The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [64]
There you were, smiling up at me in such calm amusement. You saw me, saw past the shock of the poetry and of the king’s appetites, and saw the real me, as I am. I knew that instant what an extraordinary find I had made, knew it as if I had opened a tomb full of jewels and flashing gold. You looked at me, and saw what was valuable and worthy of your love there. There is nothing buried under any sand that compares to last spring with you, finding you, falling in love with you, winning you. You are such a marvellous girl, Margaret. You are everything I have ever wanted in a wife.
And soon nothing will stand in the way of our wedding. I beg of you to wait, be patient, stay strong and healthy, and wait, wait for me, wait. I will be home before you know it, sweeping you away, covering you in treasure, setting you down in a home beyond your wildest dreams, filling your days with entertainments and rest in whatever proportion you desire. In your letter you asked where we shall live. Why, we shall be in a palace, you and I, in a palace, by a river, under palms, wanting for nothing.
Your king,
RMT.
P.S.—I hope you will take this expression of my concern in the proper light: it seems to me your father is relying too heavily on Inge to cure you. Whatever the diagnosis, your fatigues and spells should be curable by a proper doctor and medicine that gives you more energy, but judging by the fragment of a letter you posted to me in a medicated delirium, it appears she is administering substances that exacerbate your symptoms. Allow me to say that no one knows you better than I, especially when you are fully healthy and vibrant, and when you are my wife, we will spare no expense to have you seen by the best specialists in these matters. You have all my love. You are my Queen.
Sunset on the Bayview Nursing Home
Sydney, Australia
December 24, 1954
Still here, Macy, still here. Though I must’ve left you wondering. Another week on my back. Christmas upon us. Cheery season, I’m told.
I wonder, Macy, if you’re a religious man. I’m not in the slightest, not I, it’s patent foolishness. But there’s an old woman here, quite out of her mind, like most of them, hasn’t spoken in ages, just stares at the telly, but she said to me this morning—first time she’s said word one to me—she said people are judged in the next world by all the animals who’d seen them in this one. Not just the cows you ate up or the fish you caught, she isn’t a “vegetarian,” I don’t think, just the nice animals that watch you as you go about your business, if you see what I mean. The cats that watched you when you were otherwise alone. The dogs lying in the heat across the street from you. Birds outside your window. Goldfish in a bowl. They all report on what they’ve seen you do, she says, they all parliament themselves and then they decide if you fly or if you fry. What do you think of that idea? I think about all those sad-eyed animals I’ve been alone with, figure they’re napping, not understanding anything even when they’re awake. Very strange notion, very unsettling. Can’t be true, but you ever heard anyone say it before?
Your aunt Margaret, don’t suppose you’d know this, back in ’22, she used to have these little dogs, although maybe you’ve seen pictures. Tibetan spaniels, I remember her saying to me when I turned up at your great-uncle’s door, October the 13th, 1922. Your aunt opened the door, and these little dogs were yapping at me when I walked in. First thing she says, before I could say a word, she says, “Tibetan spaniels, very pricey, exceedingly rrrrrrare.” When she said rare, she sort of growled and curled her lip at me. Hello, here’s a live one, I thought. She was something to look at, your aunt, and obviously an electric sort of modern girl. I wonder if she mentioned me to you at all, if there’s anything you might tell me, not that she would’ve said anything, I don’t fool myself I had that much effect on her, and not that she wasn’t above stretching the truth now and again for a story, if there’s anything hard to