Cairo's Greek Orthodox cemetery was magnificent. Statues of powerful men and women stood waiting as though the gods would one day bring them back to their living glory. The nearby Church of St. George was a tower of strength for everybody. It incorporated military fortifications from Roman times. According to tradition, St. George was imprisoned here. The chains that held him are still here to see and touch, recalling his torture and martyrdom. Sick people suffering every physical and mental disorder were brought here to be healed. In the marble floor at the center of the church there was a huge round opening that looked down into a murmuring spring with an abundance of cool water. A welcoming breeze wafted up gently from it.
A handsome man in his late thirties or early forties stood by the side of the elegantly decorated wrought-iron fence around the opening. He looked down into the water below with a blank stare. The sudden sound of loud bells shook him and his body started to quiver. He placed his strong hands over his head as if to protect himself. Then he hurried toward the altar, passing a censor next to the huge icon of St. George. The sight of smoke from the censor seemed to upset him.
The man watched the Arab women, covered from head to toe, pass him, one by one.
They venerated the three-meter-high icon, their eyes filled with devotion. The man slowly did the same, raising his left hand and looking at the dragon, which was pierced through the mouth. His eyes widened as he looked in horror at the blood gushing from the beast's wounds. He then lifted his right hand at the elbow as if to protect his face. An outline of pain was clearly visible.
He moved on to a large icon of Christ and raised his eyes to meet Christ's―a puzzled expression on his face. Then he crossed the holy gate and stopped in front of the icon of the Virgin Mary, who cradled the baby Jesus lovingly in her arms. The sight of the Christ Mother seemed to calm him and his face became serene. He approached closer and closer and suddenly kissed the icon.
The priest, Father Agathangelos, was finishing the evening Vespers with the Lord's Prayer. He was not concerned by the presence of the man wandering around the church. For him it was a familiar sight. The priest had taken a liking to the man and had started to look after him, providing food and a little cottage for him near the edge of the cemetery.
Father Agathangelos remembered how, almost eight years ago, two British soldiers accompanied by a well-dressed woman and a physician, had brought the stranger to him. They asked him to take care of him and they handed him an envelope full of money. They told him they had kept him in their military hospital for over a year. But now, with no improvement in his condition, they could not continue to care for him.