Vignette 3: The Famous Shepard’s Hotel

Three—The Famous Shepard’s Hotel



Cairo enjoyed a reputation as a city of intrigue and passion with the Shepard’s Hotel as its nerve center. When the Desert Fox barked at the gates of Cairo, it was easy to imagine conspiracy and cunning running riot among the polyglot jargon heard in the lobby of that internationally known hotel. Everybody gathered there. In fact, it was often stated that if one hung around long enough he was bound to meet someone he knew.

The Shepard did not live up to expectations in appearance or accommodations. Compared with the better New York hotels, it was strictly third rate. It was like a remittance man, putting on a big front and having holes in his socks, but with a trace of elegance in his bearing.

Large and pretentious on the outside, redecoration was sorely needed on the inside. In the lobby, potted palms made a half-hearted attempt at elegance, and so, too, did the immaculately dressed clerk behind the desk. He sniffed and gave thanks that he was not as other men. The dark, dull woodwork, undiscernible color scheme, and brown leather-covered chairs and divans all in a row around the large lobby were unimpressive and flat.

That group over in the corner sounded as though they were speaking Spanish. What infamous stunt was Franco up to? The two men who stood by the pillar conversed in barely audible, guttural German. They fired suspicions. A slinky Russian-looking woman flowed past them. Did they exchange a sly look? Was Uncle Joe changing sides again? At the center table, a mixed group who had lapped up considerable wine gestured excitedly to one another and spoke in rapid Italian. Still, nobody worried about Il Duce anymore. This certainly was not an atmosphere were one was likely to encounter old acquaintances.

A hand grasped my shoulder, spun me around, and clasped my hand. American words came out of an open Yankee face: “What the hell are you doing in Cairo, Slim? I thought you were in Miami.”

“Frenchy, you old sonovagun. Let’s get out of here; we’ve got five years catching up to do.”