Connect

By Bryan Andrews

The chance sighting of a stranger sitting on a rock in the Temple of Karnak sets bells ringing in Philip's mind.  The man looks familiar, but Philip cannot pinpoint where or when he would have met him.  As Philip travels through Egypt on a photographic assignment, the stranger occupies a prominent place in his thoughts and he tries, unsuccessfully, to track him down to find out who he is.

Through a series of random events (can any event be random when Jesus is involved?), Philip ends up in Paris and finds Pierre – the man who was sitting on the rock in Karnak.

Over the course of a year, and under the guidance and leading of Jesus, the two men discover things about each other that both shock and please them as a strong, brotherly bond is forged between them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryan ANDREWS
• Release date: Oct 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201530433

Book preview

THANKS

With any book that reaches the publication stage, there are a number of people who need to be thanked for their input and contribution.

This book is no exception, and I am deeply grateful to the following people.

MATT MIKALATOS, whom I have not had the privilege of meeting yet.  Chapter 14 of your book ‘Into the Fray’ was the final ‘kick up the rear end’ that I needed to actually get on and write the story that our Lord Jesus put in my head more than 20 years ago.

MANDY COLLINS and BRUCE DENNILL who have acted as sounding boards and sources of inspiration from the initial stage of conception right through to completion.

My very, very good friend PHIL BOWKER who provided the much needed negatives that kept me on track as I advanced the story.  Some of them I ignored.  Most I took on board.

PASTOR NICK BEKKER and BRIAN HELSBY for checking the book from a Scriptural point of view and for encouraging me to go ahead and publish.

My wonderful team of editors – MANDY WATSON, JALDA HODGES and LORNE WRAY. Your hard work and constructive input are more deeply appreciated than I can possibly express in words, so THANK YOU will have to suffice.

My very talented daughter-in-law CARON ANDREWS for her cover design.  This is the second time that she has brought her artistic skills and discerning eye to enhance one of my books.  Thank you so much.

May our Lord bless all of you abundantly beyond your expectations.

UPPER EGYPT - JULY 2000

PHILIP

I’ve seen him before ...can’t remember where...but I know I’ve seen him before.

Perhaps it was in a glossy magazine...can’t think which one...but if he isn’t a model, he should be.  He’s got the face and physique that exudes the kind of masculinity oozing out of men’s fragrance ads in GQ or even Vogue.

I wonder what he’s doing here...he’s definitely not sitting for a photo shoot – there are no cameras in sight; none of the usual camp following with a powder puff, keeping his face dry so that the sweat doesn’t shine in the pics; no one fluffing up that hair that is plastered to his head with sweat ...and any wardrobe mistress worth her salt wouldn’t allow him to stay in that sleeveless T-shirt with the huge sweat marks under his arms.

If he’s a normal tourist, he’s crazy to be here at this time of the year.  It’s only mad photo-journalists like me, who need to earn a living, that come out at this time of day in the height of the Egyptian summer to take a few shots that might attract a flood of tourists in the cooler months.

Nabil is talking to me.  I can hear him saying something about the Sacred Lake and Amun and Mut, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

You’re not listening to me, are you?

I’m sorry, my friend.  I’m struggling with the heat.

I wipe away the sweat that is streaming down my face and adjust the peak of my baseball cap to keep the sun off the nape of my neck.

Can I get anything cold to drink, around here?

There’s a cafeteria over there. Nabil points to a shabby kiosk half hidden by one of the few bushes in the area.  They sell Pepsi.......and water...and tea.

I see the cafeteria. I also see a group of about twenty-five excitable tourists clamouring for service.

I’ll wait for the crowd to go, I mutter as my attention is drawn back to the man.

Have a look at that broken piece of Hatshepsut’s obelisk while you’re waiting, says Nabil.  The hieroglyphs are still clearly defined.  Might be worth a photograph or two.

The man who attracted my attention, is sitting on the broken obelisk.  He looks hot and uncomfortable and out of place, perched on a piece of antiquity.  I don’t think he’s enjoying the experience at all.  He looks like he’d rather be somewhere else.

I really try hard not to stare but I can’t help myself.  I know him...I’m certain I know him, but I can’t place where we might have met.  I wrack my brains as I stare at him but nothing rings a bell in my head.  I’m surprised that he hasn’t noticed that I am looking at him. I watch him lift a bottle of water to his mouth and tip his head back slightly to drink.  The angle of the finely chiselled, handsome face triggers my photographer’s instinct into action. I reach for the camera hanging around my neck and take five or six quick shots – even managing to manoeuvre myself to shoot him from different angles without the man realising that he is being photographed.  I switch my gaze to the ancient obelisk instead of the man sitting on it.  I scan the surface through the camera lens, looking for some feature that will distinguish it from the other obelisks I’ve photographed or will be photographing during the trip. 

Suddenly, a burst of feminine laughter distracts me even further.  Turning towards the noise, I am confronted by a tall, willowy brunette leading a group of women in a conger around the statue of a huge scarab beetle.  Some of the men in their party are cheering them on, shouting in unison each time they complete a circuit.

......Deux!...Trois!...Quatre!...Cinq!...Six!...Sept!

At this point, the men break into applause and the women dissolve into fits of giggles.

Mystified by the proceedings and hoping for an explanation, I look around for Nabil and locate him, standing in the shade of a refreshment kiosk umbrella, chatting to one of the other guides.  As I head over to them, the other guide looks at his watch, says something to Nabil that makes them both laugh and walks toward the exit, calling to the group near the statue to join him.

What was that about?

The women and the statue?

Uhuh.

This is a very special statue, Nabil tells me. It’s a sacred scarab.  If you circle it seven times, your dearest wish will come true.

...And that’s why those women were dancing around it?

Uhuh.

Sounds a bit like an urban legend, I chuckle, ...but it might warrant a picture and a few lines in one of my articles.  Some people like to read about superstitions like that.

As I move around the statue, trying to find the best angle for a photograph, I see that the man on the obelisk has moved to join the group that is being shepherded out of the Temple by Nabil’s friend.

There’s no-one at the kiosk, says Nabil.  You can get a drink now.  Their tea’s good.

In this heat, I’ll stick to something cold.  Can I buy you a Pepsi?

I’m fine, thank you.  I brought water with me.

Very wise.  Remind me to do the same when we go to the Valley of the Kings tomorrow.

In spite of the heat, Karnak fascinates me, and it is another hour before Nabil can drag me away to see the sister temple of Luxor.  While not as magnificent as Karnak, I am fascinated by the Luxor Temple and the mosque that is perched on top of its excavated structure and an hour and a half passes before Nabil finally convinces me that it is time to head back to my hotel.  By now, even he is sweating. 

Back at the Old Winter Palace where I’ll be spending the night, we stop at the bottom of the curved, stone stairway sweeping up to heavy wooden doors set in an imposing façade that hints at the luxury inside.

I’ll be here at nine tomorrow morning, Nabil tells me as he prepares to leave.  Please be checked out and ready...And have all your luggage with you.  We’ll go straight from the Valley of the Kings to the cruise boat.

I’ll be ready, I assure him, patting his shoulder in a gesture of friendliness.

Good, says Nabil, handing me a business card.  And if you need me this evening, my mobile number is on the card.

Thank you, I reply as I turn and head up the granite steps toward the cool hotel lobby.  I’ll see you at nine.

Once in my room, I strip off my clothing, wiping the sweat off my face and neck with my damp T-shirt.  A good ten minutes under a cold shower, gets rid of the fine Egyptian dust which has settled everywhere – even under my nails and in the corners of my eyes.  Once out of the shower, I stretch out on the bed and let the water evaporate on my skin, enjoying the coolness while it lasts.

Feeling relaxed and at peace, I switch on my laptop and download the day’s photographs.  I take my time over each picture, examining it carefully, jotting down my impressions of the day’s experiences, linking them to the photographs, sorting things into a logical sequence, deleting bad shots and putting those of the man on the rock into a separate folder.  I am pleased with what I see.  I have covered the highlights of Karnak and Luxor pretty thoroughly.

Returning to the pictures of the man, I study them intently, evaluating the subject rather than the quality of the photographs.  I had been working quickly and some of the pictures are slightly blurred but there’s nothing I can’t sharpen and enhance digitally.  My mind churns with uncoordinated memory glimpses which I cannot connect into a sensible thought pattern.

For ten years, I have taken every problem and almost every question to Jesus.  It’s as natural for me to talk to Him as it was to talk to my father before he died, so I ask Him the question that I might have asked Dad if he was here.

What is it about this man, Lord?  Why am I so fascinated by someone I have never met...never even seen before?

I don’t get an answer to my question, but I’m sure that I have to see him again – have to meet him and talk to him...have to find out why he seems so familiar and why I am so intrigued by him.

I scribble in my notebook: Saw a man on a rock.  Know the Lord is telling me something.  Not sure what.

The heat of the day has made me thirsty.  I switch off the laptop, pull on a light-weight cotton shirt and trousers and stroll down to the Library Bar for a gin and tonic.  The bar, shrouded in a cool semi-darkness behind its heavy drapes, is empty except for the lone barman polishing glasses for the evening’s trade.

Hotel empty tonight? I ask the barman.

No...is full.

Where’s everyone?

The barman shrugs.  Valley of the Kings...Karnak...Dendara.

Dendara?  Is it worth seeing?

Is good.

The barman turns his back on me and starts stacking the polished glasses in readiness for the evening’s business.  Taking it as a signal that our conversation has come to an end, I move away from the bar and examine the memorabilia from a bygone era which is scattered around the room.  When I reach the bookcase at the opposite end of the room, the barman speaks again.

King Farouk...he read them.

King Farouk read these books?

Yes, comes the reply.

All of them?

Yes......all of them.

Ever on the look-out for a good story, I run my eye across the books on the shelf. The late king’s taste in literature was pretty catholic.  There are a couple of Agatha Christies, some early Hemmingways and even a P.G. Wodehouse – nothing that particularly appeals, but in this heat, nothing appeals to me.

Did he come here often? I ask.  ....King Farouk, I mean.

Couldn’t tell you.... A soft, feminine drawl floats across the room.  Didn’t even know he’d been here.

Surprised, I turn to face the speaker.  Curled into a leather armchair near the bar is a strikingly beautiful woman.  Dark hair cut short and feathered into a contemporary style, accentuates high cheekbones, dark, doleful eyes and a sensuous mouth.

You were talking to me, weren’t you?

Actually, I wasn’t, I stammer.  I was talking to the barman.

Well, he doesn’t seem to be around, so you’ve ended up talking to me.  Sorry if that’s a bit of a let-down.

N-no!  N-not at all! I’m annoyed with myself.  I’m stammering like an awkward schoolboy.  Can I get you a drink?

I don’t think so, she says, flashing a heart-stopping smile at me, there’s no barman.

Oh...yes...yes...you’re right.

Trying to cover my embarrassment, I drain my glass and abandon it on the edge of the bookshelf.  The heavy drapes and period furnishings are becoming oppressive and in the awkwardness of the moment I am suddenly aware of the heat of the late afternoon sun baking on the windowpanes and making its presence felt – even where it can’t be seen.

It’s kinda hot in here, I mutter as I head for the door.  Think I’ll see if it’s any cooler down by the river.

Can I go with you? the woman asks.  I’d love to see the sunset, but I don’t think it would be wise to walk along the Corniche on my own.

You needn’t worry, really, I assure her.  You’ll be perfectly safe. No-one will pester you.

That wasn’t my experience in Cairo.

Really?

Let’s just say that a Western woman, walking on her own, is considered fair game here.

I’m surprised.  I thought the tourist police were doing a good job.

Don’t get me wrong.  I wasn’t attacked or molested...but you get tired of the incessant sneers, snide remarks and lewd suggestions.

Oh, I mutter, lamely, I didn’t know....

You wouldn’t...You’re not a woman...May I walk with you?

Yes...yes, of course.

Thank you.  The woman flashes another radiant smile, calculated to make any man go weak at the knees.  I’m Delia, by the way.

Philip...Philip Gordon.

Pleased to meet you, Delia purrs.  I’m from Australia...where do you come from?

South Africa...Johannesburg, actually.

South Africa! Delia exclaims as we leave the bar and head for the hotel entrance.  It’s on my bucket list.  I’d really love to go there...Sun City’s like a fairy tale, I’m told....

A bit over the top, I tell her, but a good tourist attraction.

And the Kruger Park must be something else, she continues to gush. All those animals so close that you can almost touch them.

I wouldn’t try that if I were you.

Of course, not...I might not have seen a lion in the wild, but I know it can be dangerous.

Even though the sun is setting, it feels as if we’ve walked into a wall of heat as we emerge from the hotel, cross the road and stroll along the Corniche.  We’re not the only people who thought we’d find refuge from the heat under the trees next to the water...and we’re not the only ones who are disappointed.  We pass a number of men wiping sweat off their faces with handkerchiefs which have clearly been used for that purpose a number of times during the course of the day. 

I wonder how the man on the rock is coping with the heat.  

Bad thought!!  Now that the man is in my head again, my mind is refusing to focus on anything other than the questions I have about him - who is he; why, out of all the men who were in Karnak today, did he grab my attention; where have I seen him before; what is Jesus wanting me to do about him; how do I go about finding him?  The breath-taking colours of the evening sky, the plethora of cruise boats moored along the bank, even the beautiful young woman who has linked her arm through mine as we walk, fails to make much of an impression on me.  Telling myself to stop being stupid and to concentrate on my surroundings is achieving nothing, so I send up a quick prayer to Jesus, asking Him what He’s trying to tell me.

In the silence that follows, no answer comes, and I walk on, still puzzled by what to make of the encounter...if that’s what it was.

So, what brings you to Egypt? Delia asks after we’ve walked half the length of the Corniche in silence.

I drag my thoughts back to the present.  Work.  I’m a photo-journalist on assignment - doing a series of articles on the attractions of Egypt. And you?

On holiday - I’ve always been fascinated by the Egypt of the Pharaohs and decided it was time to come and see in real life what I’ve only seen in magazines and on TV.

Enjoying it?

Oh, yes, she enthuses.  The articles only hint at the magnificence of the reality...I mean, I spent ages in the Museum just looking at the coffin and burial mask of Tut-ankh-Amun.

She gushes on about Cairo...the awesome Pyramids...the mysterious Sphinx...the magnificent Nile. 

The tone of her gush is similar to the tone she used about South Africa a little earlier and I don’t hear most of it.  My thoughts stray back to the man on the rock.

At the end of the Corniche, I hail a caleche and ask the driver to take us back to the hotel.  Reclining into the carriage’s leather seat, I allow the gentle pace of the horse to lull me into a state of relaxation and for a few moments at least, I am able to enjoy the twilight beauty of the Nile.

As I relax, I become very aware of the young woman sitting next to me.

I’m sorry, I say ruefully. I’m not very good company.  Got a lot on my mind at the moment.

Work?

Sort of.

That’s OK....As long as it isn’t another girl...and I’m causing problems by being here with you.

There isn’t another girl here with me, I assure her.

That’s OK, then, she murmurs.

Silence descends over us again...a silence which remains until the caleche draws up outside the hotel.

Thank you. She smiles as we step out of the caleche.  Feel like a drink?

I turn to her from paying the caleche driver.

Not now, if you don’t mind.  I have something to do before dinner...What are you doing for dinner?

Nothing in particular.

Would you like to join me?

That would be nice.  What time?

Not sure.  Can I call you when I’ve finished my work?

Sure.  As long as it‘s not too late.  I don’t believe in heavy meals late at night.

Trying to be the perfect gentleman, I escort her to her room and then head for mine.

Once inside, I switch on my laptop and look at the pictures of the man from Karnak again. 

There’s something familiar about this man, Lord Jesus, I pray softly.  What is it?  I need to meet him...speak to him...clear up this mystery.  If You orchestrated this encounter, there’s a reason for it.  Please show me what You want me to do.

Trying to stay in tune with Jesus, I close my laptop, open my Bible and start reading.  It doesn’t help.  My mind keeps straying away from what I am reading and back to the man...and I’m sensing no leading from the Lord.

Eventually, I give up, open my laptop again and flick idly through the pictures I took this morning.  As I look at the pics of the scarab beetle, I know what my next step must be. I pull the business card Nabil gave me out of my wallet and make a telephone call.

Nabil...Philip here.  This morning you were chatting to another guide near the Sacred Lake...Yes...the one who was looking after the women who danced around the scarab...That’s right...Who is he?...Do you know where I can find him?...No...I’m very happy with your services...I just need to ask him something about his group...Will I be able to see him this evening?...Well, we’ve got a busy morning and the boat sails for Esna after lunch.  I don’t think there’ll be enough time in the morning...OK  I’ll wait for your call...Yes, here in my room...No, I haven’t had dinner yet.  I’ll eat later.

I hang up and go back to the pictures of the man, trying to discover what is so significant about him.  Why is a man I don’t know and am not likely to see again gate crashing my thoughts like this?  No matter how hard I look at them, they reveal nothing new, nothing that makes any sense out of the questions running through my mind.  I am still staring at the pictures when the concierge calls to say that Nabil is waiting for me.  I put my laptop into its bag, sling it over my shoulder and head for the lobby.

Nabil takes me to one of the residential areas of Luxor.  The buildings look a little run down and seedy, but I’ve learnt that, in Egypt, a home is not judged by its external appearance.  The age of the buildings, the ravages of the Egyptian climate and the punishing desert sandstorms have taken their toll on the exteriors of most buildings, while the interiors might well speak of wealth and sometimes opulence.  The home we enter is no exception.  The outside is nothing to get excited about, but the inside indicates middle-class wealth.  The furnishings are typically Egyptian – a little garish for the Western eye, perhaps, but each item would not be out of place in the average middle class South African home.

A servant girl opens the front door and ushers us through to the sitting room.  The guide I saw this morning stands up as we enter the room.

Tea, he says quietly, and the servant girl scuttles off.

Philip, this is Karim, says Nabil.

Thank you so much for agreeing to see me at such short notice. I smile as I shake Karim’s hand.

Welcome to my home.  Please have a seat.  Leila will bring tea shortly.

The three of us sit in silence for a few moments.  Knowing that etiquette doesn’t permit me to plunge in with a direct question, I wait for my host to open the conversation. 

After what seems like an age, Karim speaks again.

"What do you think of Egypt?’

I love it.

And Luxor...?

Fascinating.  Karnak is incredible...makes me wish I could go back in time.  I’d love to see what it was really like in the days of the Pharaohs.

Uh-huh, Karim grunts, Karnak has that effect on people.  Have you seen the Sound and Light show?

No time, interjects Nabil.  ...Very quick inspection trip, this one...

Conversation ceases when Leila brings the tea in three ornate glass cups, puts one down in front of each of us and retires from the room.

Karim takes a mouthful of the sweet mint tea and relaxes back into his chair.

How can I help you, Mr Philip?

There was a man in your party this morning, I say.  I’d like to find out more about him?

Why?

I don’t know, really.  There was something significant about him when I saw him at Karnak...but I’m not sure what.  Since then, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind.

Describe him to me.

I’ll do better than that, I take out my laptop as I’m talking.  I’ve got pictures of him.

Karim glances at the photos that I pull up onto the screen.

I remember him.  I think he was an important member of the group.  Everyone else seemed to listen when he spoke.  I don’t know what his name is, but I do know he’s a good tipper...Very generous with the baksheesh.

Where’s the group staying? I ask.

On the Akhenaten IV.  The tour of Karnak was part of the cruise schedule.

Nabil, can we go and find the boat, please?

Yeeaa....aas, Nabil replies a little hesitantly.

No, interjects Karim.  You’ll be wasting your time.  She’s sailed already.

Sailed?

She left Luxor this afternoon.  Your friend is sleeping in Edfu tonight.

Frustration and disappointment well up inside me.  I’ve never been able to conceal my emotions, no matter how hard I try.  My face always reflects what I’m feeling and, true to form, it gives me away again this time.

Don’t worry, my friend says Nabil.  We’ll find him in Aswan.  All the boats that leave Luxor sail to Aswan.  We’ll track him down when we get there.

After a few farewell pleasantries, Nabil and I leave Karim watching the news on TV.

Have you eaten? I ask as we stand on the pavement outside.

No yet.

Please will you join me for dinner?

Thank you, but no, comes the diplomatic reply.  My wife is waiting for me.

I’m so sorry!  I haven’t been very considerate, have I?

No problem.  I’m often called out in the evening.  I’ll take you back to the hotel and then go home.

Back at the hotel, I put a call through to Delia’s room.

Hi.  Like to join me for dinner?

Would have loved to, she purrs, ....but I thought you’d forgotten me, so I ordered room service.  I’ve just finished eating.

Oh well...some other time...when you’re in South Africa, perhaps.

That’ll be nice, a hint of iciness creeps into the purr.  If I’m ever out your way, that is.

Sitting alone at a table in the hotel restaurant, I toy with the food in front of me.  It’s excellent but I don’t really appreciate it.  If the steward had placed a piece of cardboard in front of me, it would probably have tasted the same as the chicken I’m ploughing my way through.  My mind is so full of the man