The heat today is fiercer than usual, even though we're almost at the end of autumn. The scent of lemon blossom steals from the gardens, but all we can see over the tops of the walls is the fans of the palm fronds, whose pointed ends gleam in the sun like arrows.
Mahmoud rode his donkey with his head bowed and eyes closed. He was still in a better mood than on many days. I hoped he would hold on and not suddenly change, as he usually did.
'Why are you silent, Mahmoud?' I called out.
He lifted his head towards me and laughed in an irritated way, pointing to his legs, as though to say, 'What can I say when I'm like this?'
He's right. He isn't at ease on his donkey. His feet are almost touching the ground so he has to bend his long legs. He's been embarrassed to ride a donkey comfortably, with his legs dangling on either side, since we were told that they allow that method here only for women. Why? Especially when the opposite would be the more logical! As though this was the only thing I don't understand here!
As we drew close to Gouba Spring, I shouted, 'We're almost there. Alexander the Great and his entourage passed this way and were entranced by this spring. They knew it as the "Spring of the Sun", perhaps because of the many suns that multiply on its surface, as you can see.'
Mahmoud shouted back, 'I've been by it and seen it often before. Now I can't see a thing, though. The sun is blinding me.'
We said nothing more until we reached the temple and Ibraheem, who had preceded us there, came towards us. Mahmoud shouted to him as he got down from his donkey and helped me to alight, 'Quick, Ibraheem. Bring us water to drink,' and Ibraheem ran off in the direction of the spring.
I followed with my eye the boy who had been running behind us and saw him take the halters of the two donkeys and move towards the nearest palm tree in front of the temple.
Mahmoud took off his round helmet and started wiping the sweat off his face and head with a large handkerchief. His eyes roamed over the temple, in the midst of whose ruins were piled large stones that had fallen during the earthquake at the beginning of the century, as I had read in the books. With a wan smile, he said, 'Here's the whole site laid out before you. Try to make up for what you couldn't do last Friday.'
He couldn't wait, however. He said, 'Excuse me,' and ran off in the same direction as Ibraheem.
I raised the parasol over my head and stood, contemplating the little temple, or what remained of it. There was the stone gateway, or outer portal, which the earthquake had split in two halves that were still joined by the stones of the ceiling, most of which had also collapsed. Inside, the remains of walls divided the temple into halls, of which little evidence remained except ruined pillars and floors paved with white stones among which sprouted weeds.
However dilapidated the temple, it was in a much better state than the Temple of the Oracle, which had been converted into dwellings and kitchens. The drawings and hieroglyphs were still visible on the walls.
The parasol wasn't helping me at all, so I went into the temple and sat on one of the stones in the shade of the lofty portal. No call to be stubborn about it — the heat today was insupportable, but what was to be done when Mahmoud insisted that I not wander about in the heart of the oasis on my own and that my morning outings be with him, on his day of rest? Perhaps I could start today by reading the inscriptions written on the fallen stones, for there was no means for me to read what was written at the top of the gateway. On the other hand, how was this ancient ruin supposed to help me in my search for something that had happened centuries after it had been built? I hung my hope on the custom of the Egyptians, in which they were imitated by the Greeks, of adding elements to the temples of their ancestors and, even more importantly, of adding writings and inscriptions. And I would depend even more on luck.
If only someone would guide me to something, anything! Who? For example, that boy who was sitting opposite me under the shade of a palm tree guarding the two donkeys. I could teach him and make him my friend, and he could guide me to places I didn't know about. His bright eyes spoke of intelligence, but he himself didn't utter a word. And that other boy, the one with his face covered, who was hovering around the temple with his donkey, coming a little closer as though he were watching me and then moving away again; when he came next to the temple gate I waved to him but he turned his donkey's neck to one side and hurried off, as though in flight, in the direction of Aghurmi. Why did he approach and why did he flee? What made him fear me?
I had to try something!
I gestured to the boy who was sitting under the palm and called out in a loud voice, 'Boy!' He got up and started looking around him. Then he came hesitantly towards me. When he stood in front of me, I noticed profuse sweat dripping from his brow and saw the pallor and exhaustion in his face. Of course! How could he be strong enough to run the whole way in this heat, which Mahmoud and I could barely stand when mounted? But it was he who had insisted.
'Good morning!' I said to him. 'Good morning,' he responded, with a forced smile. Not bad! Even if he was making fun of me, we had broken a barrier. And now, how to proceed?
I made a circular movement with my hand to indicate the remains of the temple and asked him in Arabic, 'Have you gone inside?' He stood looking at my face with astonishment and incomprehension, so I got up and led him to a wall that still retained lovely carvings of the ancient gods. I pointed to a beautifully shaped image of the goddess Isis coloured in blue and red and asked him in the simplest Arabic possible, 'Nice?' His face darkened and he snatched his hand violently from mine. Then he spat on the image, saying angrily, 'Unbelievers!', turned around quickly and, almost falling over, ran away from the temple and sat down again in his original place.
I continued to stand there, overwhelmed by frustration and embarrassment at myself, but still made a mental note: 'So "unbelievers" is another word that's common to both languages.'
I too went back to my place in the shade of the gate.
It was hopeless. No one was going to extend a hand to me. I apologize, my dear Isis, for this indignity. I apologize, Alexander. I don't know where or how to begin.
I had lost all my enthusiasm for work and the search and for the visit itself. Mahmoud would be happy to go home early, so why not?
'Haven't you started your rounds yet?'
I was startled to find Mahmoud in front of me with Ibraheem beside him, holding out to me an earthenware pot brimming with water, which I drank to the last drop. He had washed his face and put a large white handkerchief, which he had soaked in water, on his head.
He turned to address Ibraheem and said, 'Go back and sit in the shade.'
Looking at me, and with the sweat running in the wrinkles of his lined brown face, Ibraheem said, 'Perhaps you or the madame will need me for something, Excellency.'
'Thank you, Ibraheem,' I said. 'If I need you, I'll call you.' Then I pointed to the boy sitting with his legs drawn up to his chest opposite me under the palm tree and watching me.
'And tell that boy to go with you too and rest over there. I don't want him in my view all the time!'
I saw Ibraheem bend over the boy and speak to him, but the boy shook his head and didn't get up and go off with him. In fact, he stretched out on the ground and lay on his side, putting his hand under his head, while Ibraheem went back on his own in the direction of the spring.