An excerpt from The Cairo Detective

I live in a house on the outskirts of Cairo. What am I saying? Everything is the outskirts here. The vacant lots are piled with scrap. If four walls are standing, it’s the exception. You cannot imagine the loneliness of the city unless you visit. You can hear the river everywhere it is so stone silent. At night, one thinks anything may be possible. I once heard a story that a bear walked into a restaurant in Cairo one evening, tucked a diner under each arm, and walked out. In Cairo, you can almost believe such a story.

People don’t exactly just up and disappear in Cairo. But there has been an exodus happening for almost half a century, and it’s not uncommon for a family to suddenly not be here any more. Their car gone, house emptied. No trace. No goodbye. Just the sound of the river, and at night, in the fall, the naked branches touching fingertips with dry leaves. That’s Cairo.

I got home and my cat was flicking his tail on the porch. I was too tired and it was too late for us to acknowledge each other. I just wanted to get inside, open up two cans of ravioli, and get drunk. I only had one pack of Camels left. I put the ravioli on the stove and opened the screen door to my porch and stepped outside. I tore off the silver shield and let the cold air mix with the smoke. It ruffled my hair. I heard the seal on my scotch break and brought the green bottle up for a big swig. Then another drag from my Camel. The ravioli was bubbling away. My cat was out of sight for the moment. I waited for a couple minutes. I looked at the neighbor’s yard. It was quiet. Another blast from my scotch bottle. When I righted it the liquid splashed down with an audible cushhh. Those had been two big time slugs.

I made the anticipatory move of filling my cat’s bowl before serving myself. He looked expectant when he saw me sit down to supper, but then noticed his bowl already filled! We dined happily together in silence. I smoked inside. Fuck. I love smoking inside.

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