The Mummy Case (4 page)

Except for this single error—which for John could not be blamed, since Ramses had locked him in their cabin—the young man performed well. He followed Ramses' every step and scarcely took his eyes off the boy. He attended to the needs of Bastet, such as they were; the cat required far less attendance than a human child. (Which is one of the reasons why spinster ladies prefer felines to babies.) Ramses had not insisted on bringing the cat; he had simply taken it for granted that she would accompany him. The few occasions on which they had been parted had proved so horrendous for all concerned that I gave in with scarcely a struggle.

But to return to John. He proved to be one of Emerson's more brilliant inspirations, and with my characteristic graciousness I admitted as much to my husband.

"John," I said, "was one of your more brilliant inspirations, Emerson."

It was the night before we were to dock at Alexandria, and we reclined in harmonious marital accord on the narrow bunk in our stateroom. John and Ramses occupied the adjoining cabin. Knowing that the porthole had been nailed shut and the key to the locked cabin door was in Emerson's possession, I was at ease about Ramses' present location and therefore able to enjoy my own, in the embrace of my husband. His muscular arms tightened about me as he replied sleepily, "I told you so."

In my opinion this comment should be avoided, particularly by married persons. I refrained from replying, however. The night was balmy with the breezes of the Orient; moonlight made a silver path across the floor; and the close proximity of Emerson, necessitated by the narrowness of the couch on which we reclined, induced a mood of amiable forbearance.

"He has not succumbed to mal de mer," I continued. "He is learning Arabic with remarkable facility; he gets on well with the cat Bastet."

Emerson's reply had nothing to do with the subject under discussion, and succeeded in distracting me, accompanied as it was by certain non-verbal demonstrations. When I was able to speak, I went on, "I am beginning to believe I have underestimated the lad's intelligence. He may be of use to us on the dig: keeping the records of pay for the men, or even—"

"I cannot conceive," said Emerson, "why you insist on talking about the footman at such a moment as this."

I was forced to concede that once again Emerson was quite correct. It was not the time to be talking about the footman.

John proved a weak vessel after all. He was snuffling next morning, and by the time we reached Cairo he had a fully developed
case of catarrh, with all the attendant internal unpleasantnesses. Upon being questioned he weakly admitted he had left off the flannel belt with which I had provided him, cautioning him to wear it day and night in order to prevent a chill.

"Madness!" I exclaimed, as I tucked him into bed and laid out the appropriate medications. "Absolute madness, young man! You disregarded my instructions and now you see the consequences. Why didn't you wear your belt? Where is it?"

John's face was crimson from the base of his sturdy throat to the roots of his hair, whether from remorse or the exertion of attempting to prevent me from putting him to bed I cannot say. Pouring out a dessert spoonful of the gentle aperient I commonly employ for this ailment, I seized him by the nose and, as his mouth opened in a quest for oxygen, I poured the medicine down his throat. A dose of bismuth succeeded the aperient, and then I repeated my question. "Where is your belt, John? You must wear it every instant."

John was incapable of speech. However, the briefest flicker of his eyes in the direction of Ramses gave the answer I expected. The boy stood at the foot of the bed, watching with a look of cool curiosity, and as I turned in his direction he answered readily, "It is my fault, Mama. I needed de flannel to make a lead for de cat Bastet."

The animal in question was perched on the footboard, studying the mosquito netting draped high above the couch with an expression that aroused my deepest suspicions. I had noted with approval the braided rope with which Bastet had been provided. It was one item I had not thought to bring, since the cat usually followed Ramses' steps as closely as a devoted dog; but in a strange city, under strange circumstances, it was certainly a sensible precaution. Not until that moment, however, had I recognized the rope as the remains of a flannel belt.

Addressing the most pressing problem first, I said sternly, "Bastet, you are not to climb the mosquito netting. It is too fragile to bear your weight and will collapse if you attempt the feat." The cat glanced at me and murmured low in its throat,
and I went on, now addressing my son, "Why did you not use your own flannel belt?"

"Because you would have seen it was gone," said Ramses, with the candor that is one of his more admirable characteristics.

"Who needs the cursed belts anyway?" demanded Emerson, who had been ranging the room like a caged tiger. "I never wear one. See here, Amelia, you have wasted enough time playing physician. This is a temporary affliction; most tourists suffer from it, and John will get on better if you leave him alone. Come; we have a great deal to do, and I need your assistance."

So adjured, I could only acquiesce. We retired to our own room, which adjoined that of the sufferer, taking Ramses (and of course the cat) with us. But when I would have turned toward the trunk that contained our books and notes, Emerson grasped my arm and drew me to the window.

Our room was on the third floor of the hotel, with a small iron-railed balcony overlooking the gardens of Ezbekieh Square. The mimosa trees were in bloom; chrysanthemums and poinsettias mingled in riotous profusion; the famous roses formed velvety masses of crimson and gold and snowy white. But for once the flowers (of which I am exceedingly fond) did not hold my gaze. My eyes sought the upper air, where roofs and domes, minarets and spires swam in a misty splendor of light.

Emerson's broad breast swelled in a deep sigh, and a contented smile illumined his face. He drew Ramses into his other arm. I knew—I shared—the joy that filled his heart as for the first time he introduced his son to the life that was all in all to him. It was a moment fraught with emotion—or it would have been, had not Ramses, in an effort to get a better look, swarmed up onto the railing, whence he was plucked by the paternal arm as he teetered perilously.

"Don't do that, my boy," said Emerson. "It is not safe. Papa will hold you."

With a visible sneer of contempt for human frailty the cat Bastet took Ramses' place on the rail. The noises from the street
below rose in pitch as travelers returning from the day's excursions dismounted from donkeys or carriages. Conjurers and snake charmers sought to attract the attention, and the baksheesh, of the hotel guests; vendors of flowers and trinkets raised their voices in discordant appeal. A military band marched down the street, preceded by a water carrier running backward as he poured from a huge jar in order to lay the dust. Ramses' juvenile countenance displayed little emotion. It seldom did. Only a gentle flush warmed his tanned cheek, which was, for Ramses, a display of great excitement and interest.

The cat Bastet attacked her sleek flank with bared teeth.

"She cannot have picked up a flea already," I exclaimed, carrying the animal to a chair.

But she had. I dealt with the offender, made certain it had been a solitary explorer, and then remarked, "Your notion of a lead was a good idea, Ramses, but this dirty rag will not do. Tomorrow we will purchase a proper leather collar and lead in the bazaar."

My husband and son remained at the window. Emerson was pointing out the sights of the city. I did not disturb them. Let Emerson enjoy the moment; disillusionment would come soon enough when he realized he was destined to enjoy several days— and nights—of his son's companionship. Ramses could not share the infected chamber where John reposed, and John was in no state to provide the proper degree of supervision. He was barely up to the job even when he was in the full bloom of health.

The burden would rest principally on me, of course. I was resigned. Clapping my hands to summon the hotel safragi, I directed him to help me unpack.

We were to dine that evening with an old friend, Sheikh Mohammed Bahsoor. He was of pure Bedouin stock, with the
acquiline features and manly bearing of that splendid race. We had decided to take Ramses with us—to leave him in the hotel with only the feeble John to watch over him was not to be thought of for a moment—but my misgivings as to his behavior were happily unfulfilled. The good old man welcomed him with the gracious courtesy of a true son of the desert; and Ramses, uncharacteristically, sat still and spoke scarcely a word all evening.

I was the only female present. The sheikh's wives, of course, never left the harim, and although he always received European ladies courteously, he did not invite them to his intimate dinner parties, when the conversation dwelled upon subjects of political and scientific interest. "Women," he insisted, "cannot discuss serious matters." Needless to say, I was flattered that he did not include me in that denunciation, and I believe he enjoyed my spirited defense of the sex of which I have the honor to be a member.

The gathering was cosmopolitan. In addition to the Egyptians and Bedouins present, there was M. Naville, the Swiss archaeologist, Insinger, who was Dutch, and M. Naville's assistant, a pleasant young fellow named Howard Carter. Another gentleman was conspicuous by the magnificence of his dress. Diamonds blazed from his shirt front and his cuffs, and the broad crimson ribbon of some foreign order cut a swath across his breast. He was of medium height, but looked taller because of his extraordinary leanness of frame. He wore his black hair shorter than was the fashion; it glistened with pomade, as did his sleek little mustache. A monocle in his right eye enlarged that optic with sinister effect, giving his entire face a curiously lopsided appearance.

When he caught sight of this person, Emerson scowled and muttered something under his breath; but he was too fond of Sheikh Mohammed to make a scene. When the sheikh presented "Prince Kalenischeff," my husband forced an unconvincing smile and said only, "I have met the—er—hem—gentleman."

I had not met him, but I knew of him. As he bowed over my
hand, holding it pressed to his lips longer than convention decreed, I remembered Emerson's critical comments. "He worked at Abydos with Amelineau; between them, they made a pretty mess of the place. He calls himself an archaeologist, but that designation is as inaccurate as his title is apocryphal. If he is a Russian prince, I am the Empress of China."

Since Emerson was critical of all archaeologists, I had taken this with a grain of salt; but I must admit the prince's bold dark eyes and sneering smile made a poor impression on me.

The conversation was largely confined that evening to archaeological subjects. I remember the main topic concerned the proposed dam at Philae, which in its original design would have drowned the Ptolemaic temples on the island. Emerson, who despises the monuments of this degenerate period, annoyed a number of his colleagues by saying the cursed temples were not worth preserving, even if they did retain their original coloring. In the end, of course, he added his name to the petition sent to the Foreign Office, and I do not doubt that the name of Emerson carried considerable weight in the final decision to lower the height of the dam and spare the temples.

His eyes twinkling merrily, the sheikh made his usual provocative remarks about the female sex. I countered, as usual, and treated the gentlemen to a lecture on women's rights. Only once did a ripple of potential strife disturb the calm of the evening, when Naville asked Emerson where he would be digging that season. The question was asked in all innocence, but Emerson replied with a dark scowl and a firm refusal to discuss his plans. It might have passed off had not Kalenischeff said, in a lazy drawl, "The most promising sites have been allocated, you know. You ought not delay so long in applying, Professor."

Emerson's response would certainly have been rude. I managed to prevent it by popping a chunk of lamb into his open mouth. We were eating Arab-style, sitting cross-legged around the low table and feeding one another choice bits, a manner of dining that proved particularly useful on this occasion.

Throughout the meal Ramses sat like a little statue, speaking
only when spoken to and eating as neatly as was possible under the circumstances. When we were ready to take our departure he made an impeccable salaam and thanked the sheikh in flawless Arabic. The ingenuous old gentleman was delighted. Folding Ramses to the bosom of his spotless robes, he addressed him as "son" and proclaimed him an honorary member of his tribe.

When we were at last in the carriage, Emerson subsided with a groan and clasped his hands over his midsection. "The only fault I have to find with Arab hospitality is its extravagance. I have eaten too much, Amelia. I know I shan't sleep a wink tonight."

Since the main course had consisted of a whole roasted sheep stuffed with chickens, which were in turn stuffed with quail, I shared Emerson's sentiments. But of course it would have been the height of discourtesy to refuse a dish. Suppressing an unseemly sound of repletion, I said, "Ramses, you behaved very well. Mama was proud of you."

"I was testing my knowledge of de language," said Ramses. "It was reassuring to discover dat de purely academic training I have received from Uncle Walter was adequate for de purpose. I comprehended virtually everyt'ing dat was said."

"Did you indeed?" I said, somewhat uneasily. Ramses had been so subdued I had almost forgotten he was present, and I had expressed myself forcibly on certain of the sexual and marital customs that keep Egyptian women virtually slaves in their own homes. While I was trying to remember what I had said, Ramses went on, "Yes, I have no complaints regarding Uncle Walter's tuition. I am somewhat weak wit' regard to current slang and colloquialisms, but dat is only to be expected; one can best acquire dem from personal experience."

I murmured an abstracted agreement. I had certainly used some expressions I would have preferred Ramses not to hear. I consoled myself by hoping that Walter had not taught him words like "adultery" and "puberty."