Beloved Gomorrah Page 7

  A tall, lanky man crept all the way in. He seemed about forty, with thick lips and a heavily weathered face. Muttonchops curved down both cheeks, drawing attention away from his long hooked nose, and he looked more like one of Ali Baba’s thieves than a cook. He smiled gently as he approached, stopping a polite distance from her bed, even though she sat fully clothed on its edge.

  “Thank you, miss. Missus Allen said you cannot to climb the stairs, so I have bring you breakfast.” His willowy form curved over her briefly, but once he had placed the tray on her lap, he retreated to the doorway. “An English breakfast, you can see.”

  She glanced down at what might have passed as a cartoon of an English breakfast. “That was extremely kind.”

  Tucking the cloth napkin into her collar, she cut into one of the three-inch long tubes of fried meat and chewed it thoughtfully. It was pleasing, but unfamiliar, with far more flavor than the English bangers she was used to.

  “This is obviously not pork, is it? And I don’t taste any bread filling in it.”

  “No, miss. It is lamb. With spices. But no bread.” His eyelids fluttered slightly, as if to waft away the whiff of insult.

  “It’s quite good—delicious, actually. And these green slices are grilled tomatoes?”

  “No, miss. Fried okra. With spices.”

  “Ah, yes. I should have recognized that. These are baked beans though, right?”

  “No, miss. They are fuul. White beans with parsley, onion, garlic, and lemon.”

  She tried small samples of each item and found them all very tasty, but alien, so that each one required a conscious decision. Only the mug of tea tasted absolutely familiar.

  “Earl Gray tea. Perfect. Just the way I like it, with milk and sugar.”

  “The same as Missus Allen.”

  She took another series of bites, tasting each item carefully, and concluded that it was far superior to an English breakfast. “Thank you, Abdullah. It’s the best breakfast I’ve eaten in years.”

  “Then I am happy.” He nodded in the hint of a bow and let himself out of the cabin.

  Joanna finished the meal with relish and set the tray on the end table. Sated, but faintly bored, she relaxed against the headboard, holding the tea mug on her stomach. Strange the places where fate could bring you, she mused. Six months earlier, she could never have imagined she’d be lying on a yacht nursing shark bites after being chosen to place an exhibit in an underwater museum in, of all places, Egypt.

  Six months ago she had been plodding along monitoring the collection in the Biodiversity Department of the British Museum of Natural History. She had been single for over two years after Ingrid had left her for a voluptuous German mezzo-soprano, and nothing was going on in her life but work.

  Curiously, she hadn’t missed the sex as much as she did the operatic world Ingrid had brought with her. Joanna had tried to keep music around her, going to concerts and playing her old CDs. But the house seemed quiet and dreary since Ingrid’s larger-than-life friends no longer animated it.

  For two years Joanna had watched the women come and go from the museum—colleagues, visitors, anyone who crossed her path. But no one sparked any interest.

  A renewed interest in sculpture, a long-lasting form of art, had filled the emotional void. A university course years before, in which she’d banged out a few busts and horse figures, made clear both that she had moderate talent and that sculpting was a great deal of fun. And a trip ten years later to the underwater sculpture of Jason Taylor in Cancun had shown her that marine biology and art could go together. Apparently Charlie Hernie, a colleague from her own department, had made the same discovery.

  But now there was Egypt, and…She felt the pause separating that thought and the next. And now there was Kaia. But what did it mean, “Now there was Kaia”?

  For the first time in a year and a half she sensed a long-dormant emotion. But no, it was sheer folly to imagine that Kaia was offering anything other than simple kindness, and Joanna dared not abuse it. She would have to be on guard every moment against a misstep, an improper touch, remark, or look. If ever she had encountered forbidden fruit, it was this.

  Chapter Seven

  “And on the third day she rose,” Joanna murmured to herself, amused at her own wit. She’d spent three restful nights on the Hina, and strength was returning. She still needed her cane and had to plan each venture up the circular staircase carefully, but the weak leg would support her now between steps. Her forearm sported an angry bruise down its length but was almost back to normal strength and the scar running down the side of her cheek mostly itched.

  “Hey, good morning!” Kaia met her at the top of the stairs, radiant in the bright morning sunlight that shone through the port windows of the salon, though it could have been the white calf-length pants and linen shirt that seemed to catch the light.

  Behind her, Bernard entered the salon from the galley, his navy-blue golf shirt introducing a sudden spot of darkness. “Just in time for breakfast,” he said, guiding her to the smaller table in the salon. “Abdullah’s made eggs Benedict this morning. I told you he was good.” He seated her, and before she could agree to the heavy breakfast, he called back to the galley. “Another one, Abdullah!”

  “Yes, thank you. That’ll be lovely,” she said, defeated. She glanced toward Kaia at the other side of the table, squinting in the sunlight on one side of her face. She seemed unusually cheerful, considering the continuous disagreements they’d been having, though the muffled sounds Joanna kept hearing from the forward cabin or from overhead were never clear enough to make out words. Thank God the quarrels seemed to be over.

  “Would you care for orange juice?” Kaia asked suddenly, holding a plastic pitcher over Joanna’s glass. “Abdullah squeezes it fresh but only on special occasions.”

  “Yes, thank you. Are we celebrating something?” That might explain the general cheer.

  “You could say so. Bernie is flying today to New York to hash out the final terms of a major contract. For a film called Tribulations.”

  Joanna searched her memory for a moment. “Isn’t that the series of novels about the end of the world where only the chosen are saved while the rest of the world suffers war and chaos?”

  “Yep, that’s the one,” Bernard said, shoveling a quarter of an English muffin and egg into his mouth. While he chewed, Kaia explained.

  “They want me to play Katherine, the adulterous wife left behind when angels gather up her husband and children.” Kaia slid the coffee pot toward Joanna, who poured herself a cup. Steam rose into the beam of sunlight that crossed the table.

  “Hmm, that does sound like the sort of role you usually play.”

  “Yeah, it’s another bad-girl role, like Delilah. Except this time, the good guys aren’t the Hebrews but the Christians. My career doesn’t really need a Christian movie, but they’re offering a huge fee, and money we can always use.”

  Bernard had finished chewing. “It’s a perfect role for you, Kaia. I’ve even made them expand it for you, write a bunch of new scenes. You can act your ass off, get yourself another Academy Award. Besides, two million bucks, after taxes, will soothe the embarrassment, I’m sure.”

  Nervously curling the end of her napkin, Kaia seemed a bit more uncertain. “Yes, you’re probably right.” She looked at her watch. “In any case, you’d better get going if you want to catch your flight. You know how busy it gets at the Hurghada airport this time of year.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me,” Bernie said, wiping his mouth. “But, yeah, I should be getting a move on. Egypt is great for vacationing, but unfortunately no one’s taught them how to run an airport.”

  He stood up from the table and bent over the railing of the staircase. “Jibril, hurry up with my suitcase, will you?” When he emerged dragging the cumbersome bag, Bernard groused, “What were you doing that took you so long?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he patted his pockets
, mumbling, “Wallet, passport, cigars…” Then he gave Kaia a perfunctory kiss. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for the big day,” he said, and strode through the glass door. He stopped and lit a cigar, then headed down the steps and out of sight. Jibril followed him struggling with the suitcase.

  Kaia visibly relaxed and poured herself another cup of coffee.

  “What did he mean by ‘big day’?” Joanna asked.

  “He was talking about my birthday, June 15.” She stirred in sugar. “We’re not planning a party or anything. There’s no one to party with, and that’s sort of the point—being away from the noise and fakery of the industry, I mean. I just didn’t want to turn fifty under spotlights, with a thousand people who hate me sending me congratulations on growing old.”

  “I understand. But June 15 is the opening of the exhibit. Perhaps you can celebrate a bit with us.”

  “That would be nice. Anyhow, you and I are on our own today. What would you like to do?”

  “Do? You mean other than loll around on a luxury yacht enjoying the sunshine? What are the alternatives?”

  “I was thinking of going into the water. Are you able to swim yet? I mean, do you still have any open wounds? Or are you nervous about sharks?”

  “I don’t remember the sharks, so I’m not worried about them. They don’t come around much unless there’s food, anyhow. As for my wounds…” Joanna touched the delicate skin on the side of her face. “This is closed, and so are the bites on my leg. I could use a nice swim. I hope you don’t mean here by the dock, though. The water’s pretty nasty.”

  “Oh, not here, of course. We can swim around some shallow reefs farther out. Don’t forget that we still have your fins from the day of the accident.”

  “Oh, that’s right. But I lost my mask that day. I’ve got to pick up a new one from the dive center.”

  “Don’t worry. We have lots of masks and snorkels lying around.”

  “Sounds like fun. I don’t have a bathing suit, but I suppose I can just swim in shorts and an undershirt.”

  “All right!” Kaia slid from the cushioned bench toward the pilot’s cabin and opened the door. “Hamad, we’re all fueled up, aren’t we? Good, as soon as Jibril gets back, unhook us from the dock and take us out to Shaab Abu Galawa, would you?”

  *

  As they drew close to the reef called Abu Galawa, Joanna could already see the plateau that formed its highest point. The bare tips of a few coral formations jutted out of the water, but all around just below the surface she could see the reds, greens, and browns of a living coral garden.

  Supporting herself on one side with her bird cane, she groped her way awkwardly down the stairs to the stern deck less than a meter above the water line. The midday sun was pleasantly warm, but she was self-conscious of the discoloration on her lower leg. She’d seen it often enough in the shower, but it must have come as a shock to Kaia.

  Kaia looked anxiously down at the damage. “Are you sure you’re up to swimming? I don’t want to push you. We can just as easily sit here and enjoy the sight.”

  Joanna surveyed the plateau. “Oh, no. I definitely want to swim. Obviously we need to stay away from the reef, but it should be fine around the edge. How strong is the current, I wonder?”

  “Don’t worry. Even if we do get pulled along, Hamad can swing the boat around and pick us up farther downstream. We’ve also got a dinghy he can hop into at a moment’s notice.”

  “You really trust these guys, don’t you?”

  “Of course Why not? They know their business.” Kaia unbuttoned her shirt and dropped her pedal pushers, and Joanna tried not to stare at the lithe golden-brown form in a two-piece emerald bathing suit. Only a slight thickness above the hips suggested the passing of youth to maturity.

  “I’m sure you’ll want these.” Kaia bent over the locker and pulled out Joanna’s battered yellow fins. I’ve been looking forward to the day when I could give them back to you.”

  “Me too.” Joanna wiggled her feet into them and examined the borrowed mask and attached snorkel. She spat onto the inside of both lenses and then washed them off with a quick spray from the deck hose. “It feels good to be back in uniform,” she said, ignoring the sting of the mask skirt on the fresh scar. “Ready when you are.”

  Kaia duplicated the routine and donned her own mask. “Off we go then.” They flapped in three penguin steps to the edge of the stern deck, nodded to each other, and leapt in unison overboard.

  Joanna was slightly chilled without a wetsuit but knew it wouldn’t matter for the short time they’d be snorkeling. She located Kaia next to her and let herself float leisurely with her face in the water, keeping the wall of the reef on their right side. Immediately a row of bright-yellow angelfish passed directly under them. A bit farther on a single black one with a garish yellow tail hovered, pursing its little fish mouth in a continuous and soundless oh…oh…oh.

  Gaining courage, Joanna began to take shallow thirty-second dives, experiencing the familiar joy of being under water. It was also pleasing to know that Kaia hovered close by, keeping an eye on her.

  She dove again, corkscrewing in the water, and Kaia followed. Like two sea creatures they circled each other, though Kaia, frog kicking gracefully with her hair streaming back, seemed the more mermaid of the two. What a shame she’s masked, Joanna thought. Those wonderful full lips distended by the snorkel.

  Kaia swam under her suddenly and Joanna dove after her. Kaia was on the sea floor some three meters below, peering over the edge of the shelf into a crevice. Joanna swam closer, tracing the line of the crevice clearly visible in the crystalline waters. It spread downward to a deep drop-off and then to a sort of channel. With a jolt, Joanna recalled another crevice, and memories crashed in on her. She backed away and allowed herself to drift to the surface.

  Kaia emerged a few feet away from her and spat out the snorkel. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s…the crevice. I remember now, what happened just before the sharks.” She turned onto her back, closed her eyes against the afternoon sun, and tried to relax, letting the water support her. But the details began to crowd in with no particular order, and the deep water seemed more menacing.

  “Can we go back? I’m sorry. I just need to rest a little and sort things out. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. I never meant for us to stay in very long, and I’m getting cold anyhow.”

  They hadn’t drifted far, and after a short swim they arrived at the boat. The fishbone ladder accommodated Kaia’s fins, and she climbed up first. But after a single useless lurch, Joanna realized she wasn’t yet up to ladders. She struggled halfway up with her hands and one good leg, until Kaia and Abdullah lifted her under her arms and hauled her aboard. She stood there for a moment, her shorts dripping, and Abdullah handed her one of the several thick towels he’d brought.

  “If you can make it up to the sun deck, we can lie on the cushions and dry out. It’s a great place to take a nap.” Kaia was already pulling on a shirt.

  “Sun deck, yes. That would be good.” Ridding herself of fins and mask, and retrieving her cane and shirt, she labored up the staircase to the salon and then to the upper deck.

  Kaia had dragged foam mattresses into the shade of the canopy, and Joanna dropped down gratefully onto one of them. The sun-soaked pad was warm to the touch, and for a blissful moment her cold back absorbed the delicious heat. “Ah, so good,” she breathed.

  “Yes, but sunlight isn’t,” Kaia commented next to her and she pulled a white plastic tube from some pocket. “You’ll be needing this, even in the shade.” She squirted a glob of cream onto her palm and smeared it gently on Joanna’s cheek.

  Joanna closed her eyes as Kaia’s fingers slid across her nose to the other cheek, then along her chin. The gentle touch both paralyzed her and sent a sudden burst of hot moisture between her legs. But the hand stopped and returned to the tube. “You should also put some on your legs. Otherwise you’ll roast,” Kaia said, and
offered her the tube.

  Joanna was embarrassed by the triteness of her arousal. The applying-suntan-lotion scenario was just as clichéd and trashy as the “oh, let me give you a massage” fantasy, and she hoped her blush wasn’t obvious. Averting her eyes, she slathered the cream on her forearms and legs and lay back on the mattress, pretending indifference.

  Next to her, Kaia finished oiling her own skin but remained upright. After tucking away the tube of cream, she produced a massive loose-leaf book and began to read.

  Joanna rolled onto her side and supported her head on her palm. “That looks ponderous. What are you reading, The History of Everything?”

  Kaia chuckled. “If only it were. Unfortunately, it’s the script for Tribulations, the movie Bernie is hanging on me. If I’m going to agree to this crap, I might as well start learning it. I’m looking at the scenes that he made them add. Katherine arguing with the angels about world suffering.”

  “Does she win the argument?”

  “Of course she doesn’t. Her argument is shut down the way it always is, by the God-has-a-plan answer.”

  “Yeah, I recognize that one. Suffering is to teach us a lesson, and in the end, everything will prove to have a meaning because God’s plan is good. The simplest sort of tautology.”

  Kaia peered over the top of her sunglasses. “I’m not sure what a tautology is, but I’d call it a cop-out.”

  “A tautology is an argument that simply repeats the premise, so it turns on itself. Like God is good and everything He creates is good so anything that looks bad can’t be from God because God is good. In other words, you’re right. It’s a logical cop-out.”

  “Oh, yes. Now I remember. It’s the logic of ‘I hate spinach and I’m glad I hate it because if I didn’t hate spinach, I’d eat it, and I hate it!’” She laughed at her own joke. “Besides, the angels they’ve written in here give me the creeps. They have such soothing speeches about love and redemption, while they’re condemning billions of people to suffering.”