The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “Loose soil,” he said, shrugging and climbing out of the jeep.

  Three noisy laborers rode in the back of the jeep. Like some of the other men, they wore turbans loosely bound with the ends drooping around their necks. The ends could be quickly wrapped around the face should the wind kick up. They also wore the common loose fitting gallibayas over trousers and lifted the skirts to throw themselves over the tailgate. Then they noticed her and stopped short as Aaron pulled her to her feet.

  Chione accepted Aaron's hand but released it immediately upon righting herself. Egyptians detest public displays of any kind between men and women and the team wished to respect those traditions.

  Suddenly the laborers backed away and smiled pleasantly yet averted their gaze. Then they turned and quickly walked toward the other workers and talked low among themselves.

  “What was that all about?” Bebe asked.

  Chione only smiled. She knew that she and Bebe looked Egyptian. The workers saw it too. She shrugged.

  “It's just like what happened aboard that old dhow on the Nile when we first set out,” Aaron said. “With the wind blowing through your hair? The navigator wanted to bargain for you so he could tie you under the bowsprit and use you for a figurehead.”

  Everyone laughed, except Randy. “So where were you last night, Chione?” he asked. “Afraid your powers wouldn't protect you from the bucktoothed witch? Afraid you're going to be sick again and have to hide it from everyone?”

  She and Aaron exchanged knowing glances.

  “Chione's not ill?” Aaron said. “How would you know what she's feeling?”

  “She interned with me, remember? I got to know her. She had some really weak days in the months before this trip was announced.”

  Chione was aghast. Someone had noticed her malaise. Why did it have to be Randy? She wondered why he had never used the knowledge to his advantage, as would be his habit. She and Aaron again exchanged quick glances.

  Then Bebe, perhaps sensing Chione's discomfort, stepped forward and in a taunting manner asked, “How would you know about the bucktoothed witch? You didn't tour Giza.”

  “You did?”

  “Wouldn't have missed it for the world. We even crawled through the labyrinth of tunnels and read graffiti dated 1837.”

  Randy leaned back against the jeep and crossed his arms. “So how much baksheesh did you have to fork over to bribe your guide into taking you that deep?”

  “We didn't have to bribe anyone. We pay for services rendered.”

  “Well, did the apparition make an appearance?” Randy's attitude said he did not really wish to know.

  “You should have come. Some things are better experienced firsthand.”

  “I had other plans,” he said. His effort to dig at Bebe and remind her that she did not believe in spirits fell short.

  “Other plans?” Bebe asked, shaking her head. “Kenneth and I rather liked the excitement of sleeping inside the Great Pyramid.”

  “I don't need to know if the Pyramid is haunted,” Randy said. “I don't believe that stuff; mysterious visions, chanting, whistling and fluttering sounds. Gimme a break.”

  “Where did you stay, Randy?” Rita asked.

  “I booked myself in at the new Khepri Oasis,” he said proudly. “It's out near the Pyramids.”

  So what if Randy chose another night of relative luxury? His lack of participation in the experience at hand showed how much he was not a part of the group. He would be the one least likely to become acclimated now that they had all bedded down in the tent camp.

  Aaron looked smug, ready to dig at Randy. “I understand only the most diligent can make it through some of the passages found in many tombs,” he said, subtly reminding Randy that he was out of shape.

  “Hope we don't experience any of the difficulties encountered by Giovanni Battista Belzoni in the early nineteenth century,” Bebe said.

  “Belzoni and his team inched downward on their bellies in a dim passage not much wider than their own bodies,” Rita said. “They crawled through piles of mummies, having to breathe their fetid dust.”

  “Not to mention the putrid taste of them in the air,” Bebe said, making a face. “Neither to mention damaging them.”

  Randy ignored the hints being thrown his way and persisted. “Where did you stay, Chione?” he asked nicely. His effort to be friendly came across more as an insult.

  “I hadn't heard that we're accountable to you,” Chione said.

  “I understand no one knew your whereabouts either, Aaron. Could it be—?”

  “Can it, Randy! Go fall into a hole somewhere,” Aaron said, gesturing toward the hills.

  Randy always seemed startled anyone should speak to him in that manner. “I guess you pale skinned ladies ought to be careful here in Egypt,” he said, climbing back into the jeep. “I understand kidnappings are common occurrences.”

  Rita threw up her hands and turned away.

  “That's mostly in Cairo,” Chione said. “Usually if someone's worth a hefty ransom.”

  “Guess that leaves all of you out,” Randy said quickly. “But they could use someone like you, Chione, in a harem.”

  Aaron took a quick step toward the jeep. “Like I said, Randy, go fall into a hole!”

  Randy smirked, shifted the gears and sped away. If Aaron could have gotten close enough, he would have finally thumped Randy's head.

  “Clifford and Rita and I stayed in Cairo,” Aaron said, wrapping an arm around Rita, of whom he had always been fond.

  “I'm always stunned at the noise level in that metropolis,” Rita said. “I've had a headache ever since.”

  “I'm glad we didn't stay,” Bebe said. “We played like locals, took Bus 14 through town, public transportation out as far as possible, and rode camels around Giza.”

  “You took the famous 14?” Rita asked. “Wasn't that some trip? The locals hanging onto the sides like San Francisco cable cars?”

  “And riding the bumpers,” Bebe said. “The real flavor of Cairo.”

  “Quite a lengthy excursion, wouldn't you say?” Rita asked.

  “Actually, no. Cairo is sprawling, creeping close to the Pyramids,” Bebe said. “It's really an illusion out there in that expanse, a real paradox. The closer you get to the pyramids, the smaller they look.”

  “I had no idea Cairo was such a bustling place,” Chione said. “A big step back in time for me.”

  “You mean the donkey carts, animals running loose and so forth?”

  “That, the throngs of people in traditional dress, the crowded suqs and the beggars,” Chione said. “Despite traffic that's worse than New York City.”

  “And all those high rises,” Bebe said. “Who would've guessed?”

  “You two didn't like Cairo?” Aaron asked. “Is that why I lost track of you?”

  “On the contrary,” Chione said. “I feel as if I've come home. Definitely, Egypt is now the center of my world. But I felt such a pulling toward Thebes. Couldn't get here fast enough.”

  That was not the real reason to rush to Thebes. She began seeing bits and pieces of scenes of Ancient Egypt and experiencing many new premonitions. The flashes of scenes were not dreams. They happened in the normal waking state, like switching a channel on TV, then quickly switching back to the channel previously watched. The occurrences began intensifying since arriving in Egypt. She smelled a certain perfume again and again but could not find it in the perfumeries. Children in Cairo crowded around her and clung to her for no reason. The strange occurrences left her with a sense of needing to get to the dig site. She surmised that since the visions occurred with greater frequency in Egypt, they most certainly had to do with her purpose for being invited along. So she felt motivated to reach the tomb sight and arrived early with the Witherses. “Dr. Withers and Marlowe and I already walked the mastabas.”

  “Walked the mastabas?” Rita asked. “Following up on some of your dream clues, right?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Mor
e dreams?” Aaron asked.

  “Strange,” Chione said, thinking deeply and remembering. “Ancient Egyptian scenes…”

  “In your dreams?” Bebe asked. “What? How?”

  “Just dreams, I'm sure.” Chione said, shooting a glance at Aaron, warning him not to corner her for an explanation.

  “Some dreams are just rehashing of the facts,” he said, helping her out of a situation she did not wish to again explain. “But what happened to Kendra and Royce?”

  After visiting the top the Cairo Tower and looking out over the Great Green, the team had scattered.

  “They went visiting friends in Heliopolis and Garden City,” Rita said. “Must have lots of friends. They arrived in camp separately, Kendra late last night and Royce this morning.”

  “Hey, hey, over here!” Kendra said as she approached from the direction of the tech shack. She hurried to meet them. “Isn't this wonderful? The expansiveness, the stillness?”

  “You've got to be kidding,” Marlowe Withers said as she, too, approached. “I hope my face doesn't prune up.”

  Marlowe looked much pampered wearing tailored khakis, subtle makeup and straight raven hair pulled smoothly back into a knot. That was not the way Dr. Withers would describe her. True, they lived the good life. However, she would get down and dirty in a dig with the best of them.

  “If it gets really hot,” Kendra said. “The dry air can burn your nostrils.”

  Marlowe sighed and looked out across the cemetery. “I had no idea mastabas were so large until we walked the rows. It's like a subdivision of mini-houses that goes on forever.” She made a sweeping motion with her arm.

  If pharaohs, being wealthy, built pyramids and tombs of grandeur, the burial places of the nobles and commoners would also be as big as they could envision and afford.

  “That's why some were built up here on the hillside,' Rita said. “More space and all.”

  Chione studied the distant view, which from that height included sharp crested sand dunes planed off by the eerie howling winds. A deep lavender haze blanketed the hills and the towering al-Qurn, Peak of the West, deemed by the Ancients as a natural pyramid created by their Gods. Al-Qurn was one reason the Ancients chose the craggy hills north of Thebes for burial sites.

  “Look at these,” Kendra said. She fanned the photos as they huddled around. “This is what the area looked like on day one.”

  One picture showed nothing more than a high sandy hillock being invaded by clumps of starving alfa-grass above the last row of mastabas.

  Rita crowded in and took shade in Aaron's shadow. “Who'd have guessed what lie beyond the end of a dusty rutted road in Valley of the Queens?” She glanced out over the distance. “I wonder if anyone ever searched the remote outlying gullies like they did in Valley of the Kings. I'll bet there's much more to find.”

  “They've already found seventy-five to eighty tombs here, but there are many hills, many possibilities.” Aaron said.

  The idea was plausible, considering the necropolis represented commoners who lived and worked the tombs. The throngs of laborers had to be working on many sites.

  The next photo showed a close up of a nondescript hole straight down in the ground near a random square stone looking cast aside from some ancient burial. Backfill in the cavity settled over time, creating the gaping hole that a man fell into.

  Chione snatched the photo. “Yes!” she said and turned to face the tomb entrance. “Shows exactly what was in my dream!” The others could not know how vindicated she felt.

  Aaron pointed out the hole in the ground in the photograph. “Dr. Withers and one of the exploratory team were first lowered into that hole—“

  “Ginny got to go down, too, to shoot these stills,” Kendra said.

  “After a little digging around, they found the entrance that we're about to see down there.” Aaron gestured toward the bottom end of the pit where others waited.

  “Look at this batch,” Kendra said, offering more photos. “Eating utensils and jars found buried inside the entry.” Traditionally, those would be from the last meal of the tomb sealers after burial.

  “These are garlands found in one of the jars,” Marlowe said, explaining to Bebe.

  Rita crowded closer. “Look at the flowers,” she said. “Part of the celebration of the final meal. I'll bet they found them in the jars.” She stepped back and fanned herself again. She had begun perspiring heavily.

  “They're perfectly preserved. The arid sand does that,” Kendra said. “It can dehydrate, make you skinny.”

  “Ha!” Bebe said as she flattened the front of her clothes. “For that, I could like it here.”

  “The artifacts are what convinced Sterling there was a tomb here,” Marlowe said. “Combined with Chione's information.”

  Though the others seemed to bubble over with enthusiasm, Chione felt distracted with her attention impatiently pulled toward the workers. Having removed the padlocked chain from across the crude wooden doors ordered put in place by Dr. Withers, the tomb was about to be reopened. “The whimpering sounds,” she said. “The crying. It stopped.”

  “How do you know that?” Bebe asked.

  “From the men in the jeep.”

  “That's right. You understand Arabic.”

  “They said when Dr. Withers left for home, the strange crying stopped.” Chione's heart wrenched, wishing not to miss anything. She felt ready to cry out and then realized the others would not understand how much she was beginning to feel connected to the tomb.

  “It could have been the wind,” Kendra said. “Excavation might have removed whatever was catching the breeze across it.”

  Suddenly Dr. Withers passed by in a huff with Rashad, the ASE Inspector, at his side. He waved an arm. “Come on, everybody. This is our big day.”

  Others in the team rushed past, accompanied by a handful of engineers; also in the group, Madu Museum historians, Dakarai and Masud. Both looked to be in their early forties, their dark mustaches stretched thin by eager smiles. Dakarai's blue gallibaya looked as if he was digging in dirt elsewhere. With everyone showing up neat and clean for the opening, where could he have been working to accumulate so much dust on his clothing?

  Following came Carol Stockard and Edmond Hale from the San Francisco Sentinel and Radcliffe Stroud and Hadden Bourne from the London News-Herald. Surprisingly, the latter four seemed quite cohesive despite the San Francisco paper conceding partial rights to the London newspaper and also to Exploration Magazine. They made their way en masse down toward the entrance.

  “Where are Royce and Kenneth?” Aaron asked.

  “Photographing sunrise among the mastabas,” Bebe said of Kenneth.

  “In the tech shack,” Kendra said of Royce. “Collecting e-mail from his office. He needs something to do while I'm working. I don't know how he'll keep busy.”

  CIA photographer Ginny McLain, along with the Antiquities photographer, the camera crew from Exploration Magazine and other media members, rushed past. They pointed cameras and zoomed in as the throng descended the rough-hewn steps. Laborers stepped aside.

  A large square hole, shored up with wooden beams, framed the newly excavated entrance that sat back a few feet inside. As the temporary doors were slowly swung open, the group clustered in front of the exposed cavity leading into a mysterious darkness.

  Clifford stepped up from behind sounding a noise through cupped hands like a trumpet call leading a charge. “Prepare to enter the underworld!” he said in a ghostly voice. Peals of laughter rang out.

  The original small entrance hole had been carved into stone and each would have to bend or crawl to pass through. Early morning sunlight cast sideways shadows, making the interior darker and even more mysterious.

  “Chione?” Dr. Withers said, calling out to be heard. “Where's Chione?”

  Chione, too short to see over the heads of the others, hung onto tall Aaron's shirt as he pushed his way forward.

  Rashad's presence and the procedure they were expe
cted to follow was standard protocol. Dr. Withers made a brief speech of gratitude to Egypt to be captured on video. He concluded by saying, “In respect for the Egyptian government and for safety purposes, it's customary that only designated persons be allowed inside during the first walk-through inspection. Paki Rashad here,” he said, placing a hand on Rashad's shoulder, “needs to document the present condition of the tomb, after which, viewing time will be set aside for all.”

  Rashad stood beside Dr. Withers wearing designer jeans and a blue long-sleeved cotton shirt. Like the shirt, his jeans were pressed. His turban was perfectly wrapped over shiny black hair. His mustache glinted in the sunlight. He was inscrutably clean despite anticipated entry into the tomb. He looked somber, unlike the other locals, whose facial gestures and flashing eyes led one to believe they could burst into laughter. Yet, Rashad had been quick with a warm smile as he greeted them. He was all business, at times pensive, and underneath it all, surely harbored some deep personal opinions about the work at hand.

  Dr. Withers took Chione's hands as the others made room. Aaron stayed put beside her.

  “As much as this find belongs to Egypt, the world, and to history,” Dr. Withers said for all to hear. “Chione. I dedicate this discovery to you. This is your tomb.” A burst of laughter cut him short. “If you'll excuse the pun,” he said, laughing at himself.

  This was surely a joyous day. Chione cupped her ears, bent slightly forward and strained to hear. The crowd hushed. Low mournful wails, eerie and faint, resounded. The wailing did not sound like the high-pitched hum people reported hearing from the statues at Memnon when they sang. Yet, hearing sounds represented how much the gods respected the person who heard them. A couple of laborers, who had heard, seemed frightened and fled. Several devout believers fell to their knees in the rubble, arms outstretched toward the entrance, and kissed the ground.

  “What's going on?” Kendra yelled above the questioning of the crowd.

  “Sh-h-h!” Aaron said as he turned to face the others. He put his hands up asking for silence. The sound came again. “I hear it,” he said. “I hear it! Did anybody else?”

  No one responded. Dr. Withers's expression told Chione that he, perhaps, would try to understand.