“Tell me, Erica…” said Abdul, breaking the silence. He pronounced her name in a strange way, placing the accent on the second syllable. “Provided, of course, you do not object to my asking. Tell me why you have become an Egyptologist.”
Erica looked down into her tea. The flecks of mint slowly swirled in the warm fluid. She was accustomed to the question. She had heard it a thousand times, especially from her mother, who never could understand why a beautiful young Jewish girl who “had everything” would choose to study Egyptology and not education. Her mother had tried to change her mind, first by gentle conversation (“What are my friends going to think?”), then by forcible debate (“You’ll never be able to support yourself!”), finally by threatening to withdraw financial support. It was all in vain. Erica continued her studies, possibly in part because of her mother’s opposition, but mostly because she loved everything about the field of Egyptology.
It was true she did not think in practical terms of what kind of job would be waiting for her when she finished, and it was also true that she “lucked out” by being hired by the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, when most of her fellow students were still unemployed with little immediate hope in sight. Nonetheless she loved the study of ancient Egypt. There was something about the remoteness and the mystery, combined with incredible wealth and value of the material already discovered, that fascinated her. She was particularly fond of the love poetry, which made the ancient people come alive. It was through the poems that Erica could feel the emotion spanning the millennia, reducing the meaning of time and making her wonder if society had progressed at all.
Looking up at Abdul, Erica finally said, “I studied Egyptology because it fascinated me. When I was a little girl and my family took a trip to New York City, the only thing I remembered was seeing a mummy at the Metropolitan Museum. Then when I was in college I took a course in ancient history. I really enjoyed studying about the culture.” Erica shrugged and smiled. She knew she could never give a complete explanation.
“Very strange,” said Abdul. “For me, it is a job, better than breaking my back in the field. But for you…” He shrugged. “As long as you are happy, it is good. How old are you, my dear?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“And your husband, where is he?”
Erica smiled, fully conscious that the old man had no idea why she was smiling. The whole complex of problems surrounding Richard cascaded out of her unconscious. It was like opening a floodgate. She was almost tempted to try to explain her problems to this sympathetic stranger, but she didn’t. She had come to Egypt to get away and to use her knowledge of Egyptology. “I’m not yet married,” she said at length. “Are you interested, Abdul?” The smile returned.
“Me, interested? I’m always interested.” Abdul laughed. “After all, Islam lets the faithful have four wives. But for me I could not handle four times the joy of my only wife. Still, twenty-eight and not married. It is a strange world.”
Watching Abdul drink, Erica thought about how much she was enjoying this interlude. She wanted to remember it.
“Abdul, would you mind if I took your picture?”
“I am pleased.”
While Abdul straightened himself on his pillow and smoothed his jacket, Erica extracted her small Polaroid and attached the flash bar. A moment after the flash washed the room with unnatural light, the camera spit out the undeveloped photo.
“Ah, if only the Russian rockets would have worked as well as your camera,” said Abdul, relaxing. “Since you are the most beautiful and the youngest Egyptologist I have ever had in my shop, I would like to show you something very special.”
Abdul slowly got to his feet. Erica glanced at the photo. It was developing nicely.
“You are lucky to see this piece, my dear,” said Abdul, carefully lifting the cloth cover on an object about six feet tall.
Erica looked up and gasped. “My God,” she said in disbelief. In front of her was a life-size statue. She scrambled to her feet to look more closely. Abdul proudly stepped back like an artist unveiling his life’s work. The face was made of beaten gold reminiscent of the mask of Tutankhamen, but more finely crafted.
“It is Pharaoh Seti I,” said Abdul. He put down the cloth cover and sat, letting Erica enjoy her find.
“This is the most beautiful statue I have ever seen,” whispered Erica, gazing into the stately, calm face. The eyes were made of white alabaster set with green feldspar. The eyebrows were made of translucent carnelian. The traditional ancient Egyptian headdress was made of gold inlaid with bands of lapis lazuli. Around the neck was an opulent pectoral in the form of the vulture representing the Egyptian goddess Nekhbet. The necklace was made of gold and set with hundreds of pieces of turquoise, jasper, and lapis lazuli. The beak and the eyes were made of obsidian. At the girdle was a sheathed gold dagger whose handle was finely crafted and encrusted with precious stones. The left hand was extended, holding a mace that was also covered with inlaid jewels. The total effect was dazzling. Erica was overwhelmed. This statue was no fake, and its value was unbelievable. Indeed, any piece of the jewelry was priceless. Standing amid the warm red glow of the Oriental carpets, the statue radiated a light as pure and clear as a diamond. Slowly circling the piece, Erica finally could speak.
“Where on earth did this come from? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It came from beneath the sands of the Libyan desert, where all our treasures are hidden,” said Abdul, cooing like a proud parent. “It is only resting here for a few hours before it resumes its journey. I thought you’d like to see it.”
“Oh, Abdul. It is so beautiful, I’m speechless. Truly.” Erica came back around the front of the statue, noting for the first time the hieroglyphics cut into the base. Immediately she recognized the name of Pharaoh Seti I, contained within the enclosure called a cartouche. Then she saw another cartouche with another name. Thinking it an alternate name for Seti I, she began to translate. To her astonishment, the name was Tutankhamen. It didn’t make sense. Seti I was an extremely important and powerful pharaoh who had ruled some fifty years after the insignificant boy king Tutankhamen. The two pharaohs were in different dynasties from totally separate families. Erica was sure that she must have made a mistake, but checking again, she realized she had been right. The hieroglyphics contained both names.
The sharp crackling noise from the beads in the outer part of the shop brought Abdul instantly to his feet. “Erica, please excuse, but I must be reasonably careful.” The dark cloth cover settled back over the fabulous statue. For Erica it was like being prematurely awakened from a wonderful dream. In front of her was a nondescript shapeless mass. “Let me attend to the customers. I will be right back. Enjoy your tea… perhaps you’d like a little more?”
“No, thank you,” said Erica, who wanted to see the statue again, not drink more tea.
As Abdul shuffled over to the curtain and carefully peered out, Erica picked up the now-developed Polaroid picture. Except for missing part of Abdul’s head, the snapshot was fine. She thought about taking a shot of the statue if Abdul would agree.
Apparently whoever was outside was in no rush, because, letting the curtains go, Abdul moved back over to his cedar chest. Erica sat down on her cushion.
“Do you have a guidebook for Egypt?” asked Abdul in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” said Erica. “I managed to get a Nagel’s guide.”
“I have something better,” said Abdul, pulling a small aging book from among his correspondence. “Here is a Baedeker, 1929 edition. It is the best for touring the monuments of Egypt. I’d be pleased if you’d use it during your stay here in my country. It is far superior to the Nagel’s.”