The yellow Buick descended upon a narrow alley in Kafrat al Jabal, the tourist-friendly flea market on the outskirts of the city of Cairo.
Corby picked an alley that looked slightly less crowded than the rest. Even this time of year, when the sun was scorching hot in Egypt and the fine-powder sand was everywhere, the city was packed with tourists like a can of sardines. Everyone had to see the pyramids, at least once in their lifetime. Well, they could do it with comfort now too, since the pyramids were about the only place in the city still on the ground. The site was surrounded from every side by hotel skyscrapers that went so high into the yellow sky, that you couldn't even see the tops.
Corby killed the engine. It was best they left the good ol' Buick behind now. It was color yellow, which was good. But there was smoke coming from under its hood and there were holes in its hull from all the bullets, which was bad. Corby was pretty sure anyone who took the time to look was going to notice that. The last thing he wanted was to be reported upon landing. He parked it deep in the alley. It was bound to attract less attention that way. But, moving forward, they were going to have to ditch it, unfortunately.
He looked back. "I'm gonna have to go out and get you some clothes before I can let you out of the car, okay?" he said, gesturing dismissively to what the boy was wearing. "You can't walk around Cairo like that. You shouldn't have been walking like that around New York either." Though, in this heat, thermobandages probably made a lot of sense. But it was way too conspicuous for Cairo. Corby couldn't let him wear that. He was going to have to go out and find him something different.
He wiped the rolling beads of sweat off his forehead and looked at the busy market at the other end of the alley through the windshield. It was really bright outside. It was hell here this time of year, temperature-wise. And otherwise too. Every surface in the city collected heat and then it radiated it back into the environment like a heater. Corby looked at the boy; he seemed fine. He seemed to be enjoying it here, looking out avidly through the small windows.
"Don't go outside, okay?" Corby said to him. "Stay in the car while I'm gone. I won't be gone long, I promise."
He searched the boy's face for signs of understanding. Not all of what he was saying to him was getting through, he figured as much by now. But he hoped enough got through to keep him out of trouble for the next fifteen minutes. "Just don't go anywhere, okay? Stay right here. It's dangerous for you outside. You understand?"
The boy nodded vaguely. Corby sighed. It was the best he could do. He opened the driver's door reluctantly. Now that he actually had to leave him alone, he was beginning to doubt if that was a good idea. A whiff of hot Egyptian air entered the vehicle, thick with dust. Corby forced himself to take in a lungful. Stepping outside, he shut the door close. He bent down to take a peek inside through the window.
"You're gonna stay here and you're not gonna go anywhere, correct?" he squinted at the boy.
"O-k-a-y," Loo spelled back at him. Then he smiled coyly. Corby didn't think he knew how to do that. It was silly he thought he didn't understand what he meant. At times like this, they didn't seem to have as much of a language barrier. Considering that he didn't seem to know any language, the boy was learning fast. He was going to stay in the car if that was what Corby wanted. He'd do anything for him, anything he asked.
"Okay then," Corby said and was off. In his absence, the boy leaned his head against the window glass and gawked. There was so much stuff outside, so much was happening in the street at the end of the alley. Which nothing much was happening actually. But for someone like him, who hadn't seen the world, every little thing seemed important, everything was interesting. The merchants, the customers, the goods from the street vendors. He didn't know what they were but it was all very entertaining to watch. He was soaking everything up like a kitchen sponge and, at the moment, he didn't much care what exactly he was soaking. He wanted to know it all.
He was going to process it later. For now, it was enough just to take it all in, store it inside him, where there seemed to be an infinite storage space, good for all sorts of things, maybe even enough for everything.
He was designed that way. He knew he was designed but he didn't know yet for what purpose. It was all coming to him in bits and pieces now. But he wasn't ready yet to make a full sense of it. Like, for instance, he didn't know why some things he liked better than others. Why he preferred a pyramid of figs on a vendor's cart instead of a pile of mangos? What was the difference between the two anyway? Why didn't he just like both the same way? For some unknown to him reason, he just liked figs better. Must have been the shape. Or the color. He didn't know. There were things about the world that were difficult to understand. And he didn't understand much about himself either.
Corby was back before he knew it, carrying a bundle of local-looking clothes with him. He slipped into the car when no one was looking and shut the door close. He dumped the clothes onto the passenger seat. Pants, t-shirts, sandals, all in different sizes that might fit the boy. They were all made of the same lightweight Egypt-friendly fabric. And they were all the same color too–beige. Corby was wearing some of it too now. Beige was going to help them blend into the crowd and move around inconspicuously.
"You have to put these on," he explained. Although he wasn't sure the boy understood what those things were and what he was supposed to do with them. To his surprise though, the boy snatched some of the items from the pile of clothes and started fitting them on. He must have watched enough people wear those to know how they worked. Good! One less problem for Corby.
"Wow!" Loo exclaimed, pawing through various beige items. Corby turned to look at him just as the boy was removing his own "clothes", showing once again how comfortable he felt without them. Without so much as a warning, he was fully exposed. Corby turned away at once. His cheeks flushed. Suddenly, he felt like a teenager. He peeked at him over his shoulder, though it certainly didn't seem to bother the boy that he watched. From the corner of his eye, Corby could see his dangling penis. Although, frankly, it seemed the boy wasn't even aware he had one half of the time. Corby was very aware though. He turned away.
He tried giving him privacy until he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror anyway. He just couldn't not look. He blushed again, not that the boy would have noticed. For a minute he fidgeted in his seat, not knowing what to do with himself while the boy changed. Loo was taking his time changing too and all the while Corby's heart was at a dangerous BPM limit.
He coughed, then cleared his throat, even though he wasn't going to say anything. Was he sixteen? What the fuck was his problem? He'd seen naked men before and he never reacted that way. Why was he finding it so difficult not to look at the boy? What was even so special about him?
He looked, realizing that everything about him was special. He was like nobody else…He adjusted the rearview mirror and he felt like an asshole doing that. Heck, he probably was an asshole. He kept watching though. He couldn't take his eyes off him. The boy, meanwhile, was in various states of undress. He was trying newer and newer clothes items and having all the fun in the world with it. Corby didn't give him such a wide selection on purpose, he could swear to God; he just didn't know his size.
He had a gnawing sensation at the base of his groin now. Not that it was any of the boy's problem. He was horny, sure. But truth be told, it wasn't just about sex. There were other feelings on the mix he was beginning to have for him. And maybe now was a good time to confront them.
The boy was done changing though. He'd put on everything he had picked out properly, even the sandals. He seemed to have a knack for clothes. Corby was impressed. At the rate he was going, soon he'd be able to figure everything else out, including him, Corby. Corby winced at that. The boy meanwhile caught his eye in the mirror and Corby flinched. Busted!
"You figured it all out, eh," he said.
Loo beamed. "Thaaaank yooou," he mouthed.
"I'm glad you liked 'em," Corby said. "Looks good on you. Now we better go. Sooner or later, they're gonna find the Buick."
Corby helped the boy out of the car; after their little encounter with the dog-faced back in New York, the doors got jammed and stopped opening. It was hard to believe he'd just spent eight hours in there without getting out once, so refreshed and radiant he looked, so full of life under the Egyptian sun.
He was itching to go outside actually. He was dying to go explore, see the world. But he was also visibly apprehensive now. Back in the car with Corby, he felt a hundred percent safe; as far as comfort zones went, it was perfect. Now though, as he stepped out of it, he was back to the uncharted waters. There was a part of him that didn't want to leave the old Buick, and whatever he and Corby had going on in the car. He enjoyed the time they spent together. He was hoping there was going to be more of it soon.
Corby's own eyes were on the Buick too and he gave it a gentle nudge, feeling bad he was going to have to say goodbye now. A funky whiff of air escaped the car's bowels. There was that smell of burnt rubber again. Something got fried on the inside real bad. And there was no telling exactly what it was. It was the end of the road for the old pal, Corby was afraid. But, if it was the last flight the Buick had ever taken–it was a good one. The best! It was a great car, and a good friend. But it was time to say goodbye now. Corby petted it on its hood and muttered his thanks to it. Good boy! Such a good-good boy.
He sighed. He was going to miss it…Done with goodbyes, he turned to Loo to tell him he had to stay close to him but the boy had already disappeared on him. Goddammit!
Corby elbowed his way through the crowd, searching people's faces for the face of his blue-eyed companion but none of them were him. Most of the faces were Arabic around here, except for an occasional white tourist, but no boy. Corby's heart started pounding extra hard in his chest. How could he have lost him already? They just arrived here. He felt a surge of panic which he never really had experienced before; he wouldn't have been much of a soldier if he had. You had to stay composed while on duty, no matter what happened. But he was finding it difficult to stay composed right now. What if he couldn't find him? What if the boy was forever lost? He failed his mission. Again!
He looked around frantically, trying to spot the familiar mane of red hair. You'd think it'd be easy to spot but actually, it wasn't. He was getting more panicked by the minute too. Combing through the throng, he couldn't find him anywhere. There were just too many people, way too many people. Where he could have gone? Corby's eyes searched the crowd restlessly. People were loud, and their voices carried, and it was getting to him. They spoke the language he didn't understand too, and he found it dizzying. He couldn't focus.
Please, Loo! Let me find you. Come on.
And they didn't so much speak as they shouted at each other. Corby didn't know if it was a thing around here or maybe they were doing it on purpose to distract him. Only it didn't make sense; he was getting paranoid. Nobody was supposed to know who they were. He stopped in the middle of the crowd. People were casting curious glances at him. And he couldn't breathe. He couldn't take it any longer.
Shut up, all of you! Just shut the fuck up!
He reached for his gun instinctively; only it wouldn't have been any help to battle his panic. He needed space. There were too many people around him–
He tried to breathe. He needed to calm down or he was going to hurt somebody, or himself. The boy was around here, somewhere. He was going to find him. His panic was preventing him from finding him. Fear was the enemy, he told himself. It was getting in the way of reason. So he stopped doing whatever he was doing and just closed his eyes. He was going to keep them closed for one minute. Just one minute. He tried to breathe deep and slow…But it didn't work; so he breathed fast and shallow instead.
"Focus on your mission, Corby," he told himself sternly. "What's the mission?"
But it wasn't a simple question. He didn't actually know what the mission was. What was he doing here? He was trying to find the boy. Okay, what else was he doing? He was trying to keep him out of trouble. But the boy was always in trouble, from day one. And something told him that it wasn't going to change.
"Find him then! Keep him safe," he told himself and opened his eyes.
For a second everything before him was blurry. But then everything was clear again. And, looking through the crowd of people, he finally saw the boy. He wasn't far away from him, parked in front of a roast chicken vendor, ogling slowly rotating chickens on the rotisserie. Corby could suddenly breathe with ease again. Relieved, he smiled. He found him!
It must have been the smell of roasting chicken that made him gravitate towards it; you could smell it from a mile away. The boy must have been so hungry by now. Corby should have known; he should have guessed. He relaxed. He was going to be more careful next time, he promised himself. He wasn't ever going to let him out of sight.
The waltz of the rotating chickens was what attracted the boy to them; that and the smell. He never smelled anything so mouth-watering before, so strong and spicy.
The chickens, as they were, waltzed on skewers in a tandoor, dripping grease onto a blackened grease-stained roasting pan; which it was probably never washed before, which was probably why it was so blackened in the first place. But the boy didn't care about the poor sanitary conditions in which these lovely chickens were cooked. They looked appetizing anyway. And when Corby approached him, he thought the chickens did actually look appealing; that is if you took the dysentery out of the equation. He realized he was so hungry right now, he'd go for a dirty chicken regardless. It was the greasy crust that looked extra yummy because of all the greasiness. One couldn't help but want to sink one's teeth in it.
"You must be starving. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much time it's been since we last ate," he whispered into the boy's ear and tightly clasped his hand. "Please don't wander off without me anymore, okay? Please?"
The boy looked at him guiltily, then turned his gaze back to the chickens. "Starving…" he mouthed, in his defense.
"Hold on a minute. I'm gonna get us something to eat," Corby said, pulling out his wallet. "We'll have two, please," he said to the Arab man behind the counter.
"Right away, sir," was the response.
They settled at one of the bistro tables with no seats peppered around the vendor haphazardly. They had to eat standing up but it was okay; the chicken was gooood. To get more comfortable, they put their elbows on the table. As the boy chewed on a chicken leg full tilt, Corby watched him curiously; he had no table manners. It was a good thing no one was watching them. At the moment, there wasn't anyone else here. Corby's smile stretched involuntarily. Looked like Loo was going to gobble up that whole chicken in one go. Well, Corby sure wasn't going to be the one to stop him. After all, the boy needed extra calories for all the learning he did. He'd teach him to eat more gracefully next time, among other things; non-sexual things, thank you!
He didn't finish his own chicken even though it was surprisingly good. It was extra big, so big his stomach couldn't handle it. He thought he'd give the rest to the boy anyway if he was going to have the stomach for it, which at the rate he was going at his own chicken, it seemed like he was.
Looking at him now, it was obvious the boy was special. Well, duh, of course! No matter how infantile his behavior was, and he was like a toddler sometimes, at the same time he exhibited the kind of brainpower Corby had never seen before in humans. Although a five-year-old would have handled that chicken better, every time Corby looked at him, looked into those deep blue eyes–beautiful eyes–it wasn't just like looking into the eyes of a grownup…it was like looking into the eyes of an aged man. It was as if the boy had lived a thousand years; as if it was Corby who was the child in their relationship. And not the other way around. Which was weird because the boy looked otherwise ridiculously inexperienced, eating with his bare hands, chewing with his mouth open. But those eyes…those blue eyes.
"You like it, uh?" Corby asked, and the boy flashed a wide grin with a mouth full of chicken.
"Chicken…good," he said.
Corby handed him a napkin, all the while waiting for a good time to start a serious conversation, which, at this point, they needed to have one.
"Loo?" he whispered, serious. The boy didn't even look at him. If he thought he was going to distract him from his chicken with a whisper, he thought wrong. He gave it another try, louder this time, and this time, the boy listened.
"Corby?" he whispered back, trying to mimic his serious tone but his smile failed him. He had a goofy grin on his face and he couldn't help it. He finished his chicken, his stomach was full; he was suddenly feeling giddy and happy.
"We need to talk," Corby said. "This is serious."
The boy studied him.
"I need to know why we're here. You need you to tell me. Why did you bring me to Egypt?"
The boy kept looking at him, without saying anything; his smile faded somewhat.
"You need to tell me, Loo. If you want me to be any help, you need to tell me."
He didn't say anything though and Corby wondered if he understood the question. The expression on his face grew serious as he looked at Corby. And then Corby realized that he wasn't looking at him, he was actually looking at something behind his back. He turned. It was the pyramids behind him. Duh! Why didn't he think of that in the first place? You could see a glimpse of them down the alley. It was the first time he even realized they were there. And the boy was most certainly looking at them.
"They're big, uh?" Corby said, turning back to him. "Bigger than in the pictures."
"Pictures…" Loo repeated after him. He wasn't really sure what it meant; he never saw any pictures. But the image of a pyramid was embedded firmly in his head.
"Is that why we're here?" Corby asked. "Does it have something to do with the pyramids?"
The boy shook his head. "Not…thezze," he tried, pointing his index finger behind Corby's back.
Corby narrowed his eyes at him. "Not these? What do you mean not these?"
"Anozzer one," he managed. "Not these."
"There's another pyramid out there, huh? And that's what you want?" Corby asked.
The boy nodded, positive.
"Are you sure?" Corby asked. "Are you sure it's here in Egypt?"
He nodded. Corby nodded to himself too. Well, of course, it was in Egypt. Where else would it be?
The boy pointed his index finger at Corby. "You…muzt…take me zzere."
Corby thought about it. The journey wasn't over then yet. Okay! Fine! And even though he wasn't sure where the two of them were going, he had a feeling they were nonetheless on the right path.
"We're gonna need a transport if we're going into the desert," he said to himself while the boy busied himself with what was left of his chicken.