Sunset Oasis

Fortunately, Fiona is not aware of any of this. In her innocence, she cannot imagine that her sister's husband could fall in love with her. Her imagination would be incapable of grasping the idea even if I were to tell her that what had been between Mahmoud and me was over. I'm just waiting for her to be cured, or for her condition to improve, and hoping that during this period I can get somewhere in my search. In any case, I shall leave with her. That is a final decision. I shall have done with everything concerning Mahmoud, Maleeka, this oasis, Egypt and its people. All that will be behind me soon.

I took advantage of a ray of sun that entered the main room and started reading what the historian Arrian wrote about the last days of Alexander; he, like me, was enthralled by Alexander. He isn't one of those who criticize him harshly for what he did during his wars. Rather, he sees the greatness in the Macedonian king's character. I changed my place every few minutes to catch the daylight that filtered in through the window. Then I heard Fiona's footsteps.

She stood at the entrance to the main room, wearing her winter clothes and with a woollen mantle over her shoulders. She looked a little rested this morning compared to yesterday. I think I did the right thing when I insisted on her moving to a room on the ground floor, with us. This had spared her the effort of climbing the stairs to the upper floor. She sat down next to me and pointed at the book, saying, 'Am I interrupting your work?'

I smiled and held it out to her, saying, 'It's a book I've read many times before. I almost know it by heart.' She took it and looked at the cover. 'Another book about Alexander? I read it too, in my father's library. I know you're interested in Alexander because of what happened to him in this oasis, but why all these books? What do you find so fascinating about him?'

'His tomb!'

Fiona laughed out loud. 'His tomb? I thought what interested you was his life, not his corpse! Besides, I've read a lot about him and I don't like what he did at all. He spilt a great deal of blood and destroyed many cities. What he did at Tyre on Mount Lebanon is a sufficient example. It made His High and Mightiness very annoyed that its people should resist his attack on the city and that he should be obliged to lay siege to it for a long time before he broke through its defences. So he killed thousands of its people, by slaughter and crucifixion.'

'I know that and all the rest, Fiona. But I was thinking before you came that he did great things as well as committing those massacres. He built new cities everywhere and tried after invading Asia to unite East and West.'

'Naturally! To unite them as slaves in his empire! Have you ever heard of an empire that didn't proclaim noble goals? Don't the British today say that the mission of their empire is to spread civilization and its benefits to the world? Just take a look at this civilization, steeped in blood from Egypt to India to I don't know where!'

I didn't want to get into an argument with her. Her mood always worsens when the conversation turns to something that reminds her of the British and their massacres in Ireland, and especially Connaught, our province, on which the British declared open war time and again.

'Anyway,' I said,'I'm not interested in his empire or his wars, with which many historians have already busied themselves. I'm preoccupied with his tomb, as I told you. He asked to be buried here in Siwa but they buried him in Alexandria, so where is his tomb there?'

She replied with astonishment, 'Millions of tombs of the mighty and the poor alike have been destroyed and disappeared with the passing of the years, so what's strange about Alexander's grave being one of them?'

'The strange thing about it is that we've found many tombs and relics of ordinary Greeks in Alexandria but we haven't found a stone or any other trace giving the slightest indication of the whereabouts of the sepulchre of their king, the man who built the city, and whose sepulchre, or temple, the historians say was the heart of Alexandria, and which emperors, poets and many famous people visited when they went there out of simple curiosity, or to come into contact with his divine grace.'

Fiona knitted her brows and thought for a while. Then she said, 'You're right. I remember now that I once heard you discussing the matter with my father, and I think he supposed that the tomb must have sunk into the sea after the earthquake that struck the coast, isn't that so? But he didn't deny that Alexander was buried in Alexandria.'

'And nor do I, but I ask myself why every trace of him has disappeared there.'

I explained to Fiona my idea about the possibility of Alexander's body having been removed secretly from the city that he built to the oasis that he had wanted to be his last resting place.

Fiona recovered her smile and said, 'If you think they hid his grave here, then let him rest in peace, Catherine. There's no need for us to go digging him or his memory up. We have plenty of his like and inheritors of his mantle!'

I smiled too as I told her, 'You needn't worry at all. I'll never disturb his rest wherever he may be. I'm not mad and I'm not searching for his sepulchre or grave. That is a search that needs many men and a lot of money, which I don't have. All I'm looking for is evidence — no, even just a pointer. I'm thinking of a paper I might publish with some convincing evidence, so that others can go on with the work.'

'Maybe I didn't understand properly, Catherine. Did you say you're looking for evidence that would support your theory?'

'Yes.'

'How, then, did you reach your conclusion?'

'By intuition.'

'But they taught us at school not to reach a conclusion until we had evidence, and you're starting the other way round. You've imagined the conclusion and now you're looking for the evidence for it. Don't you find that strange?'

'No. Many discoveries have come about thanks to such craziness.'

'And much craziness has led to nothing but more craziness!'

She was laughing but stopped suddenly and said in a serious tone, 'Forgive me, Catherine. I was joking, of course. Pay no attention to what I say and go on with your work.'

'Of course I understand that you're joking and I'll never give up my work. I'll never ever give it up.'

Then, on a whim, I asked her suddenly, 'Tell me, though, why did you give up Michael?'

I regretted the words as soon as I'd said them but it was too late.

She was taken aback and looked at me for a while before saying, 'Why don't you let Michael lie in peace too? He's in a world where he's not bothered by the things that bother us.'

'Sorry. I didn't mean it.'

She was silent again, thinking. 'That business causes you a lot of disquiet, Catherine. You raised it with me before you got married and I answered you, so will it help you with anything now if I tell you, yes, I loved Michael? And of what use is this conversation now? Weren't we both there for him to choose from and didn't he choose you, and didn't I agree of my own free will? Why aren't you satisfied with that?'

I didn't answer, so she went on, 'But I will tell you that I was astonished when you agreed to marry Michael. Why did you agree when you didn't love him?'

'I don't know, but I paid the price.'

'And so did he.'

'He made my life hell. He never stopped quarrelling.'

'I witnessed one of those quarrels. He was criticizing your translation of the Greek in an article, I believe. He said there were mistakes in your translation, and you replied that he was jealous of you.'

'Indeed. He was jealous of me.'

'So let's forget all of that past, then. The important thing now is that you love Mahmoud, isn't it? Your long letters before and after you were married made me very happy. I gathered from them that you'd at last found a man you truly loved, as he did you. Was I wrong?'