East of Suez by Howard Engel Read Free Book Online

and joined him “just to cool off.”
    “The old father met me in Cyprus, mister, more than fifteen years ago. That’s him up there.” He indicated a bulletin board, crowded with dusty photographs and postcards. I couldn’t make out which one might be my traveling companion. “You know Cyprus, mister? Nicosia? Larnica? Verosia? Too much politics in Europe.” He was a rounded sort of man, not fat yet, but working up to it. The laugh lines near his eyes reassured me. He was happy to practice his English on me. “Here, life is simple. No politics. The father’s a good man if you don’t have sons growing. I don’t cast the first stone. He’s writing a book about this place. He knows who sleeps where. Back to Napoleon III. Can you manage the stairs, mister?” The manager was helpful, I’ll say that for him. I slowly got used to his “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” routine. At the same time, I was beginning to weaken; my body began to remember how long it had been since it had last been horizontal. I missed what the innkeeper said as we completed the formalities of my signing in. He warned me to hold on to my passport with my life.
    There was an elevator with a lattice of scrolled metalwork near the front desk, but I gathered this was not part of the practical side of the operation. The manager waved me to the ascending stairs, where a dark-skinned boy carrying my luggage took the steps two at a time. The staircase wrapped itself around the elevator shaft for three flights. The boy ran upward until he was beyond the manager’s eye. My room, when we made it through changing intensities of heat, was large and bright. It was fully served by the prevailing weather. An electric fan, which the lad induced to spin, emitted an electronic hiccough, like a plucked string. The manager now entered with his friendly face, chasing the boy out of sight before I could give him a tip. I sat on the edge of my bed listening to tales of the priest that might have interested me had I known him better. I supposed, drawing on my limited experience of the place, that in a backwater like this, I’d be running into him every day. I was tiring of the hotel keeper’s monologue. I wanted him gone. I had patience now for nothing but a long nap.
    My windows seemed to be looking down on a thriving tropical forest. The bed was big and square and inviting. After my long journey, I was tired. My discovery of Miranam could wait until I’d had a bath and a rest. Let the jungle wrap me up in its fronds and bamboo canes for an hour or two; then, I was sure, I could once again face the irrationality of the world. The proprietor said the shower was down the hall at the end of the corridor. I wondered when he was going to leave. Does one tip the owner? When he finally went, I decided the shower could wait a little longer. I headed toward the bed.

FOUR
    I SLEPT LONGER than I had intended. I’d thought in terms of a catnap: this had been more like a full night. Still, I couldn’t tell from my watch whether it was early morning or late at night. My unhelpful watch reported the time in Grantham. It could have been 6:00 A.M. or 6:00 P.M. And would that be Grantham time or local time? At least I was fairly certain it was Monday. What did it matter, anyway? I needed a shower more than I needed food, whether it was breakfast or dinner.
    So far, I had kept the moral question at bay. It had been nibbling on my conscience since Vicky What’s-her-name left my office. She’d hired me to wade in very murky waters. She and her husband had been involved in things that might end up in court back home. As their agent, I might share in their guilt. But this wasn’t home. Out the window, even the trees were different. What standing did Grantham morality have in this place? From what I’d heard, Vicky and Jake were dealing for high stakes. Maybe my sort of scruples were for lowercourt offenses. This was the big time, where “Never Indicted” may be the best thing to put