Sphinx (17 page)

“I'm sorry, I said I was sorry.”

“ ‘I'm sorry,' ” repeated Erica testily. “I suppose saying I'm sorry is supposed to make it all okay. Well, it doesn't. It was bad enough to witness two murders in two days, but then to be subjected to an adolescent prank! Enough is enough!”

“I thought you were glad to see me,” said Richard defensively. “You said you were glad to see me.”

“I was glad you weren't a would-be rapist or murderer.”

“Well, that certainly makes a fellow feel welcome.”

“Richard, what in heaven's name are you doing here?”

“I'm here to see you. I came halfway around the world to this dusty, hot city because I wanted to show you how much I care.”

Erica opened her mouth, but she didn't speak right away. Her irritation softened slightly. “But I specifically asked you not to come,” she said, as if speaking to a naughty child.

“I know that, but I talked it over with your mother.” Richard sat down on the bed and tried to take Erica's hand.

“What?” she questioned, eluding his grasp. “Tell me that again.”

“Tell you what?” asked Richard, confused. He sensed her renewed anger but did not understand.

“You and my mother conspired.”

“I wouldn't use that word. We discussed whether I should come.”

“Wonderful,” scoffed Erica. “And I'll bet it was
decided that Erica, the little girl she is, is just going through a difficult stage and that she'll grow out of it. She just needs to be treated like a child and tolerated for the time being.”

“Look, Erica. For your information, your mother has your best interests at heart.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” said Erica, getting off the bed. “My mother cannot distinguish between her life and mine anymore. She's too close and I feel as if she's sucking the life right out of me. Can you understand that?”

“No, I can't,” said Richard, his own irritation beginning to surface.

“I didn't think you could. I'm beginning to think it has something to do with being Jewish. My mother is so intent on my following in her footsteps that she doesn't bother to find out who I really am. Maybe she does want what's best for me, but I also think she wants to justify her own life through mine. The trouble is that my mother and I are very different; we've grown up in different worlds.”

“The only time I think of you as a child is when you talk like this!”

“I don't think you understand at all, Richard, not at all. You don't even know why I'm here in Egypt. No matter how many times I've explained it, you refuse to comprehend.”

“I disagree. I think I know why you're here. You're afraid of a commitment. It's as simple as that. You want to demonstrate your independence.”

“Richard, don't you dare turn this around. You were the one who was afraid of a commitment. A year ago you would not even discuss marriage. Now suddenly you want a wife, a house, and a dog, and I don't think the order makes much difference. Well, I'm not a possession, not for you, not for my mother. I'm not here in Egypt to act out my independence. If that's what I wanted, I would have fled to one of those canned vacation spots, like the Club Med, where you don't have to think. I've come to Egypt because I've spent eight years studying
ancient Egypt and it's my life's work. It's part of me as much as medicine is a part of you.”

“So you're trying to tell me that love and family are secondary to your career.”

Erica closed her eyes and sighed. “No, not secondary. It's just that your current conception of marriage would mean a type of intellectual abdication. You have always viewed my work as a kind of elaborate hobby. You don't take it seriously.”

Richard tried to disagree, but Erica continued. “I'm not saying you did not like the fact that I was getting an exotic doctorate. But it wasn't because you were happy for me. It just happened to fit some grand design you had for yourself. I think it made you feel more liberal, more intellectual.”

“Erica, I don't think this is fair.”

“Don't misunderstand me, Richard. I know I'm partly to blame. I never really made a point of communicating my enthusiasm for my work. If anything, I camouflaged it for fear that it would frighten you away. But it's different now. I recognize who I am. And it doesn't mean I don't want marriage. It means that I don't want the wifely role that you have in mind. And I've come here to Egypt to do something that involves my professional expertise.”

Richard sagged under the weight of Erica's argument. He was too tired to fight. “If you're so intent on being useful, why did you choose such an obscure field? I mean, really, Erica, Egyptology! New Kingdom hieroglyphics!” Richard fell back on the bed, his feet still touching the floor.

“Egyptian antiquities generate a lot more action than you'd ever imagine,” said Erica. Walking over to the bureau, she picked up the envelope containing the photos Jeffrey John Rice had given to her. “I've been painfully learning that fact during the last two days. Take a look at these!” Erica tossed the envelope onto Richard's chest.

Richard sat up with obvious effort and took out the photos. He looked at them rapidly, then replaced them.
“Nice statue,” he said noncommittally, falling back onto the bed.

“Nice statue?” said Erica cynically. “That could be the finest ancient Egyptian statue ever found, and I've witnessed two murders, at least one of which I believe involved that statue, and you just say nice.”

Richard opened one eye and looked at Erica, who was defiantly leaning against the bureau. The tops of her breasts were visible through the eyelet embroidery of her robe. Without sitting up again, Richard took the photos back out of the envelope and looked at them more carefully. “All right,” he said at length. “A nice deadly statue. But what do you mean, two murders? You didn't see another today, did you?” Richard pushed himself up to a half-sitting position. His eyes were only half-open.

“Not only did I see it, but the victim fell on top of me. It would be difficult to be any closer and not be involved.”

Richard stared at Erica for several minutes. “I think you better come back to Boston,” he said with as much authority as he could muster.

“I'm going to stay here,” said Erica flatly. “In fact, I think I'm going to do something about the antiquities black market. I think I can help. And I'd like to keep that Seti statue from being smuggled out of Egypt.”

 

Immersed in deep concentration, Erica was oblivious of the passage of time. Looking at her watch, she was surprised to see it was two-thirty in the morning. She had been sitting on her balcony at the small round table she'd dragged from inside. She'd also carried out the bedside-table lamp, which cast a bright puddle of light on the table, illuminating the photos of the Houston statue.

Richard was lying on the bed in a deep sleep, still fully clothed. Erica had insisted on trying to get him a separate room, but the hotel was full. So were the Sheraton, Shepheard's, and the Meridien. While Erica was trying to call a hotel on Gezira island, his breathing became stertorous and she realized he had passed out. Erica relented. She had not wanted him to spend the night with
her because she did not want to risk making love to him. But since he was already asleep, she decided he could find himself a room in the morning.

Too overwrought to sleep herself, she had decided to work on the hieroglyphics in the photos. She was particularly interested in the short inscription containing the two pharaonic cartouches. Hieroglyphics were always difficult, since there were no vowels and directives had to be interpreted correctly. But this inscription on the Seti statue seemed more obtuse than usual, as if the original designer wanted to encode his message. Erica wasn't even positive in which direction the inscription should be read. No matter what she did, nothing made much sense. Why would the name of the boy king Tutankhamen be carved on the effigy of a mighty pharaoh?

The best interpretation of the phrase she could make was: “Eternal rest [or peace] given [or awarded] to his majesty, king of Upper and Lower Egypt, son of Amon-Re, beloved of Osiris, Pharaoh Seti I, who rules [or governs or resides] after [or behind or under] Tutankhamen.” As far as she could remember, that was reasonably close to what Dr. Lowery had said on the phone. But she wasn't satisfied. It seemed too simple. Certainly Seti I ruled or lived after Tutankhamen by fifty years or so. But of all the pharaohs, why hadn't they picked Thutmose IV or one of the other great empire-builders? Also, the final preposition bothered her. She rejected “under” because there was no dynastic connection between Seti I and Tutankhamen. There were no family ties whatsoever. In fact, before Seti's time she was reasonably sure Tutankhamen's names had been obliterated by the usurper general, Pharaoh Horemheb. She rejected “behind” because of the insignificance of Tutankhamen. That left “after.”

Erica read the phrase out loud. Again, it sounded too simple, and for that reason mysteriously complicated. But it excited her trying to pierce a human mind that had functioned three thousand years previously.

Looking back ino the room at Richard's sleeping form, Erica realized more than ever the gulf that separated
them. Richard would never comprehend her fascination with Egypt and the fact that such intellectual excitement was an important part of her identity.

She got up from the table and carried the lamp and the photos back into the room. As the light fell on Richard's face, with his lips parted ever so slightly, he suddenly appeared very young, like a boy. Erica remembered the beginning of their relationship and she longed for that simpler time. She really did care for him, but it was hard to face reality: Richard was always going to be Richard. His medical career kept him from viewing himself with any kind of perspective, and Erica had to face the fact that he was not going to change.

She switched off the lamp and stretched out beside him. He groaned and turned over, putting his hand on Erica's chest. Gently she replaced it at his side. She wanted to maintain her distance, and she did not want to be touched. She thought about Yvon, who she believed treated her as an intellectual equal and a woman at the same time. Looking at Richard in the dim light, Erica realized she was going to have to tell him about the Frenchman, and Richard would be hurt. She stared up at the dark ceiling, anticipating his jealous reaction. He'd say that all Erica wanted was to run off and find a lover. He would never understand the strength of her commitment to keep the second statue of Seti I from being spirited out of the country. “You'll see,” she whispered to Richard in the darkness. “I'm going to find that statue.” Richard groaned in his sleep and turned away.

When Erica awoke the next morning, she thought she had again left the shower running, but she soon remembered Richard's unexpected arrival and realized that he had turned on the water. Pushing a stray wisp of hair off her forehead, Erica let her head flop over on the pillow so she could see out the open balcony door. The noise of the steady traffic below blended with the sound of the shower and was as soothing as a distant waterfall. Her eyes restfully closed again while she recalled her resolves the night before. Then the sound of the shower stopped abruptly. Erica did not move. Presently Richard came padding into the room, vigorously drying his sandy hair. Carefully turning, yet pretending to be asleep, Erica looked out of half-open eyes and was surprised to see him stark naked. She watched as he finished with the towel, advanced to the open balcony door, and began studying the great pyramids and the guardian sphinx in the distance. He did have a handsome body. She looked at the graceful curve of the small of his back; she felt the suggestion of power in his well-defined legs. Erica closed her eyes, afraid that familiarity and the sexiness of Richard's body would prove too much for her.

The next thing Erica knew she was being gently shaken awake. Opening her eyes, she looked directly into the faraway blue of Richard's. He was smiling impishly, dressed in jeans and a fitted navy-blue knit shirt. His hair was combed as much as the natural curls would allow.

“Let's go, sleeping beauty,” said Richard, kissing her forehead. “Breakfast will be here in five minutes.”

While she was taking a shower, Erica debated how she could be firm without sounding insensitive. She hoped Yvon would not call, and thinking of him reminded her of the Seti I statue. It was one thing to declare a crusade in the middle of the night; it was quite another actually to begin. She knew she had to have a plan of some kind if she hoped to find the sculpture. Lathering up with the harsh-smelling Egyptian soap, Erica considered for the first time the continued danger of having witnessed Abdul's murder. Wondering why she had not considered this aspect of her position before, she rinsed off quickly and stepped out of the shower. “Of course,” she said out loud. “Any danger would depend on the killers knowing that I had been a witness. And they did not see me.”

Erica ran a comb through her damp hair to remove the tangles, and looked in the mirror. The pimple on her chin had involuted to a red blemish, and already the Egyptian sun had given her complexion an attractive glow.

Putting on her makeup, Erica tried to recall her conversation with Abdul Hamdi. He'd said the statue was resting before resuming its journey, presumably out of Egypt. Erica hoped the murder of Abdul Hamdi meant it had not left the country. Her supposition was supported by the fact that Yvon, Jeffrey Rice, or the Greek whom Yvon had talked about would have heard if the statue had resurfaced in some neutral country like Switzerland. All in all, she felt reasonably certain the statue was not only still in Egypt but also still in Cairo.

Erica inspected her makeup. It would do. She'd used just a small amount of mascara. There was something romantic about the fact that Egyptian women four
thousand years ago had darkened their lashes in a similar fashion.

Richard knocked on the door. “Breakfast is being served on the veranda,” he said, assuming an English accent. He sounded too happy, thought Erica. It was going to be harder to talk with him.

Erica called through the door that she'd be out in a few minutes and then began to dress. She missed her drawstring cotton pants. She knew her jeans would be much warmer in the hot climate. Struggling with the tight legs, she thought about the Greek. She had no idea what he wanted from her, but maybe he could be a source of information. Perhaps she could exchange whatever he wanted for some inside information about how the black market worked. It was a long shot, but at least a place to begin.

Tucking in her blouse, Erica wondered if the Greek—or anyone else, for that matter—would understand the significance of the hieroglyphics she'd tried to translate the evening before. Overshadowing the missing statue was the mystery of Seti I himself. Three thousand years had passed since this ancient Egyptian had lived and breathed. Aside from conducting a very successful military campaign into the Middle East and Libya during the first decade of his reign, all Erica could remember about the mighty pharaoh was that he built an extensive temple complex at Abydos, added to the Temple of Karnak, and built the most spectacular cave tomb in the Valley of the Kings.

Recognizing that more significant information was available, Erica decided to return to the Egyptian Museum and use her professional letters of introduction. It would give her something to do while waiting for the Greek to contact her. The other person who might have information for her was the son Abdul Hamdi had mentioned, who had an antique business in Luxor. As Erica opened the bathroom door, she made up her mind. As soon as possible she was going to head up the Nile to Luxor, to Abdul Hamdi's son. She was convinced it was the best idea she'd had.

Richard had taken it upon himself to order a large breakfast. Like the previous morning, it had been served on the balcony. Beneath silver warmers were eggs, bacon, and fresh Egyptian bread. Slices of papaya nestled in ice chips. The coffee was waiting to be poured. Richard hovered over the table like a nervous waiter adjusting the position of the flatware and napkins.

“Ah, your Highness,” said Richard, still in an English accent. “Your table is ready,” Holding back one of the chairs, he beckoned for Erica to sit. “After you,” he said, holding up each of the platters in turn.

Erica was genuinely touched. Richard had none of Yvon's sophistication, but his behavior was appealing. As tough as he liked to act under most circumstances, Erica knew he was rather vulnerable. And she knew what she was going to tell him could hurt him. She started: “I don't know how much you remember from our conversation last night.”

“Everything,” said Richard, holding up his fork. “In fact, before you go any further, I'd like to make a suggestion. I think we should march right over to the American embassy and tell them exactly what has happened to you.”

“Richard,” said Erica, knowing that she was being side-tracked, “the American embassy wouldn't be able to do anything. Be realistic. Nothing really has happened to me, just around me. No, I'm not going to the American embassy.”

“All right,” said Richard. “If that's the way you feel, then fine. Now, about the other things you said. About us.” Richard paused and fingered his coffee cup. “I admit there's some truth in what you say about my attitude concerning your work. Well, I'd like to ask you to do something for me.” He raised his eyes to meet Erica's. “Let's just have a day together here, in Egypt, on your turf, so to speak. Give me a chance to see what it's all about.”

“But, Richard . . .” began Erica. She wanted to talk about Yvon and her feelings.

“Please, Erica. You've got to admit we haven't
discussed this before. Give me a little time. We'll talk tonight, I promise. After all, I did come all the way here. That should count for something.”

“It counts for something,” said Erica tiredly. Such emotional moments were draining for her. “But even that kind of a decision was something we should have made together. I appreciate your effort, but I still don't think you understand why I came here. We seem to view the future of our relationship very differently.”

“That's what we will discuss,” said Richard, “but not now. Tonight. All I'm asking is to spend a pleasant day together so I can see something of Egypt and get a feeling for Egyptology. I think I deserve that much consideration.”

“All right,” said Erica reluctantly. “But we will talk tonight.”

“Phew,” said Richard. “With that decided, let's discuss our plans. I'd really like to see those babies.” Richard pointed with a piece of toast toward the sphinx and the pyramids of Giza.

“Sorry,” said Erica. “The day is already booked. We are going to the Egyptian Museum this morning to see what is known about Seti I, and this afternoon we are going to return to the scene of the first murder, Antica Abdul. The pyramids will have to wait.”

Erica tried to speed up their breakfast and leave the room before the inevitable phone call. But she didn't make it. Richard was busy putting film into his Nikon as she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said quietly. As she'd feared, it was Yvon. She knew she should not feel guilty, but she did just the same. She had wanted to tell Richard about the Frenchman but he had cut her off.

Yvon was cheerful and full of warm words about the previous evening. Erica acquiesced at appropriate junctures, but she knew she sounded stilted.

“Erica, are you all right?” Yvon finally asked.

“Yes, yes, I'm just fine.” Erica tried to think of a way to end the conversation.

“You would tell me if something was wrong?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“Of course,” said Erica quickly.

There was a pause. Yvon knew something was wrong.

“We both agreed last night,” said Yvon, “that we should have spent yesterday together. So how about today? Let me take you to some of the sights.”

“No thank you,” said Erica. “I have a surprise guest who arrived last night from the States.”

“No matter,” said Yvon. “Your guest is welcome.”

“The guest happens to be . . .” Erica hesitated. “Boyfriend” seemed so immature.

“A lover?” asked Yvon hesitantly.

“A boyfriend,” said Erica. She couldn't think of anything more sophisticated.

 

Yvon slammed the phone down. “Women,” he said with anger, pressing his lips together.

Raoul looked up from his week-old
Paris Match,
trying not to smile. “The American girl is giving you some trouble.”

“Shut up,” said Yvon with uncharacteristic irritation. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke up at the ceiling in turbulent blue billows. He thought it was entirely possible that Erica's guest had arrived unexpectedly. Yet there was a lingering doubt that she had purposely not told him, to lead him on.

He stubbed out his cigarette and walked over to the balcony. He was not accustomed to being upset about women. If they proved troublesome, he left. It was as simple as that. The world was full of women. He stared down at a dozen feluccas heading south before the wind. The placid view made him feel better.

“Raoul, I want Erica Baron tailed again,” he called.

“Fine,” said Raoul. “I have Khalifa on hold at the Scheherazade Hotel.”

“Try to tell him to be conservative,” said Yvon. “I don't want any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Khalifa insists the man he shot had been stalking Erica.”

“The man was working for the Department of Antiquities. It's inconceivable that he was stalking Erica.”

“Well, I assure you Khalifa is first-class. I know,” said Raoul.

“He'd better be,” said Yvon. “Stephanos expects to meet with the girl today. Warn Khalifa. There might be trouble.”

 

“Dr. Sarwat Fakhry can see you now,” said a robust secretary with a bulging bosom. She was about twenty and brimming with health and enthusiasm, a relief from the otherwise oppressive atmosphere of the Egyptian Museum.

The curator's office was like a dim cave with shuttered windows. A rattling air conditioner kept the room cool. It was paneled in dark wood, like a Victorian study. One wall was dressed with a fake fireplace, certainly out of place in Cairo, the others completely covered with book-shelves. In the middle of the room was a large desk stacked with books, journals, and papers. Behind the desk sat Dr. Fakhry, who looked up over the tops of his glasses as Erica and Richard entered. He was a small nervous man, about sixty, with pointed features and wiry gray hair.

“Welcome, Dr. Baron,” he said without getting up. Erica's letters of introduction trembled slightly in his hand. “I'm always happy to welcome someone from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. We are indebted to Reisner for his excellent work.” Dr. Fakhry was looking directly at Richard.

“I'm not Dr. Baron,” said Richard, smiling.

Erica took another step forward. “I'm Dr. Baron, and thank you for your hospitality.”

Dr. Fakhry's look of confusion gave way to embarrassed understanding. “Excuse me,” he said simply. “From your letter of introduction I see that you are planning to do some on-site translations of New Kingdom monuments. I am pleased. There is much to be done. If I can be of any assistance, I am at your service.”

“Thank you,” said Erica. “Actually I did want to ask a favor. I am interested in some background information
of Seti I. Would it be possible for me to review the museum's material?”

“Certainly,” said Dr. Fakhry. His voice changed slightly. It was more questioning, as if Erica's request surprised him. “Unfortunately, we don't know very much about Seti I, as you are undoubtedly aware. In addition to the translations we have of the inscriptions on his monuments, we do have some of Seti I's correspondence from his early campaigns in Palestine. But that's about all. I'm certain that you can add to our knowledge with your onsite translations. Those we have are quite old, and much has been learned since they were made.”