day, when we were not tending Ahmed, cleaning and emptying the ground floor room of the French House; this would be where we would treat the villagers. It had been a while since animals were last kept there, but the floor of the windowless room was still covered in straw and ancient dried dung; we swept and cleared and threw water on the rough surface to keep the dust down. As I swept the stairs, I saw that the stones were ancient temple building blocks, shifted and rearranged, something I hadn’t noticed before, despite cursing the uneven steps whenever I tripped on my way up. On the third step from the bottom I found a single row of hieroglyphs. When I showed Omar he shrugged and kept working, as though to say, they are everywhere, these markings, they are ordinary, and indeed, in Luxor it was commonplace to live one’s life surrounded by indecipherable messages from the past. The work was hot and dirty and we were both forced outside into the sun from time to time, coughing and spluttering, gasping for breath like my Lady on one of her bad days.
THAT EVENING BEFORE SUPPER I DRAGGED THE TIN BATH TO MY ROOM and filled it with hot water; my body ached and I was avid for a hot bath even though the evening was warm. I added a few drops of the perfumed oil I had bought in Cairo to soften my skin; my hands were so dry, the skin between my fingers had begun to crack and bleed. I opened the shutters wide, and as I sat in the steaming water, I looked out over the Nile. My body felt different from before, as if not wearing stays had effected a long-term physical change; my limbs felt longer and straighter, my back stronger, my neck more flexible; even my hands felt more capable. I ran the soap over my skin and closed my eyes. When I got out I covered myself in a good layer of the oil. I was slippery, and clean.
At dinner the three of us sat on our cushions and talked, planning our makeshift clinic. My Lady was vivid with the challenge of our undertaking and had already written a letter to her daughter, Miss Janet, requesting more medical supplies from Alexandria and Cairo, anticipating what we would use, what would need to be replenished. It was late when we finally extinguished the candles and went to bed. The dawn call to prayer arrived in what seemed only moments after I’d gone to sleep. I got up, splashed clean water on my face, drew my shawl around my shoulders, and went next door to wake Omar, who had slept through the call once again.
Instead of standing outside his door and mimicking the muezzin myself, I entered his room. The shutters were open and the room was full of cool night air though the sky outside was pink and fading to blue-white already. He was asleep on his back, breathing evenly. I knelt down beside him and began the call to prayer.
Omar opened his eyes. He did not look at all surprised to see me there so close beside him. He sat up slowly, stretched his arms above his head, then took my hand. He brushed my hair away from my face; I had not put it up yet that morning. He ran his fingers across my lips, very lightly. Then he brought his face close to mine, and kissed me.
I had never been kissed, never, not once; I had never dared allow that to happen to me. I had spent my entire life avoiding kissing. He was whispering in Arabic and stroking my hair and the truth of the matter is that I did not hesitate. It was as though I had waited so long to lie down beside Omar that I had forgotten why I was waiting. All I can remember thinking was, Yes, this is it, this is right, this is what I want, this is what I’ve spent the past months wanting. He kissed me again and this time it was a long kiss and I moved towards him as he moved towards me. Then he drew my nightdress over my head and I gasped out loud to be so revealed and he kissed me in order to help me be quiet, and his warm hands on my body reassured me. He took his own nightshirt off. And we sat there, on the carpet in the middle of his room, next to
THAT EVENING BEFORE SUPPER I DRAGGED THE TIN BATH TO MY ROOM and filled it with hot water; my body ached and I was avid for a hot bath even though the evening was warm. I added a few drops of the perfumed oil I had bought in Cairo to soften my skin; my hands were so dry, the skin between my fingers had begun to crack and bleed. I opened the shutters wide, and as I sat in the steaming water, I looked out over the Nile. My body felt different from before, as if not wearing stays had effected a long-term physical change; my limbs felt longer and straighter, my back stronger, my neck more flexible; even my hands felt more capable. I ran the soap over my skin and closed my eyes. When I got out I covered myself in a good layer of the oil. I was slippery, and clean.
At dinner the three of us sat on our cushions and talked, planning our makeshift clinic. My Lady was vivid with the challenge of our undertaking and had already written a letter to her daughter, Miss Janet, requesting more medical supplies from Alexandria and Cairo, anticipating what we would use, what would need to be replenished. It was late when we finally extinguished the candles and went to bed. The dawn call to prayer arrived in what seemed only moments after I’d gone to sleep. I got up, splashed clean water on my face, drew my shawl around my shoulders, and went next door to wake Omar, who had slept through the call once again.
Instead of standing outside his door and mimicking the muezzin myself, I entered his room. The shutters were open and the room was full of cool night air though the sky outside was pink and fading to blue-white already. He was asleep on his back, breathing evenly. I knelt down beside him and began the call to prayer.
Omar opened his eyes. He did not look at all surprised to see me there so close beside him. He sat up slowly, stretched his arms above his head, then took my hand. He brushed my hair away from my face; I had not put it up yet that morning. He ran his fingers across my lips, very lightly. Then he brought his face close to mine, and kissed me.
I had never been kissed, never, not once; I had never dared allow that to happen to me. I had spent my entire life avoiding kissing. He was whispering in Arabic and stroking my hair and the truth of the matter is that I did not hesitate. It was as though I had waited so long to lie down beside Omar that I had forgotten why I was waiting. All I can remember thinking was, Yes, this is it, this is right, this is what I want, this is what I’ve spent the past months wanting. He kissed me again and this time it was a long kiss and I moved towards him as he moved towards me. Then he drew my nightdress over my head and I gasped out loud to be so revealed and he kissed me in order to help me be quiet, and his warm hands on my body reassured me. He took his own nightshirt off. And we sat there, on the carpet in the middle of his room, next to
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