Monday. Asyut.

Lycopolis is a good one-quarter mile from the Nile - on the dike, birds; in a field, black ibises.

We come into the city through the diwan, the konak is to the right. Great square courtyard, white, planted with trees. Steep, well-kept streets. Stroll to the City of the Dead with Dr. Cuny: we see a funeral.

We climb to the caves of Lycopolis. Through the wide openings, framed view of the fields; the Arabic Range in the background. In the foreground, contrasting in the light, a donkey. To the left, below, when we go down, large cemetery with serrated walls and domes - the crumpled walls look like a confused mass of sharks jaws.

Our guide takes us by the hand and brings us, quite mysteriously, to see the footprint, on the sand, of a woman’s boot - an Englishwoman who was there a few days ago - poor boy!

Lunch at Cuny’s. His wife - daughter of Linant Bey.

Stroll in the bazaar - fat Syrian selling fabrics - a Pole speaking in Italian with Max. Excellent bath, so hot I can’t get in the pool.

The day comes to a close; we get back to the Cangia - people walking on the river’s bank looking like shadow puppets. It’s night.

Brothel again. By the water, in a hut lower than the one at Benisouef we fuck a delicious 15 year-old girl, fine, charming. Our guide covers us with his blanket while we get in. To get to the bedroom, we have to crawl on our knees. The ceiling is made of sugar canes - a lamp in the corner - a cat’s gestures sorting the piastres in my hand… - She shows me her rings, her bracelet, her earrings. Excessive greed.