Part 32 (1/2)
”Where is the b.a.s.t.a.r.d?” David panted, referring, Ramses a.s.sumed, to the orator.
”Faded into obscurity, it would appear. See if you can yell louder than he.”
David raised both arms and yelled louder. After a few sentences the audience settled down to listen. Egyptians were peaceable souls, on the whole, and they enjoyed a good speech. Nods and sheepish looks acknowledged David's impa.s.sioned appeal. That it came from the heart Ramses did not doubt. ”Violence will only bring harm to you and your families, my brothers. Does not G.o.d forbid killing except in self-defense? Be patient. Freedom will come. I know this is true. I have fought for it and I will go on fighting.”
He was the hero of the moment. Fickle as all mobs are, they surged toward him, the men who had resisted him before now trying to embrace him. Ramses, who admitted to being more evil-minded than his friend, had been scanning the jostling bodies and excited faces with a cynical eye. He saw the raised arm draw back and shoot forward, saw the stone hurtle through the air, and threw himself at David. He was a half second too late.
AFTER CONSIDERING THE MATTER, I concluded we might as well stop for the day. There was no hurry. Most of the more valuable objects had been packed. I had not decided what to do about the beaded robe and the rolls of the Book of the Dead. The former had suffered since Martinelli treated and unfolded it; the color had darkened perceptibly, and the fabric looked as if it would shatter at a touch. With a regretful sigh I acknowledged what I had suspected from the first; we were bound to lose it, no matter what we did. So why not let M. Lacau bear the ultimate responsibility? If he demanded we prepare it for transport we would, and then he could amuse himself in Cairo picking out loose beads and sc.r.a.ps of linen.
As for the Book of the Dead, I was in hopes of persuading M. Lacau to leave it with us for the time being. Softening and unrolling the brittle papyrus was a task at which Walter was particularly skilled. I doubted there was anyone in Cairo who could do it as well, and of course he was one of the world's leading authorities on the ancient texts.
After I had reached this conclusion and explained it to the others, we enjoyed one of Katherine's excellent luncheons and dispersed-Evelyn to take a little rest, Walter to his papyrus, and Lia back to the house.
”Where are you off to?” Cyrus asked, watching me draw on my gloves and adjust my hat.
I decided I might as well tell him the truth. ”I thought I would pay a little visit to Abdullah's tomb before I go home.”
”Not alone,” Cyrus declared, beckoning the stableman to saddle Queenie.
”I don't know why you a.s.sume I am in need of an escort, Cyrus. You let Lia go off alone.”
”I trust her and I don't trust you,” said Cyrus, tugging at his goatee. ”Is that all you're going to do-call on Abdullah and maybe ask for some advice?”
”We are in need of advice, don't you think? I a.s.sure you, I have no other aim in mind.”
”I'm comin' anyhow,” said Cyrus.
The climate of Egypt is very dry, but a temperature in the nineties is hot, whatever the humidity. The shade of the little monument was welcome after our ride across the baking desert. Cyrus paid the a.s.siduous Abdulra.s.sah his dues and sat down, fanning himself with his hat and courteously looking elsewhere, while I entered the tomb.
I did not kneel or pray aloud. Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and thought of Abdullah. I don't know what I expected. He had never come to me when I was in a waking state, and I had no reason to suppose he would respond to my silent appeal now. To be honest, it was not so much an appeal as an irritable demand. What was the use of having an informant on ”the other side” if he could not or would not inform me?
The blackness behind my closed lids swam with little specks of color, spirals and whirls of light. Sounds intensified: the shuffle of Abdulra.s.sah's sandals, the swish of the broom, the flap of birds' wings under the cupola, distant voices . . .
A hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw Cyrus's face close to mine. ”You were wobbling like a top when it starts to slow down,” he said. ”What were you trying to do, put yourself in a trance?”
”Entering a trancelike state when one is perpendicular is not very sensible,” I said. ”Nor do I consider myself psychic, in the usual sense of the word.”
”You believe in your dreams, though.” He gave me his arm. Abdulra.s.sah propped his broom against the wall and sat down in a pointed manner beside his begging bowl. I added a few coins and answered Cyrus's implied question.
” 'Believe' is not precisely the right word. I accept them. I suppose you are a skeptic.”
”I dunno.” Cyrus helped me to mount. ”I've seen a lot of strange things in my time, and I'd sure like to set eyes on good old Abdullah again. Did you have any luck?”
”I didn't see him, if that is what you mean. I thought . . . I may have been mistaken, but I thought I heard his voice. 'You are at the starting point, Sitt. Now go on, and watch where you step.' ”
”What does that mean?” Cyrus asked.
”Cursed if I know, Cyrus.”
OUR ATTEMPT TO BEHAVE NORMALLY at teatime, for the sake of the children, was not entirely successful. The patch of sticking plaster on David's brow could not be ignored. The other children accepted his a.s.surances that it was the result of an unlucky accident, but David John kept pressing wet kisses on his nose and brow and ears until I finally lured all of them into their barricaded corner with handfuls of biscuits. (Desperate times justify desperate measures.) We were just beginning to settle down when Sethos appeared at the door demanding entrance. He must have been lunching in Luxor, for he was rather foppishly attired in a greenish tweed suit, with a regimental tie to which I felt sure he was not ent.i.tled. Beard and hair were now iron-gray and his well-cut features had a.s.sumed their normal proportions. The only discordant note was a scowl as formidable as one of Emerson's.
”Good afternoon,” I said, admitting him.
Instead of replying, he fixed the scowl on David. ”What the devil do you think you're doing?” he demanded.
”You heard?” David inquired mildly.
”Of course I heard. It's all over Luxor, and by tomorrow at the latest it will be all over Cairo that you fomented a riot today. You b.l.o.o.d.y young fool-”
”Please!” I exclaimed. ”The children!”
”He didn't foment a riot, he prevented one,” Ramses said, returning the glare with interest. ”There were British soldiers present. They heard.”
”They heard a 'native' talking Arabic.” Sethos threw up his hands. ”They didn't understand a word. n.o.body is going to believe what the Egyptians tell them. He was already under suspicion-”
”He was trying to save lives,” Lia said. She was sitting up very straight and her cheeks were bright pink.
”I don't give a d.a.m.n what he was trying to do. I've done my best to lull official suspicions, but if he persists in putting his nose in-”
Several persons burst into indignant reb.u.t.tal. Emerson's voice was the loudest and the most incoherent. I smiled to myself and remained silent. I had seldom seen Sethos so angry. It was a touching demonstration of concern.
In the lull after the verbal storm a soft voice made itself heard. ”I beg your pardon-er-Sethos-”
”You agree with me, Walter.” Somewhat surprised, but expecting support, Sethos turned to him. ”Tell your impetuous son-in-law to back off.”
”No, I will not do that,” Walter said.
Having silenced us all by this surprising statement, he went on in the same gentle, hesitant voice. ”A man must follow his own conscience. I was wrong when I demanded that David do otherwise. His is a powerful voice for restraint and for peaceful means of protest. I-er-I believe in his cause and I will support him to the extent of my ability.”
”Hmph,” Emerson exclaimed. ”Well said, Walter.”
”Thank you, sir,” David murmured. His eyes shone with tears, and so did those of Evelyn.
”Oh, Father.” Lia went to him and embraced him.
”Oh, blast.” Sethos sat down and loosened his tie. ”I didn't intend to start a huge emotional orgy. If anyone cries I shall walk out.”
”No one is going to cry,” I said, with a stern look at Maryam, who looked as if she was about to. ”I am well aware that your anger was caused by your affection for David, but it is somewhat alarming to those who are unaccustomed to the outbursts of temper that characterize the men of the family.”
”Quite,” said Ramses, still resentful of Sethos's criticism of his friend. ”It would be more helpful if you tried to ascertain what started the trouble. You claim to have connections in the highest levels of intelligence. Don't they have informants in the radical movement?”
”Unfortunately we lost our best agents when you and David retired,” Sethos said. ”Are you suggesting that this disturbance was instigated by outside agitators?”
The compliment was wasted on Ramses. He was not proud of his expertise in deception. ”I am telling you that it was. I saw several strangers in the crowd. I thought I recognized one of them-the man who threw the stone. David?”
”I didn't get a good look at him,” David admitted. ”But I suppose it might have been . . . You mean that fellow Francois, the boy's bodyguard? But he-”
”He's a Parisian apache,” Ramses interrupted. ”At least he fights like one. What do you know about him, Maryam?”