uneasily on his feet. "Lunch sounds great. I just wish you'd given me more warning. I could have arranged things."
I nodded to the rows of what were clearly temporary buildings behind him. "Come on, Dad, there's got to be at least one cafeteria out here. You know I'm not fussy. I'll have what the troops are having."
He frowned at my mention of troops.
"That's the problem. There are only a few female employees here during this construction phase. And the men, when they take a break, they prefer to eat alone."
"You mean, they prefer to dine without females present?" I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance. He quickly held up his hands.
"This form of segregation is practiced in America. Especially when you have a job site where ninety-nine percent of the employees are male."
"Really? When was the last time you worked on such a site?"
"Sara..."
"Dad. I just want to have lunch with you and maybe get a quick tour of the place. That's not asking a lot. The hotel is nice but you're the only one I know in this whole country. You know what I mean?"
He considered. I had asked without whining, which was wise. He did not respond well to emotional outbursts. Finally, he nodded and took me by the hand.
"We'll have lunch, and I'll give you a tour. Just as long as you listen to me when I say where we can go and where is out of bounds."
I felt a rush of relief, not realizing how tense I had been about our possible showdown. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"I'll follow your orders to the
T
" I promised.
I let the taxi go. The driver looked disappointed when I only tipped him ten lira. What the heck; it was almost seven bucks.
I ended up causing a stir when I entered the all-male cafeteria, but it vanished when I smiled and waved to the men. My charm—or the fact that my dad was one of the bosses—quickly evaporated the tension. Soon we were gorging ourselves on lamb chops, rice, and goat cheese, which I developed an immediate taste for.
The tour of the site proved less successful. My dad found a stripped-down Jeep and drove me around the oil wells and the makeshift office buildings. However, when it came to the main site—where two hundred cranes were performing massive excavation, and thick walls of concrete were being poured night and day—he only let me have a distant glimpse through binoculars. I asked why. He said there were security reasons.
"I'm sorry, but it all seems like a bunch of paranoia to me," I said.
He considered. "Maybe there's a place I can show you that's supposed to be off-limits."
"What is it?"
"A cave."
"Just a cave?"
"It's what the cave leads to. I may be the chief engineer when it comes to this job, but you remember what a hard-core archaeological buff I am. Well, there's this cave that leads to ruins we suspect might be older than anything mankind has ever discovered."
I was getting really interested. "You're kidding me. How old do they think they are?"
"The experts we've hired say seven thousand years."
"But Sumerian civilization..."
"Was six thousand years ago. These ruins might be older. Now, I know I can take you to the cave entrance. But getting permission to go inside will be another matter."
I trembled with excitement. I loved archaeology myself. "Please try hard, Dad," I said.
"No promises."
We drove away from the buildings and pit, and down a steep hill to a cave entrance. I was surprised to see Mr. Toval and Mrs. Steward, my father's bosses, hanging out there.
Mr. Toval was from Jordan. He was a Muslim, dark-skinned and tall. The man never seemed to age. I had seen pictures of him and my dad taken before I was born and he looked the same as he did now—at sixty years of age. My father said it was not fair; he was jealous of the guy. Mr. Toval was always polite to me but I nevertheless found him cold.
Mrs. Steward was the reverse. She was from the Midwest and looked like a classic grandmother. She waved as we drove up. She loved talking about New Age topics and had a