The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [143]
“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,