The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (23 page)

"Dearest Mama and Papa: My hand trembles with mingled joy and dread as I inscribe that last word for the space of a few endless hours I feared I might never again be privileged to employ it in direct address. Endless, I say, and so they seemed, though in fact less than twelve of them elapsed before Mama's telegram brought renewed hope to hearts sunk deep in the depths of woe. Uncle Walter bore the news with manly fortitude, though he aged a year for every hour that passed. Aunt Evelyn wept unceasingly. Jerry and Bob had to be restored by copious applications of beer, Rose by copious applications of cold water and smelling salts. I cannot speak of Nefret's pallid, silent, suffering grief, and words fail me when I attempt to describe my own. Only
Gargery remained steadfast. 'I don't believe it,' he declared stoutly. 'It ain't true.' (I quote
Gargery literally, dear parents, excessive emotion always has an adverse effect upon his grammar.) 'They couldn't kill the professor, not even if they run over him with a locomotive, which are scarce in Egypt anyhow, I am told. And if they did, madam wouldn't be under no doctor's care, she'd be rampaging up and down the country breaking heads and shooting
people. It ain't true. You can't believe nothing you read in those newspapers.

My reading of this remarkable literary effort was interrupted by a series of strangled sounds from Cyrus. Taking out his handkerchief, he applied it to his streaming eyes and gasped, "I beg your pardon, my
dear, I couldn't help it. He is— he really is— does he talk that way too?"
"He used to," I said, clenching my teeth. "He has not lost his loquacity, only turned it into written form. Shall I go on?"
"Please."

"And you see, dear Mama and Papa, that of us all Gargery was the only one to discern the truth.
I had certain reservations, of course, regarding the accuracy of journalistic reporting, but filial affection quite overcame my reason at that point.
"We had our first intimation of incipient tragedy the day before the newspaper accounts appeared, when certain more responsible journalists endeavored to inquire of us concerning the accuracy
of their reports. After the first inquiry, from the Times, which Uncle Walter flatly denied, we refused to communicate by telephone. The result was an onslaught of unauthorized visitors
waving press credentials and demanding entry. Needless to say, they were repelled by our
gallant forces. But concern continued to grow, and when the newspapers arrived next morning
we were forced to concede their truth, since they Quoted reputable sources in Cairo and Luxor. Not until evening did a messenger succeed in delivering your telegram. Ah, then what a scene ensued! Aunt Evelyn cried harder than ever. Rose went into hysterics. Uncle Walter and Gargery shook hands and kept on shaking them for ten minutes. Nefret and I ..."

I held the letter closer to my eyes. "He has scratched something out here," I said, frowning. "I think he wrote 'flew into one another's arms,' and then replaced it with 'expressed our emotions in a suitable fashion.'"
"So that's the way the land lies, is it?" Cyrus was no longer amused. "I hope you won't take offense, Amelia, if I say that the only thing that could deter a man from the honor of asking you to be his wife would be the prospect of having to be a father to that boy"
"Emerson is the only one up to that challenge," I replied "And thank heaven there is no need to consider another candidate. Let me see . . . Oh, damnation!"
"Amelia!" Cyrus exclaimed.
"I beg your pardon," I said, almost as shocked as he at my inexcusable lapse. "But really, Ramses is enough to drive a saint to profanity. He spends four pages describing in disgustingly fulsome detail emotional reactions that are of only academic interest at this stage, and then devotes one paragraph
to a really horrifying piece of news. Listen to this:

"The only unfortunate consequence of the happiness following the receipt of your telegram was that Bob and Jerry (our gallant gatekeepers) slept rather too soundly that night, owing, as they explained, not to an excess of beer but to the fatigue of joyful relief. Whatever the cause (and
I see no reason to doubt the word of such loyal friends who are, moreover, in a better position than I to evaluate the effect of large quantities of beer), they did not hear the men climbing over the wall, and it was not until those individuals were discovered by the dogs that the barking of
the said dogs roused Bob and Jerry. They arrived on the scene in time to drive off the would-be burglars, to the great disappointment of the dogs, who had been trying to induce the visitors to throw sticks for them. Do not worry, Mama and Papa, I have thought of a way of ensuring that this will not occur again.

"In conclusion, let me say that I am all the more determined to join you and offer the
affectionate assistance only a son can render. I now have three pounds eighteen shillings.

"Curse it!"
"Why does he say . . . Oh," said Cyrus.
"The expletive was mine," I admitted. "Ramses is saving his money to buy a steamship ticket."
"Now don't worry, my dear A child can't purchase a ticket, or travel alone, someone would catch him before the boat left the dock."
"I dare not hope that difficulty has not occurred to Ramses. He probably intends to persuade Gargery
to buy the tickets and accompany him. Gargery is a weak vessel, I fear, not only would he aid and abet Ramses in any wild scheme the latter proposed, but he is a hopeless romantic. I must telegraph at once, forbidding him to do any such thing."
"A telegram to your butler?" Cyrus inquired, raising his eyebrows. "Why not, if the circumstances
require it? I must warn Walter as well, he is too innocent to anticipate the diabolical machinations of which Ramses and Gargery are capable."
"The boy will take your messages whenever you like, Amelia. There is a telegraph office at Minia."
"It can wait till morning. I will get a letter off as well. First I had better see what lies the newspapers have printed, I can contradict them at least, if I cannot tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
Immediately Cyrus brought me a stiff whiskey and soda. Thus fortified, I was able to peruse the accounts in relative calm. I left Kevin's till last.
The brash young Irish journalist and I had had a rather up-and-down relationship On the occasion of our first meeting his impertinent questions had so infuriated Emerson that my hot-tempered spouse had kicked him down the stairs at Shepheard's. It was not a propitious beginning for a friendship, but Kevin had stood valiantly at our side on several occasions when danger threatened. He was at heart a gentleman
and a sentimental one at that, unfortunately the gentleman and the sentimentalist were both submerged,
at times, by the professional journalist.
Thanks to the whiskey (which Cyrus thoughtfully kept replenishing) I got through the first part of Kevin's story without undue stress. "It could be worse," I muttered. "I suppose it was impossible for Kevin to resist dragging in hints of curses and 'doom falling at last on the head of one who had too long defied the ancient gods of Egypt.' I am not altogether happy about his reference to . . . Oh, good Gad!"
I leapt to my feet
"What is it?" Cyrus asked apprehensively.
"Listen to this. 'Our correspondent is leaving immediately for Egypt, where he hopes to interview Professor and Mrs. Emerson in order to ascertain the true facts behind this strange affair. That there
are mysteries yet to be uncovered he does not doubt.'"
I crumpled the newspaper into a ball and threw it on the floor. Anubis pounced on it and began batting
it back and forth.
Ordinarily this kittenish behavior on the part of a particularly large and dignified animal would have entertained me. On this occasion I was too distraught to pay him any heed. Pacing furiously, I went
on, "This is disastrous news! At all costs we must prevent Kevin from speaking with Emerson."
"Well, sure, if we can. But he's just another consarned reporter"
"You don't understand, Cyrus Isolated as we are, and with Abdullah on guard, we can fend off other journalists. Kevin's acquaintance with our habits and his cursed Irish charm render him a more formidable opponent Have you forgotten that it was Kevin who turned the death of Lord Baskerville into The Curse of the Pharaohs'? It was Kevin whose journalistic
joie de vivre
inflated the death of a night watchman into the case of the British Museum mummy. He is familiar with archaeological matters, he spent some
weeks with the Sudan Expeditionary Force, talking with the officers who ..." I stopped short and raised a trembling hand to my brow. The idea that had come to me had the awful inevitability of a mathematical equation. "No," I whispered. "No. Surely not Kevin!"
Cyrus hurried to my side and put a respectful arm around me. "What ails you, my dear? You are as
white as the driven snow. Sit down. Have another whiskey."
"There are some situations too serious even for whiskey and soda," I said, slipping out of his embrace with a casual air that— I hoped— gave no offense. "My idea was absurd, unjust. I will dismiss it But at
the least, Cyrus, Kevin is bound to ferret out the truth of Emerson's amnesia. He has known him too
long and too well to miss evidences of that."
"I never could understand why you were so set on keeping it secret, even from the family," Cyrus said. "Seems to me his brother, at least, is entitled to know the truth."
"You know not whereof you speak, Cyrus! Five minutes after Walter found out, everyone in the house would know it, and the whole lot of them would rush off to catch the first boat— including Gargery! Have you forgotten Dr. Schadenfreude's advice, Cyrus? We must not force Emerson's memory; we
must wait for it to grow and blossom, like a flower."
"Huh," said Cyrus, in a tone as skeptical as the one Emerson would probably have employed.
"I know you dislike the doctor's theories, Cyrus, but he is unquestionably an authority in his field, and
his analysis of Emerson's character was brilliantly accurate. It is imperative that we give Schadenfreude's methods a fair chance. That would be impossible if our family and friends descended on us en masse. None of them is capable of the iron self-control that has guided my behavior— and can you imagine the effect on Emerson of coming face-to-face with Ramses? An eleven-year-old son would be enough of a shock for a man who doesn't even know he is married, and a son like Ramses— "
"It might be the catalyst that would restore Emerson's memory, though," Cyrus said, watching me steadily. "The sight of his son—"
"He has known me longer than he has Ramses," I said. "And under circumstances that ought, if any
could ... I perceive no purpose in discussing it, Cyrus,- you must let me be the judge of what is best
for Emerson."
"As always, you think of him and not of yourself. I wish you would let me—"
"I don't care to discuss it," I said, softening the blunt words with an affectionate smile "If you will
excuse me, Cyrus, I believe I will take a turn around the deck before retiring. No, my friend, don't
come with me, your men are on guard, and I would like some time for solitary reflection."
It required longer than I had expected for cool reflection to calm the agitated waters of distress. The suspicion I had entertained, if only briefly, was truly dreadful.
Emerson and I had discussed the qualities an enemy must possess in order to ferret out the secret of
the Lost Oasis. Kevin had them all— even a smattering of archaeological training. He also had the insatiable curiosity and the rampageous imagination (as Emerson would have put it) that would enable
an individual to weave the disparate strands of the puzzle into a meaningful whole.
Nothing can crush the spirit so much as the treachery of a friend. Certain of Kevin's newspaper articles had, in my opinion, stretched our friendship to the limit, but at worst they had only threatened our reputations This was another matter entirely— a cold-blooded attack on life, limb and sanity. In my
mind's eye I pictured Kevin's smiling, freckled face, his candid blue eyes, his crop of flaming hair. In
my inner ear I heard his caressing Irish voice repeat the compliments and assurances of affection whose sincerity I had never doubted.
I would not doubt it now! As my agitation subsided I reminded myself that Kevin was not the only individual who had the expert knowledge to solve the puzzle. Nor could I believe that the desire for a journalistic sensation— which the story of the Lost Oasis would certainly constitute— was a strong
enough motive to make a man turn on his friends and his own nature.
However, the danger posed by his ordinary journalistic instincts was real enough. I knew I had not convinced Cyrus that Emerson's mental condition had to be kept secret, though the reasons I had given him were perfectly sound. Why distress our loved ones unnecessarily? Why give them an excuse to rush en masse to Egypt and drive me to distraction? Yet I knew, as had my perceptive and understanding friend, that that was not my only reason.
I decided not to think about it. The important thing was to keep Kevin away from Emerson. I began calculating schedules. If he had taken the fastest possible means of transportation and pushed himself to the limit, he might even now have arrived in Cairo. Would he be clever enough to make inquiries there concerning our present whereabouts instead of following our original trail to Luxor? Several of our archaeological friends knew we had gone to Amarna; it had been necessary to appeal to them in order
to obtain permission to excavate. M. Maspero's kindly concern and powerful influence had been of enormous help in cutting through the red tape, and he was not the only one who knew. If Kevin came directly to Amarna he could be here in a few days.
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," I reminded myself. At least I was now forewarned. I would deal with Kevin when— I felt sure it was "when," not "if"— he appeared.
The lovely night of Egypt had worked its magic I was calmer now. The moon was waxing, soon it
would reach the full and hang like a globe of living light over the cliffs, washing their pale limestone with silver. As I strolled the deck, the rustle of my skirts blending with the soft lap of water and the murmur
of palm fronds stirring in the night breeze, I thought of the last full moon I had watched from the deck of another boat. Less than a month ago . . . With what high hopes and breathless anticipation had I viewed that silvery orb! Emerson had been with me, his strong hand holding mine, his arm circling my waist. Now I was alone, and he was farther distant from me than he had ever been, though only a few feet of actual space separated us.
The windows of the bedchambers opened onto the deck. His were lighted,- the thin gauze of the curtains proved no impediment to vision. Glancing in as I walked past, I saw him sitting at a table strewn with books and papers. His back was to me, his head was bent over his work. He did not look up, though he must have heard the click of my heels. The temptation to stop and contemplate the sight so familiar and so beloved—the smooth stretch of muscle across those broad shoulders, the thick tumbled hair curling around his ears—was well-nigh irresistible, but I conquered it. Dignity forbade that I should risk being discovered peeping in at him, like a lovesick girl.
As I went on without pausing, there was movement in the shadows next to Emerson's window, a low voice murmured a greeting in Arabic and I gestured a silent acknowledgment. I could not see which of
the men it was, in the dark, their silhouettes were all alike, for they all wore the same turbans and
flowing robes. They were a fine, upstanding lot, and seemed devoted to their employer. No doubt he
paid them well. (I do not mean to be cynical, no reasonable individual can feel loyalty toward a man
who underpays him.)
Other anonymous shadows greeted me as I proceeded. The fellow squatting near my window, his back against the wall, was smoking, the glowing end of his cigarette swooped like a giant firefly as he raised
his hand to his brow and breast.
The windows of the rooms inhabited by the two young men were dark,- from Rene's I heard a rumble
of bass snoring, positively astonishing from such a delicate, aesthetic-looking young fellow. Bertha's window was also dark. No doubt she was weary, the walk to and from the dig would tire a city girl like her, unaccustomed to healthful exercise. I recognized the man who guarded her window by his size, he was the tallest and strongest of the crewmen. Cyrus was taking no chances.
I glanced at his window as I strolled by and saw it too was unlighted. Perhaps he was still in the saloon, which opened onto the upper deck.
I need not have strolled alone in the moonlight. Since only the silent watchers could see me, I permitted myself to smile and shake my head. Dr. Schadenfreude's treatment had not cured Cyrus of his romantic weakness. Being something of an amateur psychologist myself, I wondered if the bluff American's tendency to fall in love with wholly unsuitable ladies was born of his unconscious desire to remain a bachelor. Modest woman that I am, I could not help having observed his increasingly soft glances and
his chivalrous indignation on my behalf, but I was well aware that his growing attachment was based solely on friendship and on the rough-hewn gallantry for which Americans are well-known. Any "lady
in distress" between the ages of eighteen and forty-eight would have aroused the same instincts. Cyrus knew he was perfectly safe from the toils of matrimony with me, not only while Emerson lived but ever after. Could I, having known such a man, be the bride of another?
The moonlight was making me morbid. Moonlight has that effect when one enjoys it alone. I went to
my room, wrote out the telegrams to Gargery and Walter, penned a peremptory letter to my son, and
put the notes I had taken on the dig that day into proper form. By the time I finished, my eyelids were heavy,- nevertheless, I gave my hair the usual hundred strokes, took a long (cold) bath, and applied
cream to my skin. (This is not vanity but necessity in Egypt, where sun and sand have a frightful effect on the complexion.) I had hoped energetic employment would prevent me from dreaming. However, it did not. I am sure I need not specify the theme of those dreams to the sympathetic Reader.