The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [56]
But I cannot in conscience reproduce Emerson’s heretical remarks on Christian dogma.
When we started for the Valley Abdullah walked with me, as he often did. He honestly believed he was helping me, so I gave him my hand on the steeper slopes; and when we reached the top I tactfully suggested we rest for a moment before following the others.
“We are not so young as we once were, Sitt,” said Abdullah, subsiding rather heavily onto a rock.
“None of us is. But what does it matter? It may take us a little longer to reach the summit, but never fear, we will get there!”
The corners of Abdullah’s mouth twitched. “Yours are words of wisdom, as always, Sitt.”
He did not appear in any hurry to go on, so we sat for a time in silence. The air was cool and clean. The sun had just risen above the eastern cliffs and the morning light spread slowly across the landscape like a wash of water-color, turning the gray stone to silver-gold, the pale river to sparkling blue, the dull-green fields to vivid emerald. After a while Abdullah spoke.
“Do you believe, Sitt, that we have lived other lives on this earth and will come back to live again?”
The question startled me, not only because philosophical speculation was not a habit of Abdullah’s, but because it was an uncanny reflection of my own thoughts. I had been thinking that the golden palaces of heaven could be no more beautiful than the morning light on the cliffs of Thebes, and that my definition of Paradise would be a continuation of the life I loved with those I loved beside me.
“I do not know, Abdullah. Sometimes I have wondered . . . But no; our Christian faith does not hold with that idea.”
Neither did the faith of Islam. Abdullah did not mention this. “I have wondered too. But there is only one way to know for certain, and I am not eager to explore that path.”
“Nor I,” I said, smiling. “This life holds pleasure enough for me. But I fear we will have a dull season, Abdullah. Emerson is very bored with his little tombs.”
“So am I,” said Abdullah.
With a grunt he got to his feet and offered a hand to help me rise. We tramped on together in silence and in perfect amity. He was bored, I was bored, Emerson was bored. We were all bored to distraction, and there was nothing I could do about it. Glumly I followed the familiar path into the small side wadi in which we were working.
The tomb of Amenhotep II was at its far end, and we had been investigating the small pit tombs along the way that led toward the main valley. Most of them had been found by Ned Ayrton in his previous seasons with Mr. Davis. He had removed the only objects of interest, and there had not been many of those. Three of the miserable little tombs had contained animal burials. They were certainly curious—a yellow dog, standing upright, with its tail curled over its back, nose to nose with a mummified monkey, and a squatting ape wearing a pretty little necklace of blue beads—but I could understand why Ned’s patron had not been thrilled by the discoveries of that season.
Emerson of course found objects Ned had overlooked. He always does find things other archaeologists overlook. There were several interesting graffiti (described and translated in our forthcoming publication) and a number of beads and pottery fragments which were to lead Emerson to a remarkable theory concerning the length of the reign of Amenhotep II. These details will be of even less interest to my Reader than they were (candor compels me to admit) to me.
From Manuscript H
Ramses sat up with a start. At first he couldn’t think what had waked him. The room was quite dark, for vines covered part of the single window, but his night vision was good—if not as uncannily acute as some of the Egyptians believed—and he saw only the dim shapes that ought to have been there—table and chairs, chest of drawers, and the garments hanging on hooks along the wall.
He threw back the thin sheet. Ever since an embarrassing incident a few