Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [20]
After greeting me hastily, Walter turned to Evelyn and they were soon deep in conversation. The other gentlemen, being ignored, faded away; and I was left face-to-face with Emerson. He stood looking down at me with an expression of sullen dejection.
“I am to make my apologies,” he growled.
“I accept them,” I said, and indicated the place next to me on the sofa. “Do sit down, Mr. Emerson. I am surprised to see you here. I understood that social life was not to your taste.”
“It was Walter’s idea,” said Emerson bluntly. He sat down, edging as far away from me as the limited confines of the sofa would allow. “I hate such things.”
“What things?” I inquired, enjoying myself hugely. It was delightful to see the arrogant Emerson cowed by society.
“The hotel. The people. The—the—in short, all this.”
He waved a contemptuous hand at the handsome chamber and its finely dressed occupants.
“Where would you rather be?” I asked.
“Anywhere in Egypt but here. Specifically, at the site of my excavations.”
“In the dust of the desert, away from all the comforts of civilization? With only ignorant Arabs for company—”
“Ignorant perhaps; but lacking the hypocrisies of civilization. Good God, how it maddens me to hear the smug comments of English travelers concerning the ‘natives,’ as they call them! There are good and bad among the Egyptians, as there are in any race; but by and large they are an admirable people, friendly, cheerful, loyal, intelligent—when taught… For centuries these people were oppressed by a vicious, cruel despotism. They are riddled by disease, poverty, and ignorance, but through no fault of their own.”
He was recovering his confidence. His fists clenched on his knees, he glared at me. I rather liked him for his defense of an oppressed people, but I could not resist baiting him.
“Then you should approve of what we British are doing in Egypt. By assuming responsibility for the finances of the country—”
“Bah,” said Emerson vigorously. “Do you think we are acting out of benevolence? Ask the inhabitants of Alexandria how they enjoyed being shelled by British gunboats, two years ago. We are not so uncivilized as the Turk, but we have the same purpose—our own self-interest. And we are letting those imbecile French mismanage the antiquities department! Not that our own so-called scholars are any better.”
“Are they all wrong?” I inquired. “All but you?”
My irony went unnoticed. Emerson considered the question seriously.
“There is one young fellow—Petrie is his name—who seems to have some idea of method in archaeology. He is excavating in the Delta this winter. But he has no influence; and meanwhile every year, every passing day sees destruction that cannot be remedied. We are destroying the past! Digging like children for treasure, wrenching objects out of the ground without keeping proper records of how and where they were found….”
I glanced at Evelyn. I could not hear what she and Walter were discussing, Emerson’s voice was too loud, but she seemed to find the conversaton enjoyable. I turned my attention back to Emerson, who was still ranting.
“… scraps of pottery! Something should be done with pottery, you know. One should study the various types—discover what kinds of pottery accompany certain kinds of ornaments, weapons, furnishings….”
“For what purpose?”
“Why, there are a dozen purposes. Pottery, like other objects, changes and develops with time. We could work out a basic chronological sequence which would enable us to date not only the pottery, but other objects found with it. And it is not only pottery that can be useful. Every object, every small scrap of the past can teach us something. Most of these objects are now tossed into rubbish heaps, or carried off by ignorant tourists, lost forever to science. Maspero saves only the impressive objects, and half of those are lost or smashed or stolen, in