The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (10 page)

But neither the guide nor the tomb he had mentioned was to be found, though we searched for some time "Perhaps he will return tomorrow, once he has got over his fright," I said at last "He was young, and appeared to be very timid."
Our visitors did not linger, the boat they had hired awaited them, and they meant to return to Cairo that night. Watching the donkeys disappear into the darkening shadows of the east, Emerson stroked his chin, as was his habit when deep in thought.
"I think we have done enough here, Peabody," he said "The Luxor-Cairo train stops at Rikka in the morning. Shall we be on it?"
I could see no reason why not.

*  *  *

My first act upon reaching the hotel was to request the safragi to run a nice hot bath for me As I luxuriated in the scented water Emerson looked through the letters and messages that had arrived in our absence and reported their contents to me, with appropriate comments "Will we dine with Lady Wallingford and her daughter? No, we will not. Captain and Mrs. Richardson look forward to the pleasure of our company at their soiree . . . They will look in vain. Mr. Vincey hopes we will do him the honor of lunching with him on Thursday . . It is an honor he has not earned. The Solicitor General . . Aha! A grain of wheat among all this chaff! A letter from Chalfont."
"Open it," I called. A ripping sound told me he had already done so. The epistle was a sort of round-robin, begun by Evelyn and added to by the others. Evelyn's and Walter's contributions were short, intended only to reassure us that all was well with them and their charges. Nefret's brief message was something of a disappointment to me, it sounded like a duty note from a child to a relation she does not much like. I reminded myself that I ought not to have expected anything else. She had been taught to
read and write English by her father, but she had not had much occasion to practice that skill. It would
be some time before she learned to express herself gracefully and at length.
Ramses's contribution made up for any deficiency in the latter quality at least. I could see why he had asked to be the last to write, for his comments were, to say the least, more candid than those of his aunt.

"Rose does not like it here. She does not say that, but her mouth always looks as if she has been eating pickled onions. I think the difficulty is that she does not get on with Ellis. Ellis is Aunt Evelyn's new maid. She came from the gutter, like the others."

Emerson stopped to laugh, and I exclaimed, "Good heavens, where does that child pick up such language? Out of the goodness of her heart Evelyn employs unfortunate young women whose lives have not been what they ought, but— "
"The description gains in pungency what it lacks in propriety," said Emerson. "He goes on:

"Rose says she does not hold this against Ellis. I certainly would not, though I am not precisely certain what the term implies. But I do not get on with Ellis either. She is always following
Nefret trying to get her to change her clothing and curl her hair.
"Wilkins [our former butler, now employed by Evelyn and Walter] has not been well since we arrived. He seems very nervous. The least little thing makes him start. When I let the lion out
of its cage yesterday ..."

My body lost its purchase on the surface of the tub and my head went under water. When I emerged, sputtering and choking, I found that Emerson had continued reading.

". . . no danger, since as you know I had been acquainted with the lion since it was a cub and
had taken pains to renew the acquaintance whenever possible. Uncle Walter was not nervous but his remarks were pejorative in the extreme and he set me an additional ten pages of Caesar to construe. He added that he was sorry I was too old to spank. He has agreed to build a larger
cage for the lion."

I will spare my Reader Ramses's detailed descriptions of the health and habits of the other servants (I
had not been aware of the cook's fondness for gin, nor, I imagine, had Evelyn) He saved HER for last.

"She has improved in health and spirits since we came here, I believe, though in my opinion [As
I later discovered, Ramses had scratched the last three words out, but Emerson read them anyhow] she spends too much time at her studies. I have come round to your view that mens
Sana in corpore sano is a good rule, and have adopted it myself. Toward that end I determined to take up the sport of archery. It is a sport in which young ladies are encouraged to participate. Aunt Evelyn agreed with me and Uncle Walter, who can be obliging when he chooses, set up the butts for us. I discovered that Nefret is already acquainted with that sport. She has agreed to instruct me. In return I am teaching her to ride and to fence."

"He doesn't know how to fence," I exclaimed indignantly.
"Er," said Emerson.
I decided not to pursue the subject. I had suspected Emerson was taking fencing lessons on the sly, but
he never likes admitting he needs instruction in anything, and his original motive for taking up this sport was not to his credit, for it arose out of jealousy of an individual concerning whom he had not the slightest cause to feel that emotion. I had to admit his skill had proved useful on several occasions thereafter, though. Apparently he had allowed Ramses to be instructed as well. He knew I would not have approved, the idea of Ramses's wielding a long, flexible, sharp instrument made my blood run cold.
Two more paragraphs described Nefret's activities in far more detail than they merited. After Emerson had finished he remarked, in tones fatuous with parental pride, "How well he writes. Quite literary, upon
my word."
"It sounds as if things are going well," I replied. "Hand me that towel, Emerson, will you please?"
Emerson handed me the towel. He then returned to the sitting room to peruse the remainder of the post.

*  *  *

"Well, where next?" Emerson inquired, as we sat down to dinner that evening. "Luxor or Amarna?"
"Have you eliminated Meidum?"
"No, not at all. But I feel we ought to look at the other possibilities before we make a decision."
"Very well."
"What is your preference?"
"It is a matter of complete indifference to me."
Emerson peered at me over the top of the ornate menu the waiter had handed him. "Are you annoyed about something, Peabody? Ramses's letter, perhaps? You have scarcely spoken to me since I read it."
"What possible cause for annoyance could I have?"
"I can think of none." He waited for a moment. When I did not respond he shrugged—one of those irritating masculine shrugs that dismisses a woman's behavior as incomprehensible and/or irrelevant—
and resumed the discussion. "I suggest we go direct to Luxor, then. I am rather impatient to rid myself
of certain objects as promptly as I can."
"That makes sense," I agreed. "Have you any ideas as to where we might— er— discover them?"
We discussed alternatives while we ate. It was still early when we finished, and I suggested a stroll along the Muski.
"We are not going out this evening," Emerson replied. "I have something else in mind I hope will please you."
It did. But when Emerson had settled into his usual sleeping position— flat on his back, arms folded across his breast like a statue of Osiris— I could not help remembering an occasion when the sight of
me rising from the bath had prompted comparisons with Aphrodite. This afternoon he had simply handed me a towel.

*  *  *

The only invitation Emerson had not thrown away was one from Mr. George McKenzie. He was one
of those eccentric individuals more common in the old days of archaeology than they are today: gifted amateurs who had excavated and studied Egyptology without the restrictions of government regulation. Some of them had done admirable work despite their.lack of formal training, and McKenzie's massive three-volume work on ancient Egyptian culture was an invaluable source, for many of the reliefs and inscriptions he had copied in the 1850s had vanished forever. He was a very old man now, and seldom gave or accepted invitations. Even Emerson admitted this was a most flattering attention and an opportunity we ought not miss.
He refused to wear evening dress, but he looked very handsome in his frock coat and matching trousers.
I wore my second-best gown of silver brocade woven with red roses and trimmed with silver lace at the bosom and the cuffs of the elbow-length net sleeves. I hope I may not be accused of vanity when I say that all eyes turned toward us as we crossed the terrace toward the waiting carriage. A brilliant sunset blazoned the western sky, the domes and minarets of old Cairo swam in a dreaming haze.
Old Cairo was our destination— the medieval city with the beautiful four-story houses and palaces from which the cruel Mamluk warriors had tyrannized over the city. Many dwellings had fallen into disrepair and were now inhabited by the poorer classes, whole families to a room, the elaborately carved latticework which had concealed the beauties of the hanm from envious eyes had been stripped away,
and the laundered galabeeyahs of the humble drooped disconsolately from the decayed screens of mashrabiyya alcoves. McKenzie's house had belonged, it was said, to Sultan Kait Bey himself, and its architectural features were well preserved. I quite looked forward to seeing it
There are no street signs or house numbers in old Cairo. Finally the driver stopped his horses and admitted what I had suspected for some time, to wit, that he had no idea where he was going When Emerson indicated a street, or rather an opening between two houses just ahead, the driver declared he could not go there. He knew that street, it narrowed even farther as it proceeded, and there would be no place in which to turn the horses
"Wait for us here, then," Emerson said. As he helped me down from the carriage, he was unable to resist remarking, "I told you not to wear that frock, Peabody. I thought it likely we would have to go partway
on foot."
"Then why didn't you say so?" I demanded, hitching up my skirts.
"You have been here before, haven't you?"
"Some years ago." Emerson offered me his arm and we started off. "Down this way, I think. McKenzie sent directions, but they were not . . Ah, yes, here is the sabil he mentioned. First turning to the left."
We had not gone far when the passage narrowed even more, till there was scarcely room to walk abreast. It was like proceeding through a tunnel, for the high, secretive facades of the old houses rose sheer
on either side and their jutting balconies almost met overhead. I said uneasily, "This cannot be right, Emerson. It is very dark and nasty here, and I haven't seen a soul since we left the fountain.
Mr. McKenzie would not live in such a slum, surely."
"There are no architectural class distinctions here, the mansions of the wealthy adjoin the tenements of the poor." But Emerson's voice reflected my own doubts. He stopped "Let us go back. There was a coffee shop near the sabil, we will ask directions there."
It was too late. The narrow way was lighted only by a lantern some considerate householder had hung over a door a few feet behind us, but it cast sufficient light to allow us to see, in the shadows beyond,
the hulking forms of several men Their turbans showed pale in the darkness.
"Damnation," said Emerson calmly "Get behind me, Peabody."
"Back to back," I agreed, taking up that position. "Curse it, why did I come out without my belt of tools?"
"Try the door there," Emerson said.
"Locked. There are other men ahead," I added. "At least two. And this is only a flimsy evening parasol, made to match my gown, not the one I usually carry."
"Good Gad," Emerson exclaimed. "Without your parasol we dare not face them in the open street. A strategic retreat would seem to be in order." With a sudden movement he whirled and kicked out at the door I had tried. The lock gave with a crack, the door swung back, seizing me around the waist, Emerson thrust me within.
Squeals and flutters greeted my abrupt appearance. The two men who had occupied the room fled, leaving the narghila they had shared bubbling gently. Emerson followed me and slammed the door. "It won't hold them for long," he remarked. "The lock is broken and there is no piece of furniture heavy enough to serve as a barricade."
"There is surely another way out." I indicated the curtained doorway through which the men had gone.
"We will investigate that if we must" Emerson leaned against the door, his shoulders braced. "I don't fancy more dark alleys, though, and I would rather not rely on the kindness of strangers— especially the sort of strangers that inhabit a warren like this. Let us consider other options, now that we have achieved a momentary— "
He broke off as a sound from without reached us through the flimsy panels of the door. I started, and Emerson swore. "That was a woman's scream— or worse, that of a child."
I flung myself at him. "No, Emerson! Don't go out there It may be a trick."
The cry came again— high, shrill, quavering. It rose to a falsetto shriek and broke off. Emerson tried to loosen my grip, I struggled to hold on, throwing my full weight against his.
"It is a ruse, I tell you! They know you, they know your chivalrous nature! Fearing to attack, they hope to lure you out of sanctuary. This is no simple attempt at robbery, we were deliberately led astray."
My speech was not so measured, for Emerson's hands had closed bruisingly over mine, and he was employing considerable force to free himself. It was not until a cry of pain burst from my lips that he desisted
"The damage is done, whatever it was," he said breathlessly. "She is silent now ... I am sorry, Peabody,
if I hurt you."
His taut muscles had relaxed. I leaned against him, trying to control my own ragged breathing My wrists felt as if they had been squeezed in a vise, but I was conscious of an odd, irrational thrill. "Never mind, my dear. I know you didn't mean to."
The silence without did not endure. The voice that broke it was the last I expected to hear— bold, unafraid, official— the voice of a man giving crisp orders in faulty Arabic.
"Another ruse," I exclaimed.
"I think not," said Emerson, listening. "That chap must be English, no Egyptian speaks his own language so badly. Have I your permission to open the door a crack, Peabody?"
He was being sarcastic. Since I knew he would do it anyway, I agreed.
By comparison to the darkness that had prevailed earlier, the street was now brightly lit by lanterns and torches carried by men whose neat uniforms made their identity plain.  One of them came toward us. Emerson had been correct, his ruddy compexion proclaimed his nationality just as his erect carriage and luxuriant mustache betrayed his military training.
"Was it you who screamed, madame?" he inquired, politely removing his cap. "I trust you and this gentleman are unharmed."
"I did not scream, but thanks to you and your men we are quite unharmed."
"Hmph," said Emerson "What are you doing in this part of the city, Captain?"
"It is my duty, sir," was the stiff reply "I am serving as an adviser to the Cairo police force. I might with better cause ask the same question of you"
Emerson replied that we were paying a social call. The incredulity this answer provoked was expressed, not in speech, but in the young man's pursed lips and raised eyebrows. Obviously he did not know who
we were.
He offered to escort us back to our carriage. "Not necessary," said Emerson. "You seem to have cleared the way very neatly, sir.  Not even a fallen body in sight. Did they all get away from you?"
"We did not pursue them," was the haughty reply. "The prisons are overflowing with such riffraff and
we had nothing to charge them with."
"Screaming in public," Emerson suggested.
The fellow had a sense of humor after all, his lips twitched, but he replied sedately, "It must have been one of them who cried out, if the lady did not. They did not attack you, then?"
"We cannot charge them with anything," I admitted. "In fact, you could arrest us, Captain, we forced entry into this house and broke the door."
The officer smiled politely. Emerson took a handful of money from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. "That should take care of any complaints about the broken door. Come along, my dear, we are
late for our appointment."
We had taken the wrong turning at the fountain The proprietor of the coffee shop knew Mr. McKenzie's house very well, it was only a short distance away. But somehow I was not surprised when his servant informed us that he was not expecting guests that evening In fact, he had already retired. He was, the servant said reproachfully, a very elderly man.