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: What do you love? Katharine Clifton
: What do I love? Almásy
: Say everything. Katharine Clifton
: Hm, let's see... Water. Fish in it. And hedgehogs; I love hedgehogs. Almásy
: And what else? Katharine Clifton
: Marmite - I'm addicted. And baths. But not with other people. Islands. Your handwriting. I could go on all day. Almásy
: Go on all day. Katharine Clifton
: My husband. Almásy
: What do you hate most? Katharine Clifton
: A lie. What do you hate most? Almásy
: Ownership. Being owned. When you leave, you should forget me.
[she adopts a look of disgust, pushes him gently away to get out of the tub, picks up her tattered dress and leaves
: I just wanted you to know: I'm not missing you yet. Katharine Clifton
: You will.
: When were you most happy? Katharine Clifton
: Now. Almásy
: And when were you least happy? Katharine Clifton
: I'm impressed you can sew. Almásy
: Good. Katharine Clifton
: You sew very badly. Almásy
: Well, you don't sew at all. Katharine Clifton
: A woman should never learn to sew, and if she can she shouldn't admit to it.
: Do you think you are the only one who feels anything?
: Promise me you'll come back for me. Almásy
: I promise, I'll come back for you. I promise, I'll never leave you.
: Am I K in your book? I think I must be.
: You speak so many bloody languages, and you never want to talk.
: I wanted to meet the man who could write such a long paper with so few adjectives.
: Will we be alright? Almásy
: Yes. Yes, absolutely. Katharine Clifton
: "Yes" is a comfort. "Absolutely" is not.
: This - what is this? Almásy
: It's a folk song. Katharine Clifton
: Arabic. Almásy
: No, no. It's Hungarian. My daijka sang it to me when I was a child growing up in Budapest. Katharine Clifton
: It's beautiful. What's it about? Almásy
: Szerelam means love. And the story, well, there's this Hungarian count. He's a wanderer. He's a fool. And for years he's on some kind of a quest for... who knows what. And then one day, he falls under the spell of a mysterious English woman. A harpy, who beats him, and hits him, he becomes her slave, and he sews her clothes, and worships...
[Katharine starts hitting him
: Stop it! Stop it! You're always beating me! Katharine Clifton
: Bastard! You bastard, I believed you! You should be my slave.
: My darling. I'm waiting for you. How long is the day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone, and I'm horribly cold. I really should drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun. I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings, not writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we've entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on maps with the names of powerful men. I know you'll come carry me out to the Palace of Winds. That's what I've wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps. The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.
: You're wearing the thimble. Katharine Clifton
: Of course, you idiot. I always wear it; I've always worn it; I've always loved you.
: D'you not come in? Almásy
: No. I should go home. Katharine Clifton
: Will you please come in? Almásy
: Mrs. Clifton... Katharine Clifton
] Don't. Almásy
: I believe you still have my book.
: Let me tell you about winds. There is a, a whirlwind from southern Morrocco, the aajej, against which the fellahin defend themselves with knives. And there is the... the ghibli, from Tunis... Katharine Clifton
] The "ghibli"? Almásy
] - the ghibli, which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces a... a rather strange nervous condition. And then there is the... the harmattan, a red wind, which mariners call the sea of darkness. And red sand from this wind has flown as far as the south coast of England, apparently producing... showers so dense that they were mistaken for blood. Katharine Clifton
: Fiction! We have a house on that coast and it has never, never rained blood. Almásy
: No, it's all true. Herodotus, your friend. He writes about it. And he writes about... a, a wind, the simoon, which a nation thought was so evil they declared war on it and marched out against it. In full battle dress. Their swords raised.
] Why did you follow me yesterday? Almásy
: I'm sorry, what? Katharine Clifton
: After the market, you followed me to the hotel. Almásy
: I was concerned. A woman in that part of Cairo, a European woman, I felt obliged to. Katharine Clifton
] You felt obliged to? Almásy
: As the wife of one of our party. Katharine Clifton
: So why follow me? Escort me, by all means, but following me is predatory, isn't it?