“Because that’s where we want to go. Gebel Umm is what we want to photograph.” He gestured with the camera.
“I take you much better place, up here.” The large man pressed his finger on the mountains to the northwest of Shalateen. “There are caves, paintings on rock, big dunes, mountains, famous ruined mosque. Nothing in Hala’ib. Many snake. Khazraj Bedouin, maybe. You go here.” He stubbornly tapped his finger again to the north. “Famous Umayyad mosque ruins. Make good photograph!”
Gideon realized this was going nowhere. “Will you take us to Gebel Umm or not?”
After a long hesitation the man shook his head. “I am sorry. Too dangerous.”
Back out in the hot sun, Gideon squinted down the avenue that led among the camel dealers. “Try the next one?”
The same thing happened at that one, and the next, and the next. It was always the same story: Too dangerous. Snake. Sandstorm. No water.
They finally ended up at the far end of the camel market, beside the road headed into the desert. This establishment had the shabbiest tent of the lot and six scruffy camels tethered nearby. The tent was the only one without air-conditioning, and unlike the other dealerships, there was no boy to rush out and greet them as they approached.
Gideon grasped the opening of the tent. “Anyone home?”
A moment later a skinny man with a long beard came bursting through the flap. It looked as if he had just woken up. A few strands of hay were caught in his beard, and his smile revealed a row of red-stained teeth and lips. The other camel dealers had been friendly, but this man was positively voluble. After a brief hesitation, Gideon offered his hand. “Gideon Crew. This is Manuel Garza. We’re looking for camels.”
“Ibrahim Mekky at your service!” The man seized Gideon’s hand and began shaking it endlessly.
“Nice to meet you,” Gideon finally said, extracting his hand.
“We have the best camels here. They are not pretty, but they are tough!” Gideon was startled to hear the man speak excellent English with what sounded like the trace of a New York accent.
Mekky gave his beard a little shake to get the hay out. “Come, come have tea!” He gestured toward his dark and no doubt hellishly hot tent. After he issued the invite, he leaned over and spat a stream of red juice and fiber into the sand. He had evidently been chewing something.
“No, thank you,” said Gideon, “we’ve had too much tea already. We can deal out here.”
“Very good.”
“You speak English well, Mr. Mekky.”
“That’s because I lived in Queens. Astoria. Very nice there! I love America!” Another red-stained smile.
Gideon was roasting in the sun and didn’t want to waste more time chitchatting. He pulled out his map. “We want to go here. To the base of Gebel Umm.”
Mekky took the map and squinted at it. “Why there? If you go north—”
“No!” Garza interrupted. “We’re going to Gebel Umm. We don’t want to hear about rock paintings and ruined mosques.”
“Fine,” said Mekky, backing down with a smile, once again exposing his startling beet-red teeth. “No problem. We will go to Gebel Umm. I will guide you.”
“You’ll take us there and leave us. And then you’ll come back to get us in—” Gideon looked at Garza, made a quick estimation. “Two weeks. How well do you know the area?”
“Very well! We will need three camels for riding, two camels for packing. It will take four days, maybe five. What is the purpose of your trip?”
“I’m a writer,” said Gideon. “He’s a photographer. We work for National Geographic.”
“Ah! National Geographic! Wonderful! For you, I have special friend National Geographic price—”
“Just tell us the damn amount,” said Garza.
Mekky reached into a leather bag dangling inside his galabeya and removed a green nut. “May I offer you betel nut? It is always good to share betel nut before doing business.”
“No, thank you,” said Garza.
Mekky placed the nut in his mouth, cracked it with his teeth, tossed away the shells, and began chewing. He took a pinch of powder from a jar in his robes, inserted the pinch into the wad of nut, and began chewing that as well. He finished this complex operation by spitting out a vile stream of red fluid and, with his tongue, parking the wad in his cheek. “Forty thousand pounds.”
Gideon stared at him. “Forty thousand? Why, that’s…twenty-two hundred dollars! We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Mr. Gideon,” Mekky said, “you are talking about not one trip for me, but two! And dangerous. Very few who go in there ever return—”
“We know about the danger,” said Gideon. “And the snakes and heat and lack of water.”
“Then you know why it costs forty thousand pounds. But because it is National Geographic, I can do it for thirty-five.”
“Ten thousand,” said Gideon.
“Ten thousand? My friend, this is not right.”
“Twelve thousand.”
“Thirty thousand.”
“Eleven thousand.”
“Eleven?” the dealer said. “But that is less than your last offer!”
“I’m hot. The longer this takes, the lower my price goes. Think of it as a surcharge for suffering.”
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“Ten thousand.”
“Twenty-two thousand.”
“Nine thousand.”
“My friend, this is not how it’s done! You won’t find a camel guide like me in all of Egypt! We will need to carry feed for the camels, water, and food for us. My final rock-bottom price is twenty thousand—in advance, of course.”
Gideon was about to reply when a feminine voice rang out from the bustling street beyond. “Twenty thousand it is!”
Gideon turned to see a woman emerge from a battered Land Rover parked beside the thoroughfare. She looked Egyptian, wearing a headscarf and an Egyptian-patterned blue-and-black brocaded dress, but her face was sunburnt and her eyes blue. Her accent sounded vaguely English.
Mekky turned. “Twenty thousand pounds, madam?”
“That’s right. Twenty thousand. I need five camels, and I hear you’re the best guide in Egypt. I’m heading into the western Hala’ib.”
“Well, then! I am your man. It is done!” Mekky clapped his hands and turned to Gideon. “I am very sorry, my friend.” He underscored this with a stream of red juice spat into the sand.
“Hold on, here!” Garza said to the woman. “We were in the midst of a negotiation. You can’t cut in like that!”
The woman turned to him with a smile. “I just did.”
17
THE WOMAN, GLANCING at them with a look of both pity and triumph, strode up to the camel dealer. “I’m ready to pay immediately. We leave tonight.”
“Excellent!” Mekky said, rubbing his hands together.
“Wait a minute,” said Garza. “We were here first and haven’t finished bidding.” He turned to the dealer. “We’ll pay twenty-two thousand pounds.”
“Twenty-four,” said the woman.
“Twenty-six,” said Garza.
“Thirty,” said the woman.
“Thirty-five.”
“Thirty-six.”
“Forty.”
When Garza didn’t counter, the camel dealer turned to the two men with a hopeful expression on his face, gesturing as if to solicit another bid. “Forty-two?” he asked hopefully.
“We just don’t have the money,” said Gideon to the man.
Mekky rubbed his chin, then looked pointedly at Garza’s Rolex.
“No way,” Garza said immediately.
Mekky shrugged. Then he turned to the woman with a big smile. “Well, madam, it seems the camels are yours. For forty thousand pounds.”