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n’t let rommel know that or our sources would have been discovered。 so we had to wait till cairo to capture eppler。
“we watched you all the way。 all through the desert。 and because intelligence had your name； knew you were involved； they were even more interested。 they wanted you as well。 you were supposed to be killed。。。 if you don’t believe me； you left gialo and it took you twenty days。 you followed the buried…well route。 you couldn’t get near uweinat because of allied troops； and you avoided abu ballas。 there were times when eppler had desert fever and you had to look after him； care for him； though you say you didn’t like him。。。。
“planes supposedly ‘lost’ you； but you were being tracked very carefully。 you were not the spies； we were the spies。
intelligence thought you had killed geoffrey clifton over the woman。 they had found his grave in ； but there was no sign of his wife。 you had bee the enemy not when you sided with germany but when you began your affair with katharine clifton。” “i see。” “after you left cairo in ； we lost you。 they were supposed to pick you up and kill you in the desert。 but they lost you。
two days out。 you must have been haywire； not rational； or we would have found you。 we had mined the hidden jeep。 we found it exploded later； but there was nothing of you。 you were gone。 that must have been your great journey； not the one to cairo。 when you must have been mad。” “were you there in cairo with them tracking me？” “no； i saw the files。 i was going into italy and they thought you might be there。” “here。”“yes。” the rhomboid of light moved up the wall leaving caravaggio in shadow。 his hair dark again。 he leaned back； his shoulder against the foliage。
“i suppose it doesn’t matter；” almasy murmured。
“do you want morphine？” “no。 i’m putting things into place。 i was always a private man。 it is difficult to realize i was so discussed。” “you were having an affair with someone connected with intelligence。 there were some people in intelligence who knew you personally。” “bagnold probably。” “yes。” “very english englishman。” “yes。” caravaggio paused。
“i have to talk to you about one last thing。” “i know。” “what happened to katharine clifton？ what happened just before the war to make you all e to the gilf kebir again？
after madox left for england。” i was supposed to make one more journey to the gilf kebir； to pack up the last of the base camp at uweinat。 our life there was over。 i thought nothing more would happen between us。 i had not met her as a lover for almost a year。 a war was preparing itself somewhere like a hand entering an attic window。 and she and i had already retreated behind our own walls of previous habit； into seeming innocence of relationship。 we no longer saw each other very much。
during the summer of i was to go overland to the gilf kebir with gough； pack up the base camp； and gough would leave by truck。 clifton would fly in and pick me up。 then we would disperse； out of the triangle that had grown up among us。
when i heard the plane； saw it； i was already climbing down the rocks of the plateau。 clifton was always prompt。
there is a way a small cargo plane will e down to land； slipping from the level of horizon。 it tips its wings within desert light and then sound stops； it drifts to earth。 i have never fully understood how planes work。 i have watched them approach me in the desert and i have e out of my tent always with fear。 they dip their wings across the light and then they enter that silence。
the moth came skimming over the plateau。 i was waving the blue tarpaulin。 clifton dropped altitude and roared over me； so low the acacia shrubs lost their leaves。 the plane veered to the left and circled； and sighting me again realigned itself and came straight towards me。 fifty yards away from me it suddenly tilted and crashed。 i started running towards it。
i thought he was alone。 he was supposed to be alone。 but when i got there to pull him out； she was beside him。 he was dead。 she was trying to move the lower part of her body； looking straight ahead。 sand had e in through the cockpit window and had filled her lap。 there didn’t seem to be a mark on her。 her left hand had gone forward to cushion the collapse of their flight。 i pulled her out of the plane clifton had called rupert and carried her up into the rock caves。 into the cave of swimmers； where the paintings were。 latitude °o’ on the map； longitude °！’。 i buried geoffrey clifton that night。
was i a curse upon them？ for her？ for madox？ for the desert raped by war； shelled as if it were just sand？ the barbarians versus the barbarians。 both armies would e through the desert with no sense of what it was。 the deserts of libya。 remove politics； and it is the loveliest phrase i know。 libya。 a sexual； drawn…out word； a coaxed well。 the b and the y。 madoaid it was one of the few words in which you heard the tongue turn a corner。 remember dido in the deserts of libya？ a man shall be as rivers of water in a dry place。。。。
i do not believe i entered a cursed land； or that i was ensnared in a situation that was evil。 every place and person was a gift to me。 finding the rock paintings in the cave of swimmers。 singing “burdens” with madox during expeditions。 katharine’s appearance among us in the desert。 the way i would walk towards her over the red polished concrete floor and sink to my knees； her belly against my head as if i were a boy。 the gun tribe healing me。 even the four of us； hana and you and the sapper。
everything i have loved or valued has been taken away from me。
i stayed with her。 i discovered three of her ribs were broken。 i kept waiting for her wavering eye； for her broken wrist to bend； for her still mouth to speak。
how did you hate me？ she whispered。 you killed almost everything in me。
katharine。。。 you didn’t— hold me。 stop defending yourself。 nothing changes you。
her glare was permanent。 i could not move out of the target of that gaze。 i will be the last image she sees。 the jackal in the cave who will guide and protect her； who will never deceive her。
there are a hundred deities associated with animals； i tell her。 there are the ones linked to jackals—anubis； duamutef； wepwawet。 these are creatures who guide you into the afterlife—as my early ghost acpanied you； those years before we met。 all those parties in london and oxford。 watching you。 i sat across from you as you did schoolwork； holding a large pencil。 i was there when you met geoffrey clifton at two a。m。 in the oxford union library。 everybody’s coats were strewn on the floor and you in your bare feet like some heron picking your way among them。 he is watching you but i am watching you too； though you miss my presence； ignore me。 you are at an age when you see only good…looking men。 you are not yet aware of those outside your sphere of grace。 the jackal is not used much at oxford as an escort。 whereas i am the man who fasts until i see what i want。 the wall behind you is covered in books。 your left hand holds a long loop of pearls that hangs fromyour neck。 your bare feet picking their way through。 you are looking for something。 you were more plump in those days； though aptly beautiful for university life。
there are three of us in the oxford union library； but you find only geoffrey clifton。 it will be a whirlwind romance。 he has some job with archaeologists in north africa； of all places。 “a strange old coot i’m working with。” your mother is quite delighted at your adventure。
but the spirit of the jackal； who was the “opener of the ways；” whose name was wepwawet or almasy； stood in the room with the two of you。 my arms folded； watching your attempts at enthusiastic small talk； a problem as you both were drunk。 but what was wonderful was that even within the drunkenness of two a。m。； each of you somehow recognized the more permanent worth and pleasure of the other。 you may have arrived with others； will perhaps cohabit this night with others； but both of you have found your fates。
at three a。m。 you feel you must leave； but you are unable to find one shoe。 you hold the other in your hand； a rose…coloured slipper。 i see one half buried near m