Rakitaki: A Jonas Quartermain Adventure

by Lee Alexander

  “What the hell was that, Quartermain?” Calhoun had stopped examining the collar he held. Jonas had zoned out after their short conversation, staring at the lighter like he was transfixed. He had stayed like that for thirty seconds, unblinking. When he broke eye contact, he had rocked back in his chair, nearly upending it.

  Jonas held a hand to his chest, trying to slow his heartrate. He was sweating in the warm night air. His other hand clutched a bracelet so hard it had drawn blood. He let it go and hissed as the air hit the cut.

  “Damn, that hurt.” Jonas shook his hand to ease the stinging sensation. “Sorry, Professor. I guess I was lost in a memory for a bit there. I saw the Eye of Horus recently at the club. It just surprised me, is all.”

  “Interesting,” Calhoun replied sounding like he was not even the least bit interested.

  “It was on a neck—"

  Calhoun cut him off. “I didn't mean I was interested.”

  “Uh, okay. Well, what's next?” Jonas looked around for something else to do.

  “Next? We still have all of this,” he replied with a waved at the piles of unsorted wealth. “Worry about now, not later.”

  “Yes... yes sir.” Jonas curled in on himself, focusing on the pile of artifacts. Hours passed in relative silence. He relieved himself a few times, as well as taking breaks for snacks. However, Calhoun seemed set in place. He worked like a machine, unwavering as he continually depleted his pile of artifacts. Eventually, Jonas worked up the courage to ask another question.

  “Professor?”

  “Yes, Quartermain.” Calhoun’s voice had no inflection as he continued to work.

  “Are Joshua trees native to Egypt?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don't think so. There are a few varieties of yucca, but not the one that's called Joshua Tree. That's unique to the United States.”

  “Huh.”

  He finally paused what he was doing to look at Jonas. “Why?”

  “I just... thought I saw a couple trees that looked like them out near Sharm El-Sheikh.”

  “Were you sober?”

  “Yes, at least…” Jonas paused as he thought about how much he drank, then remembered that they left at dawn. They had been there for hours that were unaccounted for. The drug he had been dosed with came to mind as well. “Maybe not. It was a whirlwind of a night.”

  “There you go,” Calhoun said with a nod. “You probably just saw a yucca and got it mixed up with one you might have seen in America. Now, get back to work.”

  Jonas sighed. “Yes sir.”

  He kept quiet for the rest of the night. He had so many conflicting thoughts warring in his mind. He felt like he was going insane. His head hurt constantly, a vague headache that settled behind his eyes and pulsed in time with his heart.

  The fourth day passed in the same fashion. The crew were exhausted by the time Calhoun drove the group back to Cairo for a day off. Jonas rode in the front again, still confused why the professor was driving. They arrived at the hotel in the mid-morning. Jonas didn't even bother with food, instead opting for a shower and sleep. He collapsed into his bed in exhaustion.

  When he woke, the sun had set. He made his way down to the restaurant and had a meal billed to his room. He couldn't remember what he had eaten when he finished. He stood from the table in a daze, wandering over to the bar. He sat and ordered something strong. A glass was set in front of him, and he threw it back. He ordered another. Then a third, and a fourth. By his fifth drink, the bartender was giving him a funny look but served him anyway.

  He was feeling better, or less worried at least. His vision was blurry, and he kept thinking he saw two of him in the mirror, which only made him chuckle quietly. He drunkenly watched a brunette walk up in the mirror and sit next to him.

  “Jonas?”

  He turned, overcompensating, and nearly fell from his stool.

  “Jonas, you're completely blasted,” she said with a steadying hand on his shoulder.

  He closed one eye, righted himself, and looked her over. Only one detail made it through the haze of alcohol: Two brilliantly green eyes were staring at him in concern.

  “Lil—" he paused to belch quietly. “Lily?”

  “Yeah. Come on, you're in no condition to be down here.” She turned to the bartender. He tried to listen to what she said, but his head had started spinning.

  “Oh, I don't feel so good,” he said as he put a hand to his stomach.

  “I bet. Let's get you back to your room. What's the number?”

  “I uh... I don't know,” he slurred.

  She sighed, then stood from her seat. She helped him down from his own, then placed his arm across her shoulders. She walked him out of the restaurant and to the front desk.

  “Excuse me, I need to take this man to his room.”

  “Yes ma'am, what is his name?” The man sounded familiar, but in the way all ex-pats were in Egypt. He had a clipped, professional English accent.

  “Jonas Quartermain.”

  “What are you doing with him?”

  She shifted his weight and waved her hand at his disheveled state. “I'm his friend. He had a bit too much to drink, and I just want to put him to bed.”

  “Very well, miss, he is in room two-hundred-thirty-one. Up the stairs and down the hallway.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. Jonas marveled at how beautiful her voice sounded.

  “Thanks, but maybe you should try not talking right now,” she replied.

  “Oh shit, did I say that out loud?” His head felt heavy. He could barely keep it up.

  She laughed before replying. “Yes, but don't worry. That's one of the nicer drunken comments I've received.”

  They walked up the wide stairs and to his room. She fished in his pockets until she found his key, then let them in. He slumped against the wall while she turned lights on.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” she said quietly. He looked worse every second. She hauled him bodily into the bathroom, holding him up to the toilet just as he began to violently puke.

  “Not a second too soon,” she sighed. She sat against the wall, rubbing his back as he emptied himself. Eventually, he slowed down. She filled a glass with water, then gave it to him. He nodded, sweat pouring from his brow, wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, then took a deep draft of water. He swished it for a long moment, then spit that into the toilet as well.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled. He set the glass down, flushed the toilet, then leaned back against the wall.

  “It's fine,” she said.

  He looked over at her, unsure she was real. “Not how I wanted to meet you again.”

  “I know. It's fine.” She patted his hand, and he felt better.

  “Why are you here?” He wiped his still-sweaty brow with his other arm.

  “Honestly? I was hoping to run into you.”

  “And then you find me like this...” he said in a half-sob.

  “Don't worry about it, Jonas. It's okay, really. I've been there myself. I know that look. What's bothering you?”

  He closed his eyes as images flashed across his mind. “You don't want to know.”

  “I might regret this, but I think I do.”

  He sighed, then launched into the story of his time in Cairo. He mentioned everything but the dancers. She sat and listened intently, never interrupting. When he finished, he took another sip of water, swished, then stood and spit it into the sink. He could feel the gritty acid on his teeth, so he brushed them.

  “Feeling better?” She still sat on the floor, watching him at the counter.

  “Enough that I'm not worried about puking in my lap.”

  She stood and walked to the door. “Then let's sit on the couch. We can talk there. Way more comfortable than cold tile.” She smiled in concern, which made his stomach flip with anxiety.

  He followed her out of the bathroom and to the couch. He sat with his head in his hands for a moment before they started talking again.

  “I feel like I’m losing my
mind,” he said quietly.

  “What makes you say that? I mean, yeah, you’re dealing with a lot of crazy coincidences, and the party thing is confusing. You sound like you’re not sure what really happened.”

  “That’s just it. I remember, very clearly, that I threw four people through windows. Hatem tried to kill us. But then I also remember, nowhere near as clearly, drinking in a room with Simon and Dylan until dawn. Then we drove back quietly. No fight, no accident.”

  “Which one is real?” she looked at him with her green eyes, searching his own for something.

  “I don’t know. I remember Hatem, but nobody else does. Professor Calhoun has been driving us, which is what Hatem did. All the other students were invited, but Sydney and Jodie turned him down. That’s why I’m not surprised they don’t remember him. Simon and Dylan went with, obviously, but they don’t remember him at all. In fact, they avoid talking about the trip entirely.”

  “That’s really bizarre,” she trailed off. She seemed at a loss for what to do.

  “Enough about my crap.” He turned to her and started to open his mouth when her belly rumbled loudly. She looked sheepish for a moment, then his belly rumbled. “Huh, guess I’m hungry.”

  “Can you eat?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s worth trying. Want to get something from room service?”

  “Can you afford that? I thought you said you couldn’t really pay for anything here.”

  “It’s all taken care of by the Department. I don’t think they’re going to care too much about a meal in the room. Especially since they pay the bar tab for the group.”

  “Lucky, I’ve never heard of a company willing to do that.”

  “Yeah, it is kind of weird. Anyway, burgers and fries?”

  “Yes, please!” She looked like she was salivating just at the thought of a burger. He wondered if it would be beef, then shrugged and used the room phone to order. They sat and chatted amiably until the food arrived. When he sat with the two boxes of food, she snagged hers with a smile and tucked in with ferocity. He opened his own and tried a fry. When his stomach didn’t throw a fit, he started to eat as well.

  When they finished, they sat back on the couch.

  “Oh man, I forgot how much I love simple American crap food,” she said.

  “Hey, I like the shawarma here,” he said in defense of Egyptian food.

  “I didn’t say it was bad, I actually love the food here. So flavorful. But sometimes, a burger sounds so perfect. Then you eat it and hate yourself,” she said with a laugh.

  “You can eat anything you want anyway,” he said with a small burp.

  “What do you mean?”

  He waved at her. “Your family is rich. If you like the food here so much, find a way to bring recipes back home.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t really want to take their money. I want to earn it myself.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I actually get that. I feel bad about using my family’s money to go to school. Speaking of, why do you go to Akron?”

  She looked at him and made some internal decision. “Because the friends I grew up with went there. They didn't have money.”

  “What do your parents do?”

  “I'd rather not talk about that,” she said. It was the first time she had dodged a question, and while it drew his curiosity, he didn’t want to push her.

  “So, what do I do?” He stared at his hands. His mind flashed back to the car. He could feel the sunlight scorching his skin, setting him alight. He could feel the fires consume his flesh. He snapped back a moment later.

  “What can you do? Nobody believes you, right? Nobody remembers the guy you say turned into a tree,” she said softly.

  “I seem to be the only one,” he said with a nod.

  “Then let it go. Finish up your work, go home to Ohio, get your degree. Forget about Egypt. Work elsewhere. There're digs in Greece all the time. Or go further north, Germany or Norway, or further south to other African countries. I hear there’s cool stuff being found in South America all the time. You have a lot of options. Egypt isn’t the only place to work in as an Archaeologist.”

  “Abandon Egyptian digs?” he asked. “The best digs in the world?”

  “Is it worth the trouble?”

  He didn't answer. She sat next to him for a long time in silence. Eventually, she gathered herself up, then quietly left. He didn't move even after the door clicked shut. At some point, without realizing it, he readied himself for bed. He closed his eyes with her words still circling inside his head.

  Is it worth the trouble?

  25

  When he woke, it was suddenly and violently. He threw the blankets off in a fit, fists clenched and ready for a fight. His heart thundered in his ears. Something had woken him. He thought back, fighting to understand what had caused the reaction. His room was silent. The curtains still showed daylight at the edges.

  He thought back to the dream, wondering if that was what had woken him. All he could remember was a sound. The sound had been harsh, barely audible. Like a wheezing breath from a corpse. Laughter, in the way of dream logic. The only other element that he remembered was the stylized eye. He looked blankly at the wall, seeing the symbol spread wide in invisible ink.

  “The Eye of Horus,” he muttered.

  Death and rebirth. Life, and unlife.

  “QUARTERMAIN,” Calhoun thundered through the door. Jonas was in action in a split second. He dressed and grabbed his duffel bag on the way out the door. They were in the van a minute later. He remained quiet for the entire trip. Shadows danced at the edge of the headlights. Shapes flitted by, seen only by Jonas. At the top of one dune, a man standing with an upside-down ankh held in his rotted hands. Another held a mutated jackal with six legs. More than once on the drive he saw a figure in ragged bandages, like a man being prepared for mummification. It simply stood at the side of the road, staring at Jonas as they passed. Calhoun never slowed the van at the same time Jonas saw one of the visions.

  His insomnia was getting worse. His work ethic was slipping, much to Calhoun’s consternation. Jonas still worked, but he worked slowly, as if caught in a dream-like state. He was never focused on what he was doing, often making simple mistakes. He would catch them and redo the document, yet it would happen again within a half-hour. He had started questioning everything around him. His concept of reality was starting to unravel.

  Jonas thought about Lily, about her care and concern, her sudden appearance in his hour of need. He was also consumed with thoughts of Joshua trees, people bursting into flames, of the ability to throw a grown adult through thick glass; to move so fast other people couldn’t react. He knew something was wrong with him, he just wasn't sure if it was because he was infected with something, or that he'd lost his mind.

  During the lunch break, Jonas broke his silence. “Professor, how much longer are we going to be here?”

  Calhoun uttered a dry chuckle. “What, eager to leave already? This is real archeology, Quartermain.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand that. But all we’ve done for the last week is sort artifacts,” Jonas said, trying to sound reasonable. “Which I don’t get. How are we still pulling artifacts out of the tomb?”

  "If you had visited the tomb in the last week, you would know,” Calhoun admonished him. “Simon has found a dozen caches of artifacts in the vault. Every other sarcophagus was filled to the brim with jewelry and gold instead of a mummy. You were right, you know, when you mentioned King Tut. This is on that level of discovery.”

  “How can that be? How can such a wealthy pharaoh have passed from history? How has his pyramid not been sacked by now?”

  “See, these are the questions you should be asking, not stewing in whatever funk you have going on,” Calhoun said. He pointed a finger at Jonas’ chest. “I want that Jonas back. The Jonas that asks questions a real Archaeologist would ask. The Jonas that doesn’t stop probing at something until everything has been found.”

 
“What is there even left to find?”

  Calhoun shook his head. “That’s a question you should be exploring. But you only have another week before we leave for America. The Department has contracted trustworthy locals to take over. We’ll be heading back and doing paperwork for the next… oh, six months.”

  “Oh, good,” Jonas said tiredly.

  Calhoun shrugged with one shoulder. “Of course, before we leave, you'll get the opportunity to see everything that's been prepared and put into the exhibit.”

  “That's rad,” Jonas replied, stymied for a better response.

  Simon and Dylan were sitting on the far side of Calhoun, also tagging artifacts.

  “I’m with you, Jonas. I’m tired of this shit,” Simon said as he tossed down the bangle and pen he was holding.

  “You know, there’s that echo we heard in the antechamber,” Jonas said, suddenly remembering. “Why do we keep forgetting about that?”

  “Exhaustion,” Calhoun said. “It happens to everybody. Even though it’s only 3-4 days per week, twelve hours of anything will melt your brain. Look, you guys should go explore now, while it’s fresh on your mind. Take pictures of everything. I mean absolutely everything. Take a picture of the wall before you hit it. Take a picture as you hit it. Take a picture when you take the sledgehammer away from the wall.”

  “Pickaxe,” Simon interjected.

  “Pick,” Dylan whispered loudly.

  “Pick,” Simon corrected himself.

  “What? Whatever, I want it all documented.” Calhoun sounded irritated as usual. “If you run out of film, you pause and touch nothing until you have more.”

  “I’ll handle the camera,” Dylan said as he looked at Simon. They nodded and stood.

  Jonas led the team down to the tomb. It felt different after being emptied. They still had weights holding the pressure plates down. The work lights harshly lit the room; they still occasionally cut out for no discernable reason. Dylan began taking pictures as Simon sounded out the left-hand wall. Jonas recalled Simon doing the same thing two weeks before, then the odd sound had been forgotten in the excitement of finding the burial chamber and vault. Jonas and Calhoun stood back, watching them work.