The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [16]
“Where are we going?” Ramses asked.
“To the shop of an antiquities dealer. I promised your Uncle Walter I would look for papyri.”
Ramses began, “Papa says antiquities dealers are cursed rascals who—”
“I know your papa’s opinions concerning antiquities dealers. However, it is sometimes necessary to resort to these persons. You are not to repeat your papa’s comments to the man we are about to meet. You are not to speak at all unless you are asked a direct question. Do not leave the shop. Do not touch anything in the shop. Do not allow the cat to wander off. And,” I added, “do not eat anything unless I tell you you may.”
“Yes, Mama,” said Ramses.
The Khan el Khaleel, the bazaar of the metalworkers, is, if possible, even more crowded than the others. We threaded our way past the cupboard-sized shops and the narrow stone benches called mastabas in front of them. Many of the mastabas were occupied by customers; the merchant, just inside the shop, produced his glittering wares from the locked drawers within.
Abd el Atti’s place of business was on the edge of the Khan el Khaleel. The small shop in front was only a blind; preferred customers were invited into a larger room at the rear of the shop, where the old rascal’s collection of antiquities was displayed.
Ever since the days of M. Mariette, the distinguished founder of the Department of Antiquities, excavation in Egypt has been—in theory at least—strictly controlled. Firmans are awarded only to trained scholars. The results of their labors are studied by an official of the Department, who selects the choicest objects for the Museum. The excavator is allowed to keep the remainder. Anyone wishing to export antiquities must have a permit, but this is not hard to obtain when the object in question has no particular monetary or historical value.
The system would work well enough if the law were obeyed. Unfortunately it is impossible to supervise every square acre of the country, and illegal excavation is common. Working in haste and in fear of discovery, untrained diggers demolish the sites at which they work and of course keep no records of where the objects were found. The fellahin of Egypt have a keen nose for treasure; they have often located tombs unknown to archaeologists. The famous cache of royal mummies that Emerson had mentioned is a conspicuous example. But the peasants are not the only offenders. Wallis Budge of the British Museum took a positive delight in outwitting the antiquities officials. The Amarna tablets, the papyrus of Ani, and the great Greek manuscript of the Odes of Bacchylides are among the valuables smuggled out of Egypt by this so-called scholar.
In this ambiguous moral ambience the antiquities dealers flourished. Some were more unscrupulous than others, but scarcely any of them operated wholly within the law. The honest merchant had no chance against his dishonest colleagues, for the best wares were obtained from illegal excavations. Abd el Atti’s reputation was middle-of-theroad—worse than some merchants, not so bad as others—which meant he might have the kind of papyrus I wanted for Walter.
The mastaba before the shop was unoccupied. I looked within. The room was dimly lit and crowded with merchandise. Most of the remaining space was filled by Abd el Atti himself. He was almost as short as I and almost as wide as he was tall. Before affluence got the better of his figure he must have been a handsome fellow, with soft brown eyes and regular features. He was still something of a dandy. His outer robe was of salmon-pink cashmere and he wore a huge green turban, perhaps in order to increase his stature. From behind, which was how I saw him, the effect was that of a large orange balloon surmounted by a cabbage.
His body very nearly concealed the other man, who stood just inside the curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. I saw only the latter