My Father the God

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 12

  Honesty Takes a Hike

  Cambridge, England – December, 1968

  Sloan emerged from the taxi, thoughts of his childhood streaming back to him as he stood gazing at the cottage. Not much had changed over the years, his parents having taken care to keep the house in good shape. Punching the doorbell, he gazed about at the surroundings, wondering wistfully what his life might have been like had he never made the crossing in 1939. The door opened abruptly, and there was his father, wrapping him tightly within a gargantuan embrace, followed by even more emotional treatment by his mother. Once the three were ensconced within the parlor, the inevitable familial conversation commenced in earnest.

  “Soo, Ah gather things have changed raither markedly in Boston,” Alastair said in an apparent attempt to get at the most significant revelations.

  “Yes, James is out as chancellor, as you doubtless know, father,” Sloan responded gravely.

  “Och, aye, it be awl oover Cambridge. Whitever happened, Sloan? He seemed loch he was daein’ quite a stoatin’ job ay it,” Alastair inquired.

  “Yes, well, things are not always as they seem,” Sloan responded enigmatically.

  “Reit, Ah dinnae kin Ah’ve ever heard ye speak soo duplicitously, son. Ye used tae be entirely direct. What’s got intae ye?”

  “All in good time, father. Let’s just say – the passage of time has taught me to think better of being so direct.”

  “Aye? How soo?”

  “Right, well, the truth is still essential, but sometimes prevarication is the mark of empathy.”

  “Aye, I kin yer meanin’, son. Weel said, if Ah dae say soo meself. And noo then, ye said o’er the telephone ye wanted tae pick me brain. Soo pick away!”

  “Now that’s what I call direct!” Sloan responded pleasantly, “Right, so I’ve decided to go to Egypt.”

  “Whit! Why ever oan earth fur?”

  “Let’s just say, I need some time away.”

  “Aye, but thaur be plenty o’ kinder places fur the doin’ aye that, if ye ask yer ol’ dad.”

  “Yes, that may well be, father, but I’ve still a hankering to revisit Egypt.”

  “Alright, son, Ah see yer minds set oan it. Soo how ken Ah help ye?”

  “I want to go down the Nile.”

  “Aye coorse ye dae! One kennae goo tae Egypt and noo be goin’ doon the Nile.”

  “Well, here’s the thing, father. I’d like to go see the High Dam project, and from there, I want to see Abu Simbel.”

  “Reit. Good choices, if yer askin’ fur input. Ah assume ye kin they’re doin’ awl sorts ay fancy things thaur at the moment.”

  “Yes, I know the high dam is nearing completion. I’m especially interested in the project to raise Abu Simbel.”

  “Reit, if Ah was a bit younger, Ah’d be wantin’ tae dae the sam thing. But me travelin’ days are over, Ah’m afraid,” Alastair put in wistfully. “Soo, how kin Ah help ye, son?”

  “Well, I’d like to have an official capacity in some way, so that I can be of more service than the average tourist.”

  “Och, aye, Ah get yer meanin’. Soo, whit dae ye know aboot Abu Simbel?”

  “I’ve done my homework. I know all about the history, the construction by Ramses from 1264 BCE to 1244 BCE, and the current issues with the building of the high dam.”

  “Excellent! It be a massive UNESCO project, or soo they tell me,” his father replied. “Ah fur one am moost impressed. Ah’ve only visited it oon one occasion, but Abu Simbel be a treasure fur the ages, if ye ask me. Ah woodn’t want it tae be swallowed oop by the loch when it fills oop.”

  “Right, so could you get me some sort of official presence, father?”

  Scratching his chin in thought, Alastair responded, “Hmmm, perhaps Ah coods. Yer noo archeologist, but with a wee bit ay trainin’ by yer ol’ dad, perhaps we coods pass ye off as an expert. Reit, Ah kin see the headline noo in the London Times – Sloan Stewart, son of the world famous archeologist, Sir Alastair Stewart, engaged by Egyptian Government to oversee relocation of Abu Simbel,” and this last he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Grinning doubtfully, Sloan said, “Well, that may be a bit overstating, but you’ve got the general idea.”

  “Och, lit me doo a bit ay checkin’ aboot, and Ah’ll be gettin’ back tae ye, son.”

  “How long will it take, father?”

  “Och, a few days, noo more, Ah expect. Why?”

  “I’ve booked passage on a ship out of Portsmouth for next Monday, I’m afraid.”

  “My, but we’re in a stoatin’ hurry, aren’t we!” his father replied with a smile. “Ah moost say, it be good tae see ye with a fire in yer belly, son, after awl ye’ve been through these many years. Ah’m moost pleased tae see ye with a stoatin’ challenge tae fulfill.”

  “Thanks, father. Now, I’m going to turn in, if you don’t mind. I’ve had a long flight over. Give us a hug, mother, and I shall see you both in the morning,” and so saying, he embraced his mother and left the room.

  “What was that all about?” she inquired after Sloan had departed, “Surely he’s not off on some looney camping trip to the Middle East?”

  “Doon’t ye be bettin’ oon it, Edwina, that lad’s always had a bee in his bonnet. He’s oop tae somethin’, ye kin bet yer knickers oon it.”

  “Well! I’ll do no such thing! I’ll be thanking you to leave my knickers out of it!” she replied in mock horror, “Besides, I rather think you’re right, Alastair. He may not be a lad of twenty any more, but sometimes he goes off on a tear, just as he did when he was a child years ago.”

  “Och, aye, and if Ah ken that lad, there’ll be noo stoppin’ him, soo best stay oot ay his way.”

  The Following Sunday

  Alastair peered down the track and exclaimed officiously, “There be the train noo, lad. Now, remember whit Ah’ve tailed ye. When ye get tae Cairo, see Mr. Aboudi at the Antiquities Museum. He’ll be taekin’ care aye ye.”

  “Thanks, father. This means a lot to me. If all goes well, I’ll be back within the year,” Sloan responded, “So give us a hug, mother, father,” and at this, the three embraced as one.

  The train having now come to a halt at the quay, Sloan grabbed his bags, stepped from the platform onto the waiting carriage, and moments later he was off.

  Cairo – Ten Days Later

  Sloan strode through the front door of The Antiquities Museum and asked the first person he saw, “Pardon me, could you point me in the direction of the Director’s office?”

  “Yes, sir,” the young man responded politely, “Second floor, stairway on the right. At the top of the stairs, you make another right.”

  “Thank you,” Sloan responded and, dashing up the stairs, he made a bee line for the director’s office. Once inside, he was ushered into the director’s office, whereupon he put out his hand, saying, “Mr. Aboudi, I am Sloan Stewart. I believe my father contacted you about my visit.”

  “Ah, yes, Dr. Stewart. We’ve been expecting you,” the director responded politely and, taking his hand in greeting, he motioned for him to have a seat, “Please, have a seat. May I get you a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Sloan responded, “That would be quite nice.”

  The pair settled in, Mr. Aboudi now inquiring pleasantly, “So, your father tells me you are here to look in on the Abu Simbel relocation project.”

  “Yes, sir. I realize it has all been planned out, and I don’t mean to interfere. I simply would like to be allowed to visit as an expert regarding the chemistry of the materials involved.”

  “Yes, your father indicated as much. I have already looked into the matter, and I am happy to say that I have been able to secure a VIP pass for you so that you may remain on site for as long as you so desire.”

  “Thank you, sir. That is quite generous of you,” Sloan responded politely.

  “It was rather simple actually, Dr. Stewart. Your f
ather is quite a highly regarded figure here in Egypt. He did much to uncover the mysteries of our past, and unlike many of his predecessors, he did it for Egypt, rather than for the British Empire.”

  At this, Sloan blushed with pride, responding, “Yes, I have quite a father.”

  “So,” Mr. Aboudi responded, now changing the subject, “Have you visited Egypt before, sir?”

  “Oh, yes, several times, but it was all a long time ago, when I was a boy. I spent several summers here with my dad, and I was stationed here for a short period during the war as well.”

  “I doubt much has changed, Dr. Stewart. Egypt is a timeless land, as I’m sure you well know.”

  “Well, yes, but Cairo is bustling. The economy seems to be picking up, and the high dam project promises to revolutionize Egypt.”

  “Yes, we fancy ourselves to be a growing world power here in Egypt, but there is still much to do, I’m afraid.”

  “How can I help, sir?” Sloan now queried, finally getting to the subject of his visit.

  “That is kind of you, Dr. Stewart. I’m afraid we cannot supply you with recompense, but your expertise may in fact come in handy at Abu Simbel,” the director offered pleasantly, “I would therefore ask you to simply speak up regarding any facet of the project that you find lacking.”

  “Thank you. I shall do that,” Sloan replied.

  “Now, I assume that you will want to get on your way as quickly as possible. When you arrive in Abu Simbel, you will need to report to Mr. Al Wadi.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Aboudi,” Sloan replied and, recognizing that the meeting was at an end, he arose and shook hands yet again.

  “I wish you good travels, Dr. Stewart,” the director said.

  “Thank you. I shall need it,” he responded, and so saying, he made his way from the room.