Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (126 page)

Thanks to our location on the west of the village, we had a splendid view of the pyramids from our doorstep, and when we settled down to our evening meal, we saw them silhouetted against one of the glorious sunsets for which the region is famous. We dined out-of-doors; though the smell of donkey was somewhat pervasive, it was preferable to the even more pervasive odour of Keating’s powder that clung to the interior of the house.

Nemo had accepted my invitation to dine with us, not so much because he enjoyed our company as because the men had indicated they did not enjoy his. He refused a chair; squatting on the ground with his dirty robes wadded under him, he ate with his fingers and then wiped the grease off on his skirts. I felt sure he did it to annoy me, so I said nothing.

Conversation lagged at first. Emerson was preoccupied with the next day’s work, Nemo was determined not to be affable, and even I was a trifle weary. But Ramses was never too tired to talk, and the monologue was his favourite form of discourse. First he brought us up to date on the activities of the men. We heard all about Selim’s wedding and Abdul’s divorce and Yusuf’s twins and the three-headed goat that had been born in a neighbouring village. (Such wonders are always to be found in a
neighbouring
village, and are known only through
reliable
reports from people whom no one happens to know personally.)

Moving from the specific to the general, Ramses went on to summarize Abdullah’s report on the summer at Dahshoor. Though I do not as a rule encourage Ramses to talk, I did not interrupt him on this occasion, since the exigencies of domesticity had prevented me from hearing this news firsthand. We had expected there might be trouble at the site of the excavations. During the previous season a gang of professional thieves, under the direction of that desperate and enigmatic person I have mentioned, had attempted to loot the tombs around the pyramids. We had foiled their dastardly deed, but I feared they might be tempted to try again during our absence, and there were the village amateurs to contend with – if any tomb robber in Egypt can be said to be an amateur. The fellahin have been at it for generations, clear back to the time of the pharaohs, and many of them are more skilled at finding hidden tombs than are professional archaeologists. Wretchedly poor, and lacking any national pride after centuries of Turkish rule, they see no reason why they should not profit from the riches of their ancestors.

However, according to Abdullah, there had been no sign of illicit digging. He and his sons had taken it in turn to guard the site, travelling back and forth from their village south of Cairo.

As Ramses meandered endlessly on, I noticed that Nemo was listening with an interest the personal lives of the men had failed to inspire. I broke into Ramses’ discourse.

‘You appear intrigued, Mr Nemo. You are not familiar with the prevalence of tomb robbing in Egypt?’

‘One can hardly remain ignorant of the practice if one lives for any time in Cairo,’ was the bland reply. ‘Every antiquities dealer in the city sells such merchandise.’

‘Have you never been tempted to join in the trade?’

Nemo smiled insolently. ‘Digging requires effort, Mrs Emerson. I am opposed to physical effort. Forgery, now … There is a chap in the Shâria ‘Kâmel who manufactures fake antiquities, and I have sold my share of imitation scarabs to tourists who don’t know better.’

The word ‘scarab’ had roused Emerson from his meditations. Instead of expressing outrage at this callous speech, he chuckled. ‘Don’t try salting this site, Nemo. You would not deceive me.’

‘I have better sense that that, Professor.’

‘I hope so. Er – speaking of the site, I think I might just take a stroll and refresh my memory of – er – the site. Care to join me, Peabody?’

I was sorely tempted for several reasons, not the least of which was Emerson’s meaningful smile. Before long the silvery globe of the moon would hang low above the Libyan hills, and as our national poet Shakespeare so nicely puts it, ‘such a night as this’ was made for affectionate exchanges. However, I knew I ought not to yield. Ramses would want to go with us, and I had no excuse for refusing such a request, since it was still early; but if Ramses went with us, there would be no point in our going. (If the Reader follows me, which I am sure he or she does, assuming he or she has the slightest trace of romantic sensibility.) Naturally I could not explain my reasoning aloud, so I sought refuge in a (quite valid) excuse.

‘How can you suggest such a thing, Emerson, when we still have hours of work ahead of us? There are boxes to be unpacked, your notes to set in order, my medicine chest to arrange–’

‘Curse it,’ said Emerson. ‘Oh, very well, I don’t suppose you need me–’

‘I could certainly use–’

‘In that case, I will just run along. Ramses?’

‘Thank you, Papa. I was in hopes you would proffer the invitation and in fact I had determined I would ask permission to accompany you if you did not see fit–’

‘I did see fit,’ said Emerson. ‘Come, then.’

Nemo got to his feet. ‘You needn’t come,’ Emerson said amiably. ‘I can watch after Ramses.’

‘I would much rather–’ Nemo began.

‘I require your assistance,’ I said.

‘But, Professor–’

‘No, no, young man, I don’t need you and Mrs Emerson does. Duty before pleasure, you know, duty before pleasure.’

Nemo sank down again, glowering. I waited until Emerson and Ramses had left before I spoke. ‘I believe I would like a whisky,’ I said musingly. ‘Will you join me, Mr Nemo?’

Nemo gaped at me. ‘I beg your pardon, madam?’

‘You will find the bottle and the glasses on the table in the parlour. If you will be so good as to fetch them …’

He did as I asked, and watched curiously as I filled the glasses. ‘To Her Majesty,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘God bless her.’

‘Uh – er – quite,’ said Mr Nemo, raising his.

The appetite of an opium eater is usually poor. He had eaten very little, and the alcoholic beverage took effect quite rapidly. As I had hoped, the familiar ritual, well loved by all loyal Englishmen (and women) also had a soothing effect. Nemo took a chair instead of squatting. ‘This is the first whisky I have had for – for many months,’ he said, half to himself.

‘I am a great believer in the medicinal effects of good whisky,’ I explained. ‘Particularly in the treatment of fatigue and minor nervous disorders. Naturally I would never condone an excessive dependence on it, but no reasonable person could possibly object to a civilized and moderate application. As compared, for instance, to opium–’

Nemo slumped forward, his head bowed. ‘I knew it,’ he muttered. ‘Please spare me the lecture, Mrs Emerson. You are wasting your time and mine.’

‘We have yet to discuss the terms of your employment, Mr Nemo. You can hardly suppose I would allow you to consume drugs of any kind while on duty. Watching over Ramses requires every ounce of alertness and energy a man can summon up?’

The young man’s tousled head sank lower. ‘I have neither quality left.’

‘Nonsense. You were alert enough the other evening; you can summon energy enough when it is needed. I am not asking you to abandon your disgusting habit altogether, Mr Nemo, only to refrain from it at such times when you are responsible for Ramses. Is that too much to ask?’

Nemo did not reply, but I thought I detected a stiffening of his form. I went on persuasively, ‘I will give you one day a week to yourself. That is excessively generous, but generosity is a favourite virtue of mine. Sink yourself in a degrading stupor on that day, if you must, but remain alert the rest of the time. I will be happy to dispense a reasonable quantity of whisky whenever–’

I broke off, for his bent shoulders were heaving convulsively and sounds like muffled sobs escaped from his lips. I had touched some tender chord; I had roused some forgotten spark of manhood! He had not fallen so low as I had feared. He might yet be redeemed, not only from his loathsome habit but from the despicable toils of the Master Criminal. What a triumph that would be!

Nemo sat up straight and raised his head. The rays of the setting sun cast his features in sharp outline and glittered off the tears that streaked his cheeks. ‘Mrs Emerson …’ But he could not master his emotion; his voice failed, and his chest heaved with sighs he could not restrain.

‘I understand, Mr Nemo. Say no more. Or rather, say only that you will try.’

He nodded speechlessly.

‘Would you care for another whisky?’ I asked, reaching for the bottle.

The kindly gesture was too much for the young man. With a broken cry he rose and fled into the house.

I had another small whisky. I felt I deserved it. The interview had gone much better than I had expected. In judging the young man I had forgotten to take into account the well-known habits of master criminals. Their evil webs snare rich and poor, guilty and innocent in their tangled strands (as I had once put it, rather neatly, in my opinion). In the case of young Mr Nemo, some relatively harmless escapade might have rendered him vulnerable to blackmail and enabled the M.C. (if I may be permitted to use the more convenient abbreviation) to entwine him in his toils. Perhaps he (Mr Nemo) yearned to free himself and return to decent society.

Lost in such delightful thoughts, I sat musing until the sudden night of Egypt eclipsed the dying sun and the moonlight crept crepuscularly across the courtyard. Lamplight and the sound of laughing voices issued from the hut in which our men had taken up their abode. Reluctantly I rose to return to the duties I had mentioned.

I had selected the larger of the two front rooms to serve as our sitting room and office. Our camp chairs and little stove had been set up, and a few oriental rugs on the floor added a colourful note; but there were still half a dozen boxes to be unpacked. I set to work arranging my medical supplies, for I knew the first light of dawn would bring the usual pathetic sufferers to our door. Doctors, much less hospitals, were almost unknown outside of the large cities, and the villagers naively assumed all Europeans were physicians. In my case, at any rate, their hopes were not disappointed.

Ramses and Emerson finally came in, both wanting to tell me about the site. I cut their raptures short, for there was really no sense to be got out of them, and sent Ramses to bed. The cat Bastet seemed disinclined to join him, but when Ramses lifted her off the packing case she was sniffing and carried her away, she did not resist.

‘Drinking again, I see, Peabody,’ said Emerson, inspecting the remains of my whisky. ‘How often have I warned you about the evils of the demon rum?’

‘You will have your little joke, Emerson. It was an experiment, in fact, and one that succeeded brilliantly. Mr Nemo is a cashiered army officer! He was once in the service of Her Majesty–’

‘Calmly, Peabody, if you please. What did you do, get him drunk and induce a confession?’

I explained. Emerson was in an excellent humour; for once he listened without interrupting. Then he said, ‘You deduced Mr Nemo’s entire military history solely from his response to your toast?’

‘No, no, that was merely the final proof. Everything points to it, Emerson – the young man’s carriage, his manner, his speech.’

‘Well, you may be right, Peabody. I had begun to wonder about that myself.’

‘Ha,’ I exclaimed.

Emerson grinned. ‘I know, I know; I always claim to have anticipated your deductions – and you do the same to me, Peabody, admit it. But this time I was not trying to do you in the eye. It was the most obvious conclusion. Such cases are, unhappily, not infrequent. And no wonder! Take a young man with no experience of the world, thrust him into an alien land filled with exotic temptations, fill him full of a lot of bilge about his superiority over lesser breeds of men – and all women! – segregate him from everyone except members of his own sex and social class …’

He went on for some time. I let him get it out of his system – for the time being. It was one of Emerson’s chief aggravations and the subject would certainly arise again, as it had done before. He had refused to allow Ramses to attend school, and in this case I had to agree with him. Any educational system that separates the sexes and denies women equal intellectual opportunities is obviously a poor system.

Finally Emerson wound down. He gave himself a shake and mopped his perspiring brow. ‘At any rate, Peabody, I am glad to see you have given up your nonsensical notions about master – er – about Mr Nemo’s criminal associations.'

I smiled to myself but did not reply. Emerson enjoys our little arguments as much as I do; they are, if I may invent a striking metaphor, the pepper in the soup of marriage. However, I felt he had had enough excitement for one evening and I was anxious to finish and get to bed.

His thoughts had turned to the same subject. After a moment he said, ‘I found a very pleasant little pit in the rock, Peabody. With a bit of canvas for a roof and a trifle of the sweeping and scrubbing you women seem to consider necessary, it would make a most agreeable sleeping chamber.’

‘For whom, Emerson?’

I had my back turned, but I heard the creak of his chair and the elephantine tread of Emerson trying to tiptoe. His arms stole around my waist. ‘Whom do you think, Peabody?’

I felt a warm moist touch on my neck, just under my ear. Much as I would have liked Emerson to pursue this interesting course, I forced myself to be firm. ‘All in due time, Emerson. I have two more boxes to unpack.’

‘Leave them till morning.’

‘They may contain articles we will need first thing in the morning. I have not yet found the teakettle … Do stop it, Emerson. I cannot concentrate when you . . Oh, Emerson! Now, Emerson …’

Nothing was said for some time. Eventually a persistent sound, like that of a file rasping on wood, penetrated my absorption. Emerson heard it too; his grasp on my person loosened, and I attempted, not entirely successfully, to straighten my dishevelled attire before I turned toward the door. No one was there. I felt certain, however, that Ramses had been watching. The purring of his feline companion had given him away and had forced him to beat a hasty retreat.