The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [81]
Mr. Trilipush,
I wish to clarify that under the current circumstances, the entirety of the Deir el Bahari area, as outlined on the enclosed map, is to be considered as Professor Winlock and the Metropolitan Museum’s exclusive concession. Your application has been duly noted and reviewed. As soon as there is any change in the status of the Metropolitan’s concession, we will contact you. Should you move from the Hotel of the Sphinx, please inform us where in the United States you can be reached. Also, I regret to inform you that last week I cabled Professor ter Breuggen at Harvard University to confirm his position as a co-applicant for your request and he has—I am certain this is a misunderstanding—declined to attach his or Harvard’s name to your application, though he does ask that I send you his “good wish” [sic]. I am your humble correspondent, P. Lacau, Director-General, Antiquities Service
As for Claes ter Breuggen, no surprise whatsoever from my dear Chair. This merits “Sup with the Devil, but Use a Long Spoon” on the Victrola XVII.
Ter Breuggen. Claes ter Breuggen, the Walloon Buffoon, the Belgian Waffle, putting the phlegm in Flemish, catastrophically chairs (for the time being, just for a few more months) Harvard’s Department of Egyptology, curating the University’s teensy collection and miseducating the sons of the Boston wealthy, which poor boys stumble out of ter Breuggen’s bumbling and often inaudible lectures to stagger into my office for some much needed tutoring. “Say there, Pushy,” began one rosy-cheeked moron befuddled by a classic ter Breuggen lecture, all damp throat clearing and nasal clatter in which the first row can certainly count on having their faces moistened if not their curiosity whetted, “what’s all this about Pharaonic seal-bearers? Surely it was hot and sandy there, desert and everything, am I right? Not the right climate at all, you’d think.”
Ter Breuggen’s last days as Harvard Egyptology’s high priest have a certain doomed, end-of-an-interlude, a-conquering-hero-is-coming-soon feel to them, as he schemes by written message to thwart his rivals in a period of instability. One will surely rise from within his court, win great victories abroad, return to the troubled kingdom to restore order.
This greasepaint devil bared his rounded teeth at my most recent appeal before Harvard’s interdepartmental tenure review committee, in which ter Breuggen fired his latest soggy charges at me and manned his crumbling defences for the last time. Several of the committee members—shocked by ter Breuggen’s outrageous accusations and willingness to forsake any semblance of personal dignity in his fearful campaign against me—told me after the hearing that I had been the committee’s darling, but ter Breuggen had threatened, wheedled, and outright sobbed to keep me in my lowly place. Even Dean Warren, who chaired the raucous hearing, took me aside afterward to encourage me, wishing me luck on my expedition, practically guaranteeing me tenure should I make a find contributing to Harvard’s eternal glory.
Ter Breuggen’s loathsome manner can be explained simply: his resentment that when I joined the faculty, I refused to hand over Fragment C to any collection under his curatorship, even as he goggled and drooled over my papyrus. No matter. Now, blackballed by the corrupt priest, I bide my time, I do battle for the kingdom abroad, win renown, and will return.
Bank. Nothing.
Post. Nothing.
Bank. Nothing.
Thursday, 26 October, 1922
Journal: Noon, final day of Phase One. Expedition HQ moves south. A new start, and I can feel the strength and inspiration pour back into me. I was going quite mad waiting in this hotel, my enthusiasm curdled by the city and luxury. And now, a busy day, improvisations necessary. Letter to Lacau at Antiquities, thanking him for his correspondence, and giving my address at the villa where I will be vacationing and awaiting “any fortuitous change in Mr. Winlock’s status vis-à-vis Deir el Bahari.” Visit to