The Ape Who Guards the Balance (40 page)

“I didn’t.”

I took his arm and we started toward the others. “Things have been tediously quiet of late, Emerson.”

“Nothing is likely to happen if we all stay together, as we have done the past few days.”

Accompanied as it was by a steely blue glare, this sounded like a threat. It was also, I feared, a depressing statement of fact. How were we to find our deadly enemy unless we gave him a chance to get at us?

We lunched at the Karnak Hotel. The beautiful view across the river, the excellent food, and the valiant attempts of some of us to carry on a cheerful conversation did not have much effect on the general gloom. The hours were passing; too few of them remained. Our dear visitors would not return to the West Bank but would go directly to the train station in time to catch the evening express; their luggage had been packed and would be brought to them there. From time to time Lia’s eyes filled with tears and she turned her head, pretending to admire the view so that she could wipe them away. She had wanted to go to Gurneh to say good-bye to Abdullah and Daoud, but I had not thought that advisable.

By the time we finished luncheon the afternoon was well advanced. Sir Edward had been especially kind, devoting himself to Evelyn and trying to amuse her with reminiscences of the wonderful days in Tetisheri’s tomb. The reminders were not as consoling as he hoped. It was during that season that David had come into our lives; I knew Evelyn was remembering the abused, love-starved child who had won her heart—and whose heart she was now helping to break.

I believe we were all relieved when the time for departure finally arrived. We had wandered through the shops; Walter had showered gifts on his daughter: an embroidered robe, a necklace of gold and lapis beads, trinkets and souvenirs of all kinds. She received them graciously but without enthusiasm. She had behaved admirably. Not until we reached the station and saw who awaited us there did she give way.

Abdullah looked magnificent. He wore his finest robes, of white silk trimmed with gold, and his snowiest turban. His face, framed by the white of beard and turban, had the dignity of a pharaoh’s. Daoud was also wearing his best, his long kaftan of striped silk and cotton, his girdle a colored Kashmir scarf. His face was not at all dignified.

Abdullah held out his hand and addressed Walter. “May God keep thee and thine in the shelter of his care, Effendi. May it be good until our next meeting.”

Walter took the old man’s hand and wrung it vigorously. He did not speak. I don’t believe he could.

Abdullah addressed Evelyn and Lia in the formal words of farewell. Then it was Daoud’s turn. Instead of taking the hand Lia offered, he placed an object on her palm—a flat gold case two inches square, covered with ornate Kufic script. It was a charm, containing verses from the Koran—very old and very precious.

“It is a strong hegab, little Sitt. It will keep you safe until you come again.”

I could not blame her for breaking down. There were tears in my own eyes. They streamed down the girl’s face as she threw herself into Daoud’s arms.

“We must find our places, darling,” Walter said, gently detaching her.

I do not like to remember that parting. The worst moment came at the end, when, having embraced the rest of us, Lia turned to David and held out a small, trembling hand. She had given her promise and meant to keep it if it killed her, and I am certain at that moment she felt as if it would.

“For God’s sake, kiss him,” Ramses said suddenly. “They can’t deny you that much.”

We stood on the platform waving until the train drew away and the cloud of smoke from the funnel dissipated in the evening breeze. Daoud and Abdullah had withdrawn to a discreet distance, but I supposed they would return to the West Bank with us; it would have been churlish not to offer them places in our boat. I found I was reluctant to face Abdullah, though there was no reason (I assured myself) why I should have been. His immense dignity and intrinsic good manners would prevent him from reproaching me, by so much as a look.

I wasn’t keen on facing my children either. Nefret had been shooting me hostile glances all day, and Ramses . . . Who would have expected Ramses, of all people, to make such a romantic gesture? He had practically pushed them into one another’s arms, and no one, not even Walter, had had the heart to forbid it.

We retraced our steps and, as I had expected, Emerson invited Daoud and Abdullah to return with us. Sir Edward, who had offered me his arm, announced he would remain in Luxor, since he had a dinner engagement. “With Abdullah and Daoud along, you don’t need me,” he added.

“You have been very conscientious and very kind, Sir Edward,” I replied. “I can only assume it is your sense of British noblesse oblige that moves you, since we owe you nothing.”

“The pleasure of your acquaintance and the honor of your esteem is more than sufficient reward for whatever poor services I have been able to offer.”

It sounded as artificial as a paragraph out of a novel—or one of Ramses’s more pompous speeches. Sir Edward was aware of this; with a sidelong smile and in a more natural tone he added, “I haven’t been of much use thus far, Mrs. Emerson. It is a baffling case, and frustrating as well. Has the Professor any ideas about what to do tomorrow?”

“If I know the Professor, he will be back in the Valley tomorrow. He has lost two days’ work and he will be wild to find out what Mr. Davis is doing.”

Sir Edward laughed. “Of course. I will obtain a report this evening, Mrs. Emerson. The individual with whom I am dining is Mr. Paul, the photographer from Cairo. He has been working in the tomb all day, I believe.”

“Indeed? Yes, I believe someone did mention he was to be here today. Have you met him?”

“We have mutual acquaintances—and, of course, a shared interest in archaeological photography.”

When we reached the quay Sir Edward bade us good night and went on down the road toward the Winter Palace, whose lighted windows glowed through the dusk like those of the royal residence after which it had been called. He began to whistle and the length of his stride implied that he was looking forward to the evening. Fellow enthusiasts always have a great deal to talk about.

I felt rather as if I had lost my only partisan—or at least the only neutral party. I had to assure myself that I had acted for the best, as I always do, and that I had nothing with which to reproach myself. I had thought of suggesting that we dine in Luxor, but the scene at the railway station had convinced me that none of the others would feel there was anything to celebrate.

It is only with good friends that one can be comfortably silent. I had never been uncomfortable with Abdullah, but that evening I found myself trying to think of topics of conversation. Abdullah too seemed preoccupied. The moon had risen, sending silvery ripples across the water, and we were nearing the west bank before he spoke.

“I am looking for a wife for David.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “He is still very young, Abdullah.”

“When I was his age I had two wives and four children. Mustafa Karim has a daughter, young, healthy, suitable in all ways.” In a tone of deep gloom Abdullah added, “She has learned to read and write.”

I dared not laugh. In fact, I was quite touched. Abdullah considered education for women the most pernicious of all modern developments. He was making a great concession to demand literacy for his grandson’s bride.

“Have you mentioned this to David?” I asked.

“Mention? No, Sitt. In the old days I would not ‘mention,’ I would tell him what I had arranged. Now, I suppose, he will want to meet her first.”

Abdullah sighed. I patted his hand sympathetically. Poor Abdullah! He expected an argument from David, but I feared he underestimated the difficulty.

I didn’t doubt Abdullah knew about David and Lia. Strange; it had not occurred to me that he would be opposed to that relationship. I was conscious of a ridiculous feeling of annoyance.

Selim was waiting for us with the horses, and after this changing of the guard—for that was what it was—Abdullah and Daoud set off on foot for Gurneh. Selim would not sit down to table with us, claiming he had already eaten. He went off to the kitchen to talk with Fatima.

“He means to stay here tonight,” Ramses said. “I assured him it was not necessary, but he insisted.”

“They are good friends and honorable men,” said Nefret, glancing at David, who did not respond. He was wrapped in misery so profound one could almost see it around him like a damp black cloud. He had eaten nothing.

“Yes,” said Emerson. “Very good of Selim. Especially since he has two young, pretty . . . Er, hmph.”

Emerson’s innocent blunder broke the wall of ice my son and daughter had raised between us. Nefret’s face dissolved into laughter. “It must keep Selim very busy.”

“I haven’t heard him complain,” said Ramses.

Nefret laughed again. Most improper, no doubt, but it was so good to see her smiling again that I decided to overlook these mild indelicacies.

“I cannot understand polygamy, though,” she said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t want to share the man I loved. I would be madly jealous of every woman he so much as looked at!”

“Jealousy,” I declared, “is crueler than the grave. It is—What did you say, Ramses?”

“Nothing.” He pushed his plate away. “If you will excuse me, I am going to fahddle with Selim.”

Nefret and David went with him. I spent the evening looking over the photographs they had taken of the funerary papyrus, for I had decided I would try my hand at a translation. I had fallen sadly behind with my literary activities. It was good to have the children out of the way for once.

When we arrived at the Valley next morning I saw Emerson had managed to get an electric wire run from the generator to our tomb. Selim went at once to arrange it and the lights. Abdullah watched him with a curling lip. He did not approve of modern inventions and refused to learn anything about them. Selim had once believed that Emerson and I were great magicians, with the power to read men’s minds and control evil spirits. Observing the tactful manner with which he ignored Emerson’s helpful suggestions, I rather suspected he no longer cherished those youthful delusions. Selim was of the new generation, young enough to be Abdullah’s grandson instead of his son. I dreaded the inevitable day when he would replace his father as our reis, but I did not doubt he would be as able and as devoted.

Once the lights were arranged, Ramses and David got to work copying the reliefs. Only fragments of them remained, but they were of a high order, delicately carved and retaining some traces of color. Emerson watched for a while, and then withdrew. He could do nothing more inside for the time being, since every movement stirred up dust that would impede the artists.

Sir Edward had not returned the previous night until after we had retired, and he had been late coming in to breakfast. He had seemed tired and preoccupied, and I confess I had wondered whether it was the photographer from Cairo, or someone more entertaining, who had kept him up so late. When Emerson and I came out of number Five, we found him conversing with Nefret.

“If you don’t want me for anything just now, Professor, I am going along to see what Mr. Ayrton is doing,” she said.

Emerson tried to look as if the idea had not occurred to him until that moment. He did not succeed. “Hmmm, yes, why not? We may be able to help him.”

“I was just about to ask you about that, sir,” said Sir Edward. “You know I had dinner last night with Mr. Paul—”

“No, I did not know,” said Emerson.

“Oh? I thought perhaps Mrs. Emerson had mentioned it.”

“No, she did not,” said Emerson.

“Oh. Well, sir, he suggested I might give him a hand today. The photographs he took yesterday did not turn out as well as he had hoped—”

“You helped him develop them?” I inquired, regretting my suspicions of the young man. Developing plates takes a long time and requires careful attention.

“Not to say help, no. He is a skilled photographer. However, as he pointed out, working in a confined space filled with fragile objects is easier with an assistant—to hold the equipment, you know, and manipulate the lights.”

“Two assistants would be even better,” said Nefret eagerly.

“That might be pushing Mr. Ayrton too far,” Sir Edward said, smiling at her.

“Yes, the fewer people stamping around in the burial chamber the better,” Emerson agreed.

“Then you don’t object, Professor?” Sir Edward asked.

“You don’t require my permission, you are not on my staff,” said Emerson. “Go ahead, by all means. I will just go with you and make certain it’s all right with Ayrton.”

“What sort of person is this Mr. Paul?” I asked, as we started along the path.

Sir Edward laughed. “He’s an odd little old chap. Absolutely dedicated to his work. I couldn’t get him to talk of anything but photography.”

Ned was alone—that is to say, Davis and his entourage were not there. He greeted us with obvious pleasure. “I thought you had lost interest, Professor, since you haven’t been here for several days. Is Ramses not with you?”

Emerson explained that we had been entertaining guests, and that Ramses and David were now at work in number Five. When Sir Edward mentioned his intention of assisting Mr. Paul, Ned nodded. “Yes, he told me you would be joining him. It’s up to him, of course; I don’t know much about photography. Go ahead, Sir Edward. I needn’t caution you to take care.”

“He’s already here, then?” I asked.

“Yes, he arrived at the crack of dawn. Very dedicated man.”

Sir Edward descended the steps and disappeared into the tomb. “Mr. Davis decided not to come today,” Ned explained. “There’s not much we can do until Mr. Paul finishes the photography.”

“Quite right,” said Emerson. “We may as well get back to work. Care to come and have a look, Ayrton?”

Ned said he would like that. We had quite a nice, restful morning—all of us, that is, except for Ramses and David. When I called them out for mid-morning tea they were rather sticky and Ramses remarked that it was time they stopped anyhow, since it was hard to keep perspiration from dripping onto the paper. He and Ned got into an animated discussion of his photographic copying method.