Egypt Rising

by Stan Schatt

  I recognized him at once as Esmail Fayez, the Deputy Minister of the Supreme Council of Antiquities. He was famous enough that I always saw his picture in the paper whenever Westerners planned a dig. He had starred in several National Geographic shows about Egypt, and Dad even showed some of these to my class.

  Doctor Fayez and Dad had known each other for years because archeologists required his approval to begin digging at a site. Doctor Fayez had to approve any use of radar at an excavation. For the past two years he had refused any such licenses arguing that the condition of the ground around the pyramids and Sphinx was too shaky to risk further damage.

  He issued his edict, suspiciously soon after a Japanese team of archeologists published a report that claimed that their radar results showed a series of tunnels running through the entire Giza plateau, including under the pyramids and Sphinx.

  Doctor Fayez had little patience with archeologists who sought to prove that the pyramids, Egypt’s proudest national heritage and its major tourist attractions, were built by people who lived in some earlier technological society. Dad was very vocal in publicly stating his belief that he knew where the lost ancient library could be found.

  When Julius Caesar had accidentally burned the famous library at Alexandria much to Cleopatra’s outrage, some famous historians claimed that the library contained current works by all the famous writers of the time, as well as, copies of even more ancient manuscripts. The original manuscripts, presumably including the Emerald Tablets, were buried at a different location not far from the Sphinx. Why? One ancient scribe claimed the world wasn’t ready yet for that knowledge.

  Most archaeologists scoffed at the very idea of a vast library buried under all the sand near the pyramids of Giza yet a fragment of text that reportedly came from the Emerald Tablets claimed that was indeed the case. Doctor Fayez often made fun of the idea.

  He jokingly accused Dad of believing Egyptians were all moles because he thought that a giant cave system existed under the Giza plateau. How could anyone believe that the thousands of archeologists who explored that area for decades would have missed such a find? I knew Doctor Fayez’s public criticism hurt Dad and blemished his reputation.

  I remembered Dad told me Doctor Fayez actively went to organizations that sponsored digs and advised them against sponsoring any digs that purported to seek treasures from ancient Atlantis. He stated that such digs were closed before they opened and hinted that any such excavations would provoke fundamentalists to stage riots. Most universities were afraid the bad publicity would damage their reputations, so they withdrew support from archeologists seeking their financial support.

  To satisfy Doctor Fayez, Dad applied for a license that described his goal as a simple exploration of an ancient tomb near an old Muslim graveyard, a site that apparently hadn’t anything to do with buried treasure. He argued that it was textbook archeology and might help clarify some obscure Egyptian religious practices. His proposal mentioned an obscure cult that worshipped the God, Osiris and sacrificed birds in his honor.

  I knew Dad had a secret. He had spent a summer doing research at the British Museum and had discovered a manuscript by Henry Salt, a nineteenth century British Egyptologist. The manuscript, long lost until a curator found it in a sealed carton long forgotten, included a hand-drawn map of the Giza plateau with a cave entrance to a tomb marked with a notation that it included a cleverly covered entrance to an elaborate cave system.

  He described how an unusually colored rock covered that entrance. Dad secretly entered the tomb and located that rock. He purposively misfiled the manuscript when returning it so that no one in the Egyptian bureaucracy would be able to locate it and call a halt to his excavation.

  Dad found funding for his dig despite Doctor Fayez’s opposition. An eccentric Scottish millionaire who was a devout Edgar Cayce believer had written a check and assured Dad that there were even more funds available if needed. Cayce was a twentieth century American who would nap and awake with visions of life long ago going back to ancient Atlantis. He also practiced the art of healing people by “laying his hands” on the patient.

  It sounded weird to me, but this guy touched people and somehow cured them. I read that reporters used to watch him and then couldn’t believe it when the patients said they were cured.

  Cayce even predicted that someday archeologists would find a Hall of Records under a pyramid near the Sphinx that would contain ancient knowledge. Most scientists considered Cayce a curiosity and not a man that they took seriously. Still, Dad was thrilled to find anyone who believed in the Emerald Tablets, particularly a very wealthy man willing to pay the costs of the dig.

  Now that Dad was not planning to look for anything associated with Atlantis, I suspected that Doctor Fayez didn’t care whether he would be successful or not as long as this consummate bureaucrat received the appropriately sized “gift.” I knew what was coming and watched closely.

  Dad rose and shook hands with his old adversary. Over the years, the two had grown to respect each other. Doctor Fayez was not a terrible person, and, in fact, Dad admitted that the man was competent when it came to his knowledge of archeology, at least traditional archeology that was predicated on the assumption that Egyptians had built all its ancient monuments without outside help. His entire adult life was spent in the Egyptian bureaucracy, and now he obviously felt pressure since his Government mandated that he retire within a few years.

  Doctor Fayez explained all the problems associated with the archeologist’s proposed dig.

  “It will be terribly expensive. I’ll need to hire security to monitor the site. You know how close it is to the Muslim graveyard. Fanatics will say you’re a grave robber, as well as, a filthy capitalist trying to steal our treasures.”

  I knew the two men were performing a carefully orchestrated dance, one that they both mastered long ago.

  Dad expressed sympathy for Doctor Fayez’s problems. They continued to chat for a few minutes, and then the archeologist reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Doctor Fayez who pocketed it in one smooth motion.

  The two continued their discussion before Doctor Fayez indicated that it might be possible to begin the dig in a week. He understood that equipment and provisions were already in place.

  Dad followed the man out the door and then headed to the Principal’s office. I decided what I wanted to say would be better said at home anyway. I stood up, gathered my books, and headed to the computer lab. When I finished, I knew Mister El Haziz would be waiting for me. I planned as usual to have my driver take Aasuma home. We’d have a chance to talk.

  The rest of the day crawled by. I almost cheered when the last bell sounded. I saw Mister El Haziz had parked where he always parked. I climbed in and smiled when Aasuma opened the back door and sat down besides me.

  “Cairo University sent Abdul a rejection letter yesterday. He was in a foul mood ever since.”

  I wasn’t the biggest fan of her brother.

  “He always treats you like dirt. You’re a lot smarter than he is, and you get much better grades. Your parents always take his side. It’s not fair!”

  “I don’t mind that. He is my brother. I love him. Let’s face it, no Muslim man is going to treat me the way your father treats you!”

  I tried to change the subject.

  “Remember the time you told me about your neighbor—the one you heard yelling at his wife because she went outside with her head uncovered to bring in the clothes from the rain? It made me so angry. I wanted to do something.”

  “I’d like to see that. I know you can do all that karate stuff, but Mister Nasser is a mullah. If you touched him, he’d have to purify himself. His followers would throw you down the stairs. He’d have ten witnesses who would swear you fell.”

  “You would swear they pushed me, right?”

  “Sure. It wouldn’t do you any good, though. You’d be dead, and the police wouldn’t believe me. So, it’s better if
you just don’t do anything no matter how much you think there’s some kind of superhero inside you.”

  “I never said that. I just told you that Mister Tanaka taught me to defend myself. Dad said my choice was staying safe in my apartment or being able to go out.”

  “On dates?”

  “Theoretically, but you know me better than that. I don’t see boys banging at my door.”

  “I saw Paul looking at you in Chemistry class.”

  “Yeah, right. Taylor probably said something nastier than usual, and he just felt sorry for me. He’s so anxious to be popular that he’ll never be too nice to me because then Taylor would get mad at him.

  “She’s awful. She thinks she’s so much better than us. It makes me so angry!”

  Aasuma stood on her toes and pulled her blouse out. She stuck her nose up in the air and stared at me with obvious disdain.

  “You pal around with the natives. You don’t have any money. You just don’t have any class.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh even though the words hurt. Aasuma sounded just like Taylor. How could such a horrible girl have such a nice father?

  “You’re so lucky you don’t have Mister Aziz. He’s always sucking up to Taylor. He treats all the other Western kids like we’re garbage.”

  “Her dad paid for the Arabic language lab. If Aziz could give her a great higher than an ‘A’, he would.”

  “He loves Neguib though. I said hello to him yesterday, and he acted like I had leprosy. He just ignored me,” I said.

  “He’s stuck-up because his father is a diplomat. Also, don’t forget his dad’s politics. People from Yemen don’t love you Western imperialists.”

  “I wish we were rich enough to be Western imperialists.”

  “You’re lucky. You’re dad’s cool.”

  I nodded. Most students thought it must be cool to have a famous archeologist for a dad. Still, all the kids knew the next step down from teaching a couple of college classes and one high school class was not teaching there at all. I loved Aasuma for calling Dad cool, while ignoring the downward spiral of his career.

  I hadn’t told her about Dad’s terminal contract. When he lost his job, I would lose my free tuition. God knows where we’d wind up. That would kill my dream of becoming an Egyptologist like Dad. I didn’t see any solution.

  If we had to leave Cairo, I’d have to start over again. It’s no fun being the new fat girl in school. I hated my life. I also worried what Dad would do. I also wondered if Emily would go through with her marriage plans when she found out her husband-to-be might have to move to some place like Guatemala or Cambodia where ‘Help Wanted’ signs were out for archeologists.

  I watched Mohammad El Haziz drive as I have done for many years. Looking at him always made me feel safe, maybe because his immaculate black suit stretched tightly over his large shoulders revealed a bump that Dad told me was where he kept his pistol. Dad believed that the training Mister El Haziz had received as the Egyptian equivalent of a navy SEAL would prevent anyone from kidnapping me.

  I always thought he looked like a giant genie. He shaved his head every morning until it looked like an ebony colored bowling ball with a thin line drawn on it where his neatly thinned mustache grew.

  Aasuma and I continued to talk as Mister El Haziz drove us deep into the Islamic quarter where she lived. As we drew near her apartment, I saw a group of men had gathered. They were shouting and shaking their fists. Mrs. Nur was screaming with tears flowing down her face. She swooned and several men caught her and held her up in their arms. Before Mister El Haziz could stop us, Aasuma and I forced our doors open and ran towards the crowd. The crowd parted for Aasuma, and I lost sight of her. It took me a few minutes to work my way to the front of the crowd, and then I stared in shock.

  A group of men with olive colored camouflage uniforms stood with rifles leveled at the angry crowd. Meanwhile I heard someone screaming in pain. The sound came from the apartment building where two men were dragging Abdul out by his hair. His arms were cuffed behind his back. Three men leveled their evil looking rifles at the crowd while one of them shouted in Arabic for everyone to step back.

  The men dragged the boy past Mrs. Nur. She reached out to try to clutch her son’s leg, but one of the soldiers pulled her away. She fell to the ground sobbing. Assuma screamed at the men, but they ignored her. They shoved Abdul into a dark colored van with darkened windows. The other soldiers climbed in, and the van roared to life and sped down the street with its tires screaming.

  Finally, I was able to work my way through the crowd to reach the Nurs and Aasuma.

  “What’s going on? Who are those people?”

  Aasuma’s voice was hoarse from screaming.

  “They’re the secret police, Mubarak’s dogs. They’ve taken Abdul. My mother says she’s afraid she’ll never see him again.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What can we do? Are we friends of Mubarak? Are we invited to the palace? My father is just a poor shopkeeper. No one will listen to him, and they won’t listen to you either. My mother would die if anything happened to Abdul. I couldn’t take that.”

  I thought about how unpleasant Abdul was to me. I knew it wasn’t personal. He hated all Westerners since he joined the Pan Nationalist Club. I didn’t want Aasuma to suffer, and I knew just how close she was with her mother. Mrs. Nur spent most of the time I spent at Aasuma’s house trying to stuff me full of more kunafah, spooning the sweet pastry directly from her hot frying pan onto my plate. I knew her family meant everything to that sweet woman. There had to be something I could do.

  “I promise I’ll do everything I can,” I said.

  I hugged my friend and got back in the car. Suddenly I had an idea. I admit it wasn’t that great an idea, but it was the best I could do.

  “Please drive me to the Argosy Towers. It’s important.”

  Mister El Haziz didn’t argue. He acted relieved that we were leaving an area where an even larger crowd was now gathering; he pulled away and headed towards the downtown area.

  I’d never been to the Argosy Towers, although they were visible from almost anywhere in Cairo. I knew many of the students’ parents worked there since it was home to many Western companies, at least those willing to pay exorbitant rent for bragging rights to Cairo’s most prestigious location. Mister El Haziz pulled into the underground parking lot where he picked up an Egyptian newspaper and told me he would wait for me.

  I must be crazy, I thought. I don’t really have a plan. Despite the fact that Taylor Thornton clearly hated me, for whatever reason, her father liked me. Tom Thornton always took the time to smile at me and really listen as if he were genuinely interested in talking with me. That was surprising since he and Dad had little to do with each other. Mister Thornton was my only hope since he was the only one I knew in the world who was important and wealthy enough to know the Egyptian President and members of his cabinet.

  I took the elevator to the top floor reserved entirely for Thornton Investments. Okay, I told myself, even though I was shaking inside, just play it by ear. I opened the glass doors and saw a very well dressed Egyptian woman sitting behind the receptionist desk. She was tall and thin and looked at me the way she probably looked at any bug that managed to make its way to the top floor. I felt like telling her that I wasn’t just a fat girl with average looks. I was smart, and I wanted to be an archeologist some day. I felt like telling her that I could already read hieroglyphics. Then I realized she wouldn’t care. People like her only respect someone who is either rich or beautiful.

  “I have to see Mister Thornton,” I said.

  I tried to sound forceful but my voice came out like a high squeak.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  The receptionist spoke with a very cultivated British accent that revealed she probably went to school in England.

  “No, but it’s important. He knows me. Tell him Olivia Hunter would like to see him. It’s urgent!”

 
The woman shook her head. “Mister Thornton is extremely busy. I’m afraid he cannot see you today. Perhaps you can make an appointment for later in the week.”

  The phone rang, and the receptionist turned her attention to it. As she picked up the receiver, I raced by her towards the office behind her. Okay, I didn’t race, but I moved as quickly as I could and got there before her.

  “Stop!”

  I ignored her and opened the door without knocking. Mister Thornton looked up from the report he was studying and looked confused. The secretary stood just behind me. I swear I felt her hot breath on my neck.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I told this girl you couldn’t see anyone without an appointment, but…”

  “It’s okay, Miss Souyez. Just go back to your desk.”

  Taylor’s father wasn’t much in the looks department. She must have gotten that from her mother. His shaven head gleamed from the sunlight reflected from the window behind him. He wasn’t a large man, but he spoke with so much confidence that it made him seem much bigger. His face broke into a gentle smile.

  “Olivia, what are you doing here?”

  I took a deep breath and then everything that happened at the Nurs poured out of me. Finally, I had to stop for another breath.

  “I still don’t understand why you’ve come here.”

  “You’ve met Aasuma, do you remember? It was at the last Parents’ night. Her father has a sweets shop.”

  Mister Thornton looked lost in thought, and then he nodded.

  “I remember. She seems like a nice young lady. According to Taylor, she’s doing very well in school.”

  “You have to help the family. You’re the only one I know who can talk with someone who can free Abdul.”

  “I’m not sure I can help.”

  “You have to. You’re my only hope.”