Tutankhamun Uncovered

by Michael J Marfleet

  “We ’ave talked about a good deal, Howard. Many stories. Many croises. But y’ know dey need you. Dey will have y’ back.”

  Seamus reflected for a moment.

  “Amongst it all Oi noticed d’ mention of one lady. From what y’ said and d’ way y’ said it, seems dere was more dan a passin’ relationship betwixt d’ two of you. Tell me, what has become of her?”

  “You are referring to Miss Dorothy Dalgliesh?”

  “Dat’s d’ name!”

  “We correspond. Infrequently, I must admit, but we do converse. She lives in England still but does not venture to Egypt any more. Little wonder; I could never spare but the odd evening hour to socialise. The demands have been great. It sounds callous, I know, but I literally had have no time for her, much as I would have liked.”

  Carter was sincerely apologetic. He regretted his total commitment to the work. At the same time he was realistic he knew he had been willingly consumed by it. “I am very fond of her, y’ know... but one has to face facts,” he continued defensively.

  There was a short break in their conversation as the two paused for refills.

  “Oi’ve noticed, ’owever,” continued the priest, “dat dis lady appears more often in y’ conversation dan y’ p’raps realoise. P’raps now dat you are temporarily suspended from work on d’ tomb y’ should try to seek her out. If she’ll still ’ave you, dat is.”

  The priest sighed and took a moment to reflect. “Dere was a lady in moi loife once. When d’ juices were flowin’, as dey say. P’raps if Oi ’adn’t taken up d’ faith Oi would have matured d’ at relationship. P’raps not. Who knows? Oi felt d’ stirring in me loins from time to time. Have you felt d’ stirring in y’ loins, Howard? Y’ must ’ave. A tough little terrier like y’self. T’tell y’ d’truth, Oi’ve had to relieve meself a toime or two if y’ see m’meanin’.”

  Carter looked at his friend, incredulity written all over his face. ‘This is a priest, for God’s sake! Whatever next!’ But it was fun. He was truly enjoying the accident of their rendezvous. It was completely pleasing. So much had been stored up inside him. Until this moment he had not realised just how considerable a load he had been carrying.

  “Seamus,” he began after a long pause, “you are very frank!” They both laughed out loud. “Very frank. I do not believe I can be so. But I will try my best.”

  The priest gestured with his tumbler as if to urge his colleague on.

  “The discovery, you will appreciate, has changed my whole life. Before, I was an archaeologist, an excavator, an artistcumbuyersellertraderkeeper of antiquities. This was not so unlike any other job in its balance between work and leisure other than living for at least six months of every year in a foreign and relatively inhospitable land... Then my life fundamentally changed in every way. After...” He paused to restructure the sentence. “I am a modest man, you understand, Seamus. But let us be realistic.” Another pause. “Forgive me if this sounds like self praise.” Another, shorter pause. “Which it is justifiably, you understand!” He winked. “...After the greatest, richest, most undamaged archaeological discovery of all time let’s bandy no words here we must not underestimate the achievement, discovered only through dogged personal commitment and systematic digging in pursuit of this prize, along with his lordship’s undying, vital and persistent backing, of course God rest his soul. Once the discovery was made, I had no choice but to become committed to its rapid, considered and effective clearance, restoration and preservation. I was I am the right man in the right place at the right time. There can have been no better occasion to coin the phrase. This is something about which I feel no humility.”

  “Y’ always were d’ modest toipe, Howard.”

  They smiled at each other.

  “Oi’m proud of you, Howard. Who could ’ave suspected d’at sick strippling on d’ Mediterranean in ’91 was destined to become d’ most famous man d’ twentieth century moight ever see?”

  He needed that. The praise was most welcome. Carter felt a rush of pride. He took another drink. “Over the past years, Seamus, I have developed my archaeological expertise but, additionally, I have become accomplished as a writer, a politician, a tour organiser, an entertainer of VIPs wogs and real ones. I now have a considerable number of names to drop even royalty. I have also become a banqueteer if there is such a word and, worst of all, lately a barrister...”

  “Nobody’s perfect, Howard. Don’t distress y’self. But let’s get back t’ Miss Dorot’y...”

  “...And now I am about to become an orator.”

  “...Oi said what about Miss Dorot’y? A comely lady Oi would not be surproised t’ hear?”

  “Oh, yes, Seamus. She is lovely, to be sure.” Carter looked at the ceiling. “More lovely than the likes of I deserve.”

  “Dat y’ certainly have no roight t’ say,” said the priest. “Dat is up t’ her t’ judge.”

  Carter thought for a moment. This was the first time he could remember that he had taken private time to talk about someone who meant something to him. He had never talked about his feelings regarding his father to anyone; never talked about his mother or his brothers; occasionally about Carnarvon, even though he found it painful; certainly never about Dot. It was not going to be easy now. But he liked Seamus and was comfortable in the priest’s company. And Seamus, so far as Carter knew, knew none of Carter’s acquaintances. So there was nothing potentially to be lost by his confiding in this man. He was, after all, almost a virtual stranger, albeit a close stranger, and he would keep the secrets they shared close. Anyway, Carter’s own stories surely could never hold a candle to the confidences that the priest had experienced during his years of confessionals.

  “There might have been something when I knew her in the heady days at Didlington. Then I may have had some room for commitment. But we are both much older now. Much older. And I have had all the commitment I can manage these past few years.”

  Carter swallowed another mouthful of gin.

  “No room for anudder? Dis is one sad confessional. It is an’ all.”

  The priest crossed himself symbolically and waved his empty tumbler at Carter again. Carter leaned over to his friend with the gin bottle and poured another two inches. Seamus took a sip.

  “Ah! Oi feel a sermon comin’ on, t’ be sure! Dis’ll put me to roights, an’ dat’s a fact!”

  He took a longer pull at his gin and turned back to Carter with a perceptible tic in his left eye.

  “Are y’ disposed t’ a little advoice, Howard?”

  Carter glared at his guest. It showed clearly in his steely eyes. The answer was ‘No’, but he knew he was going to get it anyway. He relaxed back into his chair and submitted himself to the inevitable.

  The priest took this as a receptive posture and launched himself into his solitary sermon, not a little gilded by the alcohol. “Advoice comes from one’s own experiences largely unhappy experiences d’ failures in one’s loife, d’ t’ings one wishes one ‘ad never done d’ t’ings y’d give y’ roight arm to get d’ chance to do over again an’ Oi’ve ’ad a few.”

  To emphasise this statement Seamus nodded at his host, gazed reflectively into his tumbler and explicitly wiped the dry bottom out with his finger.

  Carter obediently reached for the bottle again.

  “Well now. Let’s get started. First of all, when you’re wid her, when you’re t’inking of her do y’ get dis sense of urgency in y’ loins? Answer me dat, now.” The priest ordered Carter to respond.

  ‘God, he’s talking loins again!’ Carter stuttered back, “I... I have a fondness for her... an affection... if that’s what you mean.”

  “What y’ mean is...” asserted the Irish cleric, “y’ have felt a growth in y’ trousers! Now be straightforward wid me. No nonsense, now. Y’ did feel some excoitment widin yer underwear, now didn’t y’?”

  The priest looked expectantly into Carter’s eyes. But he had stepped inside Carter’s limits. The Egyptologist was not amused.
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  “What possible reason can you have for this line of questioning?”

  “What possible reason? What possible reason? Am Oi talking wid a unuch, is it? D’ y’ ’ave no balls, man? Is dere nuttin’ angin’ dere between y’ legs? Oi can tell y’ now... priest Oi may be... took d’ faith an’ all d’ at... But Oi ‘ave sumthin’... An’ many a man would be proud t’ supplement ’is own wid just a few ounces of what Oi’ve got, an’ no mistake!”

  Carter was shocked and visibly offended by his friend’s vulgar immodesty, not to mention his line of interrogation. He tried to shut it out but Father Seamus was unrelenting.

  “Ah... An’ many a woman Oi could’ve put to roights wi’d me own equipment. But me takin’ up d’religious orders denied d’world of d’at, t’be sure. Sad... Sad.” He reflected into his glass for a moment.

  “But ‘fear not’, Oi sez, we ’ave a foine, fit gen’l’man of intellect ’ere ’oo is ready an’ willin’ t’ satisfy d’ hunger dat ’as been left by moie abstentions. Good luck to ’im. An’ good luck to d’ lucky female dat gets ‘im. ‘Ere’s to Miss Dalgliesh! May she bear fruit for y’!”

  He drained the last of his gin.

  Carter was dumbstruck. The tic was still in the priest’s eye, as if urging Carter to do things he had never really taken the time to think about. But as he stared into his own empty glass, he pictured her sweet face in the thick, opalescent frame of the tumbler.

  The priest read Carter’s change of expression. He could be getting to him at last. With a wry grin, he leaned back in his chair.

  Carter’s anger had calmed down somewhat and it was he who broke the silence. “You may be right, Seamus, in some of the things you say. When I return to England we may see each other. At least she said that had been her intent in her last letter. But I have no way of knowing for certain if she will be there.” He looked deep into his glass again.

  The priest smiled. “She’ll be there, Howard. Mark my words.” He pulled out his pocket watch and regarded it for a moment. “Must go, Howard. The Lord’s work, y’ know. Oi’m sure dere are many sinners waitin’ out dere for absolution. Should be some good stories on a boat, don’t y’ t’ink? Oi’m kinda lookin’ forward to it.”

  “Thanks, Seamus,” said Carter, shaking the priest’s hand as he prepared to leave. “Enjoyed it... Most of it. Dinner?”

  “Deloighted, sir. Deloighted. See y’ at seven in d’ saloon.”

  As the door closed between them, Carter stuffed his hand inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He withdrew a number of scraps of paper from one of the pockets and fingered through them. A tiny, dog-eared photograph fell to the floor. He picked it up and studied it closely. The picture had been taken in Thebes over ten years ago. They had posed together with Maspero and his wife. It all seemed so distant now. Carter looked out of the porthole wistfully. Was there really a chance she would be there when he returned? It was so far away.

  At dinner, Carter contemplated the vacant space between the cutlery neatly laid out on the table before him. It was all a bit too much. This was not the right time. He felt an urgent preoccupation with preparing for his forthcoming lectures. Besides, the very process of so personal an analysis was alien to him, particularly from another man, even if he was a friend. He had spent a lifetime sorting out his own problems. This was no different. He would sort it out for himself, given time.

  The waiter placed the main course between them.

  Carter picked up his knife and fork, uttered a faint, “Bon appetit”, and began stripping the sole from the bone.

  His guest scooped up a virtual mountain of mustard from the pot in the middle of the table and spread it along the edge of his plate. He picked up his knife and fork and attacked his steak as if to extinguish any remaining life. Having cut a largish piece off, he stabbed it with his fork, turned it in the mustard until the entire piece was yellow, raised it to his mouth, and pulled the meat off the fork with his teeth. He chewed for a few moments and then swallowed audibly. This was followed by a barely perceptible gasp and at least thirty seconds of absolute silence. Seamus touched his napkin to his eyes.

  “English mustard!” he croaked. “Nothing loike it for cleaning the passages dat is hard t’ reach! Fair brings tears to d’ eyes, it does!”

  Carter returned a polite smile that was so subtle it stayed hidden beneath his moustache. He willed the conversation to turn to non-personal matters.

  After his throat had recovered from the purging effects of the mustard, the priest helped him out. “About dis lecture tour of yours, Howard. Oi was wonderin’ whether you ’ad t’ought of including some references to d’ scriptures in ye text?”

  “Scriptures?” responded the Egyptologist, quizzically. “Include scriptures?”

  “Scriptures, m’ boy. Indeed. ’Ave y’ not t’ought how dey could add a spiritual element what would otherwise be a wholly factual accountin’ of what y’ve been doin’ in dat valley?”

  “To what purpose? And, assuming you can define a purpose, in what way?” Carter was relieved at the change of subject.

  “Glad y’ asked dat question, m’ boy. Glad y’ asked.” The priest put his knife and fork down for a moment, sat forward in his chair and regarded his host at close quarters. “Was not King David of d’ Good Book a contemporary of y’ boy king? Why don’t y’ pick an example from dat chapter? Oi’m sure dere’s one dat’s appropriate. Don’t y’ t’ink dat could add a little flavour to y’ story? Oi can look it up for you if y’ want...”

  “No thanks,” Carter cut in. He was not impressed at the priest’s apparent inability to recall scriptures at will. “Am I to believe that you do not know the Bible from cover to cover?”

  “Well... not exactly cover to cover, Howard. Dere are a few passages dat come easily to moind. ‘Specially dem about all dat ’begattin’ dat was bein’ done during King David’s toime. Oi knows several of dose learned ’em at school ’specially dose Oi ’ad t’ write out foive ’undred toimes after bein’ caught wroitin’ naughty rhoimes in d’ girls’ toilet!”

  Carter laughed.

  “Well, dere was no toilet roll in d’ boys’. Would y’ believe Oi ’ad no choice? ’Twas a revelation ’twas.” He leaned forward in confidence. “D’ rhoimes in d’ girls’ loos, now dem was sometin’ to behold. Dey was far dirtier an’ more ’maginative dan dose in d’ boys’. Oi tell y’, men can’t hold a candle to d’ creative filth dat breeds widin dat female head. T’ say not’in’ of what may beat between dem female breasts!” The priest looked up at the ceiling. “Lord forgive me!”

  He crossed himself, pulled on another forkful of mustard coated steak, swallowed, belched, and clenched his teeth.

  Carter felt obliged to come back into the conversation. “Seamus, I do believe you have got worse in your old age. I had never placed vulgarity as an attribute of a priest.”

  “Vulgarity? Vulgarity is it? Well Oi begs t’ differ. One of d’ attributes of d’ English language, moi friend, is dat it is so resplendent in vocabulary dat a man such as Oi, skilful wid words, so t’ speak, can craft expression a t’ousand ways. You ’ave just been fortunate enough t’ hear one of d’ ways. If Oi say so meself, spoken loike a true linguist.”

  Carter’s mind began to wander. Every mouthful of food and each additional glass of champagne allowed him to hear less and less of his partner’s rhetoric. Thoughts of Dorothy blanked out everything else. He looked into the middle distance.

  A moment or two passed.

  The priest swallowed another mouthful of meat and mustard, gasped and waited for the pain in his nostrils to subside.

  Carter noticed his discomfort and pulled the bottle of Lanson from the ice bucket.

  “My apologies. A refill, perhaps?”

  “Oi t’ought y’d never ask,” said the priest, clearing his throat and pushing his glass forward.

  By the time the two were into their second brandies and coffees Carter’s head was far too muddled to pull any coherent thoughts togethe
r. Neither did he want to. All he desired now was a good night’s sleep. And he would pray that he would not rise with any legacy from the evening’s indulgence.

  But Seamus, whose metabolism permitted him to be well able to hold his liquor, was now at the peak of his performance at the nadir of his sensibilities the very condition in which, he recalled with a complacent smile, he had produced the very best of his sermons. And he felt one growing within him now.

  Carter got it both barrels and, being defenceless, received it without a whimper. All the time the priest was talking, Carter’s elbows remained firmly planted on the table, his head in his hands. Carter had fallen suddenly and solidly into a deep sleep.

  Father Seamus finished his monologue and awaited Carter’s reaction.

  “Howard?... Howard... Howard!” Still nothing. “HOWARD!”

  The dreaming Egyptologist raised his head a little and opened one eye. “Mmm?”

  “Dammit, Howard forgive me dear Lord Oi do believe y’ve not heard a word of what Oi’ve been sayin’.”

  “Mmm.”

  That was statement enough.

  “Well, so be it. Your loss. Better words of advoice y’ wouldn’t get from anyone. Just t’ rown away upon ignorant, stony ground. Your loss.”

  Carter’s head subsided back onto his palms. When the waiter placed the bill face down on the table, the priest pushed it closer to Carter, got up and quietly left.

  By the time their journey was over, Carter had had quite enough of his ecclesiastical friend. When they finally arrived at their destination, the parting ceremonies were brief and perfunctory. Carter’s mind was now firmly refocused on his lecture schedule.

  As the tugs nudged the ship slowly alongside Southampton dock, Carter’s eyes searched the crowds below for some sign that Dorothy was there.

  The gangplank was down and the passengers were beginning to disembark. He looked at his watch. The boat wasn’t that late, maybe an hour or so, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. He took one last long look along the rows of waiting people, sighed, turned and went back to his cabin to pick up his things.