The Wishing Trees (42 page)

But she failed. And the elephant turned away, moving toward the other side of its enclosure, where the dirt was trampled by the passage of countless footsteps, where human voices were more distant, and where the wind rustled the leaves of nearby trees.

EGYPT

The Choice

“FRIENDSHIP DOUBLES JOY AND HALVES GRIEF.”

—EGYPTIAN SAYING

F
rom twenty stories up, on the balcony of a modern hotel, the Nile still looked ancient. The immense brown river dominated Cairo, dividing the city in half. Barges, passenger vessels, and traditional sailing boats known as feluccas drifted over the water, passing in front of a skyline so colorless it was as if the nearby desert had long ago covered Cairo’s buildings in dust and sand.

Though the streets below the hotel were inundated with throngs of people and battered and beeping cars, from up here the city seemed still, perhaps paying its respects to the pyramids, which stood only a few miles away. Where modern-day Cairo ended, the desert began, and the pyramids rose, overlooking the city, seemingly impervious to the elements of time that besieged steel, glass, and cement.

Mattie and Ian sat on a pair of faded wooden chairs, watching the sun set over the Nile. Ian lifted a bottle and poured a half inch of wine into a glass that Mattie held. “Most people,” he said, “would call me a scoundrel for doing this. But you deserve a sip or two.”

She smiled, remembering how he had often filled her mother’s glass. “Does it taste like juice?”

“I reckon not, Roo. It’s a heap more bitter.” He raised his glass to hers. “Cheers, luv. To you. And to Egypt.”

Her lips touched the wine and she took a sip, surprised by the strength of the drink. She started to grimace but stopped herself, knowing that her mother had loved wine. “It’s . . . good,” she said, setting her glass on a table.

He grinned. “You’re not much of a liar, luv.”

“No. I like it.”

“You do?”

“It’s kind of . . . tangy.”

“Tangy?”

“It makes my tongue tingle.”

A jet entered Ian’s field of vision, directing his gaze to the south, where the Nile began. He stroked the soft silk of a violet-colored tie that Holly had snuck into his backpack. He wasn’t sure when Holly and Georgia had bought it or the compact binoculars that hung from Mattie’s neck. Holly had written them each a note and hidden her gifts within the folds of their clothes. They hadn’t found the tie and binoculars until landing in Egypt. “I’m glad, Roo, that you’re feeling a bit better about Holly,” he said, studying the tie, smiling at the thought of Holly picking it out for him, of her sneaking it into his backpack.

Mattie wasn’t feeling better at all, but she pretended to be. “Well, you promised we’d come back in a year.”

“We will.”

“Pinkie swear?” she asked, sticking out her finger.

He wrapped his pinkie around hers and squeezed tight. “Pinkie swear.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Watching her face, he realized that it was tan, like the city and river below. “Your skin is getting dark. Too dark. Tomorrow I’m going to cover you in sunscreen. And you need to wear your sunnies.”

She sipped her wine. “Did you ever have to say good-bye to your friends?”

“Sure, luv.”

“When?”

“When I was eighteen, I left the bush, left my family and my mates. I moved to Sydney and went to a uni there. Then, after graduating, I buzzed off for Japan.”

“Wasn’t that hard?”

“It was hard on my mum and dad. They’re still as cross as a frog in a sock about it.”

“A frog in a sock?”

“That’s right, luv. They aren’t too pleased.” He watched birds ride on an updraft, soaring above a nearby building. “Change like that, like saying good-bye to Holly, can be a real kick in the teeth.”

“It is.”

“I agree, Roo. But do you know what?”

“What?”

“Those changes, the ones I made, led me to your mum. They led me to you. If I had never left the bush, you wouldn’t exist. And I wouldn’t have created the loveliest thing to come out of my life.”

“But you might have had another girl.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I reckon that doesn’t matter. Because there’s only one you, and I don’t fancy anyone else.”

“And I don’t fancy another daddy.”

“You won’t have one, luv. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. Like a dingo with his looks.”

On the Nile, a mighty rust-stained barge sounded its horn, shooing feluccas away. She lifted her binoculars and watched the barge force its way up the massive river. “Daddy?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I’ve complained on our trip. I’m trying not to. Even though I don’t always like the food or all the mosquitoes or saying good-bye to my friends.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Thank you for taking me.”

He put his hand on her knee, stroking an old scar, remembering how she had fallen off her bike. “You’re welcome, luv. And thank you. Thank you for being a perfect traveling companion.”

“Can we go down and check your e-mail? Maybe there’s a message from Rupee or Holly. Or maybe Leslie sent us another picture from Nepal.”

Ian finished his wine, and hers, then glanced at the river, wondering what Kate would think of it, wishing she had seen it. She had always loved water, whether it was salt or fresh, blue or brown.

After putting on his shoes and grabbing his wallet, Ian followed Mattie out the door. She walked down the hallway with purpose, eager to see if her friends had written. Ian knew that she wasn’t as content with their situation as she pretended and figured that she was embarrassed by her breakdown at the zoo and was trying to act older.

The main floor of the hotel was populated by people from all over the world. Men in Western-style suits or long tunics sat in front of low tables and talked business. Women, some wearing a head scarf and some not, soothed babies and kept track of giggling children. An adjacent, ornately decorated room revealed groups of men surrounding giant water pipes, know as hookahs, which were made of silver or brass and had bowls at the top that contained smoldering tobacco. The men sucked on colorful hoses, clouds of smoke escaping from between their lips.

The business center contained several desktop computers, chairs, and a printer. Ian and Mattie sat at the farthest monitor from the door, and Ian got online and opened his e-mail. He, too, wondered if anyone had written. To his disappointment, there was no e-mail from the orphanage’s director, which caused his stomach to clench. He didn’t understand why the director wasn’t responding and vowed to make a phone call the next morning, to call and call until he heard that Rupee was fine.

Balancing out his mood was an e-mail from Georgia. He opened her message and moved aside so that Mattie could also read it.

Dear Mattie,

This is Holly, and I am typing on my mom’s computer at her office. We’ve been home two days now, and I miss you and Vietnam. I wore my new dress again last night, and the necklace that your dad had made for me. I showed his necklace to my friends at school and they loved it. I do too.

I wish we could go swimming again in the ocean. There are beaches here, but not like what we saw in Vietnam. And there are almost no stars in Hong Kong. The city lights make them go away.

I asked my mom if we could travel to New York someday to visit you. She said if my grades were high that we could probably go. Maybe at the end of the summer. I plan on working hard because I want to see you again.

My fingers are tired from all of this typing, so I am going to say good-bye. My mom attached some photos from our trip. They make me smile. Please send me a drawing from Egypt. I have never been there.

By the way, my mom says hello to your dad. She had a good time with him, I think.

Your friend,
Holly

Mattie reread the e-mail, then asked Ian to open the attached photos. First was an image of Mattie and Holly ankle deep in the ocean. Next came a shot of the four of them at the Temple Club in Ho Chi Minh City. The third photo was of Mattie and Holly chasing fireflies. And the fourth was of the girls in their new dresses.

Mattie leaned forward. Ian did likewise, seeing how Mattie smiled in the photos, how she looked more like a little girl than she did at the moment. He also appeared happy in the photo at the restaurant, seated beside Georgia. He saw Georgia’s hand on the table, remembered holding it, remembered the warmth of her skin against his.

After replying to Holly, and sending the orphanage’s director another message, Mattie and Ian went back to their room, put on their pajamas, and climbed into bed. He told her a story about a little girl who nursed a battered falcon back to health. Then he kissed her good night, smiled when she put her head on his chest, and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be all right.

ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED MILES SOUTH OF CAIRO, and only a few miles downstream from the massive dam at Aswan, Mattie and Ian sat on the top of a weathered hundred-passenger cruise ship. The roof held a few tables and chairs, as well as green synthetic grass similar to what would be found at a miniature golf course. The grass was faded from the unrelenting sun, as was the rest of the ship. Little more than a white rectangle with a pointed bow, the vessel was two stories above water, featuring private river-view rooms and a large dining and entertainment area. A belly dancer amused passengers below, while other tourists were gathered on the roof—taking pictures, sipping drinks, holding their hats in place as a warm wind buffeted the ship.

The Nile near Aswan appeared far different from the way it did in Cairo. The river here didn’t look bigger, but the water seemed deeper and was the color of twilight. About a half mile wide, the Nile was flanked by a verdant landscape full of fields and palm trees. This area, watered by millennium-old irrigation systems, extended a stone’s throw from the river. Where the irrigation systems stopped, the desert immediately began, lush fields turning to sand within a handful of paces. Barren hills, brown and crumbling, rose in the distance. Though sandstone homes, as well as farmers and fishermen, could be seen along the river, nothing appeared to exist in the hills. They were as dead as the Nile was alive.

Scattered over the water were feluccas, which looked to be as ancient as the five-thousand-year-old civilization that still flourished there. The feluccas were wooden, their single masts sprouting forty feet high and holding narrow canvas sails. Though the boats looked ungainly and were cluttered with ropes and supplies, they prowled the Nile gracefully, sailing up- or downstream with ease. The boats didn’t appear all that different from the camels at the river’s edge—both were brown creatures, burdened with gear, worn and frayed and yet a part of the desert landscape.