by Mary Deal
“Yes, extra guards, please,” Chione said. “The harp, the lyre and the double flute we found behind the golden statue? None of that stuff's packaged yet.” They were, perhaps, in the best condition of any found throughout history.
“They'll be safe,” Clifford said.
“Then let's get back to the exciting part,” Bebe said. “The search.”
“Marlowe's coming inside,” Dr. Withers said. “I don't like the feel of this wind. She needs to get out of the blowing sand.”
“And the husbands?” Bebe asked.
Clifford and Kenneth volunteered to stay topside with the guards, to keep an eye on things. Bebe cast a dubious glance in Kendra's direction. Was Bebe really a busybody, or could she actually see things happening in relationships that most people shrugged off?
“What if we haven't found the Burial Chamber by the time the directors arrive?” Kendra asked.
“They know it's the next phase. We'll just say the truth, that we haven't found it,” Dr. Withers said. “Geez, we've got to find it though, in the next three weeks. Something we won't do is let on that we're up against a brick wall.”
“Make that a granite wall,” Clifford said, smiling suddenly.
“Our visitors will spend time at the Museum first, looking over our relics.”
Once inside the Pillared Hall with the area more brilliantly lighted, each member of the team chose sections of the walls to re-examine. Nothing was found. Then each person rotated places to try to find something the other person might have missed. In some places, they went so far as to touch the walls, making sure not to damage the art, but to run fingertips along grooves, similar to the ones out in the passageway that hid the entrance of the Second Chamber.
Aaron inched his way toward Chione working the south wall. He spoke in low tones. “You intuit from touching, right?”
“Sometimes,” Chione said, tilting her head back, visually following a painted line upwards.
“C'mon. You get vibes off everything you touch. What about now?”
“Not everything, Aaron. Don't go spreading that around.”
“Chione, every time you pick up an object or touch a relic, I watch your face. I can tell.”
“I'm telling you, I'm getting nothing from this wall,” she said. She wished everyone would accept that she was not his or her personal genie who had suddenly popped out of a bottle.
“Hear anything recently?”
“No.”
“Jeez,” he said. “Getting anything out of you is as difficult as finding the next passage.”
She had to smile. How well she knew him. “What is it you really want to know?”
He smiled weakly. “Had any more dreams?”
“Have you?”
Her throwing the question back at him took him by surprise. He hesitated, a sure sign he wanted to disclose something and not sound foolish. Especially since he had one or more visions similar to her recent nocturnal visitations.
He began to move away. “I hope you find—”
“Aaron,” she said, grabbing his arm. “I'm sorry. This evening, can we compare notes?”
He tried to smile. “Sure, Chione,” he said. “Sure.”
Dakarai and Masud had been talking with the engineers. They suggested lighting be moved about and shadows examined. Angles of the walls were measured in case the disguised block sealing the Burial Chamber might lean slightly out of alignment. The entire chamber was measured from corner to corner, ceiling to floor and wall to wall. The Egyptians had, once again, proven themselves master builders. The chamber had been hewn out of one gigantic mountain of rock. An hour passed, then another. The magnetometer and other sensors were useless since the Pillared Hall was encased in solid stone.
Finally they began the same meticulous inspection of each of the three annexes, but to no avail. No hidden doorways or passages existed behind where all those artifacts and foodstuffs had been heaped. Only solid stone walls.
26
Eating a nutritious breakfast was the way Dr. Withers liked to start the group functioning each day. Too many interruptions had already occurred in the few weeks since their arrival. With everyone finally back in camp, they could resume the routine of an early morning meal and discussion of the day's agenda. Chione felt too agitated to eat much. Her appetite fluctuated. One day she would be ravenously hungry; too hot, sticky and tired to eat the next.
She glanced outside the tent. Onlookers gathered again but the group was sparser. Blowing sand kept many away. Those who dared to stay pitched lean-tos or stretched sheets of fabric on sticks to divert the gritty air. The dry earth was so stirred up, even when the wind withdrew between gusts, sand and dust hung suspended, thick as arid soup. The laborers ate breakfast inside their sleeping tents instead of out in the open, as was the habit of many. Siti and her crew of local women and girls scurried back and forth, heads and faces protected by colorful wimples, supplying occupants of each tent with necessities.
“Let's eat,” Dr. Withers said.
“Thank goodness the paparazzi disappear when sand whips up,” Bebe said.
“They might come inside, sit to eat,” Yafeu said, meaning that he would not have been surprised if some had taken the liberty to do so. He began to serve breakfast. “I like cook this American food.” He danced his way around the tables like a ballerina carrying plates. Being gay in the Arabic world was forbidden. Outside the cook tent, he seemed just another Egyptian man going about his chores. Yafeu presently worked with Americans and easily adapted his ways like a polished actor. He needed no coaching at his duties. He was bold, slightly arrogant, and dared to be different. One had to understand the man was not being disrespectful of his own people, but no one ever heard him address another person in the local tradition by including a title like O Professor or O Chief Engineer.
“Have you eaten our food?” Kendra asked.
“Yes, but no taste,” he said, smiling, all teeth. “I must add spice.”
Aaron took advantage of Yafeu's ability to attract attention and leaned over to Chione and spoke in whispers. “Did you ever explain Hapi's mud to our illustrious leader?”
“No,” she said, also whispering. “He never asked.”
“You've got to put his mind at ease, don't you think?”
“If he's curious enough to ask, we'll just insist my face must have been dirty from the dust. Then I perspired and that was that.”
“He won't buy it.”
“He'll have to,” she said. “It's all we've got.”
“We?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Like I said, I'm in this over my head. I need backup.”
“You'll explain?” Aaron asked.
“Not if he doesn't ask first. He's too preoccupied with cash flow right now.”
“He'll catch up to it. Remember, I told you so.”
“You know? Underneath it all, Dr. Withers is just as curious as you are,” Chione said. “He just hasn't made enough time in his life to learn.”
That evening Aaron cornered her again. “I saw you having a talk with the boss.”
“Marlowe must have convinced him to let happen what may,” she said. “I think he'd be willing to, just so we can find the Burial Chamber.”
They sat in silence. Nothing much happened during the day except in the inventory tent. Finally, the artifacts had to be covered with blue nylon tarps and battened down securely because the sand was finding its way inside the tents. Because of the worsening of the wind and grit, a mud brick hut was hurriedly being built over the hydraulic equipment atop the gaping portcullis shaft. In their haste, some of the workers included camel dung in the mud mix. It was hoped once the block wall dried the stench would lighten. The pungent odor didn't seem to bother the portcullis gatekeepers, however. The door at the original entrance to the tomb remained closed. Work was at a standstill.
With dinner finished, it was time to think about another night's sleep. Or another evening of meditation. Suddenly Chione felt compe
lled and reached across the table and squeezed Aaron's hand and smiled. His look asked, What was that all about? Lately, she had felt flirtatious before being able to restrain herself. Something seemed to be coaxing her to renew the friendship. Aaron kept his distance. Chione knew he was not about to offer his heart only to have it wrung out again. At least, not until she made gestures substantially more significant. He acted a bit standoffish but she had only herself to thank for that. At contradictory times, he seemed to enjoy the exchanges.
Clifford came sauntering into the cook tent, followed by Bebe and Kenneth. Clifford unwound his head wrap, dropped it into a chair, and poured a round of coffee. Bebe removed her headscarf and primped. Kenneth sat down and propped his feet up on a nearby chair. He groaned, but it sounded more like out of habit than from any pain in his back. He picked up Bebe's scarf and brought it to his face. “You smell like an Egyptian woman,” he said.
That took everyone by surprise.
“Bebe turned and gave him a serious sideways look. “How would you know what an Egyptian woman smells like?”
“Like the smells inside the tomb,” he said, defending himself.
No one said a word, wouldn't even look around. Ripples traipsed over Chione's arms. Kenneth smelled women's odors inside the tomb?
Finally Clifford said, “The winds are going to worsen.”
“Where'd you hear that?” Chione asked.
“Sterling told me. He wants us all to sleep down under tonight.”
“You don't mean in the tomb?” Bebe looked aghast.
“Yep, in the Underworld,” Clifford said casually. He could adjust to any change. “All of our team. Except Royce.”
“Is Kendra staying out?”
“Dunno. Royce is comfortable with the locals, doesn't want to go down under.”
“Isn't that kind of dangerous?” Chione asked. “With the thefts we've had, and everyone's belongings left out here?”
“At this point, I'd be more worried about the cats and dogs,” Clifford said, casting a sideways glance in Bebe's direction. “Or the jackals.” Clifford was beginning to be Clifford again.
Bebe gasped. “Jackals? I thought they wouldn't bother us?”
Clifford snickered. “That camp down there is what's attracting them out of the hills.”
Bebe recovered after Kenneth reassuringly squeezed her shoulders. “Well, the only thing of value I brought,” she said, “is on my finger.” Kenneth kissed her cheek.
Chione touched her golden amulet through her shirtfront. “This necklace, which I won't remove, and the picture of my parents are all I brought,” she said. “With the squad of Egyptian Police you brought in, Clifford, no one's going to risk getting shot for a few of our goodies.”
“Had to bring `em,” Clifford said. “Somehow I don't trust that other bunch of guys in gallibayas protecting us from more of the same.”
“You implying the local cops are crooked?” Bebe asked.
“Not necessarily,” Clifford said. “But it is good to see a squad of uniformed officers around. Besides, the Guard unit wasn't able to control the paparazzi.”
“I suppose the engineers and techs are staying topside too,” Chione said. “What about Ginny??
“The rest are going to rough it,” Clifford said. “Too much camera equipment to leave unattended.” They're going to try to bed down in the tech shack if they can all fit.”
“They're a rugged bunch anyway,” Bebe said.
Kenneth commented that Dr. Withers asked the locals about building some shacks. “With the big guys coming,” he said. “They'll need to get their wives out of the blowing sand.”
Clifford reported that the college students were staying at a small hotel near Dier el-Bahri and would not be returning until restoration of the tomb began. “Good deal,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Those kids aren't learned enough to work at our speed.” He went on to say that the media people had banded together and found various hotels in Karnak and Luxor. Some found rooms down on the flats in the Theban village.
“Those journalists have kept busy documenting anything that moved,” Bebe said.
Kenneth spent time with them and related that they really knew how to build a story through their craft. They had documented the entire area. Plus, they wrote some fantastic articles, not just about the team, but of the local culture and history as well.
“Aha,” Aaron said. “That's what's attracting all this attention to our dig.”
“How do you figure?”
“I'm sure the journalists aren't saving up material for the trip home. Anything that happens today is front page news across the world tomorrow.”
The wind came up again, billowing and snapping the tent canvas. Sand and dust blew in under the bottom edges. Hands immediately covered the tops of drinking cups. The continual, ominous howling of the wind was nerve-wracking. Aaron caught himself again doodling, drawing grids on a notepad. He ripped off the page, balled it up, and aimed for the wastebasket.
“Right now, all our work is topside,” Clifford said. He kept the top of his mug covered as he sipped. “Guess we can't function in the blowing sand, though.”
“How long's this storm supposed to last?” Bebe asked.
“No one knows,” Clifford said. “This is highly unusual weather. Like a Khamsin wind.”
“Doesn't that usually happen in April and May,” Aaron asked.
“It's called the wind of fifty days,” Clifford said. “Dunno why we're being hit with it in November.”
“Pray it doesn't last fifty days,” Aaron said as he rolled his eyes.
“Part of Randy's curse?” Kenneth asked, curling up a lip.
Later, as sleeping pallets were being lowered into the passageway, there was much confusion about who would sleep where. Finally, it was decided the women would sleep in the First Chamber. The men would remain in the passageway near the opened shaft. The usual guards would sleep in the smelly hut at the top. The ominous bell could be clanked in case anyone needed to climb out during the night to use the restroom. Slightly embarrassing, however, that in having to clang the bell, they would be announcing to everyone across the hillock that they were headed for the toilets.
“Strange,” Clifford said after all had joked about the bell. “I've never seen Randy make one trip out back. Maybe that's his problem. He never has to go.”
“Maybe he pisses in his footers,” Kenneth said.
Chione walked away. At times, those two could be a disgusting mix.
27
Randy continued to sleep in the children's camp and that was fine. The children would be leaving in a couple of days. Living down under with Randy would present a challenge. Hopefully the blowing sands would subside as quickly as they began.
Inside the tomb, as a warning they wished not to be bothered, Aaron said, “Chione and I will be doing our meditation thing in the Pillared Hall.” The others already knew that and simply went about tending to his or her bed.
Kendra had not made it down under.
Later, as they sat facing north, Chione said, “I wonder what will happen if any of them hear the mournful sounds.”
Aaron chuckled. “Guess it would be a sleepless night for some.”
Aaron seemed a bit polite. She knew he did not wish her to worry about what might happen while they were entranced. Lately, she began to realize his intentions were nothing but honorable. He had always been that way. Why had she ever doubted him? She relaxed with those thoughts on her mind and soon slipped into an altered state right there in Aaron's presence. A scene appeared like the light of dawn approaching on fast forward.
Towering monolithic columns like sentries guarded a massive palace. Eucalyptus trees shaded and scented the courtyard. Date palms heavy with ripening clusters of fruit. Orchards of mango, orange and lemon extended far. Furrowed fields supported bersim, sorghum, fuul and rice. Everywhere, an abundance of crops.
It was an Egyptian summer with crops growing in open fields. In other seasons b
ersim and sorghum for feeding the stock, and beans for their own consumption, would be growing in the orchards beneath the date palms. Supplies of food in different stages of growth, harvesting and storage were everywhere. The hot sun beat down. God Aten floated high above, showering her with special blessings.
The familiar, small elegant stone house of Umi, the clothier, stood near the palace. Mud brick workers' shacks and huts stood in clusters farther away. Shops of sandal makers, weavers and jewelers bordered a busy market area.
Again, that peculiar, all-encompassing feeling washed over Chione and made her senses reel. “Where are we?” she asked, speaking in the old tongue. She looked at the man and saw Aaron!
“Akhetaten,” he said in that same language. They walked side by side.
Their voices in casual conversation rang strangely sweet, rich with tones of native language. She looked at him again. His face was the same, but his voice had been astoundingly different. Then she realized he had not spoken. His thoughts had telepathically reached her mind and she had answered him the same way.
“Is this what you've seen in your visions?” he asked mentally.
“I've been calling to you,” she said, lips unmoving except to smile. “There is much to be done.”
“Aaron?” she said aloud. Now they were both cognizant of something phenomenal taking place.
“Remember Akhetaten?” he asked.
Chione did not feel like herself, but someone else. “Where we met? At Akhenaten's palace?” She smiled just for him. “We were so young.”
Many people strode about, a few richly clad. Most were poor and near naked, and bowed low as they passed.
Wispy memories faded in and out. All the buildings seemed ancient, yet familiar. Stone and marble structures of grand prominence towered nearby. She felt eager to see her family and wanted to rush, and then realized she was halfway around the world from home.