city of lights. The bride still wore her new clothes, the palms of her hands were decorated with whorls and flowers painted in henna. Three pinpricks of light grew steadily as the big flat-nosed locomotive rumbled out of the gloom from under a flyover with a heavy, reassuring grumble. A plaintive cry sounded as it rolled by like a wounded beast.
Makana carried a small holdall with a change of clothes. His provisions consisted of two packs of Cleopatra and a cone of peanuts wrapped in newspaper stuffed into the pocket of his jacket. He hauled himself up the steps and shuffled past the eager passengers until he found a compartment that was empty. Choosing a seat by the window, he settled himself down in the upright seat.
Whenever he left this city a part of him wondered if he would ever return, as if it was not real at all, but simply a figment of his imagination. Perhaps he would find a new life for himself in Upper Egypt – land of his forefathers. Nubia, the fabled kingdom, straddled the borderline. Not that he was sentimental about such things.
When he closed his eyes he saw the orange glow of the lights on the bridge, felt the thump of the car as it hit the railings and the slow, tortured screech of the metal as it gave way and the car began to tumble, ever so slowly, down into the dark water. Surely Nasra could not have survived that fall? Makana fell asleep, his mind feverish with the events of the past few days. It felt a relief to be moving, as if all that was being left behind him, as if the train’s purpose was to distance him from a troubled world, when in actual fact it was supposed to be the opposite.
When he opened his eyes he realised he was not alone. The compartment was dark save for the light of the moon which infused it with an indigo glow. A man sat diagonally opposite him, facing the other way, close to the door. He appeared to be asleep, sitting stiffly upright. An innocent passenger, or something more? A State Security agent perhaps, sent to keep him company? Or something more dangerous? The Beretta was wrapped in a shirt at the bottom of the bag that his foot rested on. Makana wriggled upright and looked out at the rural landscape that shuffled past the window. Fields flew by to be replaced by more fields. They changed in length and breadth, in the placement of the little square buildings on them, but otherwise little. Here and there a crack of light split the darkness as a window shot by affording a fleeting glimpse of domestic life, or the flicker of a fire, embers shooting into the starry sky to vanish without trace. Whether it was the gentle lulling of the train, or the sense of being in motion, Makana fell into a fitful sleep. When he opened his eyes again the sky was lightening and a family was spread out on the seats facing him: father, mother and three children all nodding soundly in sleep.
Makana stepped out into the corridor and pulled open a window to let the air in. He chewed peanuts and watched scraps of stray paper turning over lazily in the air until he realised they were herons. When you looked at these fields it was hard not to think that little had changed since the days of Hatshepsut. Less than an hour later they were ticking through the points on the outskirts of Luxor, the train juddering from side to side.
As he walked through the sleepy town towards the river, Makana recalled coming here years ago with Muna. In the time before Nasra’s birth. The trip had been a wedding gift from her father. A man Makana still recalled with some affection. Unlike some in the family, including Muna’s mother, he had never voiced disapproval of his daughter’s choice. Perhaps she should have listened more closely to her mother. His daughter might still be alive and married to a banker or businessman. Who would want their daughter to marry a police officer? Not even Makana’s father wanted him to join the force. He had not done badly in school. There were other options open to him. Makana grew up with the privilege and the curse of having a teacher for a father. Privilege because it got him out of the government schools and into one of the