On impulse, I darted out into the middle of the smooth dirt road. I barely noticed the endless piles of trash bags and litter scattered throughout the lane. This street was clean compared to others I’d seen. I moved at a brisk gait, my ears alert and my feet light and quick. The sky was black. Oil lamps in the occasional window and the bright, white stars in the heavens kept my blurry vision dimly lit. I was running from the voices. Their hollow, clear calls echoed in my head every night, whispering my name like they had a secret. Tonight I was determined to find them.
Milo KATE IRWIN
It was far too late for a boy my age to be roaming the streets. I knew that. And yet, I was there, creeping among the shadows of a dark alley. My father would likely be wondering where I was, but only for a moment. He would only wish me home so that I could bring back any tips I might have earned from my work leading tourists around the city. He would also likely be in something of a raging fit and punish me for arriving home at such a late hour. But tonight was worth it. Every day, so many tourists trusted me as their guide, and rightfully so. I knew Cairo like the back of my hand. I knew every street, every mound of sand, every market, every alley, and every crevice. I loved each and every little part of the city, from its fields and slums to the vast, grand, ancient snake of a river called the Nile. But it was night now—the city became a different place. I didn’t know Cairo at night. It was a friend with a double personality whose dark side I didn’t know. The shadows crept up behind me and swallowed me in their grasp. I lurked in the dark, peeking around the corner of an unfinished brick and mortar building. The large windows had no glass and began a few stories up to prevent the homeless and vandals from sneaking in. I heard my heart pounding in my chest, that continuous drum I wished would quiet. I consciously tried to slow down my breaths. The hot summer night smelled of dust, garbage, and manure. My cropped, onyx-colored hair felt oily and sandy. I slowly peeked around the corner onto the streets, my small, leathery hands clutching the rough, sandpapery brick of the building to keep my balance as I leaned my head around the corner to see that the coast was clear. 122
Kate Irwin
It had all begun with a bearded woman. That morning, I had been escorting tourists on the backs of my family’s small flock of camels when she had approached me, asking for a ride to the temple of Karnak. I stroked the side of one of the tall camels anxiously, feeling the protruding ribs and dusty brown fur. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I replied in Arabic, “but my father and I only escort tourists to the Giza pyramids.” “How can your father escort customers when he is blind?” the woman asked me, her dark violet robes rustling about her as a scorching summer breeze swept past us. “How do you know that?” I asked, embarrassed. “If our clients discovered that my father is blind, our family’s livelihood would be in danger. They would lose faith. Please, go see the Karnak Temple yourself and leave my family and me alone.” The woman stood still and stared with knowing hazel eyes. “Your family business is suffering. I can tell. Your camels are starving, and you look like you haven’t bathed in months. But look, young boy, I know there is more than that. I sense bad spirits around you,” she said, waving her long arms about. “You hear voices.” I cringed with fear. My secret was out. “There is no need to lie to me,” the gypsy woman assured me. “I know there is an inner evil inside of you.” The old woman reached into a tattered fabric satchel strung to her waist to retrieve a shiny gold coin. Berkeley Fiction Review
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