A Grave Celebration

by Christine Trent

  “But they would have been buried before sundown in any case?” Violet asked.

  “If at all possible, everyone is buried by sundown. It is unseemly to wait unless there are reasons to do so.”

  The archaeologist had replaced the dirt, then spread sand over it so that it was impossible to tell that the area had been disturbed. With their tour concluded, Violet and Sam gathered their purchases, thanked Basara, and stepped back out into the bright Egyptian street, the noise of which was overwhelming as compared to the solitude and tranquility inside. They stood and observed the street traffic for several minutes while getting their bearings.

  “Well,” Sam said, breaking Violet’s reverie, “should I be surprised that my wife managed to stumble into some sort of undertaking-related thing all this way from home? I reckon I should be pleased that it’s all just an observation for you and that we don’t have any actual bodies to deal with, eh?”

  Violet smiled. “It was worth losing the fan to stumble upon this.”

  

  Violet and Sam walked back into the shopping district to purchase a replacement fan before heading back to the port to witness the fireworks. By the time they had returned to the bustling area of people, animals, and ships rocking lazily in the water, they had nearly forgotten the excitement of Violet’s fan being stolen. Not that Violet would ever forget the elation of having been able to visit a mausoleum.

  Perhaps when they reached Pompeii she should also see about visiting an ancient Roman mausoleum. Wouldn’t it be interesting to visit burial places in countries around the—

  “Excuse me, are you Mr. and Mrs. Harper?” A tall man with a thick and finely groomed dark beard appeared from nowhere. “Sir Henry requested that I keep an eye out for you upon your return from Gemalia. I trust your shopping time was pleasurable?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “I am Commander George Nares, captain of Newport. Fireworks will begin shortly, so I want you to be aware of where HMS Newport is now, for your ease in boarding later.” He directed Violet’s attention to the canal. “First is the French ship, L’Aigle, carrying de Lesseps, the Empress Eugénie, and her entourage. Next is the khedive’s yacht, El Mahrousa. An impressive beast, she is, five floors tall and over four hundred feet long.” He shook his head, as though the thought were inconceivable. “Newport is third in line, as I’m sure you can see by her colors. We will spend the night aboard her and sail to Ismailia once it is light, with people lining the banks to cheer us on,” Nares said. “The khedive has thought of everything,” he added drily.

  As he spoke and gestured, the captain’s glossy beard sparkled in the dwindling sunlight, and Violet wondered what kind of pomade gave it such a sheen. Unfortunately, his balding pate also had a sheen, but from sweat, not applied ingredients. The captain also had a long, regal nose and a very serious countenance, all of which she supposed inspired confidence in those who relied upon his navigation skills.

  “My wife and I will board immediately after the fireworks,” Sam said.

  Nares nodded at Sam. “And now if you will join the other members of the delegation . . . ?” He held out a hand to guide them over to the area between the two enormous platforms. Already she could see that de Lesseps and the French entourage were climbing the French side, while Isma’il Pasha was mounting the steps directly opposite onto the Egyptian stage.

  By the time she and Sam reached their viewing spot, de Lesseps stood with Louise-Hélène a few steps behind him, while Eugénie was planted directly next to de Lesseps, smiling radiantly and holding up a regal arm to the now-cheering crowd of thousands. Other Frenchmen, mostly uniformed, occupied spots on the stage, while the royal delegates stood at places between the military men and the great de Lesseps. Less important delegates, like Violet and Sam Harper, stood on the ground below.

  The khedive had also reached the top of his own platform, surrounded by all manner of Egyptians, Persians, and other Easterners, but the eyes from below were on de Lesseps, not on the viceroy.

  De Lesseps used both hands to encourage the crowds to silence before he spoke. “I welcome you to Port Said, zee start of our magnificent journey,” he said, his salutation booming over the crowd with far more clarity than Violet would have thought possible. “Tonight we prepare for what the world has never seen before, the joining of two great seas, the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, thus allowing cargo ships to cross from the Continent to the East and back again without having to go around Cape of Good Hope. Imagine the time saved. Imagine the reduced threat of pirates to peaceful carriers. Imagine ordering porcelain from China and having it in a mere week. Not even Napoléon Bonaparte was able to accomplish zees feat, may the great God rest his soul. Non, none but Ferdinand de Lesseps could have done it.”

  There was polite clapping on the stage around de Lesseps, but from the corner of her eye, Violet caught the khedive signaling down to the crowds, who erupted into cheers and began chanting, “De Lesseps! De Lesseps!”

  The Frenchman smiled broadly at the enthusiasm. The sun was sinking quickly, and torchères flared magically around the entire port area, but most particularly around the two stages, so that it was almost as if they were bathed in heavenly light.

  As the chanting died down, de Lesseps resumed his speech. “It has been ten years since I gave the first symbolic swing of the pickax to signal the start of construction for what you see before you. Zees evening, and for several days hence, the most distinguished heads of state and their beautiful wives”—he paused to acknowledge Eugénie, who nodded graciously at him—“will witness for themselves how the future of shipping; non, the future of Franco-Egyptian relations; non, I say to you, the entire future of world cooperation and harmony has been seeded here today. Right here, in this harbor, there ees no France. There ees no Egypt. There ees no Austria, Prussia, Russia, or Great Britain. There ees only the Suez Canal!”

  De Lesseps! De Lesseps!

  His voice grew stronger, and Violet realized that the unearthly glow surrounding the man, combined with the temperate breezes and the swell of humanity here, was mesmerizing. It was no wonder that the khedive no longer had to encourage the crowd; it had taken on a fantastical life of its own.

  “Even during times of war, countries will cooperatively use the Suez Canal, laying aside their differences in order to transport their goods to their citizens, to their colonies, and to their allies. In fact, I say to you today, mes amis, that war itself might lay itself aside in the better interest of the Suez Canal.”

  De Lesseps! De Lesseps! De Lesseps!

  “Grandiose old man, isn’t he?” Sam whispered in her ear from behind her.

  “Indeed, but he is effective. You can almost believe there will be no more armed conflict in the world because of this canal,” Violet replied, leaning back against her husband. She felt his tender kiss on the top of her head. Despite the energy and furor around her, she felt a yawn beginning. “I feel strangely hypnotized and drawn in.”

  De Lesseps wrapped up his speech with his benevolent request that everyone enjoy the evening’s reception and fireworks and surprise entertainments. The crowd went wild once more, as the last sliver of persimmon-colored sun sank below the distant sand dunes.

  From behind de Lesseps, Louise-Hélène poked her face out to scan the crowd and, seeing Violet, waved shyly from above. Violet lifted a hand in return. There was something quite touching about the girl, and once again the undertaker wondered if Louise-Hélène was truly prepared for the life on which she was about to embark.

  Now it was the khedive’s turn, and heads swiveled his way. He was less confident than de Lesseps but just as happy, his grin threatening to split his ruddy face in half. “There are thousands of people here, as far as the eye can see and the ear can hear, all come to celebrate the greatest innovation in history.”

  The khedive made an exaggerated sweeping gesture over the crowds. “I see members of all races and nations here. The Persian brushes against the man of Morocco and the
man of Zanzibar, while the inhabitant of Arabia has put up his multicolored tent next to the striped one of the Indian. All come together in harmony. Tonight the emperor of Austria will dance with the empress of France, while the prince of Russia pours a glass of wine for the princess of the Netherlands.”

  There were cheers, but Violet felt an emerging rumble of discontent in some of the people because of his words. Why? The khedive either didn’t notice or ignored the subtlety, as he continued with his effusions.

  “Today you see Egypt in glory, a glory that has not been seen since Rameses the Great ruled the land over three thousand years ago. No other country but Egypt could provide such a gift to the world, that of the Suez Canal, a hundred-mile passage that will not only revise maps, but will revive the nation that once ruled the world, and put it at the same table as the European states!”

  The khedive pumped up a fist for emphasis and once again received his share of cheers, although they weren’t as strong as they had been for de Lesseps. Odd, given that many of the people surrounding Violet were dressed in typical Egyptian tunics and robes, and so would presumably exult in his patriotic talk.

  “Tomorrow we will be reunited in Ismailia, with games and entertainments that will display the customs and historical traditions of Egypt. I urge you to sample the feasts and amusements that will be presented in a manner recalling the great European fairs, for Egypt now joins Europe in progress and modernity.”

  There were calls for the khedive—Pasha! Pasha!—but they were still subdued.

  “I thank Ferdinand de Lesseps, who is not just the friend of Egypt, but the friend of the world, and express my special regard for the beauteous Empress Eugénie of France, who has graced us with her loveliness these past few weeks.”

  More cheers, but Violet ignored them, searching again for Louise-Helene’s face. Ah, there she was, her expression stony as she, too, lightly clapped gloved hands together for the empress.

  “Now the sun has completely disappeared in the sky, a sign that it is time for the fireworks to begin. I invite everyone to direct their attention to the north, at the mouth of the port, where in moments we will have glorious starbursts in the air, a mere prelude to the dazzling, breathtaking diversions that will delight you along the canal.”

  That earned genuine cries of approval from the audience. It occurred to Violet that both acclamation and denunciation were spoken in universal languages.

  Every head moved as one, like an obedient audience under the masterful spell of an accomplished magician. Violet and Sam also turned willingly toward the horizon and looked up, as the first burst of red, yellow, and blue exploded above them in a shower of light, then dissipated toward the wide expanse of water.

  While nearly everyone else was distracted by the fireworks, Violet noticed that flaming torches had been set up to keep the area lit and elegantly robed servers had magically appeared. They bore expensive silver trays laden with food and drink, threading effortlessly through the crowds to present them to the guests.

  It was as if the entire port area had turned into an endless outdoor ballroom, with the ships’ sails serving as rustic tent coverings in the background.

  “A fresh glass of karkadé, my lady?” A deferential server in a billowing periwinkle-and-white-striped gown proffered a tray of tall glasses filled with cherry-colored liquid with red flower petals floating on top.

  “What is it?” Violet asked as she and Sam both took glasses.

  “Hibiscus flowers, sugar, and a bit of mint made into a tea. Very popular here in Egypt, my lady. The preferred drink of the pharaohs.”

  Violet soon understood why. Despite the floral leaves brushing oddly against her upper lip, the drink was cool and sweet, and very refreshing. Clearly Sam didn’t agree, as he frowned at the glass after merely sniffing the contents.

  Against the booms and illumination of the fireworks, a band struck up somewhere in the distance, and soon the delegates on the pavilions were dancing to Austrian waltzes, Bohemian polkas, and French quadrilles. Laughter from the dance participants, whose jewels and medals twinkled in the firelight as they spun and cavorted, meshed with the booming fireworks and the musical instruments to create a symphony of festive sound. Violet turned back to observe the dancers, and noticed that even Louise-Hélène was gasping with the joy of being handed down the line by her fiancé and the Austrian emperor, with Eugénie close on her heels.

  Violet returned her attention to the fireworks and leaned her head against Sam’s arm. He kissed the top of her head once more, and she wondered if there was anyplace else on earth as melodic and effervescent as this single spot on which she stood right now. The theft of her fan already forgotten, she merely wanted to soak in all of this extraordinary—

  Violet’s tranquility fell to ashes as terrified screams pierced the air, causing the band to come to a disjointed halt and paralyzing the dancers onstage. Within seconds she understood why. At the lumberyard, flames had suddenly appeared, and were climbing farther and farther upward, their power increasing as they greedily devoured the crackling and popping wood in their path.

  The fire moved outward, too, seeking more air to fuel its insatiable need to consume everything around it.

  Violet’s heart sank at the ominous realization that the fireworks building lay next door.

  Chapter 5

  “Oh no,” Violet breathed, momentarily paralyzed herself. The revelers who had just been laughing and pointing up at the fireworks now had expressions of abject terror as they stampeded in dozens of directions around Violet and Sam. Some fled to ships, and others ran to points like Gemalia and the European district, while yet others followed the rough path beyond the platforms that ran parallel to the canal.

  “What in the name of . . . ?” Sam demanded, as puzzled as Violet was, but quickly gaining command. “Wife, I have to see if I can help. Wait here for me, where you’ll be safe.” He stepped away from her, but she grabbed his hand.

  “I will not wait here,” Violet insisted sharply. “I am coming with you.”

  Sam shook his head, but led her against the tide of human salmon furiously making its way upriver from the fire, with Sam forging a path through them. Violet was jostled and shoved, and her hem made contact with many feet. She wondered if her dress would even be salvageable by the time they reached the lumberyard.

  The crowds were far behind them by the time they reached the source of the fire, which was now leaping and writhing with far more enthusiasm than the dancers on the platforms had. The khedive must have been prepared for just such an occurrence, for there were already hundreds of uniformed soldiers there, hauling buckets of water from the canal’s edge to the fire. If they could not extinguish it before it consumed the fireworks, the result would be an apocalyptic inferno.

  “Look!” Sam said, pointing at a particular line of soldiers passing buckets. Their faces were grimy and sweaty as they shouted unintelligibly to one another, their voices drowned out by the roar of the fire. As each bucket was splashed onto the fire, there was a great hissing noise, as though the fire were an evil spirit being brought to heel and protesting in rage over it. The hissing was also accompanied by plumes of black smoke, the remnants of which were soon hovering over them. The heat was considerable, but easily ignored in the tension of the moment.

  Violet had no idea what he meant. “What do you see?” she asked, coughing against the acrid taste and smell in her throat.

  “Those men, sweetheart. See the yellow corded tassels at the base of their hats? Some of these men are Union cavalry. They’re all Americans. What are they doing here?”

  Violet took her new undertaking case from Sam’s other hand. It had somehow managed to come through the melee much more successfully than Violet’s dress. She didn’t even dare look down to assess her bedraggled condition. “Go and see what you can do to help them,” she urged her husband, knowing that was what he yearned to do.

  “I can’t leave you here alone in this chaos,” he protested, his express
ion wavering.

  “I will be fine,” Violet assured her husband. “Besides, I see Monsieur de Lesseps and his fiancée, as well as Sir Henry. I will go to them.” The two men were poking around in an area of the lumberyard that had been extinguished, with Louise-Hélène and her maid, Isabelle, in their wake.

  Grinning like a boy granted permission to go to the pond and catch toads, Sam took off toward his fellow soldiers, once more seeming to forget that he had an injured leg. Violet smiled and shook her head at her husband’s retreating back as she once more coughed and waved her free hand in front of her face in a useless attempt to clear the smoke.

  Small pockets of the fire were already being brought under control as Sam reached the line of men. A group of them stopped to converse with him, and there were shouts, handshakes, and back slaps as they realized he was one of their own and quickly incorporated him into the line of water movers.

  Violet’s attention was diverted, though, by the sound of angry voices. To her surprise, Isma’il Pasha and Ferdinand de Lesseps were in a heated argument, with de Lesseps gesturing angrily at something in or near a heap of charred wood, the fire gone but the ebony planks still emitting curling plumes of drifting smoke and ashy bits that floated into the air like the smuts that hung in the London air every winter.

  She started to approach them, but was stopped by a wild-eyed man in Egyptian garb. His hair was gray, but whether that was its natural look or a coating of ash was impossible to discern. “My lady, have you seen my son Yusef Halabi? I cannot find him anywhere,” he said, desperation lacing his words.

  “Your son?” Violet replied, confused but sympathetic to his plight. “I don’t believe I know your boy. How old is he? What does he look like?”

  “How old?” the man parroted. “Let me see, he turned thirty last month. He left earlier today to purchase some nails for me, as the crew of one of the delegation ships needed them, and I haven’t seen him since. Now my lumberyard is . . . is . . .” The man shook his head, unable to form a description of what had happened. “And I don’t know where Yusef is.”