1926

Beni rolled off of Emese and listened to her pant beside him, a smirk plastered upon his face as he lay on his back and caught his own rapid breath. There was nothing quite as satisfying as screwing another man's wife. It was the ultimate form of stealing. Emese was often out of town, thanks to her idiot husband dragging her all over Egypt for reasons that Beni didn't care about, but whenever she was in Cairo, Beni's fortunes were guaranteed to improve.

A year ago, Emese gave in to his every whim because he helped her cure her homesickness. Now she slept with him to spite her inattentive husband and didn't seem to care if Beni was just using her as an easy fuck and a meal ticket. She didn't seem to mind his cramped, run-down apartment either and always came to visit with a package of food under one arm, dressed in her drabbest clothes to avoid attention. In spite of the comfortable life she led with her soldier husband, Emese was still a desperate woman, and desperate people were just begging for someone to take advantage of them.

Beni got out of bed and started to get dressed, knowing that soon she would realize he had no further use for her and would sneak out of his dark little apartment, like she always did. After that he would probably go for weeks without seeing her, and then one evening she would come knocking at his door, ready for him to use her again. Almost like a whore, only better because he didn't have to pay her.

He busied himself with pulling on his trousers and could hear her rustling beneath the thin, moth-eaten blanket, no doubt getting ready to put her own clothes in order. "Henry has a mistress," Emese remarked. She sounded calm, almost bored. She could have been commenting on the color of Beni's walls.

Beni snickered at this unexpected news. "Are you sure? I always assumed that your husband couldn't get it up." He had never asked why she chose to sleep with him instead of her husband, and she had never bothered to tell him. He and Emese didn't know each at all, really, and Beni was grateful, because it was the only way he could tolerate her for so long.

"Oh, no. Henry has no trouble getting it up," said Emese. "He's had a mistress for months now. I suspected it for a while, but I only just found out."

"What does it matter?" said Beni. "All husbands cheat on their wives."

"Not all."

She was such an innocent. She had no idea how many lies Beni had told, or how many people he had cheated, or how many friends he had stabbed in the back. She knew nothing of his Hamunaptra scam and thought he took frequent trips out of the city because he was transporting goods down the river. Beni pulled on his suspenders and turned around to face her, amused by the foolish certainty in her voice. "Oh, yes," he told her earnestly. "All husbands cheat on their wives."

Emese shook her head. "My father never had an affair."

"How do you know that for sure?"

"I... I don't. But I'm certain that he didn't." Emese sighed and threw off the blanket, revealing her legs that were bare aside from her stockings. Her dress had been pushed up to her waist and she pulled it down, trying her best to fix her crumpled appearance. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I used to feel so guilty, sneaking off to meet you here, but now I'm glad I've been doing it for all these months. He deserves it."

"Of course he deserves it. He's an idiot."

"I think I'm going to leave him."

Beni frowned as he grabbed his fez and jammed it onto his head. "What?"

"I think I'm going to leave Henry. I'm tired of speaking English and listening to people call me Emma because they can't pronounce my name."

Beni no longer felt like the smug man who screwed another man's wife and got away with it. A bitter dissatisfaction seeped into his heart and choked out every decent feeling he had. "That's ridiculous," he scoffed at Emese. "If you left your husband, where would you go?"

She looked up at him from her spot on the bed, her eyes wide and beseeching. "I don't know."

"Well you're not staying here."

"Why not? I've done an awful lot for you, Beni. The least you could do is pay me back."

The thought of sharing his living space with another person made Beni sick. He felt stifled, like all of Cairo's heat had suddenly filled his apartment, and he went to open his window only to find that it stood open already, providing the slightest amount of relief. "My apartment is tiny," said Beni, gesturing with his arms to indicate the cramped space. "There's no room for another person here. Besides, I'm going on a trip down the river next week."

"I'll go with you, then," said Emese.

"You can't. This is a very important trip."

Emese looked at Beni for a long moment, then grabbed her shoes and started to put them on. "I understand, Beni," she said quietly. "I know that you're selfish and unfriendly, and that you would push somebody in front of a train if it meant you could save yourself, but I thought things were different with you and me."

Beni wished she would leave so he could get a drink already. Or several. "Why the hell would things be different?"

"I don't know. I just thought... I thought we were allies. Maybe not friends, but definitely allies. Why can't we sail away from Cairo together?"

"Because I said so," said Beni.

"All right, then." Emese slid off the bed and straightened her clothes one last time, erasing all the evidence of Beni's touch. She looked uncertain for a moment, reminding Beni of that lonely girl he met in the streets three years ago, but Emese Barta soon disappeared and Emma Collins took over, holding her head up high as she stepped across the floorboards. "Goodbye, Beni," she said as she walked past him. "Have fun on the river."

"I will," said Beni. "Have fun with your cheating husband."

The door slammed shut and Emese was gone.

Beni forgot about her as he counted down the days until his upcoming scam, in which the latest suckers would hand over their money in exchange for the last trip of their lives. He didn't need Emese anyway. All she did was remind him of where he came from, and who in their right mind wanted that? Emese was just another sucker, just like the tourists Beni lured to Hamunaptra, and all suckers outlived their usefulness sooner or later. She could leave her husband and skip town by herself, for all he cared. Beni only associated with her because she gave him free food, always put out without a fuss, and did whatever he asked, but Emese was nothing special. He had met women who were more interesting and screwed whores who were much prettier, and it wouldn't matter at all if she never came knocking on his door again.

Hungarian was only a language, after all. What did he need with some lousy language? It wasn't like he intended to go back to Budapest.

Despite his willingness to forget Emese, he wasn't surprised when the day of his trip arrived and he found her at his door, her hands completely empty for once. She had removed her wedding ring and he could see the pale band of skin on her finger, the only remaining proof that she had married an English soldier and caught herself in a trap.

"I already told you," said Beni. "You can't stay here."

"I'm not trying to stay here, Beni," said Emese. "I'm in a hotel now, at least until my money runs out."

"Well don't come begging to me for handouts. I can barely feed myself."

"I know." She still hadn't lost her habit of looking down at the ground when she was embarrassed or insecure, and she dropped her eyes down to Beni's floor, staring at the decrepit wood that had borne her footsteps month after month. "When do you leave for your trip down the river?"

"Today," said Beni.

"I guess this is goodbye then." She absently rubbed at her left hand, touching the place where her ring used to be. "I'm thinking about returning to Hungary. I have a couple of aunts and a grandfather who are still alive."

"Good for you, then. Goodbye."

"Wait." Her voice was soft but firm, offering him one final plea. "I'm not going to let you send me off like that. I want a real goodbye."

Beni couldn't remember Emese asking him for anything in all the time he had known her. He thought he could simply push her out of his life without giving her another thought, but something in her words kept him from sneering at her and chasing her off with a half-hearted insult. "Why do you have to make things difficult?" he asked. "What do you mean by a real goodbye?"

"I just want to talk for a few minutes. And I don't want to lift my skirt for you this time. I've already done that enough."

This was definitely not the girl Beni met three years ago. The younger Emese was wide-eyed and full of hope, eager to please to the point of desperation, and she always, always gave in. Beni didn't like this new side of Emese; she was too bitter, too jaded, too interested in herself and her own needs. She was a little too much like him. He watched her sit down on his bed, her hands folded primly in her lap, and suddenly wished he had never met that lonely, wide-eyed girl on the marketplace streets. He wished he had never stayed in Cairo.

"Make this quick," he said. "I have to leave soon."

"Will you miss me when you go?"

Why did people have to ask questions like that? Questions like Will you miss me? and Do you love me? and Do you really mean that? Did people enjoy getting flimsy lies in return for their ridiculous questions? Did it make them feel better hearing what they wanted to hear?

"No," said Beni, scowling at the floor. "I won't miss you at all."

She seemed unfazed by his cold words. "I don't think I'll miss you either."

"Why not? What have I done?"

"It's not about what you've done, Beni. It's about what you haven't done."

"That makes no sense."

She offered him a sad, defeated little smile, the smile of a woman who was alone in a strange country. A woman who couldn't depend on her husband. A woman who couldn't depend on anyone. "I don't think this relationship of ours was meant to work out," she said. "I was desperate to have a friend in this country, to have anyone who spoke my language and understood me, and I didn't see it until it was too late. My mother always told me not to talk to strangers, you know. I should have listened to her."

Beni scoffed at this. "If you didn't talk to strangers, then who the hell would you talk to?"

"Nobody, I guess. Speaking the same language isn't enough to unite two people." Emese rose from the bed, her hands falling limply at her sides, and looked towards the half-open door. "I guess this is goodbye, then. You have a boat to catch."

Beni said nothing and turned his gaze to the wall, staring at the peeling paint as she walked through the door and out of his life. He didn't watch her leave, but he knew she was gone when her footsteps faded away and nothing but silence remained, a hot stifling silence that made his apartment feel ten times smaller than normal.

He wouldn't miss her. He wouldn't miss her at all.