‘Yes, but . . .’ Dena frowned. ‘I thought you knew.’ She turned and walked abruptly out of the room. Makana followed her up on deck. The pulsating beat of the music from below was dampened and punctuated by the occasional shrill scream. Dena stood with her arms crossed in the middle of the forward deck. There was a cool breeze whipping at her hair.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this,’ she began. Then she took a deep breath and told him anyway. ‘Faragalla used to work down here a lot more in the old days. He had a wife and family in Cairo but, as he had to stay here for weeks at a time and, well . . .’
‘He became lonely?’ offered Makana helpfully.
‘He married a local girl informally. There was never any suggestion that she become his official wife. When she became pregnant he paid money to the family and divorced her. The family subsequently disowned her. She killed herself.’
‘What became of the child?’
‘He was an outcast. The family had disowned the mother and on top of that she had brought more dishonour upon them by killing herself. The child . . . Ramy, was taken into an orphanage run by priests. It was the only place that would take him. Somewhere in the desert.’
‘Wadi Nikeiba.’
‘Yes, I think that’s it.’
‘So how did Ramy come to be Faragalla’s nephew?’
‘Ramy knew who his father was and he went to him. He begged him for a chance to prove his worth. That was all he wanted. He didn’t want an inheritance, just a chance to work.’
‘So Faragalla took him in and pretended he was his nephew.’
Dena sighed. ‘I probably should not have told you, but I am afraid for Ramy. He’s in a lot of trouble. He is . . . wounded.’
‘You have to trust me, Dena.’
‘I know,’ she said. Then, with a brief nod she turned and disappeared down below.
Makana turned to face the breeze. The Nile Star sailed onwards. There were no lights along the shore. The river filled him with calm. Makana realised this was the closest he had come to home in ten years. He had forgotten what it was like here. How the pace of life was different from the hectic race of Cairo. The moon slipped through the silky black waters beneath his feet like a guilty secret. He could keep going. What was to stop him? The border was only a few hours away. What did borders matter? Lines in the sand drawn by draughtsmen in the pay of emperors and kings. It was the symbolism of it. He was no different from anyone else. The need to belong was perhaps no longer as powerful as it might have been but it was still there, like an appendix, an evolutionary relic that served no real purpose but was lodged in the body as a reminder you had to live with.
Chapter Thirty
The moon was a copper coin tossed into the air. It hung there suspended in the clear sky as if trying to decide their fates. It was so bright it was almost like walking in broad daylight. The felucca was moored along the jetty just beyond the stern of the Nile Star. A gnarled figure stood up in the boat as they approached and Makana recognised the hunched outline as Adam. He held up a hand to help Dena step down. She settled herself on one side, arranging a scarf around her head to protect her hair from the cool breeze.
Makana waited until they had cast off. The tall white sail unfurled, fluttered, and then tautened in the wind. The creaking of the mast carried easily over the silent water as the felucca leaned one way and then the other. He moved along the jetty until he found an old rowing boat tied up to a mooring post. Would it bear his weight? It listed badly to one side and silvery water sloshed about in the bottom but there was no other option, the felucca was already slipping away from him, dissolving into the shadows. Stepping down he tripped over a pair of oars. Makana’s skill with nautical craft was fairly limited. Still, how difficult could it be? He felt he ought to be able to handle a simple rowing boat. It took him several minutes before he could untie the mooring rope. And then the boat rocked alarmingly as it began to