I PROMISED to tell you how one falls in love.
A young man named Geoffrey Clifton a friend at Oxford ed me, got married t day, and ter fleo Cairo. t days of t ory.
Katon climbed out of ted, for s, bony knees. In too ardent for t. I liked , messenger, reaissance. o advise us ly. back to Cairo aurned a monter, and it ter time but ill t on some petrol s, aring at some stantly flapping tarpaulin, and Clifton o joke of it, but to .
After t monted, read stantly, kept more to t ain a socialite o could not see it, ion. S t. Salk about U and t oasis, ed doicles.
I een years older tand. I stage in life believe in permanence, iions span ages. I een years older. But ser.
So ced.
altered poned uary outside Cairo? e er t leave break tment to us. to Madox and me. e ory. Our situation.
Clifton celebrated ty of nessing ts in tel suite. breakfast.
to all t, I didn’t say a imes as essing my unspokenexasperation, and ten years earlier from Dako ted t more t me a fe apart from ty sumbled onto because of this marriage.
t not I am a man ten doact of to repeat someto fling more er into took you a hundred miles.
Our expedition forty miles from U, and Madox and I o leave alone on a reaissaons and to remain be maps book you look at in tus. A t?” “I don’t presume. If it is private.” “I es . And cuttings. I o you. It is unusual for me to travel it.” All tesy. I explai . I o leave feeling in any tent imes I appreciate the delicaanner.
e returned a er. Mucerms of findings and piegs togets. tion at ton o celebrate ot g.
Ser. “gratulations, I out my er er tuff in teens we had been drinking.
“Geoffrey y for you. ing a song and s me to read a poem, but I to do sometake t.” I pulled it from my knapsad to her.
After teas Clift a bottle of ac ill t. ttle o be drunk t nig of our journey, Clifton’s funny song. to read from tories—tory of daules and t story. It is early in ttle to do erested in. But it is of course a famous story. It alk about.
tely in love o Gyges, t pleasing to o describe ty of above all measure.
“Are you listening, Geoffrey?” “Yes, my darling.” o Gyges: “Gyges, I t you do not believe me y of my men’s ears are less apt of belief trive t eventually I en open us for a clue to geograp Kat as a o ory was, as if shin quid while she spoke.
“I believe i s and I e you not to ask of me t lao do.” But t I am saying to try you, or of my any o you from rive it so from t t s perceive t sory of ory from us. I eased reading it to erior motive in tion except for t ory t s familiarity of situation.
But a patself in real life. Even t ceived it as a first errant step in any way. I am sure.
“I er I o lie do rance of ts as sakes to gaze at full leisure.” But Gyges is nessed by tands t cry... she holds her peace.
It is a straory. Is it not, Caravaggio? ty of a man to t rait of Clifton, but of tory. t . Somet.
t day two choices.
“to you, and I o take. Eit slay daules and possess bot yourself be slain, so t you mayest not in future, by obeying daules in all t die Gyges in iambic trimeters. of to dedicate objects at Delpy-eig ill remember ory.
Sopped reading and looked up. Out of te, I fell in love.
ords, Caravaggio. they have a power.
ons on doing ot, an uncle in some gover office. All t at t time ty ion s, meeting at Groppi’s for ts, dang into t. ty. t I o nohen.
Dinners, garden parties. Events I normally erested in but no to because ss until I see .
o you? it in t of tion for almost a year. I saer, s flooded bato t, nervous grip of an arm on a cliff, looks t erpreted.
I t time seldom in Cairo, t one mo of Egyptology on my oes Explorations dans le Desert Libyque, as to text as if t emerged from tain pen. And simul-taneously struggled rutautness bee plain of stomace my brief book, seventy pages long, sud to t, plete ravel. I o remove o dedicate to o o I imagined rose of a bed like a long bo it ed to a king. Believing suized by e and embarrassed she head.
I began to be doubly formal iiy nature. As if a a previously revealed na-kedness. It is a European . It ural for me—ranslated rangely into my text of t—noo step into metal clothing in her presence.
titute For t to love, One wild rher.
On ion—s aide Roun-dell and so get urned bae and said, “I you to ravisurned. It reet of parrots.
I sank to my knees in tiled ain of taste of th.
e raatue, to unlock our c ts around us.
as it desire for boyiso you of gardens.
t small iion at o the Bos-phorus.
Rest my eye tary stranger. S my ne a Cairo bus. taking a closed taxi and our quick-ipperary Club. Or t the museum when her hand covered my face.
As far as o avoid being seen by.
But Geoffrey Clifton o ute. t necessarily o Clifton, married only eigy, but it began to encircle t, tem. It kneouce cocel.
I ives. And Geoffrey Clifton as t Englis tc ected. Only Madox, imental associations, kne suvolutions. Only Madox, act, such a world.
I carried us, and Madox—a saint in inually rereading tory of romand deceit. One day, far too late to avoid t in motion, ried to explain Clifton’s erms of Anna Karenina’s broten to this.
ersburg ions or friends of Oblonsky. o t ones of time ticoats.... sequently, tributors of this world were all friends of his.
t pass over one of t to raise objes or be envious, not to quarrel or take offence, wural kindliness he never did.
I o love tap of your fingernail on t time tap of oher lovers.
omen everytoo often I srophobia of hidden love.
“I to me.
“I’m not trayer.” “I don’t t t everyte of oo? ould you find anothing.
“Deny it, damn you.” Sed emotions like sticks in er.
Suro her husband.
From t on, sher find or lose our souls.
Seas move aus disappear and are replaced by estuaries of silt. the wife of Gyges. Libraries burn.
ionsrayal of ther life?
So ired to the zinc bars.
I’ll be looking at t I’ll be seeing you.
t old us classic. song again and agaiing to bend to one’s o loss variously. I ting rader. Ser t en things.
And if Bagnold—ting by trader—broug during di table ? Did it give me some fort t s, a peoill in it, so tain of gold on .
ory about me, pariao ter some se or ot me, and Madox getting up and o a toion of ty. tion pero otings. ter all.
But did so togetowards h my hand?
e eac treaty her.
“ are you doing?” so me o. “’t you see you are driving us all mad.” to Madox I ing a s a . uro England sings to your Cairo o more of a deceiver en years, t ry, in any case, to the war.
And Madox returo ton Magna, Somerset, in tion of a c revolver and s himself.
I, us of fortory, t time may not dra Man into being, nor t and ed by botoget one another.
Men ers of poetry in t. And Madox—to ty—iful ats of our traversals and cs. Bermane out tude aated on I t of it all. “Do you like t moon?” Madox asked me after en years. tentatively, as if imacy. For t too ing to be a lover of t. More like Odysseus. Still, I was. S, as you would sropolis of his childhood.
ed for t time, Madox used the old farewell.
“May God make safety your panion.” And I strode aerly unlike eacher.
Madox said Odysseus never e a imate book. Per alien in t. And my o, ern e caused me to burn doiment, all roric of love. Still, I described t as purely as I days togeted. fland, ty of terrupting everytory in t. Good-bye, Odysseus, fond of Odysseus, less fond of Aeneas, but t fond of Odysseus either. Good-bye, I said.
I remember urned back, lauged o t by uro on Magna, took only e volume of tolstoy, left all of o me. Our affe left unspoken.
And Marston Magna in Somerset, s green fields into an aerodrome. t over Artles. drove o t I do not know.
Maybe it noise of fligo er t ted over our silences in Libya a. Someone’s apestry of panions. I ood ting and temporary vetoes of y. urned out noo be the enemy.
alone us. Small gestures he war.
It was July
t a bus from to Yeovil. te for t to fis to sit separately. er, it id any doubt in its support of t intoned blit battle, blessing t and t to eened as t t pistol, bent over and s . ely. A great silence. Desert silence. Planeless sile t frozen in a gesture. It s and all faces turn. re aisle, stopped at tered somet down, her arms enclosing him.
it? I seem to recall t. No spoiled Madox. t time o my try to ions.
I loved locations on a map, and s ences. e calmly and joyfully about our journeys a daill, ered the man who fell in love while dang.
. I never saed t of being t sliver of emotion. A glance could lead trapnessed a ne among a desert tribe or found a rare palm, it emporary or a, Arabi a mud e in Englisten in d t as if to toucs possible deeper meanings, to bee as intimate as he words.
al, fag up, for t of morp floods o tin. urn its back to , a citizen of morph him.
ting ep Club of France.
Great jazz years. t floated out of tel Claridge on to to Egypt, o t, I took o t you o t.” Courtesy of te Ultraphone Franchise record pany.
the er.
During ts in oo a zinc bar for nig dance. Almasy tempting an old daep ed called ting Katon into raversing til ras.
hinks.
Almasy al series of movements. In t seem to be getting on ables t nigayed. A bad Egyptian violinist mimig Step out of trol. “to us—tary strangers,” ed ed to dance ? on?” Most pulled back. uro Clifton’s young s naked plateau above tango eill one of t tep. S back d to table. Just staring solemn but tag face. tering at he lyrics of “honeysuckle Rose,” perhaps.
In Cairo betions no one ever sa or restless. ed t bars at nig in anot. It noon. ts brus ed ing on stayed in , g to get up, smoot oime been a man of delicacy.
It midnigs t amused, except for tomed to t European. tributaries of silver tle metal droplets t Almasy in t ial to Almasy’s stomac loosened, not c, later during a sctisco the floor.
It ant during suco proceed into t of tellations . tes came later, in t, in t it may epped on. it of an oasis co the sky.
Cold nig. s and put it into trek out, y and plateau. After six days Cairo or treets or t time, ed into tterns of deep er. ion ies o and pasted in a map or neo sketcs hem.
t usually depicted cattle, tus claimed t goddess and traits ly nant women.
ity never entered pure zoances and legeure and storyteller. Sandford called it geomorpo e to, to be t selves, to be unscious of ary. from ter mileage and tion. imes a mana, for .
o discover level. Ser from to . fiimes, so it turns damp and dark. She looks up and sees his eyes are open, and smiles.
ion, o use bot to of tongue fluttering at tcs.
Caravaggio calks. t iodine colour of tings discovered in U. to discover, to divi of tent except for a moutill amazed at ty of discipline in times in t person, sometimes in till does not admit t he is Almasy.
“alking, back third person.
All day to untory out of ravels cat, breaks tip off an ampoule . about all t arm pletely. Almasy a grey si, so .
Eaco tings or to a buried plane or lingers once more omach.
Caravaggio picks up tus. urns a page, es over a duo discover t, Gebel Kissu.
ays alongside s. Only desire makes tory errant, flickering like a pass needle. And tory. A mind travelli and in torm.
On ter open and stretc te so it, grimag ly into ouc.
No to lose, ture tig.
Sranslated on makeup. Entering a party, climbing into a bed, sed on blood lipstick, a smear of vermilion over each eye.
o ting and stole t. t into of t first day o traditions us in ing and ever ernal—a colourful fluid, a song, a rock drawing.
It e around one small fire and buro all t speak directly to tand? t trol. I mig a caravan or a jeep, us and placed it beside ember
of t of t, doo t full of moon.
o teau and stood there.
No truo plane. No pass. Only moon and one marker from t t located tion of El taj, nort. arted y miles areet of clocks. ater in a skin bag a.
time noon, and tars. t err as mucy degrees off ed for t of stars, t, ern from a long pole and t of t above tar reader.
A man as a camel. t any food. o t to El taj abra, of coloto get rid of bitterness and t along es and locusts. reet of clocks and alabaster. May God make safety your panion, Madox , ed to ao noside of t trade and poary despots she world.
ry, o rock. o t les. ill epped o tain. Mimosa s o ting itself in hollow places.
taj. reet of mirrors for most of to tskirts of ttlements, Englisary jeeps surrounded ook listening to ory of t U, just seventy miles aening in fact to nothing he said.
“Are you telli believe you? No one listeo you?” “No one listened.” “ give t name.” “Yours?” “I gave t—” “ did you say?” hing.
“ake up! did you say?” “I said s U, norter. So guide ted props after t I don’t t pulling spies in out of t. Everyone ed into to. S seventy miles a listen. Some stray Englisfit iaj. I must into one and moved by truck. I il I fell off onto treet, still in it. I harine’s name.
Yelling to ton’s.
“to truck again. I anote spy. Just aional bastard.” Caravaggio s to rise and ry, tritus of a Cara-vaggio s is ter, people of alk ever, but get out of t, its arcecture of morpo pull ao El taj.
to be Almasy o return to no longer matters whe war.
But Caravaggio leans forward.
“I o kno?” “I o knoon. t is, if you murdered Clifton, and in so doing killed .”“t Geoffrey Clifton iselligence. just an i Englisrange group in tian-Libya. t re of ill does. till raise tion. And Intelligene your affair on didn’t. t e, ing up ting for you in Cairo, but of course you turned bato t. Later, o Italy, I lost t part of your story. I didn’t kno person I expected to find Ladislaus de Almasy. Quite ly, I’ve beore fond of you t of tangle of lig ed up Caravaggio’s d to tient trait. In muted lig no up, brig in te daylight.
urs back, fag Almasy. ords did not emerge easily from Caravaggio. o t out sometearing s. It s in t, ory.
“I talk al. t mortal yet. In spite of ly distressed talk about it. Sant from everybody. t o unicate o ask o read to me... Do you realize y.
“Do you have a wife?” Almasy asked.
Caravaggio sat in t, o erase everyt of yout did not e so easily to him any longer.
“You must talk to me, Caravaggio. Or am I just a book? Someto be read, some creature to be tempted out of a loc full of morpation, pockets of stones.” “t deal during timized. e stole. to advise.
e could read t more naturally telligence. e created double bluffs. ure of crooks and intellectuals. I , t’s ery, a vacuum on ts. turning your kno into German oo muc El taj in , ’s o the Germans.” Silence.
“And you still o get back to t?” “Not till I volunteered to take Eppler across t.” “t tell you. to do o Cairo
..” “Operation Salaam.” “Yes. man.... o tell me?” “I o say, roops, travelling en Rommel’s man into Cairo ?” “ I to say is t t just discover Eppler in Cairo. t t let Rommel kno or our sources till Cairo to capture Eppler.
“e d because Intelligeed. ted you as o be killed... If you don’t believe me, you left Gialo and it took you ty days. You folloe. You couldn’t get near U because of Allied troops, and you avoided Abu Ballas. times er like him....
“Planes supposedly ‘lost’ you, but you racked very carefully. You the spies.
Intellige you o t er you left Cairo in , you. to pick you up and kill you in t. But t you.
t. You must rational, or er, but t must journey, not to Cairo. rag me?” “No, I sao Italy and t you mig moved up t the foliage.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Almasy murmured.
“Do you morpting to place. I e man. It is difficult to realize I elligeelligence who knew you personally.” “Bagnold probably.” “Yes.” “Very English Englishman.” “Yes.” Caravaggio paused.
“I o talk to you about one last t o Katon? before to make you all e to the Gilf Kebir again?
After Madox left fland.” I o make one more jouro to pack up t of t U. Our life t not a year. A self sometic ed be, into seeming innoce of relationsher very much.
During to go overland to truck. Clifton le t had grown up among us.
, I eau. Clifton .
to land, slipping from t tips its ligops, it drifts to eartood d I of my tent al a silence.
teau. I arpaulin. Clifton dropped altitude and roared over me, so lo to t and circled, and sigself and came straigoy yards a suddenly tilted and crasarted running to.
I t o be alone. But o pull , srying to move t o be a mark on o cus. I pulled of ton and carried o to tings itude °o’ on tude °!’. I buried Geoffrey Clifton t night.
as I a curse upon t raped by sand? t it s of Libya. Remove politics, and it is t p ourn a er. Remember Dido in ts of Libya? A man ser in a dry place....
I do not believe I entered a cursed land, or t I uation t to me. Finding tings in tions. Kat. too my knees, my ribe he sapper.
Everytaken away from me.
I stayed ing for to bend, for ill mouto speak.
e me? s everything in me.
Kat— op defending yourself. Nothing ges you.
. I could not move out of target of t gaze. I image sect her, who will never deceive her.
ties associated ell o jackals—Anubis, Duamutef, ep. tures erlife—as my early g apanied you, t. All ties in London and Oxford. atc across from you as you did sc Geoffrey Clifton at ts re like some c I am coo, t an age aside your sp used muc Oxford as an escort. s until I see . t pig tly beautiful for uy life.
t you find only Geoffrey Clifton. It range old coot I’m e delig your adventure.
But t of t or Almasy, stood in tctempts at entic small talk, a problem as you bot even t botes.
At t leave, but you are uo find one s up. t. te sation of your toes. ting it, as you leave, not even looking at my face.
I believe t t of our spirit t is orian, a bit of a pedant, as Clifton mige of all parts of t be ready for toms must jump in one dire for desire to occur.
I for years and I o believe in suc is a place of pockets. trompe ’oeil of time a looks bad o regards taking. In o you, and ime is fully discovered it o have been already known.
me, tired of everyterrible o receive all teg somet on my my tongue against t blue eye, a taste of salt. Pollen. I carried t taste to ongue against te across ed time I let teet, tongue o pull it for too late. I leaned fue carried to ongue. e touchis way once.
Notook a breat for toc.
terrible snarl, violent and intimate, came out of ricity. Sion against ted ure ered leapt and fell against me. to be less and less lig.
I knoaug told about a beautiful temptress c to present to you. animal o o ry—ed it and tur into a place of war?
It is important to die in s of t. So Madox o a c, a place its ted w .
urned pigment. ones and ligo make ernal. t sacred colour. Only ted, no signature of lake, no dark cluster of mountain as tibesti, no lime-green fan he edge of Africa.
And all tribes, tone of t and saal box or bone bee loved and turernal in a prayer. Sucry sers no of. e die taining a ricribes, tastes rees, fears ure, not just to label ourselves on a map like tories, unal books. e are not oaste or experience. All I desired o walk upon suc had no maps.
I carried Katon into t, he palace of winds.
Almasy’s face fell to t, staring at nothing—Caravag-gio’s knees perhaps.
“Do you some morp you something.”
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