25 Short Stories for Cruise Ship Travelers

A Cruise on the Nile ‘Well go on, show me.’ Jerry lifted his shirt. Barbara could see the rumpled, crescent-shaped scar running from below his navel up to just below his ribs. ‘It makes me feel weird,’ Jerry said. ‘Like I’m walking around with a secret. Someone else’s kidney is in there.’ ‘It’s your kidney now,’ said Barbara. ‘Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.’ Jerry followed Barbara into the study. He was a heavy-set man, approaching sixty, his grey hair starting to thin. But his green eyes were bright and alert – his best feature, Barbara always said. Barbara had aged better. She was slim and fit and moved quickly. She’d cut her honey-brown hair short for the first time two weeks ago and still occasionally lifted a hand to touch it self-consciously. Outside, the afternoon sun was beating against the house. Jerry, who’d lived his whole life in Minnesota, hated the heat. But what Barbara wanted, Barbara got. So two years ago they’d moved back to her hometown of Naples, Florida. Then Jerry got sick. ‘Look,’ said Barbara, and she handed Jerry a folded piece of paper. ‘What’s this?’ ‘You remember I was saying we deserved a holiday? You know, leave the country, be somewhere totally different. To put all this behind us.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Open it.’ It was a brochure for a cruise along the Nile. On the inside page was a picture of the ship, and written above it: “Travel through time in style and comfort”. ‘This looks like a pretty old brochure,’ said Jerry, peering at the photographs. ‘Oh no, they just dress the boat up like it’s the 1920s. The crew as well. You know, British colonial style. It seemed like fun.’ Barbara stood with her back to the desk, which was swamped by a disorderly stack of correspondence – doctor’s appointments, scans, letters from their insurance company. ‘Yeah,’ said Jerry, trying to smile. ‘Looks like fun. Thank you, sweetheart. You always know just what to do.’ Egypt, Jerry thought to himself. Perfect. More sun and heat. When they arrived, Jerry’s first thought was that their tour guide was taking the 1920s theme too far. He bowed and scraped as though a bad word from Jerry or Barbara would get him whipped. He was a small, lean man, his uniform perfectly pressed. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘My name is Ammon, please let me help you.’ Jerry handed over the suitcases and they followed Ammon up the ramp. The ship certainly looked like something out of the 1920s. It was a long barge with two broad decks, and it sat low in the gleaming waters of the Nile. The decks were enclosed by elaborate wrought iron railings, painted white, with soft curtains that could be drawn in the heat of the day. Some of the guests could already be seen sitting at private tables, attended to by the crew. On the far shore, tall palm trees stirred in the breeze. People hurried along the riverfront promenade, coming and going from the bustling modern city of Luxor. ‘May I say,’ said Ammon as he led them towards their cabin. ‘You have chosen the perfect itinerary. Luxor to Aswan is the perfect way to experience the Nile. For myself, I cannot believe my good fortune to have this job. To be paid a salary to experience such wonders every day.’ Barbara smiled, pleased with her choice. The sight of the crew, in their neat uniforms and stylish caps, thrilled her. They passed by the lounge, and Barbara paused to look inside. The room was exquisite; clad in dark wood panels and lined with beautiful old leather couches. The sunlight filtered through wooden shutters so that the whole room was suffused with a soft glow. Like stepping into a photograph, she thought. ‘Barbara?’ said Jerry. There were shouts from the crew and the boat rocked slightly, and Barbara reached out to steady herself. Ammon smiled back at her. His teeth were very white. ‘We have cast off,’ he said. ‘Today we sail only a very short distance, to Karnak. You will want plenty of time to explore the ancient temple.’ ‘What about the historic hotel?’ Barbara asked, reaching into her pocket for her brochure. ‘Karnak’s where we stay in the historic hotel, isn’t it?’ ‘Here is your cabin,’ said Ammon. Ammon pushed back the wooden shutters and the sun flooded in. He stood expectantly at the door. ‘Oh,’ said Jerry, reaching into his pocket. ‘I’ve only got American dollars.’ Ammon took the five-dollar bill, smiling. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’ ‘Didn’t he say he was on a salary?’ Jerry grumbled, once Ammon had gone. ‘What’s he doing taking a tip?’ ‘That’s probably just the way they do things here.’ ‘Can you see if they’ve got air con in this cabin?’ said Jerry, wiping his forehead. Jerry lowered his camera. ‘Stand to the left,’ he said. Barbara took a step to the right. ‘No, your left.’ Barbara stood still, smiling, framed by the hieroglyph-inscribed pillars of the Hypostyle Hall at Karnak. ‘Did you get it?’ Barbara called. Her voice echoed off the towering pillars. The shadows of the great columns fell across the pale, ancient pavers. Jerry clicked back through the photographs he had taken earlier that day: Barbara standing under the rough cliffs of the Valley of the Kings and Queens, and on the shore of the Nile, the sunrise spilling across the water. Jerry felt faint. Maybe it was the sun, or maybe just being in these ancient places. The way time seemed to stretch here in Egypt made him dizzy. Jerry?’ said Barbara. ‘He’s had an operation,’ she added, explaining, to Ammon. ‘We could go back to the boat,’ said Ammon. ‘There will be a fantastic Galabeya party on board tonight.’ Jerry shook his head. ‘I’m ready for the hotel.’ They made the crossing to the far shore in a felucca; a nimble little boat with a single, blade-like sail. The ochre-colored hills towered above the city. They made Jerry feel uneasy, as if at any moment they might slip and cover the city in ancient rubble. When they landed, Barbara started up the stone steps towards the hotel, but Ammon hurried past and blocked her way. ‘Please, Mrs. Shilling, this way. ‘But that’s the hotel,’ said Barbara. ‘Its picture is in the brochure.’ Ammon smiled. ‘The hotel is closed for renovation.’ ‘It doesn’t look closed,’ said Jerry. ‘Please, come this way. We have another hotel, just as good.’ Ammon waved a taxi over. Before Barbara could protest, her bag was lifted from her hands and into the taxi. Jerry let himself be guided into the car. He tried to keep in mind what Barbara had said that morning. That’s probably just the way they do things here. The new hotel didn’t look much like a hotel, more like a large house. ‘Where’s the hotel sign?’ said Jerry. ‘Ah, this is a private hotel,’ said Ammon. ‘I don’t see any other tourists, Barbara,’ Jerry whispered. It was true. There were lots of people milling about, but they all seemed to be locals. ‘I guess we’re getting an authentic experience,’ said Barbara. Their room was even smaller than their cabin. The moment they stepped inside, the door swung shut. ‘Ammon?’ said Jerry. He hurried to the door, but their guide was gone. The corridor was empty, only their bags were stacked outside their door. ‘Is anyone there?’ ‘Jerry, I have a bad feeling about this,’ said Barbara. Jerry leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily. ‘Jerry?’ He slipped into her arms. ‘I think I got too much sun,’ he said. Barbara pulled him to the bed. He was so heavy she thought for a moment he wouldn’t make it, but then he fell across her knees. He was asleep within moments. Barbara sat in the dark little room, her heart pounding in her chest, trying to ignore the faint sounds of animals scuffling in the rafters above her. She tried to move, but Jerry was too heavy. She was pinned in place. A noise came, just outside their door. Barbara looked up and noticed for the first time there was no look on the door. ‘Hello?’ she forced herself to say, trying to keep the fear from her voice. ‘Is someone there?’ She could hear someone breathing. But no one answered. I have to try to stay awake, she thought. The sound of knocking on the door woke them both. Barbara gave a little shout of fright as the door opened. Morning sunlight flooded in, and Ammon stood in the doorway, smiling. ‘I hope you had a restful night, Mr. and Mrs. Shilling.’ The rest of their trip, Barbara would tell their friends later, was perfect. Barbara and Jerry took things at their own pace, not rushing like they had on that first day. ‘Until we arrived in Aswan,’ Barbara would explain. ‘And then Ammon… well, it was uncomfortable. I feel sorry for him now. He’d been walking around with this secret.’ Arriving in Aswan, as they walked down the ramp Barbara cast a wistful glance back at the boat. ‘I feel like everything back home is going to feel so normal by comparison,’ she said. ‘Looks like someone wants to say goodbye,’ said Jerry. Ammon was hurrying after them. His uniform, usually perfectly pressed, looked ruffled. ‘I am sad to be saying goodbye to two such generous guests,’ he said. Jerry sighed and reached into his pocket for a five-dollar bill. ‘Please,’ said Ammon. ‘I am sorry, Mr. Shilling, but can you spare any more? My family and I are in a bad situation.’ Ammon glanced nervously back at the boat. ‘Please, sir.’ ‘Go on, Jerry,’ said Barbara. ‘Ammon’s been so good to us.’ Jerry fished in his pockets again. ‘That’s everything I have on me.’ Ammon quickly hid the money in his coat pocket before walking back onto the boat. Two weeks after Jerry and Barbara returned home, the phone calls started. They came late at night, from another time zone. Then letters and postcards started arriving from towns all along the Nile, written in halting English. ‘There was nothing threatening,’ Barbara would say to her friends. ‘It was like they wanted just to connect with us. To be friends. But we had no idea how to write back.’ At this point, Jerry would always lean across the table. ‘Then I looked at my credit card statement. Would you believe – additional charges from that hotel we never stayed in!’ ‘So I called, didn’t I, Jerry, I called the hotel and they hadn’t been closed at all. No renovations, nothing. In fact, our room had been sub-rented that night, to complete strangers, and they’d run up a terrible bill on room service. I tried to explain, but no one wanted to listen.’ ‘So what did you do?’ Jerry shrugged. ‘We paid.’ Whenever they told this story to their friends, Jerry ended up thinking about the stranger’s kidney in his body. Most days he never thought about it at all. But somehow it gave him the same feeling that he’d had in Egypt. As if he’d been transplanted, put down somewhere different, and somehow had to keep going.