never travel with more than you can carry.”
“Now he tells us,” Gideon said.
Forrest, who had continued to sit in his corner quietly gnawing his lip, suddenly took to gibbering. “I knew this would happen! I knew this would happen! What about our equipment? We only have four miserable days, we don’t have any spare time, we, we—” He switched suddenly to a long string of loud and impressively fluent-sounding Arabic. Other passengers turned to observe with interest and respect.
The clerk shouted back no less loudly, waving his hands and thumping the counter. Gideon had no trouble with the gist of it but understood not a word. Ordinarily he took pride in being able to get along in the language of whatever country he was in, but this time he simply hadn’t had the time to learn. He could handle
hello-goodbye, yes-no,
and
please-thank you,
and that was it.
After a few seconds, Phil came to the rescue, edging Forrest out of the way and taking up the yelling match in his stead, his voice well up to the challenge. It went on for a good five minutes with, if anything, an increase in fervor; several times the clerk raised his face to the ceiling, apparently to address his thoughts to a higher authority. Phil, clearly having a good time, finally bent over the narrow counter and wrapped his arm around the clerk’s shoulder. They leaned together, talking more quietly, until there was a sudden spate of good-natured laughter, a spirited shaking of hands, and an obviously amicable conclusion.
Phil turned to Forrest. “All right, your equipment comes with us.”
“Whew,” Forrest said, spent. “Gad. I knew this would happen.” He appealed to his crew of two, slouched on a bench. “Did I or did I not say this was going to happen?”
“You said it was going to happen, man,” Cy agreed.
Julie looked at Phil. “How in the world did you do that?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said.
“You bribed him, you gave him some what-do-you-call-it,
bakshish,
didn’t you?”
Phil grinned. “I showed him the error of his ways. I revealed to him a better path.”
“You gave him money.”
“I did not give him money. No such thing. Not a single piaster. And anyway, I’ll be reimbursed.”
Julie shook her head. “Is this what it’s always like?”
“Yes,” Phil said happily.
“Fortunately,” the smiling clerk now said, “we will be able to place all of your baggages on the very next flight to Cairo. A special intermediate stop at el-Minya shall soon be arranged, I am happy to say.”
“Oh, yes? And when would that be?” Haddon asked. “Any time this week?”
“To be sure,” the clerk said earnestly. “Of course. You will have it in no time at all.”
Haddon was unimpressed.
“Bukhra,
you mean?” he said sourly.
The clerk threw back his head and laughed.
“Bukhra,
yes, without fail! And now, you may be boarding, please, gentlemen and ladies?” He shook Phil’s hand again and bowed them through the door to the tarmac.
“What’s
bukhra?”
Julie asked Gideon as the group walked toward the mid-sized plane. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Phil, what’s
bukhra?”
Gideon said over his shoulder.
“Bukhra?
Literally, it means tomorrow. But—put it this way. When someone in Egypt tells you
bukhra,
treat it in the same manner as when someone in Mexico tells you
mahana.”
“Great,” Gideon said.
“Except, of course, without the same sense of urgency,” Phil finished.
“Rats,” Julie said. “And us without a change of clothes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gideon said with more assurance than he felt. “He said the very next flight. We’ll probably get it before the night’s out.”
Julie, who took logistical problems in her stride better than he did, laughed.
“
Inshallah
,” she said.
Chapter Nine
Ninety minutes later they deplaned at el-Minya, a drab, sprawling city chiefly known for processing sugar and making cheap soaps and perfumes. There, as directed by Phil,
“Now he tells us,” Gideon said.
Forrest, who had continued to sit in his corner quietly gnawing his lip, suddenly took to gibbering. “I knew this would happen! I knew this would happen! What about our equipment? We only have four miserable days, we don’t have any spare time, we, we—” He switched suddenly to a long string of loud and impressively fluent-sounding Arabic. Other passengers turned to observe with interest and respect.
The clerk shouted back no less loudly, waving his hands and thumping the counter. Gideon had no trouble with the gist of it but understood not a word. Ordinarily he took pride in being able to get along in the language of whatever country he was in, but this time he simply hadn’t had the time to learn. He could handle
hello-goodbye, yes-no,
and
please-thank you,
and that was it.
After a few seconds, Phil came to the rescue, edging Forrest out of the way and taking up the yelling match in his stead, his voice well up to the challenge. It went on for a good five minutes with, if anything, an increase in fervor; several times the clerk raised his face to the ceiling, apparently to address his thoughts to a higher authority. Phil, clearly having a good time, finally bent over the narrow counter and wrapped his arm around the clerk’s shoulder. They leaned together, talking more quietly, until there was a sudden spate of good-natured laughter, a spirited shaking of hands, and an obviously amicable conclusion.
Phil turned to Forrest. “All right, your equipment comes with us.”
“Whew,” Forrest said, spent. “Gad. I knew this would happen.” He appealed to his crew of two, slouched on a bench. “Did I or did I not say this was going to happen?”
“You said it was going to happen, man,” Cy agreed.
Julie looked at Phil. “How in the world did you do that?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said.
“You bribed him, you gave him some what-do-you-call-it,
bakshish,
didn’t you?”
Phil grinned. “I showed him the error of his ways. I revealed to him a better path.”
“You gave him money.”
“I did not give him money. No such thing. Not a single piaster. And anyway, I’ll be reimbursed.”
Julie shook her head. “Is this what it’s always like?”
“Yes,” Phil said happily.
“Fortunately,” the smiling clerk now said, “we will be able to place all of your baggages on the very next flight to Cairo. A special intermediate stop at el-Minya shall soon be arranged, I am happy to say.”
“Oh, yes? And when would that be?” Haddon asked. “Any time this week?”
“To be sure,” the clerk said earnestly. “Of course. You will have it in no time at all.”
Haddon was unimpressed.
“Bukhra,
you mean?” he said sourly.
The clerk threw back his head and laughed.
“Bukhra,
yes, without fail! And now, you may be boarding, please, gentlemen and ladies?” He shook Phil’s hand again and bowed them through the door to the tarmac.
“What’s
bukhra?”
Julie asked Gideon as the group walked toward the mid-sized plane. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Phil, what’s
bukhra?”
Gideon said over his shoulder.
“Bukhra?
Literally, it means tomorrow. But—put it this way. When someone in Egypt tells you
bukhra,
treat it in the same manner as when someone in Mexico tells you
mahana.”
“Great,” Gideon said.
“Except, of course, without the same sense of urgency,” Phil finished.
“Rats,” Julie said. “And us without a change of clothes.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gideon said with more assurance than he felt. “He said the very next flight. We’ll probably get it before the night’s out.”
Julie, who took logistical problems in her stride better than he did, laughed.
“
Inshallah
,” she said.
Chapter Nine
Ninety minutes later they deplaned at el-Minya, a drab, sprawling city chiefly known for processing sugar and making cheap soaps and perfumes. There, as directed by Phil,
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