Facing Cerebus

            The driver looked intently at me again and spoke slowly in Arabic as I strained to understand the words that meant nothing to me.  Beside me, Penelope was jammed up against the truck’s door pretending to be asleep.  Her legs were pulled up in the fetal position to try and stop the pain of her churning stomach, and now I was sure she was getting frustrated as hell with my conversation with the driver.  The radio put out a steady high pitched hum as it tuned in on an English speaking program that was mostly out of reach and was cut off every five seconds with bursts of static.  The driver, pleased that he found an English program for our enjoyment, was happy to ignore the crackle and pop of the station.  I could sense that Giza was right over the horizon waiting for us.

            The car started jumping around as both the driver’s and my gaze looked back at where the road had disappeared from in front of the car.  Even with only the dim glow of the dashboard lights, Penelope’s knuckles showed up white on the door’s handle, but she didn’t even budge.  The driver noticed and smiled.

“Ta'baan.”  Tired.

            I nodded.  “Aywa.”  I felt a small nudge from Penelope and knew she was awake.

            The driver attempted to explain something consequential to me again, apologizing for not knowing many English words.  He took a deep breath and started again.

            “Car,” he said and patted the dashboard.

            I nodded.  In the typical Egyptian male fashion I thought he was merely boasting of his car.  “Toyota, kwayyis.”  Toyota good.

            “Not mine.  Bolice.” 

            There is no “p” in the Arabic language and it is often changed to a “b” whenever it’s convenient.  I looked at him quizzically, but nodded again as he looked back at the road and put us back on course as he searched desperately for words.

            “Not mine.  Not bolice, but—” he said again as he waved his hand in circles trying for a new word. 

            I decided to help him along.  “Army?  Military?”

            “Ah yes!  I army.  Car army,” he said and smiled with relief before becoming serious.   “No people in car.  You no in car.  Giza checkpoint.”  He pointed at us, then up the road into the future.

            I was getting an idea and was beginning to worry about the rest of our trip home.  I hadn’t realized that we were being given a ride in an army car.  There were no markings of anything military looking to tip us off, and our friend we had only known for two weeks back in Baharia must not have found it important enough to tell us.  For only fifteen pounds we could get to Cairo, but he failed to explain that we would be stopping in the middle of the night at numerous military installations and not completely understanding why.  Now, in the middle of the Western desert we were being told that we were not supposed to be in the car.  If Penelope was following this conversation, I knew she would sit up quickly to yell at the driver.       “No!  How will we get to Cairo?” I protested.  No way we were going to be dumped in the desert just so this guy could get through a checkpoint.

            He raised his hands in protest, and the car edged back towards the desert.  “No, no, no, no.  I go to Cairo.  Giza Army," he paused as he searched for words, “mish kwayyis.” Not good.

            Penelope “woke up,” saving me from my poor attempt at conversation.  “What’s he talking about?”

            “We’re not allowed in the car.  It’s military and so is he, but we aren’t and therefore not allowed to be riding with him in this car.”

            The driver smiled feebly and nodded, while awaiting Penelope’s reaction.  All she did was shake her head.  How the hell were we going to get past this?

            He spoke to Penelope in Arabic, pausing until she grunted in acknowledgment of understanding—which I saw as a clear indication that she was upset.  I sat and waited for the worst of it.

            “He said that we can’t be seen with him in this car because it’s the military’s car.      There’s a checkpoint at Giza, and if we’re caught with him, he’ll get in trouble,” Penelope said, then went back to speaking to the driver.

            I watched the road drift back and forth as they tried to each get their points across: We couldn’t be in the car; there was no way in hell that we were getting out of the car. 

            The radio crackled and continued its high-pitched squeal.  My hands were resting on my knees close to the knobs of the radio.  I looked at him and nodded my head as if understanding what he was saying, and my hand flew to the knobs and turned the radio down a fraction.  He didn’t notice, and the glow on the horizon grew brighter.  The road became better paved and split to form a median juxtapositioned by a raised garden and sidewalk—the first indication of people living nearby.  It was a small attempt at taming the desert in the controlled environment between two colliding highways. 

            The car slowed, and pulled over to the side of the road under the dark looming shadow of a tall, brick wall of the military complex.  Did we need to deliver more vegetables?  We sat there as Penelope and the driver continued to argue in broken English and Arabic sentences.

            Penelope switched back into English.  “He says he can let one of us stay in the car with him, but the other has to get out and walk across the desert to the other side of the check point.”

            I looked out at the star-lit landscape that looked even more barren than the moon.  Cars flew passed us and followed the road to the right, passing out of sight behind the military base’s imposing wall.

            “Pen, apparently he isn’t going to budge from this spot until one of us gets out and walks across.”

            “What if the guards see you and pick you up?”

            “Me?  When was this decided?” I asked, shocked.

            “I don’t care who it is, it’s not safe.”

            The driver sat there and smiled at us, apologizing over and over.  I looked at my watch: eleven-thirty.  I was tired and in pain from all the food we had eaten that day and only wanted to get home to a hot shower and familiar bed.  I looked over at the driver, who apologized again. 

            “Fein?”  Where?

            He pointed to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. “Alla tuul.”  Straight ahead.

            I contemplated his directions, and looked at the noticeable bend in the road and wondered how the hell he was going to pick me up if the road went to the right and not straight ahead.  I pointed at the road and indicated the right turn it made.  “Yemeen.” 

            He understood well enough, and with complex hand gestures that angled right before swaying back towards an upright position indicated that the road curved back before turning left onto the main highway.  One hundred meters ahead of us was the cross road that led to Giza—I just couldn’t see them meeting up.

            “I’ll go,” I said quietly, putting my full trust into this stranger whom we had known for only five hours now.  I wasn’t so much worried for myself, but more worried for Penelope and would she be able to make it past the guards at the checkpoint while being in this car.  If they get stopped, how long would I be left in the desert before I had to start walking towards Giza?

            Penelope opened the door, her eyes, pleading for something easier—anything, and got out.  I took one last look at the driver, pointed at the far road, and said, “hinaak?”  There?

            He nodded gratefully, seemingly ready to hug and kiss me for doing this for him.  “Aywa.”

            I looked at Penelope who stood there helplessly.  Why did I feel like I was going away on a long trip?

            “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said quietly and gave my hand a little squeeze.

            She got back in the car, and I waited for them to get back on the road before looking for a break in the cars to cross the street.  At least I was wearing a white shirt so that I would show up before the speeding motorists hit me.        

            As I watched the car gather speed and turn the corner, the solitude of the desert hit me.  The desert was an unbelievably huge expanse of land that stretches across all of northern Africa making geological borders.  It seemed to triple in size as I started off on my hike across only an insignificant portion of it.  Surrounded on all sides by hidden hostilities that seem inert, the ground still radiates little heat from the day, as the surrounding air is cool and uncaring.  This was nowhere I wanted to be right now.  Behind me the desert stretched on with ghosts of past attempts of journeys within its solitude.  Now, all the land between here and there is prime military training area overrun with tanks and transports, speckled with camps and outposts, and barren of most plant life.  Only the Bedouin that trek with camel caravans across its scorching sands seem to have free reign of its territory.  And now before me was a short walk to get back home that seemed like it could take even longer than the drive here.

            As I walked across the desert highway, it hit me worse than the cold:  I was wearing a white shirt that I was sure the guards could easily see from their posts at the complex or the check-point.  

            The raised garden came up to my waist, and I could look at the different plants—mostly planted shrubs that could withstand the desert conditions and still look nice to the cars that pass by every day. The retaining wall was made from volcanic rock, cemented together and resistant to the never-ending assault of sand during the windy months of the khamsiin winds.  It was surprising to see such verdant and resilient plants after the miles of seemingly endless rock-choked dunes of the desert.

            After a hot day, the night air seemed cool.  “I should’ve brought my jacket,” I mumbled to myself as I stumbled over the uneven cracks of the pavement.  I pulled up short as I realized the worst—my passport was settled snugly next to Penelope’s in her pack.  If they were stopped and she needed to show her passport, would they notice an extra one laying next to hers?  My pack was also sitting next to hers, and wouldn’t they be suspicious of two packs for only one person.  She would have some explaining to do.  “I should’ve thought of bringing more than just my jacket,” I said to no one particular.  The response was a dog beginning to bark and snarl in the distance.

             “Shit!”  I looked towards the sounds, but couldn’t see anything other than piles of construction rubble dotting the rocky desert.  Wild, rabid dogs were not things I was looking forward to meeting.  I quickly scanned the ground as I quickened my pace, stopping only to pick up a few palm-sized rocks.  I was worried that the dogs might warn the guards of my presence, but I continued to walk towards the Giza highway.  I could see the checkpoint and tried to remember exactly how the truck looked.  If Penelope and the driver had reached it, I couldn’t see them.  To the right, the Desert highway paralleled the Giza highway before they collided together.  I didn’t know how far down it went before turning, or how easy it was for the driver to get across.  The road was busy, but that never stopped anyone here from crossing streets.

            The sidewalk ended at a dark ditch.  I hoped there wasn’t any water in it, curious of its purpose and worried it was a sewage ditch.  I shuffled down towards its murky bottom and when I couldn’t see into it any further, I took a leap of faith and cleared most of the bottom.  I expected a splashing, but only hit soft grass.  I clambered up the other side.

            Cars flew past me with startling nearness.  I took an involuntary step backwards, sliding back into the bottom of the ditch, cursing the whole way down.  I cursed the uncertain lineages of all drivers and cars in Egypt as I scrambled back to the top of the ditch again.  When a break in the traffic opened up the highway, I sprinted across the road, surprised at my speed after a long, cramped ride in the car.

            A dog’s barking grew louder as I further invaded their territory.  I crouched down to see if there were any dogs skylined against the glow of the distant lights.  I couldn’t see them, but that wouldn’t stop anything knee high that would want to rip my face off.  I quickly stood up while the barking grew louder, still desperately searching for rocks.  Someone’s going to hear that.  Cars sped past and I began to wonder how long it had been.  Where were Penelope and the driver, and had they already passed by looking for me?  Had he gone on without me, and if so, what was Penelope saying or doing to him at this moment?  The only answers I had were car lights flying past me, and no one was slowing down to pick me up.

            I looked at my watch but I wasn’t sure when I had been dropped off.  Time was passing slowly and I was at a loss for what to do.  I walked further down the road, towards the barking dogs, and stumbling over chunks of pavement that had fractured from their core and had begun to move into the desert.  With only wraith-like shadows that dodged through shadows and highlights, dogs began to emerge from the dark, unsettled by my presence.  I pick one out in the gloom, a lighter shade than the others.  I threw a rock to scare it off.  “Imshi,” I hissed at it.  Get away.  The dog jumped in a little circle and continued to bark at me.  I scanned almost a complete one hundred and eighty angle to see where the dogs were, relieved to only find them between Giza and me.

            I thought that maybe I should walk to the checkpoint and check to see if they passed through.  I looked at my watch again, noticing that only five minutes had elapsed since I last looked.  Hesitantly, I walked back towards the checkpoint, trying to work this out in my mind, but turning around to make sure no dogs were sneaking up for a posterior attack.  How many cars can make it through a checkpoint per minute?  If a car carrying Penelope left Henry at point A, and cruised up to a check point before continuing, at what time should Henry and Penelope meet at point B and where would that be?

            Ten minutes?  Where could they be?  I began to doubt my watch, wondering if it had begun to run down.  I spotted a couple more nice-sized rocks and picked them up, doubling my arsenal against the dogs.  A few more cars passed by, none the one that I want.

            About one hundred and fifty yards away from the checkpoint, I stopped, afraid to go on any further.  As each car passed, I strained to see past the headlights at the drivers and the type of car before it passed, ready to jump out and stop the one carrying Penelope so that the walk back to Cairo wouldn’t be as long.  A cool breeze blew and I began to shiver.  If Henry walked from point B to point C, would he generate enough warmth by running from the dogs to stay alive?

            I stopped myself with that thought and laughed.  This was so unbelievably hopeless that there was nothing really significant to worry about.  Either I was going to sleep with the dogs tonight, or Penelope and the driver were going to be by any minute.  Fifteen minutes had passed, and I still hadn’t found them.  I didn’t know how long I should wait before leaving, and if I were to leave, which direction  would be the best?  If I went towards the checkpoint, then I would definitely be questioned, but positive catch a ride with the next service taxi that stopped.  If I walked towards Giza, then I wouldn’t know when or where to turn, much less how much longer it would take to reach the city.  If I made it to the checkpoint, I knew that they would be curious on why I was so far out without a ride, and I didn’t really have an answer.  With finality I turned around and began walking towards Giza again, but occasionally looking back at the cars that flew past, silently hoping that each would stop for me.  And then there was a break in the cars, and I could see the cars lined up at the checkpoints, impatient cars, and trucks edging as close as they can in an unsettled fight to be the first who goes through.  The desert enfolded me within, and the dogs began to bark anew.

            I walked as far as I dared towards Giza and the dogs, keeping a wary eye out for both them and the truck.  I was clearly invading their turf, and wasn’t welcome in the slightest.  Whether they would do something to correct the situation, I wasn’t sure, but I was worried all the same.  The edge of the pavement lay worn and cracked at my feet, a testament to the patience and unforgiving nature of the desert.  A few of the smaller pieces I picked up and hurled in rapid succession towards the dogs that only watched them fall short of their positions.  Maybe I would even be more accurate they ever decided to get closer.  In a hollow depression in the desert, I saw another dog barking and turning circles in irritation, clearly mad that I was on their turf.     

            The dam broke and cars began to come past me again, and I began to hope that Penelope and the driver would soon be pulling up beside me.  I looked at my watch and counted the minutes passing with painful slowness.  Headlights burned away the darkness as they came by slowly, time being counted by each pounding of my heart.  I turned to face them as a truck pulled up in front of me.  I strained to see past the headlights into the dark interior of the cab.  There were two possibilities:  Guards, or my ride.  Each would have been a relief, but Penelope and the driver by themselves were the preferred option.  As it drew beside me, I could see the outline of a truck, but with the darkened cab, I couldn’t tell who was in it.  The door opened and Penelope jumped out.

            “Oh hi, Honey,” she said, half relieved that the ordeal was over, but also annoyed. “I don’t know what you were thinking, standing so close to the checkpoint.  I could see you clearly, and I’m surprised that none of the guards could see you!  They were even more curious about your passport, but I pretended to be ignorant until they grew tired of asking about it.”

            Behind her the driver was impatiently gesturing for us to get back into the truck.  “Yella biina!”  Let’s go!

            I jumped back into the cab, and Penelope followed, closing the door as the driver started rolling. 

            I nudged her with my arm.  “I wasn’t worried.”

            The cab was comfortably warm after the cool air of the desert.  The driver got back on the road and picked up speed as he cut off a couple of cars.  I looked him, his face a little more relaxed, if not tired from the long drive.  “Lo samat?  Giza alla tuul?”  Mister?  Is Giza ahead?

            He turned and smiled at me, once again at ease and held up his hand with upturned fingers pinched together in a gesture of patience.  “Bada shwaiya.”  After a little while.

            I leaned back in my seat and finally relaxed.  “al hamdu li-lah!”  Praise be to God!

            He cackled merrily as he shifted gears, the tension in us all left behind for the dogs to chew on as it fell into the pitted asphalt, and he echoed my response with zealous conviction.

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