The Last Camel Died at Noon (8 page)

The old sheikh must be an indulgent master or the women would not have dared introduce a man, however old or holy, into their quarters, but he would be forced to take notice of such a flagrant violation of decency if someone like myself brought it to his attention. I whispered a reassuring, 'Taiyib matakhafsh (It is good; do not fear)' - though, as far as I was concerned, it was not at all good.

I had seen such performances in the suks of Cairo. Crystal-gazing, or scrying, is one of the commonest forms of divination. It is all nonsense, of course; what the viewer sees in the crystal ball or pool of water or (as in this case) liquid held in the palm of the hand is nothing more than a visual hallucination, but the deluded audience is firmly convinced that the diviner is able to foretell the future and discover hidden treasure. Often a child is employed by the fortune-teller in the (naive) belief that the innocence of youth is more receptive to spiritual influences.

I knew that to interrupt the ceremony would be not only rude but dangerous. Ramses was deep in some sort of unholy trance, from which he could be roused only by the voice of the magician, who now leaned forwards over the boy's cupped hands, mumbling in a voice so low I could not make out the words.

I did not blame the poor bored women for allowing the ceremony, or even the seer, who undoubtedly believed sincerely in his own hocus-pocus. However, I was not about to stand idly by and wait upon the latter's convenience. Very softly I remarked, 'As is well known, I, the Sitt Hakim, am also a magician of great power. I call upon this holy man to bring back the soul of the boy to his body, lest the efreets [demons] I have set to protect my son mistake the holy man's purpose and eat up his heart.'

The women gasped in delighted horror. There was no immediate reaction from the 'holy man,' but after a moment he straightened and moved his hands in a sweeping gesture. The words he addressed to Ramses were unfamiliar to me; either he spoke some unknown dialect, or they were meaningless magical gibberish. The result was dramatic. A shudder ran through the stiff frame of Ramses. His hands relaxed, and a dribble of dark liquid poured into the cup the magician held below them. The cup vanished into some hidden pocket in the crumpled robe, and Ramses turned his head.

'Good afternoon, Mama. I hope I have not kept you waiting?'

I managed to repress my comments through the long and tedious process of leave-taking, first of the ladies and then of the sheikh who insisted upon escorting us to the very door of the house - the highest honour he could pay us. Not until we were standing in the dusty street and the door had closed behind us did I let the words burst forth. I was considerably agitated, and Emerson had to ask me to stop and elaborate on the story several times before the full meaning of it dawned on him.

'Of all the confounded nonsense,' he exclaimed. 'What were you thinking of, Ramses, to allow such a thing?'

'It would have been rude to refuse,' said Ramses. 'The ladies had set their hearts on it.'

Emerson burst out laughing. 'You are becoming quite a gallant, my boy. But you must learn that it is not always wise, or safe, to indulge the ladies.'

'Upon my word, you take this very lightly, Emerson,' I exclaimed.

'I imagine it was curiosity, rather than gallantry, that induced Ramses to try this experiment,' Emerson replied, still chuckling. 'It is his most conspicuous character trait, and you will never change it; just be thankful that this adventure, unlike so many earlier ones, turned out to be harmless.'

'I hope you are right,' I muttered.

'Nothing worse than dirty hands,' Emerson went on, inspecting the palms Ramses held out. They were darkly stained and still damp. I snatched out a handkerchief and began wiping them; the stuff came off more readily than I had expected, but I caught a whiff of that same odd scent I had smelled before. I threw the handkerchief away. (A toothless street beggar pounced on it.)

As we walked on, Emerson, who suffers from a certain degree of curiosity himself, questioned Ramses about his experience. Ramses said it had been most interesting. He claimed to have been fully conscious throughout, and to have heard everything that was said. However, his responses to the questions of the seer were made without his own volition, like hearing another person speak 'It was mostly about having babies,' he explained seriously. 'Male babies. He promised all the ladies many sons. They seemed pleased.'

'Ha,' I said.

The next stage of our journey was made by rail, along the line laid with such remarkable rapidity from Haifa to Kerma, thus avoiding the rocks of the Second and Third Cataracts. This part of the trip tried even my strength. We had been given the best accommodations available - a battered, ramshackle railroad coach affectionately known as 'Yellow Maria,' which had been built for Ismail Pasha. It had come down in the world since then; most of the window glass was missing, and on the sharp curves and steep gradients of the roadbed it swayed and rattled so violently that one expected it to bounce off the track. The engines were old and in poor repair. Blowing sand and overheating necessitated frequent stops for repairs. By the time we reached our destination Ramses was a pale shade of pea-green and my muscles were so stiff I could hardly move.

Emerson, however, was in fine fettle. Men have it so much easier than women; they can strip down to a point that is impossible for a modest female, even one so unconventional as I.I have always been an advocate of rational dress for women; I was one of the first to imitate the scandalous example of Mrs Bloomer, and the full, knee-length trousers I was accustomed to wear on the dig anticipated by several years the bicycling costumes daring English ladies eventually adopted. Fashions in sport and in costume had changed, but I retained my trousers, which I had had made in a variety of cheerful colours that would not show the effects of sand and dust as did navy blue and black. With the addition of a neat cotton shirtwaist (long-sleeved and collared, of course), a pair of stout boots, a matching jacket, and a wide-brimmed boater, this made up a costume as becoming and modest as it was practical.

During the dreadful train ride I had ventured to unfasten the top two buttons of my shirt and turn up my cuffs. Emerson had of course abandoned his coat and cravat as soon as we left Cairo. Now his shirt gaped open to the waist, and his sleeves had been rolled above his elbows. He wore no hat. After assisting me to alight from the carriage he took a deep breath of the steaming, stifling, sand-laden air and exclaimed, 'The last stage! We will soon be there, my darling Peabody. Isn't this splendid?'

I had not the strength to do more than glare at him.

However, I am-nothing if not resilient, and a few hours later I was able to share his enthusiasm. A troop of Sudani soldiers -which included several of Emerson's acquaintances - had removed our luggage and helped us set up our tents. We had declined with thanks the offer of the harassed captain in charge of the encampment to share his cramped quarters; after assuring us that there would be places for us on the steamer leaving next day, he bade us farewell and bon voyage with obvious relief. As the sun sank rapidly in the west, Emerson and I strolled hand in hand along the riverbank, enjoying the evening breeze and the brilliance of the sunset. The silhouettes of the palm trees stood black and shapely against the glory of gold and crimson.

We were not alone. A troop of curious villagers trailed us. Whenever we stopped they stopped, squatted on the ground and stared with all their might. Emerson always attracts admirers and I had become more or less used to it, though I did not like it.

'I hope Ramses is all right,' I said, turning to look at the rapidly dimming outline of the tent where he slept. 'He was most unlike his normal self. Hardly a word out of him.'

'You said he was not feverish,' Emerson reminded me. 'Stop fussing, Amelia; the train ride was tiring, and even a gritty little chap like Ramses must feel its effects.'

The sun dropped below the horizon and night came on with startling suddenness, as it does in those climes. Stars sprang out in the cobalt vault of the heavens, and Emerson's arm stole around my waist.

It had been a long time since we had enjoyed an opportunity for connubial exchanges of even a modest nature, but I felt bound to protest. 'They are watching us, Emerson. I feel like some poor animal in a cage; I decline to perform for an audience.'

'Bah,' Emerson replied, leading me to a large boulder. 'Sit down, my dear Peabody, and forget our audience. It is too dark for them to observe our actions, and if they should, they could hardly fail to find them edifying - inspiring, even. For instance, this...'

It certainly inspired me. I forgot the staring spectators until a strengthening glow of silvery light illumined the beloved features so close to mine. The moon had risen. 'Oh, curse it,' I said, removing Emerson's hand from a particularly sensitive area of my person.

'It was a refreshing interlude, though,' Emerson said with a chuckle. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his pipe. 'Do you mind if I smoke, Peabody?'

I really did not approve of it, but the soft moonlight and the stench of tobacco smoke recalled tender memories of the days of our courtship, when we faced the sinister Mummy in the abandoned tombs of Amarna.* 'No, I don't mind. Do you remember Amarna, and the - '

'The time I set my - er - myself on fire by neglecting to knock the ashes out of my pipe before I put it in my pocket? And you let me do it even though you knew perfectly well...' Emerson burst out laughing. 'Do you remember the first time I ever kissed you - lying flat on the floor of that cursed tomb, with a maniac shooting at us? It was only the expectation of imminent death that gave me the courage to do it. I thought you detested me.'

'I remember that moment and many others,' I replied with considerable emotion. 'Believe me, my darling Emerson, that I am fully cognizant of the fact that I am the most fortunate of women. From first to last, it has been outstanding.'

'And the best is yet to come, my dearest Peabody.'

His strong brown hand closed over mine. We sat in silence watching the moonlight spread silvery ripples across the dark surface of the river. So clear and bright was the illumination that one could see for a considerable distance. 'The rock formations are extremely regular,' I remarked. 'So much so that one might wonder whether they are not in fact the ruins of ancient structures.'

'They may well be, Peabody. So little has been done in the way of excavation here, so much needs to be done... My colleagues - curse them - are more interested in mummies and treasure and impressive monuments than in the slow, tedious acquisition of knowledge. Yet this region is of vital importance, not only for its own sake, but for the understanding of Egyptian culture. Not far from this very spot are the remains of what must have been a fort or a trading post or both; within its massive walls were stored the exotic treasures brought as tribute to the pharaohs of the Egyptian Empire - gold and ostrich feathers, rock crystal and ivory and leopard skins.' He pointed with the stem of his pipe towards the moonlight lying like a white path along the river and across the sand. 'The caravans went there, Peabody, into the western desert, through the oases, toward the land called Yam in the ancient records. One such caravan route may have gone west from Elephantine - Assouan, as it is today. A series of wadis run westward from this very region; they are dried-up canyons today, but they were cut by water. Three thousand years ago...'

He fell silent; gazing at his stern, strong profile, I felt a sympathetic thrill, for he seemed to be looking not across distance but across time itself. No wonder he felt a kinship with the bold men who had braved the wilderness so many centuries before. He too possessed the unique combination of courage and imagination that leads the noblest sons (and daughters) of humanity to risk all for the sake of knowledge!

With all due modesty I believe I may claim that I possess those qualities myself. The bond of affection that unites me and  f my dear Emerson left me no doubt of the direction in which | his thoughts were tending. Into those distances, so deceptively  ' cool and silver-white in the moonlight, had gone Willoughby Forth and his beautiful young bride, never to return.

However, in addition to courage, imagination, et cetera, I also possess a great deal of common sense. For a time I had - I admit it! - entertained a romantic notion of going in search of the missing explorer. But now I had seen with my own eyes the dreadful desolation of the western desert; I had felt the burning heat of the day and the deadly chill of darkness. It was impossible that anyone could have survived in that arid waste for fourteen long years. Willoughby Forth and his wife were dead, and I had no intention of following them, or allowing Emerson to do so.

A shiver passed through my frame. The night air was cold. Our audience had vanished, as silently as shadows. 'It is late,' I said softly. 'Shall we...'

'By all means.' Emerson jumped to his feet.

At that moment the quiet air was rent by a weird, undulating cry. I started. Emerson laughed and took my hand. 'It is only a jackal, Peabody. Hurry. I feel a sudden, urgent need for something only you can supply.'

'Oh, Emerson,' I began - and said no more, because he was pulling me along at such a pace I lost my breath.

Our tents had been placed in a small grove of tamarisk trees. Our boxes and bags were piled around them; theft is almost unknown among these so-called primitive people, and Emerson's reputation was enough to deter the most hardened of burglars. I was startled, therefore, to see something moving - a slight white shape slipping through the trees with an unpleasantly furtive motion.

Emerson's night vision is not as keen as mine, and perhaps he was preoccupied with the subject he had mentioned. Not until I shouted, 'Halt! Who goes there?' or something to that effect, did he behold the apparition - for so it appeared, pale and silently gliding. As one man (figuratively speaking) we leapt upon it and bore it to the ground.

An all-too-familiar voice exclaimed in plaintive protest. With a loud oath Emerson struggled to his feet and raised the fallen form to its feet. It was Ramses, looking quite ghostly in the white native robe he wore as a nightshirt.