Evan was sitting in the lobby of the hotel, lighting a cigarette, when Samira returned from the university. He tried his best not to smirk at the look of surprise and confusion on her face when she saw him sitting at a table, tapping her key-card on the metal rim. She hesitated for a moment, poised on her front foot like a dancer who'd forgotten her routine.
“Left this in the cab. I would have called you, but...” He shrugged disarmingly.
“Oh.” The tone of Samira's voice sounded not at all amused. Nevertheless, she sat down at the table and pulled a cigarette from Evan's pack. He wordlessly handed her a lighter and she leaned back, inhaling deeply. “Thanks.”
“Not at all.” Evan stared at her through the curlicues of smoke. “How was your interview?”
“Interview?”
“Weren't you going to...
“Oh, it was fine,” interrupted Samira. “I guess. It could have been better.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
Evan heard the note of tension in her voice. “Any particular reason?”
“Just not very helpful, you know?”
Evan nodded. “I do. Welcome to Cairo.”
They sat in an awkward silence for a moment, neither willing to probe or break the other's reverie. The cigarettes smoldered down to crinkled stubs and Evan's coffee was reduced to grounds swirling in fractal patterns along the bottom of the cup.
Finally, Evan spoke. "So what is your story about?"
Samira stared at him for a moment with an unblinking gaze. Then her shoulders slumped and she dropped her eyes. "To be honest, I don't really know. I had one idea when I got here - I had a lot of ideas, honestly, and they all turned out to be wrong."
"Yeah, but what were you thinking of writing?" pressed Evan.
Samira sighed. "I don't know, it was something to do with the old houses in Cairo - you know, the ones all over Zamalek."
"Like the one you grew up in?"
Samira's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean? How do you know that?"
A smile crept up one side of Evan's face. "I didn't, but now I do.
Samira couldn't help but laugh. "I guess I deserved that. Anyways, I don't really know what I'm doing with it any more. There isn't really a story."
Evan thought for a moment. "You know, I have a friend who definitely has an in with the kind of people who are in those houses, if you want to talk to him."
"Really?"
"For sure. But...you have to talk to me about something."
Evan caught a flash of suspicion, quickly veiled, behind her slate-grey eyes. "What's that?"
He leaned forward. "Have you heard of General Abdel-Kareem?"
Showing posts with label Abdel-Kareem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abdel-Kareem. Show all posts
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Triumphant Sun, Pt. 18
A thousand apologies for this much-delayed post. I actually saw a surge of hits on Thursday night/Friday morning - it was really rewarding to see that people have a real interest in reading, but it also puts the pressure on me. I guess I just got caught up in the hectic turmoil of inauguration week.
I'd also like to ask two small favors of my readers - first, if you have any questions, suggestions or complaints about where the story has gone or where the plot is going, let me know! That's the beauty of this format. Second, if I don't know you or I just don't know that you're reading, leave me a note saying hello and wherever you're from. Maybe it's working at a writing & development firm, but I love to find out demographics.
Anyways, here's Part 18:
Triumphant Sun
Evan recalled a connection between Samira's father and General Abdel-Kareem. There wasn't much chance that it had anything to do with his investigation, but he might find something he could use, some lead he could follow. He'd read an interview with Lena Crane, the English actress who married an Egyptian, General Rahman and made a splash in the London tabloids. To find his daughter here in Cairo so many years later was a lucky break.
He shook his head. She was staring at him curiously, trying to parse what meaning he might have gleaned from her name. That fixed gaze had a disconcerting effect on
him; he found himself biting at the back of his dry lips in distraction
“Did you know my father?” she asked.
“No, no. But I knew of him. Read about him. Are they here now, or in London?”
“Both passed away; my father here, my mother in London a few years ago.” She paused. “Allah yarhamhum.” She added the Arabic blessing for the dead almost as an afterthought, a dimly remembered but instinctive reaction. “What brought you to Cairo, then?”
Evan opened his mouth to speak but stopped for a moment. Too direct, and she might shy away from helping him. On the other hand, if he lost track of her it would be difficult to find her easily among Cairo's millions. “I'm writing a story, actually. It's being going on for a while now. Hopefully I'll be able to file it soon.”
An expression Evan couldn't identify flicked across Samira's face. Did she already know who he was after, what he was chasing? He pressed on. “You know this city well, don't you?”
“It's been more than a few years,” she replied.
“Still, you might be able to help me out. I'm sure of it, actually.” He pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to her. “Could I get a number, something to get a hold of you later on? I might have a few questions for you.”
Samira took the card, examined it for a moment and slipped it into her purse as the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the American University campus. She dropped a five-pound note in the driver's hand and stepped smoothly out of the cab.
“I'll let you know,” she said over her shoulder.
Evan sat for a moment, watching her fade into the hustling crowd through the metal frame of the taxi's open door. He felt a vague sense of guilt mixed with satisfaction as he toyed with the hotel key-card that had fallen, unseen, out of her pocket and onto the seat as she left. Maybe he should have let her know, but after she brushed him off that way, it was really his only chance. He grinned as he paid the driver the rest of his fare.
I'd also like to ask two small favors of my readers - first, if you have any questions, suggestions or complaints about where the story has gone or where the plot is going, let me know! That's the beauty of this format. Second, if I don't know you or I just don't know that you're reading, leave me a note saying hello and wherever you're from. Maybe it's working at a writing & development firm, but I love to find out demographics.
Anyways, here's Part 18:
Triumphant Sun
Evan recalled a connection between Samira's father and General Abdel-Kareem. There wasn't much chance that it had anything to do with his investigation, but he might find something he could use, some lead he could follow. He'd read an interview with Lena Crane, the English actress who married an Egyptian, General Rahman and made a splash in the London tabloids. To find his daughter here in Cairo so many years later was a lucky break.
He shook his head. She was staring at him curiously, trying to parse what meaning he might have gleaned from her name. That fixed gaze had a disconcerting effect on
him; he found himself biting at the back of his dry lips in distraction
“Did you know my father?” she asked.
“No, no. But I knew of him. Read about him. Are they here now, or in London?”
“Both passed away; my father here, my mother in London a few years ago.” She paused. “Allah yarhamhum.” She added the Arabic blessing for the dead almost as an afterthought, a dimly remembered but instinctive reaction. “What brought you to Cairo, then?”
Evan opened his mouth to speak but stopped for a moment. Too direct, and she might shy away from helping him. On the other hand, if he lost track of her it would be difficult to find her easily among Cairo's millions. “I'm writing a story, actually. It's being going on for a while now. Hopefully I'll be able to file it soon.”
An expression Evan couldn't identify flicked across Samira's face. Did she already know who he was after, what he was chasing? He pressed on. “You know this city well, don't you?”
“It's been more than a few years,” she replied.
“Still, you might be able to help me out. I'm sure of it, actually.” He pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to her. “Could I get a number, something to get a hold of you later on? I might have a few questions for you.”
Samira took the card, examined it for a moment and slipped it into her purse as the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the American University campus. She dropped a five-pound note in the driver's hand and stepped smoothly out of the cab.
“I'll let you know,” she said over her shoulder.
Evan sat for a moment, watching her fade into the hustling crowd through the metal frame of the taxi's open door. He felt a vague sense of guilt mixed with satisfaction as he toyed with the hotel key-card that had fallen, unseen, out of her pocket and onto the seat as she left. Maybe he should have let her know, but after she brushed him off that way, it was really his only chance. He grinned as he paid the driver the rest of his fare.
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