Picture in the Sand by Peter Blauner

Author:Peter Blauner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

It was dusk by the time we got back to Cairo. Sunlight had just faded on the Nile, replaced by the cherry neon flash of a Coca-Cola sign on the black rippling surface. We had taken a byzantine route back from the desert to make sure we hadn’t been followed. We made a stop at a butcher shop in Faiyum to deliver the remains of the calf who had to give her life in order for me to demonstrate my loyalty. Then we continued to the city and the professor’s houseboat, rocking gently on the evening current.

I heard him speaking in the main cabin as I stepped off the dock, his voice high and straining with didacticism as if he were back in the classroom. But as I stepped through the beaded curtains into his salon, with Mustafa and the others right behind me, I was brought up short.

A camera had been set up in the living room. Professor Farid sat erect and a little overwhelmed by the large pillows on his couch while Raymond filmed him and Mona held out a boom microphone.

“Yes, the title of this song was truly ‘Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.’” My teacher wagged a finger, the sound of his pained outrage filling the cabin. “I could not believe my own eyes when I saw the film. Not just base animal lust, but pure material desire! Sung by this blond harlot in a hot-pink gown that barely covered her breasts. I ask you, what could more epitomize the diseased foreign state that’s trying to impose its will on the peoples it hopes to subjugate? We’ve given the world the pyramids, the library at Alexandria, the temples of Karnak and Luxor, and what do you give us? Marilyn Monroe! You see? This is why we resist you.”

His voice trailed off as he glanced toward those of us just arriving.

“Cut.” Raymond took his eye from the viewfinder. “I think we got it that time. Mona, don’t bother with the slate. We’re ready to check the gate and pack up.”

“What is this?” I asked.

It was as confusing as walking in on the middle of a feature or finding a Christmas tree in the middle of the Al-Hussein Mosque’s courtyard. These things simply could not coexist. Especially not when I had Mustafa, Osman, and Ramzy at my back, eager for an excuse to take me back out to the Western Desert again.

“Mr. DeMille wanted us to include as much of Egypt as possible,” Raymond said with a sporting shrug. “He thought Professor Farid would appreciate having the Ikhwan Muslimin point of view represented in the documentary.”

“He’s been very impressive,” Mona added. “Especially as a counterpoint to what we already have.”

“Excellent.” I nodded, with a sickly smile.

The floor rocked beneath us, from the wake of a passing motorboat. Who could have possibly suggested that this was a good idea? Yes, I could imagine DeMille thinking he might placate and flatter a troublesome critic by putting him in front of a camera.

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