The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [14]
Leaving Emerson to prepare Ramses for bed, I went to see how John was getting on. He assured me he was better and expressed himself as prepared to resume his duties at once; but my questioning brought out the fact that the internal disturbances were not yet reduced to a normal number (an interrogation that rendered John incoherent with embarrassment). So I told him to stay in bed, administered his medicine (he told me he had already taken it, but naturally I paid no attention), checked to make sure the new flannel belt I had given him was in place, and bade him good night.
Returning to my own chamber, I found Emerson, Ramses, and the cat lying in a tangled heap atop our bed, all sound asleep and, in Emerson’s case, snoring. Contrary to his opinion, repletion does not affect Emerson’s ability to sleep; it only makes him snore. I placed Ramses in his cot without waking him and tucked the netting securely in place. The cat wanted to get in with him—she always slept with Ramses at home—but after I had pointed out the problem of the netting and the hindrance it presented to her nocturnal prowling, she settled down on the foot of the bed. They made a picture to touch any mother’s heart. The filmy fabric softened my son’s rather large features, and in his little white nightgown, with his mop of sable curls, he resembled a small Semitic saint with a lion at his feet.
It may have been the charm of this sight that relaxed my internal guards, or it may have been that I was exhausted after a long tiring day. Whatever the cause of my negligence, I awoke after daylight to find Ramses’ cot empty and the miscreant flown.
I was not surprised, but I was put out. Emerson was still snoring in blissful ignorance. I dressed quickly, not because I was alarmed about Ramses’ safety but because I preferred to deal with the matter without my husband’s agitated and vociferous assistance. Remembering one of Ramses’ statements the previous night, to which I had not paid the attention it deserved, I was able to locate him almost immediately.
The street in front of the hotel teemed with the usual motley array of beggars, guides, donkeys and donkey boys, lying in wait for the tourists. Sure enough, Ramses was among them. Though I had expected to find him there, it took me several moments to recognize him. Barefoot and bareheaded, his white nightgown similar in design (and, by now, in filthiness) to the robes worn by the donkey boys, he blended admirably with the others, even to his tanned complexion and tousled black curls. I admit it gave me something of a shock. I was unable to move for an instant; and during that instant one of the bigger boys, finding Ramses blocking his path, addressed him in a flood of gutter slang. The shock I had experienced earlier paled by comparison to the sensation that seized me when I heard my offspring respond with a phrase of whose meaning even I was uncertain, though the general reference, to certain animals and their habits, was unfortunately only too clear.
I was not the only European standing on the terrace. Several other early birds had emerged, ready for touring. Though I am ordinarily unmoved by the uninformed opinions of others, I was not keen to admit an acquaintance with the dusty child in the dirty white robe; but, seeing that Ramses was about to be knocked unconscious by the infuriated young person he had just addressed as a misbegotten offspring of an Englishman and a camel, I thought I had better intervene.
“Ramses!” I shouted.
Everyone within earshot stopped and stared. I suppose it must have been startling to hear an aristocratic English person shout the name of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh at dawn on the terrace of Shepheard’s Hotel.
Ramses, who had ducked behind a morose little donkey, started to his feet. His assailant halted, fist raised; and the cat