The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [80]
“You’ve got that right,” Cyrus agreed.
“But your suggestions are still too general,” I complained. “Are you saying that we ought to take him back to Amarna?”
“Nein, nein! You take him nowhere. He goes where he wishes to go, and you accompany him. Amarna was the place he kept mentioning. An archaeological site, is it?”
“It’s just about the most remote, desolate site in Egypt,” Cyrus said slowly. “I don’t think it would be such a smart idea for—for various reasons.”
The doctor folded his delicate hands across his rounded stomach and smiled placidly at us. “You have no choice, my friend Vandergelt. Short of imprisonment, which is against the law, your only alternative is to have him declared incompetent. No reputable physician would sign such papers. I would not. He is not incompetent. He is not insane, within the legal definition of the word. If it is the unavailability of medical attention at this place—Amarna—that concerns you, do not be concerned. Physically he is on the road to recovery and will soon be himself again. There is no danger of a recurrence.”
There was danger, however, though not of the sort of recurrence the good doctor meant. After he had departed Cyrus burst out, “I’m sadly disappointed in Schadenfreude. Of all the insulting theories … He never told me I was a ravening beast.”
“He is an enthusiast. Enthusiasts tend to exaggerate. But I am forced to agree with some of his theories. What he said about marriage being a truce …”
“Hmph. That’s not my notion of what the wedded state ought to be, but I guess you know more about the condition than a sorry old bachelor like me. But I’m dead-set against Amarna. You and Emerson would be like ducks in a shooting gallery out in that wilderness.”
“I disagree, Cyrus. It is easier to guard oneself in a howling wilderness than in a teeming metropolis.”
“In some ways, maybe. But—”
“Now, Cyrus, argument is a waste of time. As the doctor said, we have no choice. It will be good,” I mused, “to see dear Amarna again.”
Cyrus’s stern face softened. “You don’t fool me, Amelia. You are the bravest little woman I know, and that stiff upper lip of yours is a credit to the whole British nation; but it isn’t healthy, my dear, to suppress your feelings this way. I’ve got a pretty broad shoulder if you want one to cry on.”
I declined the offer, with proper expressions of gratitude. But if Cyrus had seen me later that night, he would not have had such a high opinion of my courage. Huddled on the floor of the bath chamber, with the door locked and a towel pressed to my face to muffle my sobs, I wept until I could weep no more. It did me good, I suppose. Finally I rose shakily to my feet and went to the window. The first pale streaks of dawn outlined the eastern mountains. Drained and exhausted, I leaned on the sill looking out; and as the light strengthened I felt a slow renewing trickle of the courage and hope that had temporarily abandoned me. My fists clenched, my lips tightened. I had won the first battle; against all odds, I had found him and brought him back to me. If other battles had to be fought, I would fight and win them too.
CHAPTER 8
“When one is striding bravely into the future, one cannot watch one’s footing.”
YEARS had passed since I last beheld the plain of Amarna, yet in eternal Egypt a decade is no more than the blink of an eye. Nothing had changed—the same wretched villages, the same narrow strip of green along the riverbank, the same empty arid plain behind, enclosed by frowning cliffs like the fingers of a cupped, stony hand.
It might have been only yesterday that my eyes last rested upon the scene, and this impression was further strengthened by the fact that I saw it from the deck of a dahabeeyah—not my beloved Philae, on which I had traveled during my first visit to Egypt, but an even grander and more luxuriously appointed sailing vessel.
These graceful floating apartments, once the most popular means of travel