near the back, for which Benjamin was grateful: he didn't relish the thought of trying to make intelligent conversation with the A-list diplomats and luminaries seated at the prime tables near the stage area.
As he found his table and sat down-he'd been right, it was practically at the entrance to the dining room-a Middle Eastern-looking gentleman with a thick mustache seated next to him rose and extended his hand. Benjamin noticed that he wore a very well-tailored tuxedo, which only made him more self-conscious.
'How do you do,' he said. 'My name is Nabil Hassan.'
'Benjamin Wainwright,' he said. They shook hands.
'Sorirart biro'aitak,' said Nabil. He saw that Benjamin didn't understand him. 'Nice to meet you. Please,' and he indicated that Benjamin should sit down.
Benjamin saw that there were already small bowls of caviar, black and red, on the table, along with plates that held semihard bread and soft butter, and others with chopped eggs, onions, chives, and black olives.
Benjamin saw Nabil take a piece of bread, spread butter on it, then use a tiny spoon to scoop a little caviar on it. He followed suit.
Nabil took a bite of the bread and caviar. 'Delicious,' he said. 'The best caviar will always come from Russia.'
Benjamin didn't really care for caviar, but he took a bite anyway. And he had to admit, this was certainly better than any he'd had before. As he reached for another serving, Nabil went on.
'Excuse me if I seem abrupt,' Nabil said, 'but you don't seem like the usual guest for such an affair.'
'You're right,' Benjamin said, still chewing his caviar. 'I'm not.'
Waiters began serving the borsch. Benjamin was surprised to see, in addition to the beets, beef, potatoes, carrots…
'Ah,' said Nabil. ' Real borscht.' He said the word with a pronounced T at the end. 'The only Russian soup I prefer to borscht-when it's authentic, that is, like this-is something called solyanka. Have you ever tried it?'
'No,' Benjamin said. 'I'm not really that familiar with Russian cuisine.'
'Well, the best Russian cuisine, that of the Caucasus region, is in some ways similar to my own country's. Spicy, and with delicious sauces. Thank god this isn't an event celebrating the food of the Tartars. Then we'd be trying to smile while we ate kazy, a sausage made of horse meat.'
'Yes, thank goodness,' said Benjamin. 'Mr. Hassan, you said similar to your own country's?'
'I'm Egyptian,' Nabil said. 'I'm a cultural attache with our legion here. Since… oh, well, several years now. And you, Mr. Wainwright? To what delegation do you belong?'
Again Benjamin found himself struggling to explain his presence at the reception. He wished he and Natalya had established some sort of cover story. He decided again on a half-truth.
'I'm doing some research for the center,' he said finally. 'I was invited by a Ms. Natalya Orlova.'
Nabil looked at him with a certain new appreciation. 'A friend of Natalya's?' He smiled. 'A very beautiful woman.'
'Yes,' said Benjamin. 'She is that.'
The waiters were already circulating with the next course, the golubzi. Benjamin tried his and found it again delicious.
'What sort?' asked Nabil.
'Excuse me?' asked Benjamin.
'What sort of research are you doing for the center?'
Benjamin realized he'd gotten himself into something of a trap, but then he also realized he had a rare opportunity to further his 'research.'
'This may sound a little presumptuous of me, Mr. Hassan,' Benjamin began nervously, 'but do you know anything about hieroglyphics?'
Nabil smiled very broadly. 'That depends. What sort of hieroglyphics? Aztec? Asian? Polynesian?'
'Well, no, uh, that is…'
Nabil smiled. 'I'm sorry, that's my little joke. Of course people always assume that only the ancient Egyptians used hieroglyphics for writing, when of course that is very much not the case.'
'Of course,' Benjamin said. 'I'm sorry.'
' Min fadila. Please, not at all,' replied Nabil. 'But I assume you were asking about my knowledge of Egyptian hieroglyphics?'
Benjamin nodded.
'Well, in that case, yes, I have passing knowledge, though I am far from a scholar on the subject.'
'I'm not sure my question really requires a full-fledged scholar,' Benjamin said. 'In fact, I'm not even certain it concerns authentic Egyptian hieroglyphs. It could simply be a facile imitation, something with no real meaning.'
'Well, Mr. Wainwright, why don't you describe to me the hieroglyph in question, and I'll try to ascertain its authenticity.'
'All right.' Benjamin looked around for something on which to write, finally simply pulled the cocktail napkin out from under his champagne glass. Then he realized he had no pen. Saying 'Do you mind?' to the woman on his right, he extracted the tiny plastic sword from the orange slice in her emptied cocktail.
He put the napkin on the table and began tracing a symbol on it with the tip of the sword, pressing so as to make an impression.
'It looks something like this,' he said. And as he drew he began to describe the symbol he'd seen in the mural in the manse and the portrait of Gates in the library. 'A triangle, with an ellipse or an eye at the top, and-'
Nabil reached over and stopped his hand.
'Is this your little joke?' he asked. He was still smiling, but he sounded slightly insulted.
'I'm sorry?' Benjamin said.
'This 'Eye on the Pyramid' nonsense? I assure you, Mr. Wainwright, despite all your hysteria over this 'Pyramonster' in American movies and books, there simply was no such symbol in actual Egyptian hieroglyphs.' He removed his hand from Benjamin's, sat back. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'but if I hear this gha 'bi mosh kowayes… this moronic…'
He paused, calmed himself.
'Forgive me.' He patted Benjamin's hand. 'Imagine listening to someone from Cairo ask you about the secret anti-Islamic message of, for instance, 'The Star Spangled Banner.' You would be amused and insulted, simultaneously, yes?' Benjamin nodded. Nabil sighed. 'So it is with so much to do with our revered ancestors. In our country, they are almost holy. Like your Founding Fathers. But on your dollar bill, in your films, they become cartoons. You see?'
'Yes I do,' Benjamin said.
Now the waiters were serving a baked sole. While Benjamin began picking at his, Nabil continued.
'And when it comes to pyramids, or triangles with eyes, well, they have as much meaning in Christian history as they do that of Egypt.'
'How do you mean?' asked Benjamin, eager to keep Nabil talking.
'This eye you mention, this may be traced in Egypt to the Eye of Horus, which was all-knowing. And one can see how this developed. You see, here…'
Nabil extracted a pen from his pocket and, taking the napkin, drew four symbols on it:
'Here are the four Egyptian symbols for pyramid, the Egyptian word for which is mer. The first two symbols- the arc and the falcon-represent the light of the Pharaoh's soul as it ascends. But the pyramid itself is represented by the last two, the flattened ellipse and the triangle. Move the ellipse to the top of the triangle, turn it into an eye… you see? But this is also a symbol important to early Christians. The Eye of Horus becomes something like…' And then he sketched another symbol:
'In such Christian icons, the three sides of the triangle and the three rays coming from each side represent-'
'The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,' said Benjamin.
Nabil looked at him appreciatively. 'Yes, exactly.'
'And the eye in the center, later Christians called the 'All-Seeing Eye of God.' Or sometimes,' and he watched
