I PROMISED to tell you how one falls in love.

    A young man named Geoffrey Clifton  a friend at Oxford ed me, got married t day, and ter fleo Cairo. t days of t ory.

    Katon climbed out of ted, for  s, bony knees. In too ardent for t. I liked , messenger, reconnaissance. o advise us ly.  back to Cairo and returned a monter, and it  ter time but ill t on some petrol cans, aring at some constantly flapping tarpaulin, and Clifton o joke  of it, but to .

    After t monted, read constantly, kept more to   t can c o remain a socialite o con could not see it, ion. S t. Salk about U and t oasis, ed doicles.

    I een years older tand. I  stage in life  believe in permanence, in relations span ages. I een years older. But ser.

    So ced.

    altered poned uary outside Cairo? e er t  leave  break tment to us. to Madox and me. e  ory. Our situation.

    Clifton celebrated ty of nessing  ts in tel suite.  breakfast.

    to all t, I didn’t say a imes as cnessing my unspokenexasperation, and ten years earlier from Dako ted t more t me  a fe apart from ty  sumbled onto because of this marriage.

    t not I am a man ten doact of  to repeat someto fling more er into took you a hundred miles.

    Our expedition  forty miles from U, and Madox and I o leave alone on a reconnaissance. tons and to remain be maps  book you look at in tus. A t?” “I don’t presume. If it is private.” “I es . And cuttings. I need it  o you. It is unusual for me to travel  it.” All tesy. I explained it . I o leave  feeling in any  tent imes I appreciate the delicacy of manner.

    e returned a er. Mucerms of findings and piecings togets. tion at ton o celebrate ot ching.

    Ser. “Congratulations, I  out my er er tuff in teens we had been drinking.

    “Geoffrey y for you. ing a song and s me to read a poem, but I  to do sometake t.” I pulled it from my knapsack and  to her.

    After teas Clifton broug a bottle of cognac ill t. ttle o be drunk t nig of our journey, Clifton’s funny song. to read from tories—tory of Candaules and  t story. It is early in ttle to do erested in. But it is of course a famous story. It alk about.

    tely in love  o Gyges, t pleasing to o describe ty of  above all measure.

    “Are you listening, Geoffrey?”  “Yes, my darling.”  o Gyges: “Gyges, I t you do not believe me y of my   men’s ears are less apt of belief trive t eventually I en open us for a clue to geograp Kat as a o ory was, as if shin quicksand while she spoke.

    “I believe indeed t s and I entreat you not to ask of me t  lao do.” But t I am saying to try you, or of my  any o you from rive it so from t t s perceive t sory of ory from us. I eased  reading it to erior motive in tion except for t ory t s familiarity of situation.

    But a patself in real life. Even t conceived it as a first errant step in any way. I am sure.

    “I er I o lie do near trance of ts as sakes to gaze at  full leisure.”  But Gyges is nessed by tands t cry... she holds her peace.

    It is a strange story. Is it not, Caravaggio? ty of a man to t rait of Clifton, but  of tory. t . Somet.

    t day two choices.

    “to you, and I o take. Eit slay Candaules and possess bot yourself  be slain, so t you mayest not in future, by obeying Candaules in all t  die  Gyges in iambic trimeters.  of to dedicate objects at Delpy-eig ill remember ory.

    Sopped reading and looked up. Out of te, I fell in love.

    ords, Caravaggio. they have a power.

    ons  on doing ot, an uncle in some government office. All t at t time ty ion s, meeting at Groppi’s for ts, dancing into t. ty. t I o nohen.

    Dinners, garden parties. Events I  normally erested in but no to because ss until I see .

    o you? it in t of tion for almost a year. I saer, s flooded back into t, noive, t nervous grip of an arm on a cliff, looks t erpreted.

    I  t time seldom in Cairo, t one montment of Egyptology on my oes Explorations dans le Desert Libyque, as to text as if t  emerged from tain pen. And simul-taneously struggled rutautness bee plain of stomace my brief book, seventy pages long, succinct and to t, complete ravel. I o remove o dedicate to o o  I imagined rose  of a bed like a long bo it ed to a king. Believing sucronized by e and embarrassed she head.

    I began to be doubly formal in eristic of my nature. As if a a previously revealed na-kedness. It is a European . It ural for me—ranslated rangely into my text of t—noo step into metal clothing in her presence.

    titute For t to love, One wild rher.

    On ion—s aide Roun-dell and so get urned back to me and said, “I  you to ravisurned. It reet of parrots.

    I sank to my knees in tiled ain of  taste of th.

    e range statue, to unlock our c ts around us.

    as it desire for  boyiso you of gardens.

    t small indentation at  o the Bos-phorus.

    Rest my eye tary stranger. S my neck on a Cairo bus. taking a closed taxi and our quick-ipperary Club. Or t the museum when her hand covered my face.

    As far as o avoid being seen by.

    But Geoffrey Clifton o Canute. t necessarily o Clifton, married only eigy, but it began to encircle t, tem. It kneouce cocel.

    I  ives. And Geoffrey Clifton  as  t Englis  tc ected. Only Madox,   of regimental associations, kne suc convolutions. Only Madox, act,  such a world.

    I carried us, and Madox—a saint in inually rereading tory of romance and deceit. One day, far too late to avoid t in motion, ried to explain Clifton’s erms of Anna Karenina’s broten to this.

    ersburg ions or friends of Oblonsky. o t ones of time ticoats.... Consequently, tributors of this world were all friends of his.

    t pass over one of t  to raise objections or be envious, not to quarrel or take offence, wural kindliness he never did.

    I o love tap of your fingernail on t time  tap of oher lovers.

    omen  everytoo often I  srophobia of hidden love.

    “I to me.

    “I’m not trayer.” “I don’t t t everyte of oo? ould you find anothing.

    “Deny it, damn you.”  Sed  emotions like sticks in er.

    Surned to her husband.

    From t on, sher find or lose our souls.

    Seas move aus disappear and are replaced by estuaries of silt. the wife of Gyges. Libraries burn.

    ionsrayal of ther life?

    So ired to the zinc bars.

    I’ll be looking at t I’ll be seeing you.

    t old us classic.  song again and again, beating to bend to one’s o loss variously. I ting rader. Ser t en things.

    And if Bagnold—ting by trader—broug during dinner at table ? Did it give me some comfort t s, a peoill in it, so tain of gold on .

    ory about me, pariao ter some scene or ot me, and Madox getting up and o a  toion of ty. tion pero otings. ter all.

    But did so togetowards h my hand?

    e eac treaty her.

    “ are you doing?” so me on treet. “Can’t you see you are driving us all mad.” to Madox I ing a  s a . urned to England sings to your Cairo o   more of a deceiver en years, t ry, in any case, to the war.

    And Madox returned to ton Magna, Somerset,  in tion of a c  revolver and s himself.

    I, us of  fortory, t time may not dra Man  into being, nor t and ed by botoget one another.

    Men ers of poetry in t. And Madox—to ty—iful accounts of our traversals and coursings. Bermann bleo te out tude and meditated on  I t of it all. “Do you like t moon?” Madox asked me after en years.  tentatively, as if imacy. For t too cunning to be a lover of t. More like Odysseus. Still, I was. S, as you would sropolis of his childhood.

    ed for t time, Madox used the old farewell.

    “May God make safety your companion.” And I strode aerly unlike eacher.

    Madox said Odysseus never e a imate book. Per alien in t. And my o, ern e caused me to burn doiment, all roric of love. Still, I described t as purely as I  days togeted.  for England, ty of terrupting everytory in t. Good-bye, Odysseus,  fond of Odysseus, less fond of Aeneas, but  t fond of Odysseus either. Good-bye, I said.

    I remember urned back, lauged o t by   urned to on Magna, took only e volume of tolstoy, left all of o me. Our affection left unspoken.

    And Marston Magna in Somerset, s green fields into an aerodrome. t over Artles.  drove o t I do not know.

    Maybe it  noise of fligo er t ted over our silences in Libya and Egypt. Someone’s apestry of companions. I ood ting and temporary vetoes of  y. urned out noo be the enemy.

    alone  us. Small gestures he war.

    It was July

    t a bus from to Yeovil. te for t to find seats to sit separately. er, it ic and  any doubt in its support of t intoned blit battle, blessing t and t to enter tened as t t pistol, bent over and s . ely. A great silence. Desert silence. Planeless silence. t t frozen in a gesture. It s and all faces turn. re aisle, stopped at tered somet  down, her arms enclosing him.

    it? I seem to recall t. No spoiled Madox. t time o my country to ions.

    I loved  locations on a map, and s ences. e calmly and joyfully about our journeys  a dance. Still, ered the man who fell in love while dancing.

    . I never saed t of being  t sliver of emotion. A glance could lead to paragrapnessed a ne among a desert tribe or found a rare palm, it emporary or ancient, Arabic on a mud e in Englisten in c and t as if to toucs possible deeper meanings, to become as intimate as he words.

    al, facing up, for t of morp floods o tin. urn its back to , a citizen of morph him.

    ting ep Club of France.

    Great jazz years. t floated out of tel Claridge on to to Egypt, o t, I took o t you o t.” Courtesy of te Ultraphone Franchise record company.

    the corner.

    During ts in Cairo, monter to a zinc bar for  nig dance. Almasy tempting an old dance step ed called ting Katon into raversing til ras.

    hinks.

    Almasy al series of movements. In t seem to be getting on ables  t nigayed. A bad Egyptian violinist mimicking Step out of control. “to us—tary strangers,” ed ed to dance ? on?” Most pulled back. urned to Clifton’s young   s naked plateau above tango ensued till one of t tep. S back do urning to table. Just staring   solemn but tacking face. tering at  he lyrics of “honeysuckle Rose,” perhaps.

    In Cairo betions no one ever sa or restless. ed t bars at nig in anot. It  noon. ts brus ed ing on stayed in , crying to get up, smoot one time been a man of delicacy.

    It  midnigs t amused, except for tomed to t European. tributaries of silver tle metal droplets  t Almasy in t ial to Almasy’s stomac loosened, not c,  later during a sctisco the floor.

    It ant during suco proceed into t of tellations . tes came later, in t, in t  it may epped on. it of an oasis co the sky.

    Cold nig. s and put it into  trek out, y and plateau. After six days  Cairo or treets or t time, ed into tterns of deep er. ion ies o   and pasted in a map or neo sketcs hem.

    t usually depicted cattle, tus claimed t goddess and traits ly of pregnant women.

    ity never entered   pure zone betances and legend beture and storyteller. Sandford called it geomorpo come to, to be t selves, to be unconscious of ancestry.  from ter mileage and tion. imes a morgana, for .

    o discover   level. Ser from to .  fingers times, so it turns damp and dark. She looks up and sees his eyes are open, and smiles.

    ion, o use bot to  of tongue fluttering at tcs.

    Caravaggio calks. t iodine colour of tings discovered in U. to discover, to divine out of tent except for a moutill amazed at ty of discipline in times in t person, sometimes in till does not admit t he is Almasy.

    “alking, back third person.

    All day to untory out of ravels  catcin, breaks tip off an ampoule .  about all t arm completely. Almasy  a grey singlet, so .

    Eaco tings or to a buried plane or lingers once more  omach.

    Caravaggio picks up tus. urns a page, comes over a dune to discover t, Gebel Kissu.

    ays alongside s. Only desire makes tory errant, flickering like a compass needle. And tory. A mind travelling east and  in torm.

    On ter  open and stretc te so it, grimacing ly into ouc.

    No  to lose, ture tig.

    Sranslated  on makeup. Entering a party, climbing into a bed, sed on blood lipstick, a smear of vermilion over each eye.

    o ting and stole t. t into   of t first day o traditions us in ing and ever ernal—a colourful fluid, a song, a rock drawing.

    It e around  one small fire and burned to all t speak directly to  tand? t trol. I mig a caravan or a jeep, us and placed it beside  ember

    of t of t, doo t full of moon.

    o teau and stood there.

    No truck. No plane. No compass. Only moon and one marker from t t located tion of El taj, nort. arted y miles areet of clocks. ater in a skin bag a.

    time  noon,  and tars. t  err as mucy degrees off ed for t of stars, t, ern from a long pole and t of t above tar reader.

    A man  as a camel. t any food. o t  to El taj  abra,  of colocynto get rid of bitterness and t along es and locusts. reet of clocks and alabaster. May God make safety your companion, Madox , ed to ackno noside of t trade and poary despots she world.

    ry, o rock. o t les. ill epped o tain. Mimosa s o ting itself in hollow places.

    taj. reet of mirrors for most of  to tskirts of ttlements, Englisary jeeps surrounded ook  listening to ory of t U, just seventy miles aening in fact to nothing he said.

    “Are you telling me t believe you? No one listened to you?” “No one listened.” “ give t name.” “Yours?” “I gave t—” “ did you say?” hing.

    “ake up!  did you say?” “I said s U, norter. So guide ted  props after t I don’t t pulling spies in out of t. Everyone ed into to. S seventy miles a listen. Some stray Englisfit in El taj. I must  into one and moved by truck. I il I fell off onto treet, still in it. I harine’s name.

    Yelling to ton’s.

    “to truck again. I  anote spy. Just anoternational bastard.”  Caravaggio s to rise and ry, tritus of a  Cara-vaggio s is ter, people of alk   ever, but   get out of t, its arcecture of morpo pull ao El taj.

    to be Almasy o return to  no longer matters whe war.

    But Caravaggio leans forward.

    “I need to kno?” “I need to knoon. t is, if you murdered Clifton, and in so doing killed .”“t Geoffrey Clifton iselligence.  just an innocent Englisrange group in tian-Libyan desert. t re of ill does. till raise tion. And Intelligence kne your affair on didn’t. t ection, ing up ting for you in Cairo, but of course you turned back into t. Later, o Italy, I lost t part of your story. I didn’t kno person I expected to find  Ladislaus de Almasy. Quite ly, I’ve become more fond of you t of tangle of lig ed up Caravaggio’s c and  to tient trait. In muted lig no up, brig in te daylight.

    urned ts back, facing Almasy. ords did not emerge easily from Caravaggio. o t out sometearing s. It  s in t, ory.

    “I can talk al. t mortal yet. In spite of ly distressed   talk about it. Sant from everybody. t o communicate o ask o read to me... Do you realize neity.

    “Do you have a wife?” Almasy asked.

    Caravaggio sat in t, o erase everyt of yout did not come so easily to him any longer.

    “You must talk to me, Caravaggio. Or am I just a book? Someto be read, some creature to be tempted out of a loc full of morpation, pockets of stones.” “t deal during timized. e stole. to advise.

    e could read t more naturally telligence. e created double bluffs. ure of crooks and intellectuals. I , t’s ery, a vacuum on ts. turning your kno into German oo muc El taj in , ’s o the Germans.” Silence.

    “And you still o get back to t?” “Not till I volunteered to take Eppler across t.” “t tell you. to do o Cairo

    ..” “Operation Salaam.” “Yes.  man....  o tell me?” “I o say, roops, travelling  en Rommel’s man into Cairo ?” “ I  to say is t t just discover Eppler in Cairo. t t  let Rommel kno or our sources  till Cairo to capture Eppler.

    “e c. And because Intelligence erested. ted you as o be killed... If you don’t believe me, you left Gialo and it took you ty days. You folloe. You couldn’t get near U because of Allied troops, and you avoided Abu Ballas. times er  like him....

    “Planes supposedly ‘lost’ you, but you racked very carefully. You  the spies.

    Intelligence t you on over t t er you left Cairo in ,  you. to pick you up and kill you in t. But t you.

    t. You must  rational, or er, but t must  journey, not to Cairo.  racking me?” “No, I sao Italy and t you mig moved up t the foliage.

    “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Almasy murmured.

    “Do you  morpting to place. I e man. It is difficult to realize I elligence. telligence who knew you personally.” “Bagnold probably.” “Yes.” “Very English Englishman.” “Yes.” Caravaggio paused.

    “I o talk to you about one last t o Katon?   before to make you all come to the Gilf Kebir again?

    After Madox left for England.”  I o make one more journey to to pack up t of t U. Our life t not  a year. A self sometic ed be, into seeming innocence of relationsher very much.

    During to go overland to truck. Clifton  of triangle t had grown up among us.

    , I eau. Clifton .

    to land, slipping from t tips its  ligops, it drifts to eartood c and I  of my tent al and ter t silence.

    teau. I arpaulin. Clifton dropped altitude and roared over me, so lo to t and circled, and sigself and came straigoy yards a suddenly tilted and crasarted running to.

    I t o be alone. But o pull , srying to move t of raig o be a mark on  o cus. I pulled  of ton  and carried o to tings itude °o’ on tude °!’. I buried Geoffrey Clifton t night.

    as I a curse upon t raped by  sand? t  it s of Libya. Remove politics, and it is t p  ongue turn a corner. Remember Dido in ts of Libya? A man ser in a dry place....

    I do not believe I entered a cursed land, or t I uation t  to me. Finding tings in tions. Kat. too my knees,  my ribe he sapper.

    Everytaken away from me.

    I stayed  ing for  to bend, for ill mouto speak.

    e me? s everything in me.

    Kat— op defending yourself. Nothing changes you.

    . I could not move out of target of t gaze. I  image sect her, who will never deceive her.

    ties associated ell o jackals—Anubis, Duamutef, ep. tures erlife—as my early g accompanied you, t. All ties in London and Oxford. atc across from you as you did sc Geoffrey Clifton at ts re like some c I am coo, t an age  aside your sp used muc Oxford as an escort. s until I see . t   picking tly beautiful for university life.

    t you find only Geoffrey Clifton. It range old coot I’m e delig your adventure.

    But t of t or Almasy, stood in tctempts at entic small talk, a problem as you bot  even  t  botes.

    At t leave, but you are unable to find one s up. t. te sation of your toes. ting it, as you leave, not even looking at my face.

    I believe t t of our spirit t is orian, a bit of a pedant,  as Clifton mige of  all parts of t be ready for toms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.

    I  for years and I o believe in suc is a place of pockets. trompe ’oeil of time and er. t looks back and one t regards taking. In  o you, and ime is fully discovered it o have been already known.

    me, tired of everyterrible o receive all tecting somet on my  my tongue against t blue eye, a taste of salt. Pollen. I carried t taste to ongue against te across ed time I let teet, tongue o pull it for  too late. I leaned forongue carried to ongue. e touchis way once.

    Notook a breat for tongue tc.

    terrible snarl, violent and intimate, came out of ricity. Sion against ted ure ered  leapt and fell against me. to be less and less lig.

    I knoaug told about a beautiful temptress c to present to you.   animal o o ry—ed it and turned it into a place of war?

    It is important to die in  s of t. So Madox o a c, a place   its ted w .

    urned  pigment. ones and ligo make ernal. t sacred colour. Only ted, no signature of lake, no dark cluster of mountain as tibesti, no lime-green fan he edge of Africa.

    And all tribes, tone of t and saal box or bone can become loved and turn eternal in a prayer. Sucry sers no of. e die containing a ricribes, tastes rees, fears ure, not just to label ourselves on a map like tories, communal books. e are not oaste or experience. All I desired o walk upon suc had no maps.

    I carried Katon into t, he palace of winds.

    Almasy’s face fell to t, staring at nothing—Caravag-gio’s knees perhaps.

    “Do you  some morp you something.”