“You told me about the mirrors, Simon. Remember?”
“Not this one,” he said. “This one was different from the rest. It hung in the living room, opposite the chair Mr. Hawkins’ wife used to sit in. I noticed it the first time I brought dinner to him. It was a bronze mirror, but unlike the others, it shone. Most of the time it was just an ordinary mirror. But sometimes, I—I saw things in it. Visions, I guess you’d call them. Look, all this must sound completely crazy.”
“Go on,” she said.
“They never lasted long. Just a glimpse, really, and then they’d be gone. It was like I was looking down in a dark pool. Once, I saw a face rising up through the water. Another time, I saw someone running by moonlight through the desert, with the mirror under his arm. I saw an eye open in the mirror, and then a figure flowed out of it and fell onto the sand.”
“That’s scary, Simon,” she said.
“Mr. Hawkins sensed I could see things in the mirror. The last time I saw him, he told me his wife Eleanor had been able to see things in it, too. Then he told me how they’d come by it.”
Simon told Abbey the whole story, from the dealer Winstanley approaching Eleanor at the conference about an old Egyptian mirror rumored to possess magical powers, to them going to his shop to see it, and ultimately buying it and bringing it back home with them.
He told her about the letter from London that Mr. Hawkins had received shortly before he died, in which Winstanley confessed there were things he hadn’t told them about the mirror when they bought it. He told her about the mysterious woman at the auction, the dreams that troubled Winstanley’s sleep once the mirror was in his possession, the dreadful presence he felt pursuing him, and the plan he hatched to pawn the mirror off on them.
“Wait,” he said. He went to his dresser and fished around at the back of one of the drawers. He came out holding an envelope and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” She opened it, looked down at the blotchy, rippled pages.
“It’s the letter.”
“What happened to it?”
“It got a little wet.”
“Yeah.”
“You can still read it—most of it, anyway. On that last night, Mr. Hawkins told me he believed the mirror possessed some sort of power, and was afraid of it falling into the wrong hands. Then he was dead, and the mirror had vanished. At the memorial service, his friend Joan Cameron told me he’d talked about hiding it. I think it’s still there somewhere. I think that’s what those new people are looking for. I can’t help feeling it’s up to me to find it first, if I can, and keep it safe.”
All that evening he wondered if he’d done the right thing in telling her about the mirror. She thought he was weird enough already. He was afraid she wouldn’t want anything more to do with him now.
Around nine-thirty the phone rang. It was Abbey.
“I’ve read that letter about a dozen times, Simon, and each time it’s creepier. I keep thinking about that woman at the auction. I knew I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I didn’t call you. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I believe you did see something in that mirror, just like Mr. Hawkins’ wife did. I think it does possess some sort of power, and maybe these people are after it because of that. We really don’t know for sure.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Simon. I figure two of us are better than one. But you need to trust me. No more secrets, okay?”
* * *
With spring in the air, birdsong woke him most days at dawn. Birds of all kinds flocked in the overgrown cedars separating the Hawkins yard from the cat lady’s next door. Whenever one of Mrs. Logan’s strays appeared on the scene, the bushes erupted in a flurry of wings.
Spears of green sprang up in the gardens along the street as daffodils and tulips reappeared. Mr. Glover stripped the burlap shroud off his bushes and raked the matted leaves from his lawn. Dad fetched the garden shears from the shed and trimmed the high hedge that ran across the front of their property. Down at the end of the street the gang started playing baseball again.
Simon sat in the wingback chair observing all. He drew deep drafts of the rich, earthy air. The numbing fog that filled his brain began to lift, and there were blessed days when he could think clearly again. He felt like those long-buried plants pushing up into the light, spreading their leaves in the sun.
Once he’d managed to reassemble the “Soul Catchers” manuscript, he began to work his way through it. It was tough going. Mr. Hawkins hadn’t had sick Simon in mind when he wrote it. But as he sat by the window with a chapter on his lap, he could almost hear the old man’s voice as he read:
The ancients believed that all people were born double. Although the double possessed substance, it was made of so delicate a stuff that it was normally hidden from sight. The ancient Egyptians called this double the ka.
In the ancient temple at Luxor, a series of relief sculptures show the birth of the pharaoh Amenophis. While two goddesses serving as midwives attend the king’s mother, two others are shown carrying two newborn children away. The inscriptions above them indicate that the first of these is the actual child, the second the double.
The double was immortal. After the body’s death, it lived on. As the source of one’s life and individuality, it was essential that the ka remain by the mummy until such time as it awoke and, gazing on its double, was magically revivified and able to pass into the afterworld. Scholars believe that a mirror may have served as a home for the ka in the tomb. It may even have served as a portal to the afterworld.
This would explain why mirrors played such an important role in Egyptian burial customs. The presence of mirrors in burials was not restricted to the nobility. Common people as well were regularly buried with mirrors, even if only of painted wood. The mirror was placed in the hands or on the breast of the mummy, or so positioned in the tomb that it would be the first thing the person would look upon when they awoke.
The mirror was a visible sign of the sun god Ra’s presence and his magical power of bringing life from death. But it may have served a more practical purpose as well. By providing a home for the double in the tomb, the mirror prevented it from wandering off into the world and causing mischief among the living.
Simon set the manuscript down. He went to the dresser mirror and looked at his double, who looked questioningly back. He touched his eyes, then his nose and his mouth, and watched closely as the double did the same.
19
With the end of the school year in sight, Abbey began prepping Simon for the final exams. His reading had improved, but math was still a major challenge. Like the squirrels with their nuts, he tucked facts and formulas away and was unable to find them afterwards. The harder he searched, the more muddled they became. Scatter a twenty-piece puzzle on the floor, and he stood a pretty good chance of beating Babs at putting it back together. Ask him to find the area of an isosceles triangle, and he was hopelessly lost.
After the thrill of finding the Soul Catchers manuscript, he found the last few boxes he had hauled up to his room a letdown. One was full of old archaeological journals—some dating back nearly fifty years, their pages as brittle as dried leaves. He scanned the contents page of each issue and fanned through it to see if anything important might have been tucked between the pages. Dipping in briefly here and there, he found it dry as dust. More than once he ended up nodding off in his chair with the magazine splayed open on his lap.
Waking after one such sleep, he happened to glance over at the Hawkins house, and saw something odd—a faint glint in the stretch of garden that ran along the side the old house. A few days later he noticed it again. It would suddenly be there, then just as suddenly be gone. He couldn’t figure out what it could be.
Then one day he happened upon an article by Randall Hawkins—it was the dashing photo of the young professor that first caught his attention—in an old issue of The Journal of
Biblical Archaeology. It concerned the recent discovery of a cache of silver coins and precious jewels that had been buried in clay jars outside the walls of the ancient Biblical city of Gibeon.
Because of the frequent wars that swept over Palestine, he wrote, people resorted to burying their valuables to safeguard them. In the ancient Middle East, burial was believed to be the best protection against thieves, and buried treasure is a recurring theme in the folklore of the region.
A sudden stillness fell over the room—as if it were encased in glass. He heard the thunderous ticking of the clock on top of the dresser, the fretful buzzing of a fly as it circled the room, seeking a way out. The words looped around in his mind, like the trapped fly.
He glanced out the window at the old house. Mr. Hawkins was convinced there were those who had their sights set on the mirror and would stop at nothing to obtain it. Simon remembered what the old man had said to him about not allowing that to happen, what he’d told Cameron about hiding it. He pictured the faint trail leading across the carpet to where the figure sat still as stone, the dried mud on the side of his shoe. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.
The fly was bump-bumping against the window. He reached over and opened it—and out it flew.
He could hardly wait to tell Abbey the news. But the afternoon dragged endlessly by. Unable to bear it any longer, he threw on some clean clothes and headed off to meet her.
He took the route they used to take when he walked home from school with her, along the quiet, winding streets on the far side of the park. Before his sickness, he could have walked it in his sleep. But now, in no time at all, he became hopelessly lost. He felt as if he’d been flung down in some alien landscape—enticingly familiar, yet impossibly altered. He wandered aimlessly with no idea of where to turn next, growing increasingly frantic as fatigue overtook him.
At last, he came upon a place he recognized: a park they passed on the way. He collapsed on a bench like a castaway washed up on shore. He closed his eyes and dozed off where he sat. Suddenly, he was jarred into consciousness at the sound of his name.
“Simon? I thought it was you. What on earth are you doing here?”
It was Abbey. Now that he’d finally found her he tried to spill his news out all at once. The words tumbled out on top of one another.
“I was coming to meet you. I got a bit lost. I need to tell you something. I—I think I figured it out.”
“Slow down, Simon. Figured what out?”
“Where he hid it.”
The bench was close to the street. Kids on their way home from school were passing by. A couple looked their way.
“Tell you what, Simon,” said Abbey. “Let’s sit down over there in the shade, and you can tell me all about it, okay?”
She steered him farther into the park, away from the traffic and the passers-by. They sat on a bench under a tree. The park opened out around them on all sides in a sea of green.
“Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
She sprinted out to the street and crossed to a store on the corner. A few minutes later she returned with two cans of pop.
She popped the tab on one and handed it to him. “Drink,” she said.
He took two long swallows, and realized for the first time how thirsty he’d been. Suddenly aware of the sweat rolling down his face, he reached up and wiped it off on his sleeve. The sweet, cool drink did its work, and in a couple of minutes he’d recovered.
“I guess I was a little excited,” he said.
“I guess.” He followed her gaze as she glanced down at his feet. He was wearing a sneaker on one foot and a slipper on the other.
“You’re sort of half inside, half out,” she said. “Now start again—from the beginning, Simon. You think you figured out where he hid it. Where who hid what?”
“Where Mr. Hawkins hid the mirror,” he said. His eyes panned the park. A woman was playing fetch with a dog and a rubber ball. He watched as the dog made an incredible leap to snap the ball out of the air on a bounce. These days, anyone with a dog drew his attention. He studied them for a minute, then turned back to Abbey.
“Focus, Simon. The mirror, remember?”
“They can search the house all they want,” he said. “They won’t find it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not in the house.”
“Where is it then?”
“I was going through those old journals I showed you the other day and I came across an article written by Mr. Hawkins.” He told her what he’d read in the article, and paused to let it sink in. She gave him a blank look.
“Don’t you see?” he said. “Mr. Hawkins was an archaeologist. He spent his life digging up things, things that in many cases had been buried to keep them safe. So when he felt the mirror was in danger—”
“He buried it.”
“Exactly.”
“Where?”
“In his yard. I think he’d probably already planned it when I saw him that last day. And later that night, after the storm, he went out to bury it. But the strain must have been too much for him. So he cut the work short, and headed back into the house. That’s when he had the heart attack. That’s why there was mud on his shoes.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Wait, there’s more. Over the past week I’ve noticed something strange. When the angle of the sun is just right, there’s a glint in the garden at the side of the house.”
“And you think it might be the mirror? But how, if it’s buried?”
“Maybe it was harder work digging the hole than he thought. It was November by then, and the ground hadn’t been worked in a long time. Besides, he was digging with a bad leg. Maybe he didn’t get as deep as he would have liked. But he put the mirror in anyway and covered it up as well as he could. Maybe he was planning to come back and complete the job later, but he never got the chance.
“Then the cold weather set in, and the snow came and covered it over. But now that spring’s come and we’ve had a few rains, it might have uncovered the mirror just enough that a tiny bit of it could reflect the rays of the sun.”
“It’s an interesting theory, Simon, but you know as well as I that the glint you’re seeing could be caused by just about anything—a piece of glass from the window that broke when he fell, a bit of tin foil that blew into the yard. Any number of things.”
As they were talking, a ball came bouncing their way across the grass. Abbey stuck out her foot to stop it. The small dog Simon had seen came bounding after it, yapping up a storm and wagging its tail wildly as it ran in circles around them. Its master was not far behind, a thin, fair-haired woman in large, dark sunglasses with a scarf tied around her hair.
“That’s enough, Caesar. You just calm down now, you hear?” She was out of breath from running after the dog. “Sit,” she said, panting, as she pushed her sunglasses back in place.
The dog sat, its large bright eyes darting back and forth between her and the ball, its tail thumping against the grass. It had a narrow head and long pointed ears that stood straight up from its head. Simon looked at it intently.
“Forgive me,” said the woman. “He’s just a pup. He gets a little rambunctious at times. Don’t you, Caesar?” Caesar barked in reply.
“Will he bite?” asked Abbey.
“No. He’s all yap and not much else.”
“You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” said Abbey. She bent down and stroked the puppy’s head. “Caesar—such a big name for such a little dog.”
“Oh, he’ll get a lot bigger. He comes from an ancient line of hunting dogs. He’ll be up to here in no time.” And she held her hand waist-high off the ground.
“Are you going to be a big old hunting dog when you grow up?” said Abbey. The little dog barked and wagged its tail.
“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” s
aid the woman. She reached down and picked up the ball. “Come along now, Caesar. We’ve disturbed these young people quite enough for today. It was nice chatting with you,” she said to Abbey, and then gave a brief nod to Simon—who hadn’t said a word.
“You know, you weren’t exactly Mr. Friendly, Simon,” said Abbey.
But he was too busy watching the woman tramp off across the park to pay attention. There was something about her that sent chills through him. All the time she’d stood there at the bench, he felt her studying them intently with her eyes behind her dark glasses. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than mere coincidence that had sent the ball their way.
“What do you suppose she meant when she said she’d disturbed us enough for today. Why ‘for today’?”
“It was just something to say, Simon. She was trying to be friendly—which was totally wasted on you, by the way.”
The woman was over on the far side of the park now. As he watched she turned and glanced their way. No smile, no nod. Just a long steady look.
“Let’s get going,” he said. He stood up and started walking.
“Okay. I thought we were still talking—but I guess not.” She shouldered her backpack and started after him, dumping the empty pop cans in a nearby bin.
He made a beeline for a side street that bordered the park. As they came to the sidewalk he glanced back over his shoulder. There was no sign of the woman and her dog. It was as if the ground had opened under them.
They walked along silently awhile.
“Did anyone ever mention paranoia as one of the symptoms of your illness, Simon? Pretty soon you’re going to start suspecting Max and me.”
“I’m going over there one night to check it out,” he said.
“Over where? To the Hawkins house? Are you crazy? That’s trespassing.”
“There may not be another chance,” he said. “Once they’ve moved in, it’ll be too late. Are you in, or not?”
“Simon, listen to yourself. This is craziness.”
He didn’t say a word. He just stared down at his feet as they moved silently along the street. Slipper, shoe, slipper, shoe. How he hadn’t noticed it before was a mystery.
The Egyptian Mirror Page 10