It was the hot part of the day and she was already sweating. She quickened her step. El Fishawy cafe was full of tourists as she passed through it and found the nameless alley that led toward the Hammam Sallahhudin.

She loved the hammam, and not only for the delicious pleasure of a vigorous scrubbing in the company of women. Like the mosque, the bakery, and the souq itself, it had always been one of the basic elements of Arab life. The Muslims used the hammam to purify themselves before prayer, yet, throughout history it was also a place for sensuality and openness. As the mosque called them all to God, so the hammam called them back to the needs of the fl esh. She wondered how many deals had been struck, how many marriages arranged, how many illicit affairs begun in its steamy semi-darkness.

"Shukran." She handed over her Egyptian pounds and received a folded cotton bath cloth, a plastic tube of liquid soap, rubber fl ip-fl ops, a brass bucket, and a locker key. It was a relief, in the moist warm air of the hamman dressing chamber, to fi nally take off her boots. She placed her folded clothing in the wooden locker and hooked the fl imsy lock * 63 *

over the latch. As she entered the domed hot room wrapped in her bath cloth she felt reprieved, if only for an hour. She exhaled the dust of the street and inhaled the smell of soap and rosewater, of henna, and behind it, the faint whiff of chlorine on the marble fl oor.

The circular bath hall was dim and mysterious, almost temple-like.

Its only light penetrated from high above through glass "eyes" scattered over the dome. The midday sunlight shone down in a spray of narrow beams onto the marble platform below, where several bathers lay. From the dark periphery , where columned arcades covered niches, Valerie could hear the gush of water and the banging of metal buckets against the brass spigots. As her eyes adapted, she discerned the fi gures of women in small groups, their voices bright as they washed each other's hair or let themselves be scrubbed by the hamman's own scrubber.

Businesslike, she washed herself thoroughly , declining the assistance of the burly female attendant, and savored the slight lasciviousness of bathing in a half-lit public place. Then she wrapped her towel around her hips and lay down on the platform a respectful distance from the others.

"Ahhhh." Something between sound and thought escaped her. She moved her head and felt white light pour onto her from the dome. It occurred to her that the other women on the dais lay under such light beams as well, each one in her own revelation. A good metaphor for religion, she thought. Then she dozed, recalling the painted scenes of pharaoh touched by the fi ngers of sunlight. Her sleep-addled scientist's brain added, "But it's only photons from burning hydrogen."

Some small noise, the tap of a slippered foot on the dais or an exhalation, penetrated her sleep. Her eyes fl uttered open and were blinded by white light until she jerked her head to the side. Her glance fell on a towel-covered hip, then traveled up along a smooth bare arm and shoulder to a face that was studying her . The light that poured down from the dome illuminated the top of the stranger 's head and cast a shadow across her eyes. Valerie smelled the woman's skin, like steaming food, then recognized her.

She sat up. "Is this some kind of joke?"

The woman shifted her weight and turned toward her , leaning on * 64 *

Vulture's Kiss her elbow. "I'm sorry. I wondered what I could say that wouldn't make it sound like I'd crept up on you. I couldn' t think of anything, so I thought it was best to leave you asleep."

Annoyed at being watched while she slept, Valerie snapped, "What are you doing here?"

"Bathing, like everyone else. And I was just as surprised as you."

Valerie became aware of the other woman' s half-nude body, the well-formed breasts a shade lighter than Jameela's but still unmistakably Arab. They were full, but fi rm enough to swell upward, and they left an expanse of midriff exposed beneath them. Valerie averted her eyes, but not before she noticed the thin line of intimate dark hair that descended from the navel into the towel.

"You mean it's pure coincidence that you showed up at the same time I did in an obscure hammam?"

Najya Khoury shrugged slightly with one shoulder . "It' s not obscure at all. Every journalist who comes to Cairo knows this place."

"But what are you doing in the souq anyhow? I know who you are. A big-name Worldnews journalist wouldn' t stay in a place like Sammed's."

Najya laughed softly. "I might ask you the same thing, Dr . Foret.

You see, I know you too. Did you think any journalist in the Middle East wouldn't recognize this century' s Howard Carter?" She shifted her weight again and her breasts drew attention once more. "Look, this morning was unfortunate. Can we start over now? I'm Najya Khoury , journalist." She held out her hand. "And in case you're worried, no, you weren't snoring. You looked very peaceful and I really tried not to wake you."

Valerie sat up in order to be able to shake hands, conscious now of her own breasts. "In that case, Valerie Foret, archaeologist. Sorry I threw you out of your room."

"No harm done. It was Harry' s idea to go there anyhow . We're staying at the Blue Nile hotel now , only a few streets away from Sammed's."

"Not much of a step up. So what are you doing here?"

"I came here from our Israeli offi ce to do a story on fundamentalism and martyrdom. Then the train explosion happened. I'm just staying on a few days to talk to some more people. I can get better interviews here in the souq than in modern Cairo."

* 65 *

"Fundamentalism. So you think it was the Brotherhood that blew up the coach?"

"I can't imagine who else would do it. But if they were trying to frighten the West, they got very little for their ef forts. Only one coach exploded. Just a couple of people killed, a few more injured. It'll scare the tourists away for a few months, but they'll come back."

"One of my good friends, a family member in a way, was killed. I only learned about it from your broadcast. Can you give me any more details?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry . For us it' s a fl ashy news story . We for get sometimes that for the victims and their families, such an event is shattering. And I'm sorry to say I don't know any more than what was broadcast the last few days. The evening train from Luxor. Only damage was to the fi rst-class coach, the one the tourists take. Everyone's saying fundamentalist terrorism, and that's what I'm here to write about."

Valerie shook her head. "Don' t take this personally , but I'm not sure an Israeli journalist is the right person to address the complexities of Arab fundamentalism."

"I do take it personally . And I'm exactly the right person to address it. I'm a Palestinian Israeli, born in Jerusalem. I have a degree in international law as well as journalism. I'm perfectly aware of the difference between the intifada and purely religious violence. Confl ict and Jerusalem are in my blood, so to speak."

Valerie studied the earnest face, which had put her off at fi rst. But now it seemed more intelligent than hard. It was the face of a woman who didn't suffer fools gladly. In their brief confrontation at Sammed's she had looked heavily mascaraed, as if her eyes were rimmed with kohl. But Valerie saw now it was her lashes, lush and black, that made her look Egyptian. Valerie imagined Hatchepsut, the female pharaoh.

The compressed muscle around the mouth, which had at fi rst seemed to indicate annoyance, now suggested a certain verbal restraint, as if the well-cushioned lips held something back. It was, in fact, a rather nice mouth. "So to speak...?" Valerie echoed.

Najya gathered up her hair from where it lay between her shoulder blades, twisted it into a single coil, and curled it around itself. Her raised arms showed a softly curved musculature, though less defi ned than Valerie's own. Najya let the coil of hair fall at the back of her neck and drew the strands of loose hair over her ears. "I've lived in Jerusalem * 66 *

Vulture's Kiss most of my life, and I know every street in every sector. I even led tours when I was a student at Al Quds University. I also have a...well, you could call it a 'genetic' connection with the Old City. My father tells me our family goes back to Jerusalem before the crusades."

"Very impressive." Valerie dropped her eyes before her interest became obvious. "But if you want to write about confl ict and fundamentalism, Israel has its own version of it. Why don't you start with the militant Jewish settlers?"

Najya's arms dropped again, the hint of biceps disappearing under bronze-colored skin "Oh, I have. I have reams of interviews with them, with some of the most militant. You'd be surprised how similar their views are to those of the Islamists."

"I wouldn't be surprised at all. I know all about dogma. I spent years in a Catholic orphanage that had a single theme-revelation- and a single lesson-obedience. I don' t have a very high opinion of religion."

Najya looked directly at her now , though when she lowered her head, the harsh light beam that streamed from overhead cast her eyes in shadow and obscured their color . "I can see how that could sour you. But, aside from religion being a part of a person's identity, I think religious dogma arises more from a yearning for order and sense. A noble longing, in fact."

Valerie was distracted by the light play. "Religion and superstition noble? I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"I think humans crave morality , as well as order . I'm saying that religion does not make us moral. Quite the opposite. Our innate morality makes religion. In fact, I believe in people, not God. That's why I studied international law before I went into journalism."

"Morality makes religion." Valerie smiled from the side of her mouth. "Pretty clever. Did you come up with all that just now?"

"You mean lying here naked? Unfortunately, no. I didn't come up with it at all. I got it from Salman Rushdie."

"I'm so glad. I was beginning to feel a little stupid not being able to formulate a brilliant worldview while lying dazed in a hammam. But I do have a good formulation for you, before I leave, which I have to do right now. I'm already late." Valerie stood up. "If people can dream up a law-giving spirit in the sky, they can also dream 'down' a spirit-fi lled nature around them."

* 67 *

"You mean animism? I'd have thought that's over and done with.

What's the point of projecting your ideals into trees and animals?"

Valerie re-tucked her towel around her and stepped into her fl ip-fl ops. "'The story that you tell is the story that tells you.'"

"That sounds mysterious. Who said that? Defi nitely not Salman Rushdie."

"No. It's from Jehuti, Egyptian God of Scribes. But I guess you had to be there."

As Valerie walked away, she felt the glance of the other woman on her back and wondered if it was lascivious. For the briefest moment she imagined caressing those beautiful dark breasts. Then she remembered a man's pants folded over the back of the chair in her room.

Damn, she hated it when straight women fl irted with her.

* 68 *

Vulture's Kiss

17.

Caravanserai The last stretch of desert to the shelter of the caravanserai seemed endless. But fi nally the line of their heavily laden camels trudged alongside it. Faaria could count the blind archways that made up the wall: ten of them, each one a camel's length in width. The small windows at the top of each archway revealed two stories, one below, presumably for beasts and fodder, and one above for people.

The drovers brought the caravan around to the main portal, which rose to a peaked arch. Mud-brick walls supported wide wooden doors that could be shut against marauders. The refuse and desert sand that had collected along their lower edges showed that had not been necessary for some time. As the camels fi led one by one into the shade of the entrance tunnel, Faaria felt immediate relief The central courtyard, as she expected, was open to the sky , but around the four walls many of the niches and archways supported cloth awnings. The parched caravan passed to the far end of the oblong court where a cistern lay. Smelling the water, the camels strained against their reins.The men dismounted and quenched their thirst, then carried bowls of the cool water to the two women.

Amhara dribbled it between the baby' s lips, then wiped her face with it. The child began to cry , and Amhara smiled relief at her full-throated wail.

Finally unleashed, the camels jostled one another to drink, scarcely fi tting around the periphery with their wide loads. When the camels had drunk enough, the drovers hauled them back and ur ged them toward one side of the court to be unloaded for the night.

At one end of the cistern, Amhara perched her baby on the stone wall and continued to splash cool water over the little head and back.

The child seemed revitalized. Her whimpering became chortles of pleasure, then breathless excitement as a yellow bird suddenly appeared and lit close to her on the wall.

"Look Reni, it's a bird," Amhara cooed. "A yellow bird."

* 69 *

Reni pointed with her entire baby arm toward the fl uttering creature and said, "burd."

"Did you hear that?" Amhara called to Faaria, who had returned with the empty goatskins. "Reni said her fi rst word!"

"What an odd word-" The noise at the gate drew Faaria'

s attention. A second caravan was arriving behind them and moving to the north end of the caravanserai to unload their goods at one of the bays. She knew the men would do a little trading that evening and exchange news.

Faaria hurried to fi ll the goatskins before the new drovers brought their camels to the cistern. She glanced idly back at the yellow bird, which still perched on the wall with its tail toward her . Strange, for a bird like that to be in the desert, she thought. Then, as the creature hopped around to face her , she nearly dropped her goatskins into the pool. Where it should have had a beak it had a nose and, behind it, a tiny human face. A thin black feather-no, it was a minute black twist of hair-hung down one side of its head.

"Hurry up there, woman," someone barked behind her. "Men from the Negev are here, and we can't wait all day!"

The strange bird took fl ight, and Faaria gathered her goatskins in her arms.

"Come on, before the others take the good rooms." Amhara was already following a servant to a narrow staircase on the inner wall.

At the top of the stairs, on the second story , were the sleeping rooms, empty but for a pile of straw and a coarse woven curtain at the front.

Once inside, Faaria noticed the tiny window high on the outside wall. It would let in little heat and just enough light to tell them when it was dawn. She dropped the armload of goatskins on the walkway just outside the room, then went inside and found a spot on the straw that suited her. This was where she would lay out her sleeping carpet.

Amhara perused the room once and nodded with satisfaction. "Rest later, Faaria. Didn' t you smell it? They're cooking in the courtyard.

Lentils and fresh bread."

"Alhamdullilah!" Faaria sat up again and stretched aching muscles.

"Supper. And then a bath."

* 70 *

Vulture's Kiss An hour later, Faaria and Amhara left the central courtyard for the hamman built over a secondary cistern. At the gate, a donkey cart full of camel chips passed them, the battered wooden wheels rumbling over the rocks. It drew up at the rear of the bath building, and the driver ,.

a mere boy , shoveled the camel dung onto a pile against the wall.

Another boy shoveled the chips with a wooden rake toward the fi re that smoldered under the stone fl oor of the building.

They walked to the front, and at the entrance they saw that the single bathhouse had been divided in half along its length. The men's and women's entrances were at the same end, but discreetly separated by the central wall.

In the antechamber of the women' s bath several abayas and undergarments already hung on the hooks, and Faaria could hear the laughter of the other women and their children coming from inside.

Amhara undressed Reni, who stood bow-legged and giggling with her hands on her toddler's belly. Then she drew off her own abaya and underclothes.

Faaria averted her eyes, staring at the wall as she herself disrobed, realizing that in spite of all the nights they had slept side by side, she had never seen Amhara naked. Still glancing off to the side, she said, "It will be a relief to wash the Sinai out of my hair" a bit too quickly and marched ahead through the doorway.

The second room, as always, was the cool room.

The circular cistern was divided down the middle by the wall that separated the men from the women. Leaning over the wall, Faaria could hear the voices of the men on the other side.

They hauled up buckets of water and took them into the hot room.

Three women from the Negev caravan were already lying on the hot stone at the center of the room, and two others scrubbed children in the tubs on the side wall. They greeted the newcomers as they entered and returned to their own conversation.

Amhara drew out a fl ask of washing oil after they sat down in a corner. She scrubbed the squirming Reni fi rst, starting with her hair and ending with her toes. When the ordeal was over, the baby slapped her fl at hands in the bucket and called out "burd" with each little fountain.

"Come on, it' s your turn." Amhara grasped Faaria' s wrist and drew her in front of her. Humming some fragment of a tune, she poured the fragrant oil over Faaria's hair and rubbed it into a froth . "I love the * 71 *

color of your hair. It sets you apart. But why do you keep it so short?"

Faaria tilted her head back. "I cut it in mourning when my parents died. But then I left it short, to keep Sharif from marrying me to the nearest merchant to get me off his hands . "

"Your brother doesn't seem to try very hard to get you married to anyone. He isn' t even married himself." Amhara poured handfuls of clear water over the shoulder-length strands, then lathered them again .

" Oh, no. He is dedicated to Husaam. Haven' t you noticed? They make a perfect couple. I don' t think either one of them wants a wife now.""Shhhh!" Amhara giggled as the other women got up from the platform, still chattering among themselves, and left the hammam.