Dedication
In memory of Mark
Who last slept in The Moon;
Upon whose youthful smile
The sun shall never set.
28 March 2018
PROLOGUE
The Nile is covered with them. Seen from the aircraft, they look like baskets.
Barges, though, that’s what they are. As we prepare for landing, I discern troops through my porthole – probably a hundred on each vessel. Not only infantry, but vehicles, are ferried across the water.
After alighting on the West Bank, the hovercrafts return empty to fetch another load of soldiers. This to and fro has been going on all day, apparently.
It looks quite spectacular, seen from above. A pity that the new bridge isn’t complete. But armies are converging on Casablanca and can’t delay.
According to the report, most of Cairo is still a vast swamp.
Daily, an evil crop of bones surfaces from the stinky mud. They soon disintegrate in the damp air, or are eaten by animals. Giza is slightly more salubrious, hence our descent onto it at this very minute.
To think that we took off from Kiev less than an hour ago. Officials and more troops are lined up on the tarmac. Like a gigantic drone, AN Force One performs a smooth vertical landing and we disembark.
I haven’t been back here for a quarter of a century.
What will it feel like?
I have long forgotten what sentiments are. Over twenty years of war – spent helping children in dire straits – haven’t left me time or energy to listen to my inner self. I don’t even know if, having just turned fifty-one, I am an old woman.
And yet, on hearing the official anthem of the Anastasis being played by the military, I feel something quiver inside my chest.
The worst is behind us, that music proclaims. Peace is spreading, after decades of horrors, which thick history books will find it hard to summarize.
The Regent is now giving his speech, but I’m distracted. The question asked onboard by that Education Official stirred something in my mind. When did the war begin?
When?
When you are in it up to your neck, you don’t have the luxury of reflecting on war. You don’t care when it started, because you’re desperate to see it end.
REGINA | 65