(Based on a true story)

An end-of-July day in the city of Cairo. The bank of Nile on the island of Zamalek was brimming with pedestrians. Temperature had soared to a mere one hundred degrees.

My livelihood demanded my presence in Egypt for an extended period with occasional brief trips back to USA. I anchored myself in Zamalek – a small island on river Nile, while Cairo sprawled on both sides of this legendary river.

Many large ships, converted to classy floating restaurants, line up along the bank of Nile with walkways, made of wooden planks, leading to the shore. These restaurants provide ideal venues for special occasions such as weddings. Sidewalk entrepreneurs, many of whom are young boys and girls, display their merchandise near the entrance to the restaurants – flowers, papyrus and other Egyptian artifacts.

I made it a routine – walking along the waterfront every late afternoon whenever time permitted. Dry warm weather was inviting.

Mohamed, my Egyptian driver, just about twenty two, threw his second wedding reception that July day in one of these floating restaurants. I had my best dress on.

Weddings are occasions for the young entrepreneurs to get busy and sometimes aggressive. A little girl ran to me with a flower in her hand and tapped my hand. With her unspoken words she insisted that I buy the flower for the occasion. I was impressed with her persuasion. I argued with myself, this little entrepreneur deserved a chance and, after all, it is not a bad occasion for a flower. I bought the flower.

My routine continued when I went for a walk the next day. As I approached the restaurant, I noticed my little entrepreneur was sitting on a stool, melancholy face, displaying her merchandise. I also noticed a man in his mid to late thirties sitting next to her. He did not seem to be very jolly either, quite oblivious to his surrounding, reading a book. I assumed he must be her father. The girl would be about six or seven, I guessed. As I walked past her flower stand, she suddenly got up from her stool, grabbed a flower, came towards me, and as the previous day, with her unspoken words, insisted that I buy the flower. I was about to say ‘no’ when I looked at her. Hers was a sad face seemed to say she would be very grateful if I buy the flower. I could not say ‘No’; afterall it was only one-half of one Egyptian pound – less than fifteen cents, I justified my inability to say ‘no’.

As usual, next day I went on my routine. I was feeling somewhat uneasy with the prospect of seeing the sad face of the little girl and her compelling plea for the third time. Even before I could solidify my determination to say ‘no’, the girl appeared in front of me with a flower.

– Please!

This was the first time I heard the girl speak. I ignored the plea and continued my walk. She was not about to give up and kept on walking alongside me. Getting no response from me, she became desperate and tapped my hand as I walked.

– I don’t want flower today, I said quite sternly.

– Just this one please, she begged.

I was startled at her deep and passionate plea so much so that her exceptionally high English skill went unnoticed. My determination evaporated instantly and my heart was filled with some unknown compassion when I noticed how delicate her face was; I offered her a five-pound note and said, I don’t need the flower. She looked at me for a few seconds with wonder and disbelief. Not accepting my offer, she said, only one pound, please, and tried to hand me the flower.

My ego was shattered; I was also annoyed with her precocity, and walked away. She followed me for a while. Finally she gave up.

I did not think much of it then, but later I was not at ease with the episode. Something kept on bothering me. The

sad and distressed look in her eyes left me with a feeling of guilt.

The following day seemed to be a long one. To get rid of my guilt, I decided to buy flowers from the girl even without asking. I hurried to the place where she usually displayed her merchandise. To my dismay, she was not there. I searched the entire area, but of no avail. I continued my search for the next several days, but there was no sign of the girl or her companion.

With passage of time, the episode left my mind.

My stay in Cairo was punctuated with occasional visits to Alexandria, the historic Mediterranean coastal city; the city where Queen Cleopatra mesmerized and enchanted Caesar and Antonio. Mediterranean offers only a limited stretch of beach for general public in Alexandria. Many of them are reserved by privately owned hotels. Only a small stretch is left for the general public. However, the long pedestrian walkway along the water is a walkers’ paradise – as well as of entrepreneurs of all ages. The mild weather makes Alexandria a summer resort for the Egyptians and the fortunate emissaries of the oil-rich middle-east countries. But the city is not well equipped to absorb the summer thrust. The cool-seekers crowd the city streets and the meager beach.

The waterfront, as crowded as it is during the summer months, is dotted with many small dwelling units butted against each other with paltry amenities. These hut-like concrete structures are boon to the few fortunate budget-minded vacationers.

Alexandria provided the perfect venue for my routine and an antidote for my loneliness – evening walk and a chance to absorb the local ‘fragrance’. The first few days of my routine went by, uneventful. The most of the evening ventures were spent learning to weave through the crowd. But I did not anticipate that a surprise was waiting for me.

I generally avoided the beach; instead, I preferred the pedestrian walkway. But occasionally I used to venture the beach to view the nickel and dime merchants and their merchandise. It would have been very easy to miss one corner, unless subconsciously something would strike me. I noticed a little girl sitting next to her merchandise – papyrus and a few bunch of flowers, no stand, carelessly organized on a piece of mat. As I approached closer, all doubts removed, I immediately recognized her. I must have been delighted with the thought of getting rid of my old guilt. She was by herself without the companion, whom I had presumed to be her father.

– Hello, do you recognize me? I asked.

She stared at me for a while, motionless. After a few seconds I noticed some spark in her eyes. Possibly she recognized me, but remained silent.

– I want to buy some flowers.

I handed a one-pound note. She did not seem be to all that delighted, but gave me a bunch of flowers. I walked away, my sense of guilt gone.

The stay in Alexandria this time was going to be somewhat long. Days were long and warm, late afternoons and evenings pleasantly breezy. For few days I skipped the waterfront, instead ventured into the over-crowded market place, where streets were littered with bullock-carts without bullocks. The carts offered a world of merchandise that even I could afford.

After a few days as I returned to my waterfront routine, I could not resist the curiosity and walked by the beach where the little girl had setup her flower stand.

– Hello, she said as she noticed me.

I responded with a similar greeting, but did not want to start a conversation with the girl, and continued on my journey.

– You want to buy some flowers?

– I don’t need any flowers today.

– What’s your name? Her conversational manner with a stranger surprised me.

– I am Nil, like the river Nil (Egyptians pronounce the river’s name as Nil.). What’s your name?

I noticed a little smile on her face; possibly she was amused at my name.

– My mama calls me Sofi. Her smiling face immediately turned pale.

– Where is the man that used to sit by you?

She looked at me with blank eyes, possibly could not realize what I was referring to.

– Your father? I applied my guess.

– Oh! My papa? After a pause she said,

– He is sick, home.

My instinct bothered me – a father let his little girl come to the crowded beach by herself!

– Where is your papa?

– Over there. She pointed toward one of the dwelling huts. Do you like to see him?

Her persuasive nature came alive. Without waiting for an answer, she stood up, wanted me to follow her, quite oblivious to her merchandise that she was about to leave behind.

This behavior of hers did not particularly displease me. I did not mind visiting her father.

It was no more than a ten by ten bounded by four walls, a floor, a ceiling, a cot on one side, a make-shift cooking facility, and a facility-nook in the back. A bare light bulb attached to a wire was hanging from the ceiling.

Selim (I did not know his name, but decided to give one anyway) was half-lying on the cot, reading a book in the dim light of the room.

– Papa, he is Mr. Nil, he buys flowers from me, she beamed.

– You have a very bright daughter. She wanted me to visit you. I tried to pacify his worrisome eyes.

Still not very comfortable, Selim lifted his fragile body and sat on the cot. The frowns on his face somewhat subsided, but did not have any words.

– Sofi said you are sick, I said.

Selim kept quiet. I did not want to bother a disinterested mind any further and left the hut.

As I anticipated, next day Selim was sitting by his daughter by the flower stand. He must have been worried about his daughter’s well-being.

– Hello, I heard a greeting as I was passing by.

To my surprise, it was Selim who greeted me. I returned the greeting and slowly continued to walk away. I was not about to start a conversation with him, who, less than 24 hours ago, rejected my overture. I was not going to buy flowers either. I looked at him quite reluctantly when I noticed his apologetic sickly face.

– I am sorry, I was not feeling well yesterday. Even though he had a middle-eastern accent, his English grammar was flawless.

– That’s ok. How are you today?

– Not very well. A dry smile flickered through his face and took a deep breath apparently to gather some strength.

After some encouraging and sympathetic words, I strolled away.

Next few days I occupied myself with work; did not have much time for beach walk. But Selim and Sofi were never out of my mind – her pale, melancholy and delicate face, his pensive, depressive and sickly mien. About a week later I went back to the beach. Sofi was at her normal place, all by herself, sad eyes stretched towards the blue water. She did not notice me as I was about to pass by.

– Hello Sofi. I stood in front of her, blocking her view of the sea. Startled, she looked at me with a blank stare and kept silent for a while.

– Where is your papa today? I enquired.

– He is sick. She seemed to want to tell me something.

– Do you want to say something? I asked.

– Would you sit with me, my papa is sick; he cannot come.

I was distressed by the unusual plea from a deprived little girl.

– You have no one to play with?

– No, my papa sits with me. But these days he is not feeling good.

– What happened to your papa?

She paused for a moment.

– Are you a doctor, Mr. Nil?

– Why do you ask?

– Can you give my papa some medicine?

I was unable to fathom the depth of the pain in this little girl. But her pensive demeanor was tearing me apart. What could make this girl so sad and withdrawn from the normal world of a seven-year old! Why didn’t she have any playmate? May be she was feeling lonely because her father could not give her company due to his illness, I tried to rationalize. Another question also haunted me – where is her mother? May be she likes to stay indoors, I speculated!

– Would you take me to your papa?

Sofi brightened up a little.

– Hello, I greeted him.

Selim was lying on his bed, his face turned towards the wall. He slowly turned around and sat up on the bed, pale and sickly.

– Hello Mr. Nil, I am not feeling good lately.

– What is wrong? Have you seen a doctor?

He remained silent. He avoided my question and after a short pause he said,

– Sofi talks about you all the time.

– She is a sweet little girl, I said. Sofi was sitting on the bed snug to her father.

– She misses you on the beach – she is all by herself, I continued.

– She also misses her mother, Selim said with a sigh.

I did not have the courage to inquire further about her mother.

When I was about to leave after a few local formalities, Selim seemed to tell me something.

*******

It was a modest neighborhood primarily of middle class professionals, in their homeland; they lived in a modest apartment, both were school teachers. Sofi is their only child. Political turmoil has taken a large toll of their country. Daily bombings, rocket and mortar attacks, and torture of women were a part of life. This kind of neighborhoods were thought to be breeding grounds for give-our-homeland uprising and were thus targets. Lately the situation had changed for worse.

– One ill-fated night, several of them broke into our house, masked. They gagged and knocked us down on the floor, hands and feet bound. Cruelty raged on – pain was unbearable – I must have passed out. I suddenly woke up with sound of gun shots and an unbearable pain in my leg. Sofi was lying next to me, my wife’s body some distance away, seemed to be lifeless. We could not unshackle our bodies until our neighbors found us next day. My pain was severe; I could not move one of my legs.

– Frightened, I managed to flee my own country hoping to find my bother-in-law and some treatment for my leg in Cairo, but of no avail. Search in Alexandria also did not bear any result.

*******

– How is your leg now? Did you get any treatment?

Selim kept silent for a long time.

– They said it needs to be amputated.

He stopped. Sofi was sitting motionless, looking at her father’s face. I was groping for words not knowing what to say or ask.

– It is very hard for Sofi, he sobbed.

– Can I help you in any way Mr. Selim?

– Thank you Mr. Nil. I will go to the clinic next week. He did not seem to be interested in getting any help from a stranger.

It was almost time for me to leave Alexandria and return to USA. Although my work was unfinished, I would be heading to Cairo in a couple of days. The day before I was to leave, I decided to take one final walk along the beach for a last look at Sofi. As expected, I found her sitting next to her merchandise, unusually pale, oblivious to the world around her.

– Hello Sofi. She was startled, but seemed to welcome my presence.

– How is your papa?

– My papa is sleeping.

– Sofi, I am going back home tomorrow.

– Where is your home? To date, she did not ask me where I live or who I am other than my name. I was not sure if she understood when I told my destination.

– Do you have a daughter in your home? Not quite understanding her intent, I asked,

– Why do you ask?

– Can she come and sit with me?

– My home is too far from here. They cannot come.

– Oh! Her face immediately turned pale.

– Do you like to play with dolls? I asked her. She did not answer, but I noticed a little twinkle in her eyes. She then asked,

– Will you come again?

– I don’t know.

– Oh! Her eyes turned towards the sea aimlessly.

– How is your papa, let’s go see him?

She responded to the idea positively and stood up, ready to go. She guided me to the hut.

– Mr. Selim, how are you feeling? He was sitting on the bed, one leg stretched on it, the other touching the floor.

– Not feeling well. Pain in my leg is not getting better. Keeping quiet for few seconds he said,

– They asked me to come to the clinic tomorrow. Then they will send me to the big hospital.

After some conversation about his ailment I announced my departure, wished him good luck, and said good bye! Selim kept quiet. An inexplicable uneasiness accompanied me. I left the hut and headed towards the beach.

Sofi followed me until she got to her flower stand. I waved her good bye. She stood motionless watching my disappearing footsteps. Her melancholy eyes were tearing me apart.

Hardly a month passed before I had to return to Egypt to finish my unfinished chore. My remaining work was to be all in Cairo. But I could not resist the urge, and took off for Alexandria on the earliest weekend with the thought of meeting Sofi. I had brought along a doll thinking it might brighten up Sofi a little. Once in Alexandria, I immediately headed for the beach, to the spot where she usually used to sit, with the doll in my hand. To my dismay, she was not there. I combed the entire beach but she was nowhere to be found. It was late in the day and was getting dark. She must have quit early, I thought. I returned to the hotel.

There was a gap of few weeks, could not go meet with Selim and Sofi. Lately it was getting late to come back to hotel. I decided to go to say bye to Selim and Sofi the day before I would be leaving for Alexandria. I could not find Sofi on the beach. So I went to their hut. A lady opened the door. Not knowing if the lady knew English, I told the lady in broken Arabic

I have come to see the people who live in this hut. Do they not live here anymore?

The lady looked at me for few seconds and answered in perfect English, “Are you a friend of Selim?

Not being able to claim to be a perfect friend, I told the lady,

“I met with Selim and Sofi here on the beach not too long ago, but we became friends. I have come to see them and to find out how he is doing with his legs. Are they not here?”

She seemed to be a nice lady. She said,

“The man died yesterday while amputating his leg. Due to some complication, they could not control loss of blood.”

Being surprised and shocked, I sat down on a chair on the veranda.

After a while, I asked the lady, “Where is Sofi?”

The lady said, “Sofi used to talk about a man. I don’t know if you are the same man.”

I told her, “I used to sit by Sofi and help her selling papyrus.

“I am the elder sister of Selim’s wife. My husband went back to our own country and took Sofi with him. I will also go back tomorrow.

The lady continued, “After my sister died, I wanted to take Sofi with me. But Selim did not want that.”She said with tears in her eyes and a broken voice.

She further said, “Sofi left an envelope for that man.” I don’t know whom to give it to. You take it. Please”

The lady then handed me a large envelope somewhat twisted and dusty.

After coming back to my hotel I opened the envelope. There was a large papyrus with a painting of an Egyptian girl about her age.

Sofi left an indelible imprint on my mind.

The papyrus is still decorating my study.

*****************