Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (80 page)

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 candour 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 towards 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 splendour 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 travellers 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 backwards 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 behaviour 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 defence of the sex of which I have the honour 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 moustache. 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 colouring. 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.’

When we reached the hotel Ramses flew to embrace the cat and Emerson flung open the shutters. The room was stifling, but we had been afraid to leave the windows open for fear Bastet would escape. She had resented her imprisonment, and told Ramses so, in hoarse complaint, but I was pleased to see that she had taken my warning about the mosquito netting to heart. It hung in filmy, unmarred folds about our bed, and another netting enclosed the smaller cot which had been moved in from the next room.

Leaving Emerson to prepare Ramses for bed, I went to see how John was getting on. He assured me he was better and expressed himself as prepared to resume his duties at once; but my questioning brought out the fact that the internal disturbances were not yet reduced to a normal number (an interrogation that rendered John incoherent with embarrassment). So I told him to stay in bed, administered his medicine (he told me he had already taken it, but naturally I paid no attention), checked to make sure the new flannel belt I had given him was in place, and bade him good night.

Returning to my own chamber, I found Emerson, Ramses, and the cat lying in a tangled heap atop our bed, all sound asleep and, in Emerson’s case, snoring. Contrary to his opinion, repletion does not affect Emerson’s ability to sleep; it only makes him snore. I placed Ramses in his cot without waking him and tucked the netting securely in place. The cat wanted to get in with him – she always slept with Ramses at home – but after I had pointed out the problem of the netting and the hindrance it presented to her nocturnal prowling, she settled down on the foot of the bed. They made a picture to touch any mother’s heart. The filmy fabric softened my son’s rather large features, and in his little white nightgown, with his mop of sable curls, he resembled a small Semitic saint with a lion at his feet.

It may have been the charm of this sight that relaxed my internal guards, or it may have been that I was exhausted after a long tiring day. Whatever the cause of my negligence, I awoke after daylight to find Ramses’ cot empty and the miscreant flown.

I was not surprised, but I was put out. Emerson was still snoring in blissful ignorance. I dressed quickly, not because I was alarmed about Ramses’ safety but because I preferred to deal with the matter without my husband’s agitated and vociferous assistance. Remembering one of Ramses’ statements the previous night, to which I had not paid the attention it deserved, I was able to locate him almost immediately.