"Smith, Wilbur - Egyptian 02 - Seventh Scroll" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

She was young, in her early thirties, slim, alert and vibrant. Her hair
was thick and curling, restrained now by a thong at the nape of her
neck.

"Time to go down now. Alia will be waiting." He smiled down at her
fondly. She was his second wife. When his first wife died he thought
that she had taken the sunlight with her. He had not expected this last
period of happiness in his life. Now he had her and his work. He was a
man happy and contented.

Suddenly she broke away from him, and pulled the thong from her hair.
She shook it out, dense and dark, and she laughed. It was a pretty
sound. Then she plunged down the steep slip-face of the dune, her long
skirts billowing around her flying legs. They were shapely and brown.
She kept her balance until halfway down, when gravity overwhelmed her
and she tumbled.

From the top he smiled down on her indulgently.

Sometimes she was still a child. At others she was a grave and dignified
woman. He was not certain which he preferred, but he loved her in both
moods. She rolled to a halt at the bottom of the dune and sat up, still
laughing, shaking the sand out of her hair. "Your turn!" she called up
at him. He followed her down sedately, moving with the slight stiffness
of advancing age, keeping his balance until he reached the bottom.

He lifted her to her feet. He did not kiss her, although the temptation
to do so was strong. It was not the Arab way to show public affection,
even to a beloved wife.

She "straightened her clothing and retied her hair before they set off
towards the village. They skirted the reed beds of the oasis, crossing
the rickety bridges over the irrigation canals. As they passed, the
peasants returning from the fields greeted him with deep respect.

"Salaam aleikum, Doktari! Peace be with you, doctor." They honoured all
men of learning, but him especially for his kindness to them and their
families over the years.

Many of them had worked for his father before him. It mattered little
that most of them were Moslem, while he was a Christian.

When they reached the villa, Alia, the old housekeeper, greeted them
with mumbles and scowls. "You are late. You are always late. Why do you
not keep regular hours, like decent folk? We have a position to
maintain."

"Old mother, you are always right," he teased her gently. "What would we
do without you to care for us?" He sent her away, still scowling to
cover her love and concern for him.