A River in the Sky

Ramses doubled over with a howl of pain. Cautiously the residents ventured out of hiding. A murmur-a very soft murmur-of sympathy and anger arose. Ramses could have done without the sympathy. At any moment someone would get a closer look at his face and wonder why a beggar would be so young and healthy-looking.

The curtains at the doorway of the house behind him were drawn aside and a woman’s voice said, “Come in, holy one. We have medicines and food.”

It wasn’t the sort of bolt-hole he would have chosen, but there really wasn’t any choice. Bent over, clutching his side and groaning, Ramses stumbled in.

He had seen a number of brothels in el Wasa, the red-blind district of Cairo. He had never been inside one, not only because fastidiousness had triumphed over curiosity but also because he knew his mother would skin him alive if she found out he had done so-and Nefret would have set fire to the remains. He was pretty sure this was a pathetic specimen of the type: a small grimy room lit by a few cheap brass lamps, its only furnishings a wooden table, a few chairs, and a long divan presently occupied by three underdressed, weary-looking girls. The woman who had invited him in was older, her wrinkled face coated with cosmetics and her fleshy body covered by a loose wrapper. Hands on hips, she studied him through narrowed eyes.

“Honored Sitt,” Ramses began.

Her hand shot out and caught hold of his chin, forcing his head up so that one of the lamps shone full on his face.

“You are no beggar,” she said. “Who are you? And why are you being hunted by the Turks?”

AS WE STARTED UP the hill Nefret asked, “Do you intend to leave here without discovering what has become of Mr. Plato?”

Her tone was critical and her look severe.

“I don’t give a curse what has become of him,” Emerson growled. “Stop worrying about him, Nefret. He has done this before and always manages to find his way back to board and lodging. Particularly board.”

However, when we reached the foot of the great wall and the gate called the Dung Gate, whom should we behold but the reverend himself, seated on a boulder and surveying the scene with his usual vague smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought you would come this way, so I waited for you.”

“What happened to you?” Nefret asked. “That is a nasty bruise. Did you fall?”

Plato raised his hand to his jaw. “I was met with resistance from the heathen when I preached to them.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Emerson exclaimed. “Who is he now, John the Baptist or one of the Apostles, or…Take him by the collar and drag him along.”

So we did, metaphorically speaking. Plato came without demur. In fact he seemed livelier than usual; every now and then a pleased little smile quirked his mouth. The rising bruise, which his beard did not wholly conceal, looked to my expert eye as if it had been caused by a fist striking his jaw.

In order to make ensuing events clear to the Reader, I should explain that the city is divided into quarters, Christian, Jewish, Moslem, and Armenian. There are no barriers between these sections, and people pass freely from one to another-not always in harmony but seldom in actual conflict. The famous Wailing Wall, where devout Jews gather to mourn the downfall of the Holy City, is on the eastern side of the Jewish Quarter; the huge stone blocks are, in fact, part of the enormous platform on which the Haram stands. The style of masonry and other archaeological evidence prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the entire platform was built in Herodian, i.e., Roman, times, to serve as the foundation for Herod’s temple. Nothing remains, alas, of the temple itself. The entire circumference of the walls is only about two and a half miles; devout pilgrims follow the entire route on foot or on donkeyback, taking in such sights as the supposed tomb of Saint John and the Pillar of Absalom. Even I was willing to abjure this pleasure. Access to the city is provided by seven gates that pierce the great walls. The route we followed led from Siloam to the nearest gate, whose unattractive name I have already reported, and into the Jewish Quarter.

There is not much difference in appearance between this area and the other quarters-narrow winding streets, dilapidated dwellings, feral dogs foraging for scraps of food. The city’s synagogues are in this section, as Christian churches tend to congregate in that part of the city. Two of the largest and most recent of the former were used respectively by the Sephardim and Ashkenazim sects. The latter’s conspicuous dome was visible from the upper floors of our hotel. I meant to pay a courtesy call there one day-without Emerson.