by Mary Deal
The woman in the first few dreams dressed in the Egyptian style clothing Chione sewed for herself. She wore subtle modern-day makeup that made her look Egyptian. She wore the same golden ankh that dangled on a chain around her throat. In the latest dreams she became the other woman wearing a golden scarab. Aaron, too, became someone else. They had made love with unbridled passion, each appearing as the foreign other, returning to themselves before the dream faded. The glorious Egyptian man in the dreams worshipped her slender body and lithe legs. The dreams were why she felt renewed interest in Aaron. If they were his erotic dreams, she needed to allow him privacy and block them out of her mind. Each time she caught him dreamily staring at her, were those dreams permeating his daytime fantasies as well? She was not sure she wanted to renew the relationship with Aaron. The dreams were his and she was simply psychically tapping into them.
She and Aaron once loved one another, nearly committed all. He departed, thwarted by her decision to remain single so that he might find someone else and have a family. Yet, she could tell by his actions that he would try again to win her. It would be subtle. He was not one to appear as a love-struck puppy. He would wait and keep his erotic secrets. If her dreams came true, why wouldn't his as well? The thought made her both want him and wish to repel his interest.
After the others left the room, and Chione began to leave, Aaron hastily gathered up his things and caught up with her. “Your eyes are black as onyx gleaming,” he said. His voice contained a hint of an accent most peculiar. His gaze was piercing.
The golden ankh at her throat caught the glint of the sun through the window and beamed brilliantly across his face. He seemed caught in a spell. “Aaron,” she said.
“Uh… yeah?” he asked, blinking. He seemed to have difficulty coming back into the moment.
“When the going gets rough, don't let them give up, okay?”
“Okay….”
“Promise?” She had to make sure he understood.
“You've seen more than you let on,” he said. “What else do you know?”
“I couldn't mention it to the others. You understand? It seemed as if there was too much happening. I couldn't see it all, as if there was a haze right in front of my face.” She passed her hand back and forth in front of her eyes.
“Like a premonition that didn't quite come in?”
“More like a haze, that I couldn't see through. Don't know how else to describe it. A feeling of near defeat.”
“That doesn't sound promising.”
“It's one of those pieces of the puzzle that will eventually fit,” she said. “But it would frighten the others to know. Promise, Aaron? Don't let them give up.”
He reached to touch her shoulder then caught himself. After a moment of them staring into each other's eyes, he said, “I promise, Chione. I'm good at that. There'll be no giving up.”
4
A young boy strolled along the road at the periphery of the camp. He rang a bell that called the Islamic faithful to morning prayers in an area set up for the purpose lower down the hill. “Good morning,” he said, yelling up to her and waving.
Chione waved in return, curiously surprised that a young Egyptian child's mannerisms could seem so western. Something about him was gregarious and cute. He disappeared beyond the large airtight mud brick shack that had been erected for the electronic equipment. She saw him again as he entered a portable toilet. It was also curious that he took such liberties using their facility.
Dr. Withers referred to the mud brick structure as the tech shack. He had paid a fortune to have a single phone line stretched from the small Theban village down on the flats to the south. The ancient village had sprung back to life due to the hundreds of Egyptian workers and families helping to restore various dig sites. Some of the line simply lay stretched across the rocky dunes. It was hoped no mangy jackals, starving dogs, or other animals might chew the line and knock out phone and fax capability at the CIA site. However, the FAX line transmitted only intermittently, if you had patience to keep trying. The single telephone might be used for emergencies since the connection was nearly nonexistent. The tech shack would also house the developing of film on site and save valuable monies and time wasted on outside film developing when still shots were immediately needed. Ginny McLain's cameras would electronically capture most of what they needed to document during their entire stay, no matter how long it took. The tech shack housed its own generator solely for the purposes of keeping her equipment charged and keeping the FAX machine running. Cellular phones were stored there as well, the team having learned that connections in the desert, and inside a tomb, to be non-existent.
A gigantic colorful Egyptian tent had been rounded up to house the artifacts brought out of the tomb and readied for shipment to Cairo. The inventory tent was erected nearest the tomb entrance and in front of the tech shack to shelter it from dust from the road. The dust and grit threatened to be uncontrollable. The cook tent and dining area, also used as their meeting room, sat in sight of the tomb entrance. The portable toilets and shower tents sat between the business area and the personal yurts where the team slept. They were also positioned according to which way the wind blew.
The wind whipped down off the stark neighboring hillsides and made strange noises that rumbled between the hills. In the Egyptian Book of the Dead the roaring wind at Abydos, called the noise of the dead, made sounds at times like high voices, at other times, deep rumbling. It was a result of fine, clean Aeolian sand rolling down the slopes that produced the eerie music. Chione fantasized at the similarities between ancient times and what she now experienced as she looked out to the hills.
The laborers' camp was erected across the road at the nearer end of the mastabas. Their ragged tents sheltered woven sleeping cots. Many men slept in the open air. The team slept on the same type cots. Wool blankets were welcomed to stave off the cool night chill. An added feature Clifford learned over the years was to place the legs of each cot into wide mouthed vessels filled with water. Footers, he called them. They prevented scorpions and other creepy crawlers from climbing up the legs and into the bed. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be any help in deterring snakes.
Instead of having shanties built, and because of budget constraints, Dr. Withers and other decision-makers opted for second hand yurts that Paki Rashad rounded up. The white canvas domes dotted the hillside and actually afforded each person or couple some privacy. Other than diet, meager generator electricity or lanterns and some personal items, they would live no better than the locals and Chione felt so much a part of it all.
She longed to walk barefoot in the rock and rubble but heeded well the warning about scorpions and snakes that could show up anywhere. Groups of local people were hired for the on-going task of keeping the site clear of pests until activity scared the crawlers out of the area. Boots were part of the daily uniform, to be removed only before evening showers. Later she could wear the Egyptian sandals she had purchased in Cairo. The sturdy khaki pants and shirts the team would wear throughout their stay were surprisingly cool in full sun.
Dark men and women scurried everywhere. Egyptians, a mixture of African and Middle Eastern nationalities, always had a ready smile and talked incessantly or sang while they worked. In the cool crisp morning, as one man intoned a work chant to the prophet Muhammad, the workers threw out their mats in the dust and bowed down where they happened to be.
Siti, a local woman and cook in the laborers camp, carried water to the men in a large pot on her head. Her colorful skirts and the sheesh covering her hair billowed as she walked. Many groups of laborers built small fires in the open and huddled around to divert the wind while they cooked their simple meals. Occasionally a mingling of delicious scents from their food cooking wafted around the campsite.
“So many dialects,” Aaron said as he, Bebe, and Rita approached her near the tomb entrance.
“And good English too,” Chione said.
“Yes,” Aaron said. “They speak great Ingliz
i.”
Chione could not help staring at Bebe's new hairdo. Her mousy brown hair had been cut and permed into an ancient Egyptian style with curls nearly to her shoulders. The color was now reddish brown. All she needed was a perfumed beeswax cone on the top of her head and she could pass for an Egyptian woman seen in historic etchings. She looked truly elegant though her relaxed appearance indicated that she was going through some drastic changes. Chione could not help commenting. “You make one fabulous Egyptian woman, Bebe.” Bebe smiled nervously, as if still in the process of understanding what she had done to herself.
“The tomb's about to be opened,” Chione said. “Soon as the workers return from prayers.”
“That happens… what?” Bebe asked. “Five times a day? Prayer breaks will slow down our progress.”
“Probably not,” Aaron said. “They can just come and go as they need to.”
Beginning about fifty or sixty feet off the bumpy dirt road, the grade the laborers dug sloped downward toward the tomb entrance. With access to the entrance cleared, a great flat triangular decline pointed to the mouth of the tomb. Crude steps had been carved along one side for foot traffic. Pulleys were rigged in the triangular pit, for ease in moving heavy or bulky artifacts. In light of the specific articles already found, expectations soared. Generators were already in place with lamps and extension cords and a variety of equipment strewn about. The scene looked more like a movie being shot on location. They stood near the road in preparation to walk down to the tomb entrance.
Chione paced nervously. She could not be more ready. Her elation soared after a dream the night before, a scene of many children loving her.
“What's that cleared area up on top?” Bebe asked.
“An excavation from lifting out the portcullis blocking the passageway,” Aaron said.
The multi-ton granite obelisk with its one irregular geometric end had been lowered to the foot of the slope. It was left at the side where the backfill from the entrance had been deposited. Wedged in sand and chips, it looked like a cousin of the Unfinished Obelisk in the Pharaonic quarries at Aswan, a left-over from the Graeco-Roman period of the 6th Dynasty.
“That's one of those blocks they let slide into place when they seal the tomb after burial,” Rita said.
Rita, whose education had not been in Archaeology or any related field, worked with little or no pay alongside her husband, perhaps longer than most of the others had been in the career field. She knew as much or more about Egypt. Despite her folksy, down-home way of expressing herself, she had a way of endearing people to her. Clifford always credited her for his successes.
“We're hoping we won't find another,” Aaron said. He was serious as usual as he voiced concern for any aspects of the work.
“Won't we just follow the passageway to see where it leads once we're inside?” Bebe asked.
“If the passage is long,” Rita said. “Farther in, they could have blocked it off again.”
“It seems that when the neighboring necropolis encroached on this ancient tomb,” Aaron said as he looked toward the rows of monuments, “debris from digging for placement of the mastabas was heaped on top of this burial site.”
“This tomb was simply forgotten?” Bebe asked.
“Looks that way,” Chione said.
Aaron turned to her. “Is that the reason you said the dig could be abandoned?”
“One of them. If debris had been allowed to swallow the tomb's entrance,” she said. “It's almost certain the burial took place during a much earlier period.” Since they already knew this tomb was 18th Dynasty, past digs predicted the tomb would be carved downward inside the mountain. “This being an older tomb with many years' rubble piled on top,” Chione said. “The burial chambers may be much deeper than our sensors can detect.”
Given the fact the portcullis looked like another rock wall inside, the dig could have been abandoned. Anyone might think the passageway had not been completed, a common practice meant to discourage grave robbers.
Historically, to seal some tombs, the shafts were filled with sand. The sand was released slowly at the bottom allowing the portcullis block to lower. The entrance tunnel to this tomb slanted too steeply downward to hold and release sand. Neither did Dr. Withers and the others find any trace of sand under the portcullis area.
The engineers reported finding the portcullis and its shaft were a bit smaller on the lower end. The Ancients were experts at block cutting. With the shaft narrower at the bottom, the block was eased downward until it came to a stop. A slightly V-shaped rock squared off at the bottom to match the floor, sat inside a hole carved with the corresponding shape of the portcullis. When the block was dropped in place, it looked like just another outcropping on the surface of the hillock.
“Why was the tomb closed again yesterday after removal of the portcullis?” Rita asked, rubbing her temples. Finally, she turned away from the sun.
“Waiting for the team to make their way here from Cairo,” Chione said.
A Norwegian archaeological group was restoring a site nearby at Dier el-Medina, west of Queen Hatshepsut's Dier el-Bahri, and closest to the Institute's location. Dr. Withers arranged to borrow some of their equipment. They moved it over to coincide with the return of the California team. Paki Rashad from the Antiquities Society joined them from Cairo for the lifting of the portcullis.
“Were you inside, Chione?” Bebe asked.
“No, but that's the reason Dr. Withers wanted to return early,” she said. “He was inside with Rashad when they lifted that rock. He got so excited and he's been giddy ever since.”
“Why? What happened?” Bebe asked. She treated every incident like a good piece of gossip.
“He said once that block started to lift, impatience forced him down on his belly to see underneath. He said the passageway goes on forever.”
“No kidding,” Rita said. The way she squinted against the sun, she should have worn sunglasses.
“See anything else?” Bebe asked.
“Painted walls and a chamber door.”
“Oh,” Bebe said. “I can't wait.”
“After we've removed the artifacts from the First Chamber,” Aaron said. “While we're cataloging and all that, the engineers will do some testing farther in.”
“To identify if there are any more of those granite blocks?” Rita asked, fanning herself. Beads of perspiration glistened in her curly red hair.
“That, too,” Chione said, smiling reassuringly. “It has to be done while we're out of the tomb, in case there's collapse.”
“Everyone's eager to find your pyramid,” Bebe said.
“Help them have patience!” Chione said, begging understanding from the overzealous teammates. Then, to divert attention away from her abilities, Chione asked, “Bebe, why was Kenneth limping?”
“I told you about his war wound,” she said. “He took a bullet in Nam.”
“You never said he took a bullet,” Chione said. She felt Kenneth's pain and hugged herself. “Can we do anything for him?”
Bebe suddenly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They watched a group of men clear equipment from in front of the makeshift doorway at the tomb entrance. “Kenneth is tough,” Bebe said. “Just leave him be.”
“Does he suffer?” Chione asked. She stepped back and placed a hand over her eyes to shield her face from the sun.
“The camel excursion we took was a bit much. Don't pamper him, though. If he had to admit to pain, he'd begin to fail.”
“He walks in pain. I hadn't noticed that before.”
“Sometimes it bothers him. The bullet's lodged near his spine. Some people joke saying he got hit running away. It actually entered through his side.” The tone in Bebe's voice expressed great empathy for a husband she never quite seemed to trust. The way Bebe studied everyone could be a byproduct of the education of her career field. Perhaps she understood more of human nature than she let on.
As the penetrating Egyptian sun burned away last wisps of
the night's fog, hearing about Kenneth caused a chill to transit Chione's body. Aaron touched her shoulder in silent recognition. She wished that somehow Aaron would force himself to disconnect from her. Aaron being able to translate what she was experiencing would be as difficult to turn off as her own abilities. He seemed to intuit her every whim. She held her composure and smiled at Bebe. “So that's what makes Kenneth push himself, always wanting to do more?”
Chione also knew that Kenneth was trying desperately to make something of his life, such as it was. He wanted to gain back the love and admiration he once received from their son, Kenneth, Jr. The son they doted upon had turned pacifist and renounced his father. His injuries were living reminders of war. Chione realized that she was staring at Bebe and looked away quickly.
“Why aren't you wearing your hat?” Bebe asked.
Chione pulled the crumpled headgear from her back pocket.
“And you're not wearing your ankh,” Rita said.
“I'm wearing this now,” Chione said. She tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled up the plump golden scarab pendant from inside her shirt. “A trinket Mom and Dad brought home from one of their trips.” As far as she knew, it was not real gold and she did not think it important to have it tested. Her parents had given it to her. That was all that mattered.
5
Randy sped up in a jeep skidding to a stop in the sandy rubble dangerously near them and throwing a billowing dust cloud.
Chione jumped back and fell into a sand drift.
“Hey! What's with you, Randy?” Aaron asked as he offered to help her up.
Bebe beat dust off her pant legs with her hat. “Randy!” she said. “Will you ever grow up?”