going to say. He seemed much more nervous than he had out front and when he finally spoke, there was a thin attempt at bravado in his voice.
Well now, so you've come from America, have you?
Yes, murmured Joe, his eyes drifting around the room in a trance.
Well now, isn't that a strange coincidence? The world is really very small. It just so happens I once was given a complete edition of the collected letters of George Washington, some thirty-odd volumes in all, and they certainly added up to some fascinating reading.
They did?
Oh very. Let's see now. Did you know, for example, that Washington's false teeth were made from hippopotamus teeth? He also used teeth made from walrus tusks and elephant ivory and even cow teeth, but he always preferred hippo. He claimed it gave him a superior bite and chew. With hippo, he said, even peanuts and gumdrops were possible.
Even peanuts and gumdrops? murmured Joe. President Washington?
So he stayed with hippo whenever he could.
And wisely so, I'm sure, murmured Joe, who was still so overwhelmed by the clutter in the room he couldn't concentrate on what Ahmad was saying. Again Ahmad cleared his throat.
Serious tourism began in Egypt around 700 B.C., mumbled Ahmad so it's perfectly understandable you'd want to come and see the sights. But beware, nostalgia is deceptive. Nearly everyone in nineteenth-century Europe had syphilis, and if we forget that then the fainting spells and the dim lighting of the Victorian era become mere quaint oddities.
Quaint, said Joe. That's true.
Or to put it another way, added Ahmad, the Vikings were once the most ferocious marauders in the world, but only a short millennium later most male Danes seem to be ballet dancers.
A nostalgic dance, murmured Joe. That's true.
Ahmad quickly cleared his throat, a suggestion of panic spreading across his face.
And speaking of ballet and the dance, were you wondering where the best belly dancing in Cairo is to be found? Of course, my information may be a little out of date, but before the last war the best belly dancing was to be found in the . . . what shall I call it, the gut of the fish-market district? . . . Well in the fish-market district then, in the little drinking places there. In those days belly dancing always came with the smell of fish. It was considered suggestive. . . .
Ahmad grinned broadly, but at once his grin faded. He rubbed his enormous nose and stared down at the floor in embarrassment.
It's
Joe stirred and looked at this large gentle man slumped over on the other little camp stool.
Forgive me, he said, I'm afraid I was distracted by all the things you have in here, it's almost like being inside a person's head. But what is it you can't do? What seems impossible to you?
Ahmad made a gesture of futility.
Trying to talk, he whispered. A simple little thing like being polite and making you feel comfortable. I'm very happy to have you here, it's just that I don't seem to know what to say, here among my things. It's not what I'm used to, it's not like being out front at the counter. This is all I have in here and I guess I'm not accustomed to sharing it with anyone. Not that I don't want to, I do very much. But I seem to have become clumsy in some terrible way over the years and everything I say comes out wrong, not what I really mean. It's just that it's been so long since anyone . . . well what I mean is . . .
Ahmad clenched his fists and stared at the floor, his voice trailing off. Joe reached out and touched his arm.
I know the feeling well enough, he said, but there are always things to talk about. Even here, where everything means so much to you.
Ahmad's face twisted in pain and the words burst out of him.
But
Ahmad buried his huge fists in his lap.
Do you realize, he whispered, that the adventures of my life are now limited to forays up the street to the greengrocer's? That I actually have to plan my daily trip to buy vegetables and prepare myself for whatever contingencies may turn up? And that when I'm home again safely, I say a little prayer of thanksgiving because no harm came to me? And that when I wash and chop and cook my little pile of fresh vegetables for the evening meal, those vegetables represent the sum total of my accomplishments for another day?
Ahmad stared at his lap.
Greengrocery espionage, you might call it. And if the accomplishment seems meager, I can only say that for some of us even a trip to the vegetable stand is a dangerous journey to make in daylight, a torturous undertaking which requires every bit of courage we possess.
Ahmad shook his massive head.
For the same reasons I only venture downtown at night to do my forgeries. Because the streets are deserted then and I can slip through the shadows unseen by the failures that crowd my life.
Ahmad made a small sound deep in his throat.
But I'm sure you understand my situation by now. And with everything the way it is, what can I possibly talk about that would be of any interest to you?
Well there were those times back before the last war, said Joe. That's a whole world that's gone now, just as there's another world ebbing away at this very moment, and that's always been intriguing to me, how things change and why. Couldn't you tell me a little about that? About those times you used to have with Stern?
Ahmad shrugged.
I guess I could, if it really interests you. . . . Actually there were three of us who were always together back then in the beginning. Three of us who were the nucleus, but even then Stern used to drop out of sight from time to time. For a day or two you'd notice him growing restless, then one morning he'd be gone. Where's Stern? someone would ask, and the answer was always the same. He's off to the desert but he'll be back. And like the night and the day, Stern always did come back. Another morning or another evening and there he'd be at one of the tables in our little cafe, smiling and laughing and carrying on in his usual outrageous manner.
Ahmad paused.
That was before he became so involved with political ideals, you understand. Before he began to travel in connection with his political work. This period I'm talking about was back when he was still a student, when he'd just arrived from the Yemen, where he grew up.
But he used to talk to you about these sudden disappearances? asked Joe.
Oh yes, because we were so close, and also because of my little retreat out on the edge of the desert. He used to ask me if he could stay there sometimes, during the week, when I wasn't using it, and of course I was more than happy to have him there. He didn't have much money in those days and it was the least I could do for a friend.
In those days? mused Ahmad. The truth is Stern has never had any money, he can't abide it. When a little comes his way he spends it at once on friends, he's always been like that.
Ahmad smiled, gazing into the distance.
Empty hands and eyes whispering of hope, as Cohen used to say. And Stern never slept in my cottage when he went there. Instead he'd tramp off over the dunes and camp out in the wilderness like a bedouin, taking almost nothing with him. But still, there's never been anything simple about Stern. People used to think they understood him when they didn't, because there are things in Stern that won't mix. It's always been that way. . . .
Once more Ahmad paused, and this time he seemed to falter, as if he was afraid he was losing himself in the past. He even sneaked a timid glance at Joe, who smiled, trying to encourage him.
And that was Stern, said Joe. And who was the second member of your inner circle?
Ahmad nodded eagerly.
Well that was Cohen of course. Not the one of my father's generation, not the one who went for midnight sails on the Nile with the Sisters and my father, but his son. He was Stern's age more or less.
And what was he like?
