We adjourned to the balcony and spent an hour there as the dawn wrought its pale pink signature across the pitch-black sky. I had forgotten that you couldn’t see the stars in downtown Cairo with the thick blanket of industrial smog. Youssef asked for a cigarette and I obliged. A healthy lifestyle was unsustainable here, where cigarettes were cheaper than bottled water and I lit one for myself as well. Several times he opened his mouth to speak and reconsidered the decision. I would have said something but I owed him an apology and I could not muster the fortitude to deliver it. He had been right about it all; about Ismail, the country and the war on the horizon. I had seen it all firsthand, and my American-taught skepticism faltered and failed.
I did not spend the night on the houseboat. I had an apartment to see, after all, one that could be a ransacked ruin by now, for all I knew. Youssef would have liked to protest, I knew, but he could not begrudge me the brief respite today, after what we’d seen. I made him promise to check on Benjamin every few hours, to make sure he didn’t bleed out or just die. His bandages wouldn’t have to be changed for hours yet, so his role was that of a watcher, nothing more, I told him. I stepped in for a hug, a quick squeeze, and found myself engulfed as Youssef held me tight for at least a minute. I was surprised to find his eyes dry when he let go. He was an emotional wreck.
I hailed a cab and we zigzagged our way through downtown Cairo with the precision of a drunken mule. I’d forgotten where the apartment was and I described it as best I could to the driver. It took us three unsuccessful attempts before we finally got the right house. I let myself in, got the mattress as clean as I could and collapsed with only boxers to hide my modesty.
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