He shook his head. ‘I don’t. And you, Isis, do you believe?’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think God intervenes in human affairs.’
‘Why?’
‘Compare the intricacy and scale of the universe,’ she looked up at the sky, ‘with the mess and pain of human life. There’s no one running this thing except us, and we should take responsibility for it. When we do, things will improve.’
‘That’s an atheist speaking.’
‘No, a rationalist.’
‘Surely you believe in fate – destiny?’
She picked up some bread. ‘They’re words used to explain chance, luck, accident and coincidence. I don’t believe in a pre-ordained life. No.’
He began eating also, smiling as though in possession of superior knowledge. ‘With your name, Isis, you could have guessed that you would eventually end up here. That’s fate.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t named after the Egyptian goddess,’ she said. ‘My name comes from the end and beginning of my mother’s first two names – Alazais Isobel.’
‘From two beautiful names comes one beautiful name – like a child.’
‘Right,’ said Herrick.
‘But seriously, here you are on an island in the Nile. Did you know that Isis’s greatest temple is on the Nile, somewhere south of Luxor, and that she is associated with the river and the growing of corn?’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said without interest. ‘How come you know so much about this?’
‘I find Isis the most appealing of all the ancient deities because to begin with she used her magic to heal the sick. She brought her husband Osiris back to life, and nursed her son Horus. Also, she is made of contradictory passions: on the one hand she was ruthless and cunning; on the other, a loyal and devoted wife who went to the ends of the earth to find her husband’s dead body. She is like all interesting people – a paradox. In her case, both deadly and caring.’ With this he broke a piece of bread and scooped up some tahini.
‘If anything, Dr Loz, the paradox is nearer to your character. I mean here you are healing your friend but in other lives you are, or have been, a soldier and fundraiser for a terrorist organisation. So perhaps the lesson is that we should never judge someone by one observation, but wait until the whole picture emerges from many observations, then decide which is the dominant trait.’ She stopped. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked.
‘I don’t drink,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m going to have one.’
Loz wrinkled his nose.
‘When I was at school,’ she continued, ‘I did read something about Isis, in particular about her relations with Ra, the sun god. Do you know about Ra, Sammi?’
He shook his head.
‘Ra’s might depended on his secret name, a name that only he knew. You see, the ancient Egyptians believed that if someone learned your secret name they gained power over you. Isis made a cobra from Ra’s spittle, which had fallen to the ground on his journey across the sky. The cobra bit Ra and injected poison. Only when Ra told Isis his secret name did she agree to relieve his pain.’
‘In other words, she tortured him. I told you she was ruthless. ’
She smiled. ‘I was wondering whether you had a secret name. Something that would give another person power over you if they knew it.’
‘Why do you do this job? This spying.’
‘It’s very simple. I believe in the freedoms that we have in the West, and I am happy to work against those who want to destroy them.’ She paused to sip the whisky she had mixed with a little mineral water. ‘Also, I’m good at it,’ she said, putting the glass down. ‘Very good at it.’
His forehead puckered with disbelief. ‘You want nothing else in your life?’
‘You’re making the assumption that I don’t have anything else in my life.’
‘You lack something,’ he said, ‘possibly love.’
‘Oh, give me a break. Let me tell you I’m happy and utterly fulfilled in what I do.’
‘No, I think not.’
‘On what evidence?’
‘Your body. The tension in your shoulders, the way you stand and move, the set of your mouth, the expression in your eyes. There are a hundred signs. You’re a very attractive woman, but neither happy nor satisfied.’
‘I guess that’s the line you use on all the girls in New York,’ she said.
‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘You should take more care of yourself, maybe visit an osteopath when you return to London.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Except your hip, which hurts when you get up in the morning, and your shoulders, which rise up during the day and cause you headaches, and perhaps a difficulty at night when you try to find a comfortable position for your neck on the pillow.’ He sat back, satisfied. ‘You could certainly use some help.’
She reached for a carrot and sliced it lengthways into strips.
‘I would guess you’ve been very seriously ill at one time in your life. There seems to be some residue in your body of that sickness. When was that?’
‘What is this – the osteopathic seduction?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I am trained to observe people very closely. That’s all. An artist’s eyes do not stop noticing the shape of things or their colour when he leaves the studio. It’s the same with me. When I saw you in Albania I noticed these things immediately.’
They sat in silence for a while, then she picked some fruit from the basket and got up from the bench. ‘I have work to do now. I’ll see you in the morning.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Khan looked up into Loz’s face when he returned from grinding the pills into a solution. He was glad Sammi had found something to ease the pain that was growing in his chest, to say nothing of the constant throb in his feet.
‘No man has ever had a friend like you,’ said Khan. ‘I don’t deserve you. I cannot believe my good fortune.’
‘Don’t tire yourself, old friend.’
‘What’s the matter with me, Sammi? Tell me. What is it? Why can’t I keep my eyes open?’
‘Because you have had years of ill treatment and hardship. You need rest. I will give you this shot, then you will feel much better tomorrow.’
‘But you wanted to leave tonight.’
‘That’s okay. We can wait. The important thing is for you to get better. Then we’ll talk about what we’re going to do.’
While Loz wiped his arm and slapped it to bring up the vein, Khan’s mind returned to the hillside in Macedonia and the wonder he’d experienced one morning as he watched the sun come over the hill and saw the light filtering through the trees. Now he could smell the dying embers of the fire, mingled with the rich, damp scents of the morning; taste the mint tea that the young Kurd had made him. The memory of those moments had been clouded by the terror that had followed less than half an hour later, but now he understood that the completeness he felt when walking down the track was something important. He should remember it.
‘There was some kind of a bird there,’ he said suddenly.
‘A bird?’ said Loz as he slipped the needle into Khan’s vein. ‘What kind of bird?’
‘The smallest bird I have ever seen. It was almost round with a tail that stuck up. It had made its nest just where we camped. The fire was right below the vine where it lived… it stayed there all night and the next morning it was still there to feed its young.’
