We'd been told that we'd arrive at Aswan at about seven in the morning. I woke continually during the night, nervous because I didn't know whether or not Aswan was the terminal station for our train. Occasionally, I would make the trek to my original car to check that Marcelo and Rafael were still on the train. I found Marcelo but saw no sign of Rafael, which puzzled me and helped little to abate my nervousness.
Around six-thirty am, I went to the door and asked a fellow passenger when Aswan would arrive.
"Uh. Twelve o'clock."
I wasn't sure she'd understood the question.
I turned to someone else and repeated the question in perfect English. Received a response in perfect Arabic. I moved to broken English and sign language. Still perfect Arabic. I smiled helplessly and moved off.
The conductor, glowering nearby, displayed no signs of wanting to help. He seemed petulant about the insufficiently handsome tip I had given him he had extracted from me for the privilege of being woken unbidden from a sound slumber.
Someone else affirmed that the train was late and Aswan would arrive perhaps at noon or one pm.
Alright, then. Back to bed.
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