Whispers in the Sand

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘If it worries you so much, why not ask them to put the bottle in the boat’s safe with our passports and valuables?’ Serena glanced up as outside the restaurant in the depths of the boat the gong began to ring.

  They stood up and began to move towards the staircase which led down to the lower deck.

  Anna shrugged. ‘That’s a good idea. I might just do it.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe all this! It must be my imagination. After all, nothing ever happened before I read about it. If it’s true, why has nothing ever shown itself in London?’

  Serena turned towards her. ‘Isn’t it obvious? You’ve brought it back to Egypt, my dear. It has come home.’

  Unlocking the door later Anna reached in and turned on the light. The small room was empty. Beckoning Serena inside she closed the door behind them. They had lingered over supper with the others, but by an unspoken agreement had turned away from the lounge where the coffee was being served before Omar gave another talk to the assembled company. Tonight’s topic was Egyptian history since the days of the pharaohs.

  It seemed crowded in the tiny cabin with two people in there. Serena sat down on the bed whilst Anna swung her suitcase down from the wardrobe. Setting it on the floor she squatted down, unlocked it and threw back the lid. ‘It’s here.’ She reached into the pocket and pulled out the small silk-wrapped bundle. Without removing the scarf she handed it to Serena.

  The cabin was very quiet. All the other passengers were in the lounge watching as Omar set up a projector on the bar preparing to take them through Egypt’s more recent history. The two corridors on the boat, off which the ten cabins led, were empty. For the crew, it was their turn to eat. The river bank was dark and deserted. There was a gentle lap of water from outside the half-open window and a dry, quiet rustle from the reeds as the wind began to rise, stealing subtly in from the desert.

  Very carefully Serena began to unwrap the bottle. ‘It’s smaller than I expected.’

  Anna sat down beside her. ‘It’s tiny.’ She gave a nervous giggle. ‘So small, and it’s causing so much hassle.’

  ‘Hush.’ Serena pulled away the scarlet silk and dropped it on the bedcover. She was gazing down at the bottle lying on the palm of her hand. She stroked it with her finger. ‘It feels old. The glass is flawed. Bumpy.’ Closing her eyes she went on stroking with her fingertip, gently, scarcely touching it. ‘It’s old. Full of memories. Full of time.’ Her voice was very soft. Dreamy. ‘This is real, Anna. It’s old. Very old.’ She went on stroking. ‘There is magic in this. Power.’ There was a long silence. ‘I can see a figure with my mind’s eye. He’s tall. His eyes are piercing. They see through everything. Silver, like knife blades.’ She was still, caressing the bottle with slow, gentle movements. ‘He has so much power,’ she went on slowly, ‘but there is treachery there. He has enemies. He thinks himself invincible, but close to him there is hatred, greed. Someone, whom he thought a friend, is near him. Waiting. Drawing the darkness of secrecy around him. They serve different gods, but he has not realised it. Not yet …’ Her voice trailed away into silence. Anna held her breath, watching mesmerised as the fingertip with its neat, oval, unpolished nail stroked gently on. ‘There is blood here, Anna.’ Serena spoke again at last, her voice a whisper. ‘So much blood – and so much hate.’

  ‘You’re making it up.’ Anna backed a step away from her. She leant against the door. ‘You’re frightening me!’ Suddenly she was shivering uncontrollably. Was it this which had woken Louisa and frightened her in the darkness?

  Slowly Serena looked up. Her eyes found Anna’s face but she wasn’t seeing it. Her pupils were huge; unfocused.

  ‘Serena?’ Anna whispered. ‘Serena, please!’

  There was another long silence then abruptly Serena rubbed her eyes. She smiled uncertainly. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Anna didn’t move from her position near the door.

  Serena looked down at the little bottle still lying in her hand. With a shiver she let it fall onto the bed. ‘It is old. Very old,’ she repeated, her voice completely flat.

  ‘You said.’ Anna swallowed. Her eyes were riveted to the bottle, lying on the bed. ‘But what was all that other stuff? About the blood?’

  Serena’s eyes opened wide. ‘Blood?’ There was a moment’s silence then she looked away. ‘Oh shit!’ She put her hands to her face. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen. Forget it, for goodness sake. I’m sorry. Don’t believe anything I said, Anna.’ She reached out towards the bottle, changed her mind and stood up, leaving it where it was. ‘I have a tendency to be melodramatic. Take no notice. The last thing I meant to do was scare you.’

  ‘But you did.’

  ‘Did I?’ For a moment Serena stood gazing into her face as if trying to read her thoughts. Then she shrugged and looked away. ‘They must have finished the talk by now. Why don’t we go to the lounge and have a drink?’ She bent over the bed and reached out to the bottle. The hesitation was only momentary, then she picked it up and firmly rewrapped it in the silk square. She held it out to Anna. ‘I should get Omar to put it in the safe for you. I think it probably is genuine.’ Her voice was still strangely flat.

  Anna took it reluctantly. She held it for a moment then she stooped and tucked it back in the suitcase. ‘Later. I will. When there’s someone at the desk.’ She opened her mouth to ask another question, then she changed her mind. Grabbing her purse she reached for the door handle. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  Drinks in hand they made their way through the lounge where the others had settled in groups round the low tables and they stepped out onto the open covered deck where the tables and chairs were deserted. Anna shivered. ‘There’s a cold wind.’

  ‘I don’t mind. It’s wonderful – cleansing. Such a relief after the heat of the day.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Let’s climb up onto the sundeck.’

  She led the way up to the front of the boat, where Anna had been asleep earlier. All was in darkness up there as they looked down on the string of small coloured lights around the awning of the lower deck. Looking up they could see the velvety black of the sky and the intense brightness of the stars. They stood leaning on the rail looking out across the river. The night was somehow more silent for the sounds of talk and laughter wafting out of the doors below them.

  Anna fixed her eyes on the wavy reflections in the dark water below them. ‘How did you do it?’ She took a sip from her glass.

  Serena didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. She shrugged. ‘They call it psychometry. It’s a kind of clairvoyance, I suppose. Reading an object. I’ve always been able to do it, since I was a child. It was what first drew me to the study of psychic phenomena. In children it’s called a vivid imagination. In adults …’ she paused. ‘Eccentricity. Lunacy. Schizophrenia. Take your pick.’ There was the slightest touch of bitterness in her voice for a second, then it was gone. ‘It’s not something to be cultivated lightly, as you can imagine, but it has its uses. Sometimes.’

  Anna was still gazing down at the water. ‘What did your husband think about it?’

  ‘Ah.’ Serena smiled ruefully. ‘Another woman, of course, goes unerringly to the crux of the problem. He vacillated between thinking me delightfully scatty and certifiably insane. But to do him credit he never tried to get me actually locked up.’ Her quiet laugh made Anna glance up at last.

  Serena stood back from the rail and sat down on one of the chairs. Leaning back with a sigh she stared up at the stars. ‘We were very happy. I adored him. I kept all this stuff firmly under the hatches as much as I could while he was alive. Then, when he died,’ she paused, ‘I suppose it was rather like coming out. I found kindred spirits. I read. I talked. I wrote. I studied. Charley thinks I’m mad, but she’s not there much and frankly I don’t care what she thinks. I began to study Egyptian mysticism two years ago and I came out here to get a feel of the place in a group before coming back on my own.’

  Anna turned back to the river
, leaning on the rail. She too was looking up beyond the low bank and the dark silhouette of the trees. The stars were so bright. So clear. She shivered. ‘So, tell me about my bottle.’

  ‘I don’t remember what I said.’ Serena took a sip from her glass. She caught sight of Anna’s face in the darkness and gave a rueful smile. ‘No, honestly. I don’t. Sometimes I do, but more often than not I go into some sort of trance state. I’m sorry, Anna. But that’s how it is for me. You will have to tell me what I said.’

  ‘You talked about hatred and treachery and blood.’ The words hung for a moment in the silence. ‘You described a man. The priest. You said he was tall, with piercing eyes.’ She turned with a start at the sound of footsteps behind them.

  ‘That sounds like me. Tall. With piercing eyes!’ Andy had appeared at the top of the steps. ‘Come on, girls. What are you talking about so secretively? Serena, old thing, I can’t have you appropriating the most beautiful woman on the ship. It’s not allowed. Especially if you’re going to discuss other men.’ He gave an amiable grin.

  Serena and Anna exchanged glances.

  ‘We’ll join you in a minute, Andy.’ Serena did not move from her chair. ‘Now, bugger off, there’s a good chap.’

  Anna hid a smile. She said nothing, watching his momentary discomfiture. It was followed by a shrug. ‘OK. Don’t shoot!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I know when mere males are not wanted. There’ll be drinks on the bar for you if you want them.’

  They watched as he padded back across the deck with a nonchalant wave of the hand and disappeared down the steps out of sight.

  It was a few moments before Serena spoke. ‘Andy is a scoffer. A non believer. I think it would be wiser not to mention any of this to him.’

  ‘I agree.’ Anna sat down on the chair next to her. She pulled her sweater round her shoulders with a shiver. ‘So, what do I do?’

  ‘You could throw the bottle in the Nile.’ Serena tipped back her head and poured the last dregs of her drink down her throat. ‘Then my guess is you’ll be shot of the problem.’

  Anna was silent. ‘It was Hassan’s gift to Louisa,’ she said at last.

  ‘And what happened to them?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I haven’t read much of the diary yet, but I know she came home safely to England.’

  ‘It’s up to you, of course.’ Serena leant forward with a sigh, her elbows on her knees.

  ‘You said you were studying Egyptian mysticism,’ Anna said slowly. ‘So, perhaps there is something you could do. Could you talk to him?’ Part of her couldn’t believe she was actually asking; another part was beginning to take Serena very seriously.

  ‘Oh, no, that doesn’t qualify me to deal with this.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Anna dear, this is – or could be – heavy-weight. A high priest, if that is what he was, would be way out of my league. Probably out of the league of anyone alive today. Those guys practically invented magic. You’ve heard of Hermes Trismegistus? And Thoth, the god of magic?’

  Anna bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to destroy the bottle.’

  ‘OK.’ Serena levered herself to her feet. ‘I tell you what. You read some more of that diary. See what happened to Louisa. How did she deal with it? Perhaps nothing happened to her at all. I’ll spend the night thinking about this; tomorrow we go to the great healing temple of Kom Ombo. Who knows, perhaps we’ll be able to appease the guardian of the bottle by making an offering to his gods.’

  It was late when Anna let herself into her cabin. She stood for a moment, her hand still on the lightswitch, staring at the suitcase lying on the floor. Behind her the short corridor was empty. Serena had gone to her own cabin which she shared with Charley on the floor below.

  Anna bit her lip. An hour’s cheerful socialising in the boat’s lounge bar talking to Ben and Joe and Sally had relaxed and distracted her. She had not forgotten that the bottle would still be here in her cabin, but had been able to put it to the back of her mind. Leaving the door open behind her she went over to the suitcase and knelt down. Opening it, she looked in. Only a small bulge in the side pocket showed where the bottle was hidden. Taking a deep breath she took it out, still carefully wrapped in its scarlet silk. Not stopping to think she left the cabin, hurried down the short corridor to the main staircase and ran down to the reception desk at the foot of the stairs on the restaurant floor. There, behind a panel in the wall was the boat’s safe where they had all lodged their passports and any other valuables they didn’t want to leave lying around in cabins or bags. The desk was empty and in darkness. Taking a quick, jerky breath, she punched the brass bell which lay on the otherwise empty polished surface. The sound resonated round the reception area, but the door behind the desk which led towards the crew’s quarters remained closed. Agitatedly she put out her hand to strike the bell again, then she changed her mind. A glance at her watch had reminded her that it was nearly midnight. It wasn’t fair to expect anyone to be on duty at this hour. Except for Omar. He had told them he was there for them at any time of day or night if there were any problems. But he had meant appendicitis or murder, not a forgotten trinket. That could wait until morning. Or could it?

  Turning she hurried back towards the stairs. His cabin was on the same level as hers, at the far end of the corridor.

  Outside his door she stopped. Was she really going to wake him at this hour of the night to ask him to put something in the safe? For several seconds she stood there, undecided, then turning away she walked slowly towards her open cabin door.

  On the threshold she hesitated. She had only been away a few minutes but something in the cabin had changed. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the small silk-wrapped bundle in her hand as she stood in the doorway peering in. The suitcase was still lying where she had left it, the lid thrown back, in the middle of the floor. She stared at it. It was empty but something was different. The obliquely slanting light from the bedside lamp threw a wedge-shaped black shadow across the empty case, a shadow in which something was lying. Something which hadn’t been there before. Her mouth dry, her heart beating fast, she forced herself to take a step nearer. A handful of brown crumbled fragments of what looked like peat lay in the bottom of the case. She looked down at them warily, then slowly she crouched down and reached out her hand. They were dry, papery to the touch. When she drew her fingers over them they disintegrated into fine dust. Frowning, she glanced round the room. Nothing else had changed. Nothing had been moved. She rubbed the dust between her fingers then slowly she bent to sniff her fingertips. The smell was very faint. Slightly spicy. Exotic. For some reason it turned her stomach. She dusted her hands together and slammed the suitcase shut. Swinging it back onto the cupboard she rubbed her hands several times on her towel then at last she shut the cabin door and turned the key.

  She undressed and showered in nervous haste, her eyes constantly searching the corners of the room. Wrapping the small silk parcel in the polythene bag in which she had packed her film she tucked it into her cosmetics bag and zipping it up tightly she put it on the floor of the shower. Then she closed the door on it.

  For several minutes she stood in the centre of her cabin, every muscle tensed, listening intently. From the half-open window she could hear a faint rustle from the reeds. In the distance for an instant she heard the thin piping call of a bird, then silence fell. Turning off the main cabin light at last she climbed slowly into bed and lay there for a moment in the light of the small bedside lamp, listening once more. Then she reached across and picked up the diary. She did not feel in the least bit sleepy now and at least she could lose herself for a while in Louisa’s story and see if she could find any references to the bottle and its fate. Leafing through the pages she found herself looking at a tiny ink sketch, captioned ‘Capital at Edfu’. It showed the ornate top of one of the columns in the courtyard she had seen only that morning.

  ‘The Forresters decided yet again that it was too hot to do anything other than stay in the boat, so Hassan procured don
keys so that he and I could ride towards the great temple of Edfu …’

  Anna glanced up. The room was quiet. Warm. She felt safe. Settling herself a little more comfortably, she turned the page and read on.

  The donkey boy who had brought them to the entrance to the temple retired to the sparse shade of a group of palm trees to wait for them while Hassan led the way across the sand. He had commandeered two other small boys to carry the paintbox and easel and sketchbook, their basket of food and the sunshade. They set up camp in the lea of one of the great walls, Louisa sitting on the Persian rug, watching as the boys set down their burden and, rewarded with a half-piastre, scurried away.

  ‘Come and sit by me.’ She smiled at Hassan and patted the rug. ‘I want to hear the history of this place before we explore it.’

  He lowered himself on the edge of the rug, sitting cross-legged, his back straight, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. ‘I think you know more than me, Sitt Louisa, with your books and your talks with Sir John.’ He smiled gravely.

  ‘You know that’s not true.’ She reached for the small sketchbook and opened it. ‘Besides, I like to hear you talk while I draw.’

  Every second the sun rose higher in the sky. She wanted to capture the elegance and power of this place before the shadows grew too short, to record its majesty, the beauty of the carvings which had a delicacy all their own in contrast to the solidity and sheer size of the stone they were carved from. She wanted to reproduce the strength and wonder of the statues of Horus as a falcon, remember the expression of those huge round eyes surveying the unimaginable distances beyond the walls of the temple. Unscrewing her water jar she poured some into the small pot which clipped on the edge of her paintbox and reached for a brush.

  ‘The temple has only recently been excavated by Monsieur Mariette. Before he came the sand was up to here.’ Hassan pointed vaguely at a spot about halfway up the columns. ‘He cleared so much away. There were houses built on the temple and close round it. They have all gone now. And he dug out all this.’ He waved towards the high walls of sand around the temple on top of which the village perched uncomfortably over the remains of the ancient town. ‘Now you can see how huge it is. How high. How magnificent. The temple was built in the time of the Ptolemies. It is dedicated to Horus, the falcon god. It is one of the greatest temples in Egypt.’ Hassan’s low voice spun the history of the building into a legend of light and darkness. The sands encroached, then receded like the waters of the Nile.