Free The Cairo Codex by Linda Lambert Page A

lady.” The clever boy picks up a large sycamore leaf from a small collection he keeps under the display cloth and fills it with a generous pinch of saffron. He hands it to my son, who carefully folds the leaf over the saffron and places it in the basket, nestled beneath the prayer cloths.
    “We thank you, Ravi,” we both say, almost at the same time. My son moves on reluctantly as we bow and take our leave.
    “Perhaps Ravi and his father would like to try the fish stew made with the saffron,” I suggest. “Would you like to invite them to come to dinner tonight?”
    “Could we, Mother? May I invite them?”
    “As you wish, my son.” He turns and hurries back to the spice quarter while I slowly study other wares. I am glad to see my son’s confidence growing each day. He often reminds me of myself. I remember the day my mother told me that I would marry an older man. “He is a good man. He will take care of you,” she said.
    “I don’t need a protector,” I had insisted. Yet my husband is more than a protector. He is my friend. What will I do when he is no longer with us?
    My son quickly catches up with me. “Ravi was much pleased, Mother. He said he was tired of his father’s cooking. He will ask his father and let us know soon. I told him how to get to our home.”
    “That is good, my son. I’m sure the others will not mind. Your father is interested in new people and their ideas,” I assure him, feeling somewhat rash for not consulting my husband first.
    With the papyrus on top of the basket, we start home. “What about a gift for father?”
    “A prayer cloth?”
    “I’m sure he will appreciate a new prayer cloth.” My son gently takes my hand again, this time to help me over the rough terrain between the marketplace and home.

C HAPTER 4

     
    J USTINE AWOKE DREAMING OF A FIERY sunset and walls closing in on her, suffocating her. Startled, she sat up shivering and forced herself to take a deep breath. She picked up the remote and turned on the television. She needed another voice in the room.
    “Hamas, a splinter group of Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood, was established in 1987. Since its victory in Palestine in January of 2006, it has shown no interest in changing its charter provision, that calls for the destruction of Israel. Mr. Netanyahu, how are Israel and the international community working with Palestine under these conditions?” asked Wolf Blitzer on the late edition of CNN news.
    “There can be no work with Palestine until Hamas agrees to—”
    Hardly comforting
, she thought, turning off the familiar, strident voice of Bebe Netanyahu. She stretched and padded down the stairs to take a shower. The trip to the pyramids with Amir had been majestic, and today she felt the pull of Old Cairo, St. Sergius Church, and her past.
    As she sat at her dressing table, methodically packing her camera, notebook, and water into a canvas bag, she wondered,
How long will Cairo be safe?
Americans were already hesitant to travel to the Middle East, most of them limiting their visits to Egypt to cumbersome group tours. Islamic extremism was reaching epic proportions. The Egypt that she’d known as a young girl was rapidly disappearing, politically and religiously tearing itself into separate camps. The Cairo street called out for a hero who would stand up to the West, and Iran’s President Ahmadinejad was looking quite good to many who wanted a spokesman for anti-Westernism.
    Outside, though, it was a beautiful Sunday morning seemingly unmarred by political concerns. Justine headed to Tahrir Square, walked down the stairs into Sadat station, and purchased a ticket to Mars Girgius. The Metro, built by the French in the 1980s, was a spinal cord running underground through Cairo, with ribs branching across the Nile to Mohandeseen and Giza. The Metro was considered efficient, clean, and safe—qualities that would make New Yorkers envious.
    The ride south to Old Cairo—Babylon—took only fifteen minutes, a