Up ahead, the track curved and I could see a pair of automobiles waiting. An English army officer’s spectacles flashed in the light. A few minutes later, a native conductor in a red uniform with a gold sash slid open the door of our compartment. “Gentlemen, your motors are waiting,” he announced, and they disappeared down the corridor with him.

I felt stupid, not sure if we had arrived somewhere or not. I might have asked, of course, but I’d already exposed my ignorance once and was unwilling to invite additional scorn. Before I could decide what to do next, the train lurched forward. I sat back, anxious and confused.

Once again the train picked up speed. Cairo came into sight: an immense agglomeration of low, clay-colored cubes and rectangles. Sidetracks appeared, ran parallel, converged. Suddenly, the roadbed was lined by a mob of furious-looking men in white dresses who screamed and chanted something that sounded to me like “Ah-bah sure-shill! Ah-bah sure-shill!” Rocks began to hit the windows. I shrank back into the compartment, clutching at Rosie, who flung herself toward the window, barking and snarling. Then, just as suddenly, the train outran the mob, and a few minutes later we pulled into the darkness of the Cairo station.

The compartment lights went out. The fans stopped. I sat still, dazed in the eerie silence. The conductor reappeared briefly and indicated that I should leave.

I gathered my things and joined the rest of the passengers in the aisle, keeping Rosie tucked up in my arms so she wouldn’t be stepped on. We emerged into a chaos of jostling, shouting, and rushing.

Rosie and I hurried through the crowd toward the baggage car and waited for my belongings to be unloaded.