Maged gave an elaborate shrug. “Robbers, perhaps…”
“Well, your story is charming, but it’s utter bunk.”
“It’s true, Robert. Believe me.”
“Where’d you pick it up? I’ve never run across the story before.”
“When I was a child, my grandmother whispered it to me in the night. She said, if I was bad, Amara would come for me and eat my throat.”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we, Maged?” I said and laughed. “Come along, let’s be off.”
VENGEANCE
My first order of business, after recovering from the ordeal of the pit, was to deal with the villain Kemwese.
I remained away from the Tutankhamen diggings all day so the bastard wouldn’t suspect that I had escaped from his death-hole. When night came, I dined with my father. He enquired about my battered appearance, and I satisfied his curiosity by explaining that I’d taken a nasty fall down the hotel stairway. The subject was dismissed.
After we separated, I went to my room. I waited there, trembling somewhat with anticipation. Shortly after dark, I heard a knocking at my door. I opened it, and Carmen entered in a glittering cocktail gown that revealed her milk-white shoulders. Her cleavage was breathtaking.
Carmen was her stage name—or rather bed name, if you prefer, for she was a whore. She was a fabulous whore, renowned throughout Luxor. She stood nearly six feet tall, with hair the color of wheat and breasts like the silos of her Iowa hometown. All her orifices were portals to unspeakable pleasure. But they were costly to enter, and only those of us with considerable wealth could afford to journey there.
I had been with Carmen many times. I was one of her favorites, as she told me time and again. When I spoke to her that afternoon she’d readily agreed to my request.
“For that kind of dough,” she had said, “I’d blow King Tut himself.”
Naturally, I didn’t explain my entire plan.
“Now let me see if I’ve got it straight,” she said, sitting on my bed, her long legs stretching out. “I go to this guy’s house and I say my friend and me, we got attacked by a gang of cutthroats out by the temple ruins. Right?”
“That’s it.”
“And would he come and help, ‘cause I think my friend’s hurt real bad?”
“Exactly.”
“And I get him out there and get him all worked up and…”
My engorged organ stopped her words. For the next half hour, I used her with such vigor that we both finished sweaty and exhausted. When we recovered, we dressed and set out for the home of Kemwese.
At his village, I pointed out the mud-brick house. Carmen went to it while I hurried away. I rushed through the darkness. Soon, I reached the stone slab, the entrance to Kemwese’s horrid prison. I hid myself in the shadows of the nearby temple ruins. There, I waited.
The wait was a lengthy one. I sat on the rough stone, watching the desolate landscape before me with its endless vista of sand. For all the world I must have looked like Ahab searching the waves for his damnable White Whale. No one can know the horrors of the charnel pit; no one can know the rapture I felt as I waited in the moonlight to take my vengeance upon the man who put me there.
Man?
No! Human fiend.
My heart pounded. My hands trembled. Yes, even my teeth chattered in spite of the night’s heat. Several times, I laughed, muffling the sound with my hands.
Finally, Carmen appeared. Her golden tresses cascaded down her back. Her hips swayed as she walked.
She was holding Kemwese’s hand. His robe gleamed as white as bone.
“I do not see your friend,” Kemwese said.
Carmen swirled away from him, her laughter trilling through the silence.
“Where is the friend who was beaten?”
Her forefinger tapped the side of her head. “In here, Kemwese. I made him up.”
“And why is that?” he asked. He crossed his arms over his massive chest.
“To drag you away from your village. What we’re gonna do, it’s got to be a big secret.”
“Kemwese does not pay for his women.”
“ ‘Course not. This isn’t business, sweetheart. This is just for pleasure. My pleasure.” She went to him, long, slender arms out, her gold bracelets glinting.
I watched from my hiding place, trembling. They embraced, they kissed. Soon Carmen was naked and standing upright as Kemwese lavished kisses on her shoulders, on the vast twin mounds that were her breasts. He fell to his knees like a worshipper at the temple of her body. As he lapped between her legs, she pulled the galabia over his head and flung it aside. He was naked, his body hairy like a gorilla. Taking his face away from her womanhood, he crawled behind her to dwell on her rear parts. He forced her down and mounted her. It surprised me not the least to discover his preference.
Once he was firmly implanted, I left my place of concealment. I made my way stealthily toward the pair. Soon, I was standing close behind Kemwese, watching the hairy mounds of his buttocks twitch and jiggle as he rutted. From the frenzy of his exertion and beastly grunts, I guessed that he was on the verge of expending himself. I wanted to cheat him of that moment, so I quickly stepped forward and brought down the revolver. Its butt cracked against the bastard’s skull. To my chagrin, the impact triggered a bowel movement.
I pulled the unconscious body off Carmen and saw that I hadn’t prevented his climax after all.
“Damn,” Carmen muttered, getting up. “Damn, look what he did!”
One of her calves bore a glistening, dark smudge. She used Kemwese’s galabia to clean herself.
For the next few minutes I busied myself with binding the hands and feet of my quarry. I knew the hemp would not restrain him for long after his return to consciousness, I didn’t intend that it should.
“All done?” Carmen asked when I finished tying him.
“Nearly.”
“Nay, now, sweetheart, you said we’d just truss him up and leave him bare-ass. If you’ve got any other tricks up your sleeve, you can count me out.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Carmen.”
“Not for you. You ain’t the one went in his house, sweetheart.”
“Who saw you?”
“He had these two gals with him. A couple of twins.”
“They won’t tell.”
“I’ll just bet.”
“They’re his daughters. They hate him more than I do. Besides, they’re both deaf-mutes.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m positive. Were you seen by anyone else?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but that don’t change the picture. If you want to pull some nasty business here, I’ll take a walk, thank you very much.”
“It won’t take long,” I told her. “If you prefer not to watch, go on ahead. I’ll catch up to you in a few minutes.”
“What’re you gonna do to him? Some homosexualist thing?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“I guess I don’t.”
“Like I say, take a little stroll. I’ll catch you up when I’m done.”
She agreed to that.
When she was going, hips swaying, I dragged the unconscious body of Kemwese to the side of the stone slab. I pushed it away from the hole. I turned to Kemwese and slid him forward until his legs dropped out of sight to the knees.
I slapped his sweaty face until the eyes blinked open.
“Remember me?” I asked.
He scowled, his eyes burning into mine.
“Time for a dose of your own medicine, my friend.”
I was delighted to see the terror that suddenly twisted his face as he understood what I meant, and realized that the lower half of his body had already been swallowed by the pit.
Down he went.
Down, down, down.
He cried out in pain as he hit the bottom.
“Nasty fall,” I ca
lled down.
I crouched at the edge of the pit, grinning. He cursed me and my ancestors; my sons and their sons. He threatened me. That he would peel the skin from my body; that my male member would be worn as a trophy on his belt. Finally, however, much to my satisfaction, he began to cry and plead for mercy.
I pushed the stone into place and left him there.
With great restraint, I allowed a full week to pass before returning to the pit. Maged and I went there in the dead of night. I had told my friend nothing of Kemwese. The purpose of our excursion, I’d made clear, was to determine the best way of removing the mummy and its coffin from the tomb.
Maged was against the whole affair at first. He reminded me, at endless and tedious length, of Amara’s nasty reputation. Indeed her demon-like nature. In my turn, I reminded him that dead was dead.
He was unconvinced. Those fright stories of his grandmother’s had embedded themselves deeply into his heart and soul. Then I told him of my plans for the mummy—as well as my plans for myself. I described my family’s private collection of Egyptian antiquities. I told him that we possessed no mummies as yet, and how my heart was set upon adding such an infamous lady as Amara to our collection.
He argued that it was silly and dangerous and impossible. Aside from the hazards of Amara herself, there were laws. I was surprised by his familiarity with Egypt’s restrictions on the removal of artifacts, and even more surprised by his knowledge of problems we would face with United States authorities who looked upon mummies as little more than germ-infected corpses.
“I know ways,” I said, “of getting around all that rubbish.”
I explained about my father’s friend, the smuggler.
Maged was adamant; he wanted no part in such dealings. Then I explained that, of course, I would not only have Amara smuggled into the U.S., but Maged as well. He would live with my father and me, just as one of the family.
“Is this true?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“You have my word on it.”
From that moment forward, Maged was as brash and energetic about the project as if he had originated it himself.
I watched him climb down the knotted rope. He disappeared into the pit, and I was glad I had not mentioned Kemwese. His surprise at meeting our old friend would be marvelous to see.
Quickly, I followed him into the darkness.
When I reached bottom, I shone my flashlight over the grim collection of corpses. Kemwese was not among them. This troubled me somewhat in spite of my certainty that we would find his body nearby: in the tunnel, or the adjoining chamber, or Amara’s tomb.
After all, no man could survive a week without water in this climate. And there was no other exit; I was reasonably certain of that.
Because of my lingering apprehension about Kemwese, I insisted on being first to enter the connecting tunnel. In my repaired condition, the narrow tunnel had little effect on my nerves. True, it was often a tight squeeze. Overall, however, the tunnel seemed less confining, less threatening, than previously. My only concern was Kemwese. What if he should squirm toward me out of the darkness? I knew this was rubbish. Nevertheless, the idea of it would not leave me.
I was greatly relieved to reach the opening at the tunnel’s end. Eagerly, I searched the area below with my light.
My dread increased, however, for there was no Kemwese in the room below.
I debated whether to broach the subject to Maged, and decided against it; what useful purpose could it serve? It would give him a warning to be cautious, true enough. On the other hand, it might be enough to frighten him into abandoning the project. I couldn’t take a chance on that, so I kept my silence.
I secured a length of rope to a corner of the masonry, as Maged had done on the night he saved me. Then I squirmed out of the tunnel. With my legs wrapped in hemp, I lowered myself headforemost to the floor of the room. I then helped Maged down.
The door of Amara’s tomb was shut, just as we had left it.
Could Kemwese have entered and pulled it closed after him?
I drew the revolver from my pocket. I didn’t fail to notice a faint smile on Maged’s face.
“Dead is dead,” he whispered.
Together, we pulled open the door of Amara’s tomb. We swung the beams of our lights inside.
In my memory, the next instant seems endless. And yet, I know it lasted no longer than a blink or two of the eye.
I saw Kemwese on his back, gazing at us with dead eyes. The flesh of his naked body had been savagely torn.
Facing us, seated on his chest, arms resting casually on her upthrust knees, was the mummy, Amara.
As if sitting on a cushion.
Relaxing.
Patiently waiting for us.
THE LIVING DEAD
With shocking suddenness, Amara leaped from the body.
Maged hurled the flashlight at the monstrosity. It struck her head, distracting her for a moment as it entangled itself in her voluminous red hair. We leaped through the entrance. Flinging ourselves against the heavy door, we somehow managed to force it shut before the awful creature could reach us.
Though the door pushed against Maged and me, our combined efforts were sufficient to hold it shut. The strength of Amara was such that neither of us alone could have held it closed. As we pressed our shoulder to the rough stone, I searched my mind for a method of escape.
If we simply made a dash for the rope, she would certainly fall upon us before we could climb to safety. If one of us stayed behind to hold the door, the other might climb to freedom. The one remaining, however, would be compelled to face the mummy alone.
At the time, I knew only that she was dead… and yet alive.
I had no desire to exchange blows with such a creature.
Unworthy thoughts entered my mind, thoughts of making a sudden dash for the rope, leaving Maged to face the hideous creature. Ashamed, I reminded myself that he was my best friend, nay, my only friend, and that he had saved my life. I could not leave him at the mercy of the awful hag.
And yet I knew we could not hold the door shut forever. At a loss, I asked Maged’s advice.
“It is quite simple enough, Robert. The god Set gave Amara power only to walk the night. At dawn, she will again be as one who is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is what my grandmother told me.”
“Then I hope your grandmother was right.”
Neither of us knew precisely what time dawn would arrive that morning. Shortly after five o’clock, however, the movement of the door against us ceased. As a precaution, we waited until six o’clock by my watch. Then we opened the door.
Amara had returned to her seat on the chest of Kemwese.
As we entered her tomb, she remained motionless.
The ghastly thought came to me that Maged was wrong, that we were being lured into the tomb by trickery. I found my eyes locked onto that terrible figure. Its eyeless sockets, mere twin pits in the ruined face, seemed to look right into my own two living eyes. Her naked body was brown; wrinkled hideously in parts; in other parts smooth as melon skin. While tumbling in a copper cascade from the skull-like head, down around her shoulder, covering one breast that hung as empty as a poor man’s leather purse, was that lustrous hair. How hair could still look lovely and alive attached to that ancient husk of a corpse was beyond me.
A movement beside me roused me from my near-trance. I was tempted to hurry away, but Maged walked forward to shove the thing with his foot. It fell sideways.
“You see, Robert?” he whispered.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “And you say that it won’t… get up… before sunset?”
“That is what my grandmother told me.”
“Excellent.” With trembling hands, I lit a cigarette. I paced the tomb, smoking it and thinking. Blue smoke rolled across the walls painted with pig’s blood. At last, I said, “Let’s box her up.”
“What?”
“We’ll put her back in her coffin and se
e if we can get them out of here before dark.”
“Now?”
“No time like the present, my friend. Especially for a nasty job.”
A nasty job, indeed, it proved to be. With Amara inside, the coffin was too heavy for us to handle with ease. After carrying it from the tomb, we removed her. I climbed the rope to the tunnel overhead. Below, Maged tied the lidless coffin to the rope. He lifted and guided it while I pulled. Though the coffin was not extremely heavy, I had great difficulty hoisting it to my perch and pulling it in after me. It plugged the tunnel’s end. I tried, squirming backward, to pull it along after me. Soon, however, it began scraping along nicely. I realized that Maged was at its other end, pushing. It was a tight fit. Had the tunnel not been perfectly straight, we would never have succeeded.
The going became unbearable during the final yards when the tunnel slanted upward to the floor of the first pit. I pulled as best I could, and Maged pushed with superhuman endurance.
At last, we finished. We fell exhausted to the floor as if joining the five old corpses in their rest. When I had recovered my breath, I lit a cigarette.
“The rest of the job will be a snap,” I said.
I was almost correct.
The lid gave no trouble at all. Nor did the four Canopic jars. The final stage of the task, however, required us to deal with Amara herself. This was a singularly grim bit of business that set our nerves on edge. As we maneuvered her through the tunnel, we both worried she might suddenly come alive in our hands. Neither of us spoke of it at the time. Much later, however, in the safety of my California home, we shared our memories of that day.
Maged, who had been in the lead, confided, “I was certain her head moved. Only, I couldn’t see a thing, of course, but somehow I knew that she had turned her head and intended to nip my arm.”
It was with considerable relief that we placed Amara inside her coffin and covered her horrible, naked body with the lid.
We couldn’t raise her out of the pit that day. It was not a job for daylight. And yet, we were both loath to deal with Amara at night.
Maged had a solution. We climbed out of the pit, seeing nobody in the vicinity, and pushed the stone into place to conceal the opening.
TO WAKE THE DEAD Page 21
