to breakfast, only to find his table empty of companions and the dining room virtually deserted. He returned to reception. The itinerary for the day advised him it had been another early start and that they’d all gone out on an excursion. While he’d lain stricken in his cabin, buses had been laid on to take them to Edfu. Here was another regret. Of all the buildings to be visited on the trip, Edfu Temple was the best preserved and the one he would most like to have seen. Because of his imprudent behaviour, that was being denied him too.

He contrived to make breakfast last until ten, then went to the Forward Lounge to drink coffee. Another time he would gladly have fetched his scope and binoculars and gone up on the sun-deck, but for the moment his appetite for birding had left him.

He hung around the empty ship, poking about in the gift shops although he had no intention of buying anything, waiting for the others to return. With nothing else in prospect, after a solitary lunch he went back to his cabin and feeling rather sorry for himself, lay down to rest.

Around half past four he became aware of voices on the quayside and he guessed it was the coach party returning. Joan’s strident tones were unmistakable.

“David? Did I leave my bag on the bus?”

As if this were a signal for action, he swung his legs off the bed and went down to reception to greet them, his hands nervously jangling the keys in his pocket.

He no longer wanted to be alone and was desperate for the society of others. He’d spent the best part of his lifetime comfortable in his own company, but suddenly he was not. He somehow felt vulnerable as though the events of the previous day had sapped his self-confidence. He’d always despised the idle chatter of everyday life, but now he wanted to immerse himself in it as if by doing so it might enable him to recover. Even the mere presence of another human being might be enough to reassure him.

Keith was the first to spot him and came straight across.

“Hello, Michael. So where were you this morning? We waited for you at breakfast but you didn’t show.”

“I had a bit of a lie in. To tell the truth, I didn’t feel too well.”

“Let me guess – tummy trouble. There’s a lot of it about this morning. Janet was up in the night, poor thing. We think it may have been the shellfish yesterday evening.”

Keith had either forgotten or had failed to notice that he hadn’t been at dinner the night before. Blake decided not to correct him and settled for the obvious.

“So, how was the temple?”

“Excellent – best I’ve seen yet. D’you know, it’s almost complete. I never realised how much of it’s still standing.” Keith looked pointedly over his shoulder, then whispered an aside. “Between you and me, I’ve seen that many temples in the last few days, I’m beginning to lose count. Janet thinks I’m going senile. We were talking last night about some bas reliefs or another and I couldn’t for the life of me recall where I’d seen them. The ones where the god had the head of a dog – or was it a hawk? And it was clutching a sheaf of corn. I don’t suppose you remember?”

Blake shook his head. His days of studying such things were long gone.

“Hmm, pity…There’s so much to take in – and we haven’t been to Karnak yet.”

“No…”

With their conversation faltering, Keith provided a change of subject.

“So what have you been up to while we’ve been away? Manage to get in a spot of bird-watching, did you?”

“Well, actually…”

Blake was about to tell his story but then thought the better of it and cut himself off. Keith took this as a ‘yes’ and soldiered on regardless.

“Good, good. See anything interesting?”

“Sort of…”

He had, but it was not for public consumption. It was another vague response but it seemed to satisfy his companion’s feigned interest. Keith was already looking around, presumably trying to spot Janet.

“Well, must dash or my wife will have my guts for garters.”

“Indeed…”

He headed back toward reception.

The other members of the party had gathered in the foyer behind. Blake wondered as to the whereabouts of Lee Yong and Reda but told himself to stick to his recent resolution and tried not to look too hard.

David arrived back, having gone to retrieve Joan’s bag from the bus. He was sporting a brand new pair of sunglasses – a fact given away by the price tag still dangling from one of the hinged corners. With deep black lenses they made his character seem almost impenetrable. Blake immediately took notice.

“Have you just bought those?”

“Absolutely. Couldn’t find mine this morning and I wasn’t going off without any. I’ve spent the whole day in the blazing sunshine and my head’s killing me.”

Headache
. The mere thought sent a shiver down Blake’s spine.

“Where did you get them, as a matter of interest?”

“You know the gift shop on the first-floor landing? Bumped
into the guy that runs it in the corridor and persuaded him to open up and sell me a pair. He wasn’t keen at first, then I waved a ten pound note under his nose – that did the trick. Bloody lifesaver if you ask me.”

“Do you think it’s still open?”

“You can always try, you might be lucky…”

Blake set off in the direction of the stairway, then called back over his shoulder.

“Don’t start tea without me.”

“We won’t…”

He’d never worn, never mind bought, a pair of sunglasses since arriving in the country. It was not just the effect they had on birding that prevented him – it was also the culture. Native Egyptians didn’t wear them (they probably couldn’t afford to) and if he wanted to live amongst them and not be marked out, why should he? So he’d made himself do without them. Eventually he’d grown used to the light, coming to love its hues, its patterns, its coming in the morning, its going at night. Now, in the aftermath of the riverbank, he feared it.

The shop was still open. It was one he’d walked straight past that morning, but the thought hadn’t entered his head. Contrary to David’s assertion, the owner proved more than willing, and five minutes later Blake emerged wearing a pair of his own.

It was a different world he could see through them, looking out of the window in reception – darker, indistinct, the colours muted. On the roadside opposite, passers-by melted in and out of shadows, almost unnoticed. Above the buildings, the birds were still the same, swallows, sparrows, Palm Doves – the usual suspects – but now he was forced to pick them out by shape rather than by plumage. That would be enough to challenge him for a while, but eventually he would yearn for the colours again. Had he known he would one day lose them completely, he might not have been so willing to compromise.

Afternoon tea had been delayed by an hour pending the arrivals from Edfu. It was now almost five. The intense heat of the day had eased and everyone was on the sun-deck, waiting.

David had already secured a table and Blake duly joined him. Joan soon arrived, hauling herself wearily up the steps and collapsing into her chair, seemingly exhausted. She didn’t wait to be asked about her day.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to go through that again.”

“Why ever not?” asked Blake. “Was it that bad? Although I must say you look pretty shattered.”

“Are you kidding? I feel as though I’ve been on that bloody bus all day. My neck is killing me.”

She rubbed the back of her shoulder blade.

“It must have been worth it though,” Blake continued. “I mean, Edfu is pretty special, isn’t it?” There was a trace of envy in his voice.

“I suppose so. But you get to the point where when you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all. You know what I mean? Rocks, carvings, statues – they’re all much of a muchness.”

It was the same sentiment as Keith had expressed earlier.

“Well, at least I can say I’ve been…” She waved a jewelled hand in the air as if to dismiss the matter – but soon started on another. “I tell you what though, it was bloody hot over there. Come midday, I thought I was going to get cooked. Which reminds me,” she said, looking round. “I’m gagging for a cup of tea. Are you going to sit there all day, David, or are you going to make yourself useful?”

David rose silently from his chair and headed off toward the tea counter. Fearful of being saddled with his wife, Blake followed suit.

Two tables away, Lee Yong was sitting with Ira and Mrs Biltmore. Heads together, they were deep in conversation and oblivious to the rest of the party. When Blake returned with his tea, he made a casual enquiry.

“What’s going on there?” He nodded in their direction.

“God knows,” said Joan between sips. “They’ve been as thick as thieves all day. I can’t say I mind though – it keeps that loudmouthed American quiet.”

“That’s a bit cruel,” said David.

“Well, she gets on my nerves, always on about this and that and the other.”

“Lee Yong doesn’t seem to mind,” observed Blake.

Joan shrugged and took another bite at her marble cake. It was left up to David to explain.

“I think Mrs Biltmore’s rather taken her under her wing. They were together yesterday afternoon too.”

It explained something that had been puzzling him. As Lee Yong hadn’t been on the riverbank, Blake had wondered where she’d got to. Rather than join him, he assumed that she and Reda must have agreed to go their separate ways. The two figures he’d seen had admittedly appeared hazy but he was certain one of them had been Reda. If it was not Lee Yong, the identity of the other was a mystery. His curiosity aroused, he looked round for the young Egyptian.

Reda had already taken his tea and was doing his rounds rather like a house doctor, stopping at each table in turn. Blake asked whether he’d gone to Edfu with the rest of the party. Yes, David assured him, he’d travelled with them and had been their guide.

Hmm…Blake mused. No clandestine meeting today then.

Shortly, the young Egyptian was standing at his shoulder.

“So, how was your day?” Reda looked round the group.

Blake passed up his chance to respond. He had no desire to discuss his troubles – and besides, they paled by comparison to Joan’s trials and tribulations, a subject on which she began to expound at length.

“…and that shopping trip you sent us on was a complete disaster. I just couldn’t be doing with all that hassle. If I want to
buy something, trust me, I’ll buy it – I don’t need somebody breathing down my neck all the time.”

Reda listened with the same dutiful sympathy as he had done concerning her luggage.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Normally we don’t have any trouble here. We must do something about it at once. Why not let me take you? Why don’t we all go? Tonight. After dinner.” He extended his arms to include the others. “Let’s pay a visit to the souk. And if we get any trouble, we can link arms and walk as a family. It will be fine – I promise you.”

Joan shrugged for the second time. “Well, I suppose that’s alright with me.”

And with whatever motive in mind, Reda left his offer on the table and went on to the next group of guests.