Eyeliner of the Gods

by Katie MacAlister

  “Boys! I’d much rather have had girls. They’re so much easier to handle,” she said smoothly, and changed the subject to explain to Izumi and me just what the conservation techniques consisted of.

  I listened with half an ear while Kay explained that the damage to the tomb was caused by a combination of water and corrosion within the tomb itself, all the while feeling bad because I’d slapped Seth by mistake, and also because his mom was one of those mothers, the kind who don’t listen at all.

  “And so what will we be doing?” Izumi asked as I tried to think of what I was going to say to Seth. I had to apologize for slapping him, but if I explained that I thought he was his brother, then he’d want to know what Cy did that made me want to slap him, and I don’t think I could possibly explain about the thigh grab and the fig comment without dying of embarrassment.

  “You will work with Sayed cleaning the paintings in room G. Last year we consolidated the paint with an acrylic solution, and reattached missing plaster, and this year our task is to clean the walls.”

  Then again, if I don’t tell him why I smacked him, he’ll think I’ve gone totally Springer or something, and he’ll want to stay away from me because I’m obviously psycho.

  “So our job will be to fix the paintings?” Izumi asked. “Make them whole again?”

  “No,” Paolo said quickly. “Our job is to stabilize, consolidate, and clean. That is all. We do not restore, just conserve.”

  Which would be worse, I mused as I allowed myself just one more piece of garlic-dusted pita, to have him think I was an idiot for not realizing he was a twin—which really was not my fault since he never mentioned he had a brother—or to have him think I’d kiss him one minute, and slap him the next?

  I sighed as I chewed the warm pita. Why was life so hard?

  “I understand. I look forward to cleaning the paintings,” Izumi said graciously.

  Or more specifically, why was my life so hard?

  “I thought since Jan is an artist, she can do the rendering of the walls into watercolor.”

  I stopped in mid chew to stare at Kay, swallowing a big lump of pita to stammer, “What? Me? Watercolor? Huh uh!”

  “Don’t be modest, you’re ideal for the job.”

  “Um…no, I really don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  Kay set down her fork and cocked a perfectly arched brow. “Not a good idea? Why?”

  Think fast, brain. Anything but the truth (“I suck at painting!”) would do. “Er…watercolor isn’t really my medium. And you know how we artists are—we stick to our mediums.”

  That wasn’t strictly the truth, but I was hoping that Kay was like my mother’s pseudo-arty friends, people who pretended they understood the mind of an artist, but really didn’t have a clue.

  “Oh, yes, of course, we couldn’t expect you to work out of your medium,” Kay said quickly, just like Mom’s friends did. “Er…what exactly is your medium, dear?”

  Whoops, back to think-fast time. I ran my mind over all the possible art form mediums that would be totally unsuitable to reproducing ancient Egyptian paintings.

  “Leaf mold,” I answered, remembering something that April had tried once. “I use leaf mold to make sculptures.”

  Kay’s face went blank. As a matter of fact, so did everyone else’s faces. Even Izumi looked at me like I was speaking gibberish.

  “You use leaf mold to sculpt?” Kay asked, her voice incredulous.

  I settled back in my chair, smiling at the look of confusion in her eyes. “Lots and lots of leaf mold, as a matter of fact. But not just any leaf mold, it has to be special leaf mold. From…um…frilly-edged willow trees. That’s the best kind of leaf mold. Do you happen to know if there is a big supply of frilly-edged willow leaf mold in the area? Because if there’s not, I couldn’t possibly reproduce the paintings. It would…uh…” I dredged up the excuse that one of my sisters frequently used to get out of doing the laundry. “It would hamper my muse.”

  “Oh, dear, we couldn’t have that.” Kay looked concerned for a moment, her blue eyes disappointed as she gazed at me.

  It was a look I was sadly familiar with.

  “I have an idea,” I said, pretending I’d just thought of it. “Why don’t Izumi and I switch jobs? I could do the cleaning stuff, and she could paint the walls.”

  Kay looked from me to Izumi, her brow furrowed. “I don’t suppose you have any talent at watercolor? It’s not vital that we have a painting of the walls, of course, since the entire phase of conservation is being documented via photography and video tape, but it is traditional to have a member of the team duplicate the walls for archival purposes.”

  “I would be happy to try,” Izumi said modestly, and for a few seconds, I gave in to the pang of jealousy that hit me when Kay beamed at her.

  No one ever beams at me, grouchy Inner Jan complained.

  Just wait until I start selling stories, I told her. Then they’ll all stop thinking I’m such a loser.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine, although…” Kay gave me a sad little look that had me squirming in my chair. “Well, it’s no use bemoaning what can’t be. We’ll simply have to make the best of the situation. Jan, you’ll work with Sayed and Seth. Izumi, I’ll show you where the art things are after dinner, and explain to you which walls to paint first, all right?”

  Seth? I had to work with Seth, too? Not just see him, but work with him? I toyed for a second with the thought of saying I’d paint the stupid walls, but the knowledge of just what Kay would think if she found out I was talentless kept my mouth shut.

  By the time dinner ended, I’d come to two conclusions: first, if I had to work with Seth, then I’d prefer to have him not thinking I was a total ditz, which meant I had to go find him and apologize for slapping him and calling him a figplucker, and second, I was never goin to kiss a boy again. It just ended up causing more trouble than it was worth.

  “Get it over with, Jan,” I said on a sigh as the others toddled away after dinner.

  Before Abdullah the cook could come out with his helpers to clear the table, I grabbed a cloth napkin and filled it with pita bread and bits of grilled chicken, all topped with a carefully balanced cup filled with lentil soup.

  “Where did Jan go?” I heard Kay ask Izumi from the long room that ran the length of the house. “I wanted to show her some of my sketches and see what she thinks.”

  “She said she wanted to take a walk,” Izumi answered as I crept by one of the doors to the room, hurrying to the stairs. “I will look for her if you would like.”

  “No, I don’t think we should bother her if she’s out consulting her muse. Those artistic types are temperamental, you know.”

  I stifled a snicker as I ran up the stairs to the second floor. I hated to lead Kay on by making her think I was as artsy-fartsy as the rest of my family, but if it would keep her off my back for a bit while I apologized to Seth, then I’d live with the lie. I checked all the rooms on the second floor, but didn’t see him, which meant…

  “I just hope I don’t fall off the edge,” I muttered as I climbed the dark, narrow stairs that led to the roof. “I’m going to be so pissed if I die before I sell a story.”

  There was a lovely soft breeze on the roof, a scented breeze that lifted the smell of the flowers grown in small pots in the courtyard, mingling with the smell of wood smoke, and something warm and slightly acidic that I had decided was just the smell of Egypt. The soft glow of the oil lamps below didn’t penetrate the darkness above, but there was enough of a moon to let me see the landscape of the roof. It was totally flat except for two short, squat chimneys on either end of one side of the monestary. I wandered toward the nearest, the shadows beyond it blacker than anything I’ve seen. I felt my way through the inky denseness, but no one was there. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted upward from the sitting room, but it seemed far away and unreal, as if it was just another background noise like the cicadas that chirped all night long, or the distant s
ound of night birds crying high above me.

  Keeping well clear of the edge of the roof, I made my way over to the second chimney stack, and just about dropped the food when a voice rumbled out of the darkness concealed behind it. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jeezumcrow!” I jumped, my heart beating madly even though I had hoped Seth was there. A dark shape separated itself from the chimney. “Man, just give me a heart attack, will you?”

  “What are you doing here?” he repeated, stepping forward so the little bit of moonlight slanted down on him. He didn’t look happy to see me.

  I swallowed hard, trying to remember what I was going to say in apology. My mind went blank, but luckily I remembered the food in my hands. I shoved the napkin of food and cup of soup toward him. “I brought you dinner since you missed yours.”

  He looked down at the food, then up at me. “Why?”

  I just knew he was going to ask that. Pooh. “Um…just because. I know you must be hungry if you’ve been fasting all day. You are hungry, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged and walked over to the edge of the roof, not seeming to be concerned in the least by the fact that there was nothing there to keep him from falling over the edge.

  “I’ll just put it down here, OK? If you get hungry, you can eat it. If you don’t want it—” It was my turn to shrug, not that he saw since he was looking out into the night. “Whatever. Night.”

  I took five steps before he spoke. “What did Cy do to you?”

  “How do you know he did something to me?” I asked, looking back toward him.

  He turned to face me, but he was in shadow, so I couldn’t see his expression. Just the top of his head was highlighted by the moonlight, making it look like his black hair was tipped with silver. “The only time girls slap me is if they think I’m my brother. I’m always blamed for what he does. So what did he do this time?”

  I thought about telling him, but suddenly it didn’t seem important. What mattered was the thin edge of pain in Seth’s voice. I knew that pain—I’d felt it often enough. A little feeling of warmth blossomed to life in my stomach. “I’m always getting blamed for stuff my brothers and sisters do, too. It’s not fair that I should be punished just because—” I stopped. There was no need to tell him I was the talentless black sheep of the family.

  “Because what?”

  I made a face that I doubted he could see. “Doesn’t matter. I know what it’s like to be blamed for stuff you didn’t do, though, and I’m really sorry I slapped you. I didn’t know you had a brother. He’s not very nice, is he?”

  Seth froze. “Are you kidding with me?”

  “Kidding me. There’s no with.”

  He froze even more until I said, “Look, English is hard enough even when you’re born to it, but if you don’t want me correcting you, I won’t. I’m not trying to be a know-it-all or anything. I just thought that you’d want to know how to say stuff right.”

  “I do,” he said stiffly. “Thank you.”

  “No prob,” I answered. “And no, I’m not kidding you. Any guy who purposely lets a girl think he’s his twin is a poop. You know what a poop is, right?”

  He made a little waving gesture with his hand, like he was brushing away the question.

  “It means a jerk. A spazzo. A dillweed. Someone not nice. I hope you don’t mind me calling him that, but it’s what I think he is. So I’m sorry I slapped you, and I’m sorry your mom was ragging on you in front of everyone, and I hope you eat the food because the chicken is really good, and I’ll go now so you can be by yourself. I know how nice it is to be by yourself when everyone is picking on you. You don’t have to worry that I’ll tell anyone where you are, in case they ask.”

  I made it to the stairs before he spoke again, and even after the words drifted away on the soft evening breeze, I still wasn’t sure I’d heard them correctly.

  “They think I’m the reincarnation of an evil god. No one will ask you where I am. No one cares.”

  MYSTERIOUS TIME WARP IN EGYPTIAN TOMB MAKES DAYS FIVE TIMES LONGER THAN NORMAL!

  The next two days were kind of a blur. A couple of high points stand out in my mind, like walking back to my room wondering how anyone could believe Seth was evil, reincarnated or not. I’d only known him for a day, but even I could see he was only bad—the baaaad kind of bad, not evil. I thought of asking Seth what he meant by his cryptic statement, but he had turned his back on me again, so I ended up going down to my room without finding out what he was talking about. When Izumi came in later I borrowed her book of Egyptian myths, figuring I’d read up on the bad gods to see if I could pick out the one Seth was supposed to be.

  I didn’t have time to read it, though. In order to eat breakfast, we had to wake up before the sun rose, and scarf down enough food and water to keep us going until sundown. That was the theory, anyway, but our first day on the job both Izumi and I were so melted by the heat of working in the tomb, we stumbled after the other non-Muslim dig workers to the big mess tent.

  “I shouldn’t do this, I shouldn’t do this, I said I was going to honor Ramadan, and here I am, caving in on my first day.” I followed Izumi up the steep, rocky incline that led to the plateau where the dig employees lived. The big sand-colored mess tent was in the middle of the cluster of smaller tents, edged with a couple of trailers that held the more valuable dig tools and artifacts. Sweat rolled down my back under the white T-shirt and white cotton pants we were required to wear when we were in the part of the tomb that was undergoing conservation. “I should grit my loins and gird my teeth and suffer through it. I’m just a great big old wimp, that’s what I am. It’s just a little food and water, after all.”

  “This is our first day. I don’t think anyone will think you are a wimp for wanting to eat, and if you don’t drink, you could have the heat exhaustion. It is very hot in that tomb!”

  “Hellish is more like it,” I panted as I paused at the top of the climb to yank up the straw hat Kay had insisted I wear out in the sun, and mopped my forehead with the hem of my T-shirt. “You’d think they could get a couple of fans or an air conditioner or something in there, but noooo, we have to melt just to keep the precious walls happy.”

  Izumi giggled and tugged me toward the tent. “You are so funny when you complain. But look, here is everyone coming to lunch. You will be just like everyone else having lunch.”

  “All the infidels, yeah, but Kay said it would be a good experience to go native; and I want to, I really want to.”

  “No one will think anything bad about you eating,” Izumi reassured me, waving and calling out to a couple of the other Dig Egypt! kids who were dragging themselves toward the mess tent. She ran off to talk to them (without a single bead of sweat showing anywhere on her, while I looked like the Amazing Melting Girl). I stumbled toward the tent, pausing for a moment as I passed Dag arguing with the dark-haired girl named Chloe. She was shaking a tube of lip gloss at Dag.

  “What do you mean there’s no more water? That’s stupid; of course there has to be more water!”

  Dag frowned at Chloe. “Childrens yelling at chaperone most good is not allowed. You are waterwhore. Wasting water there and here as if no tomorrow is coming!”

  I snorted. Waterwhore?

  Dag stopped speaking and transferred her frown to me. Chloe smiled, and dabbed on a bit more lip gloss. The kind with sparkles in it. Just the sight of her shiny, glossy, sparkly lips had me gnawing on the tendrils of dried skin that clung to my own lips, leaving me wondering if I remembered to put my ChapsStick in the backpack that I’d left in the volunteers’ tent.

  “Ja?” Dag asked in a snappish tone. “You are wanting what from me?”

  I tried to smile under the effect of her glare, but it wasn’t easy. “Hi. I just wondered if either of you has seen Seth? He was supposed to be working with Sayed and me, but no one has seen him today.”

  “Seth is bad cursed. He is not a volunteer childrens. I am only chaperone of childrens.”

 
“I saw him,” Chloe said, carefully tucking her lip gloss away in her pocket. “Earlier. He looked annoyed. You’re Jan, aren’t you? One of the kids was telling me about you. She said you’re related to some famous artist, and that’s how you got out of doing real work. Is it true you guys have your own well?”

  “Real work?” I stood there dripping with sweat, my back aching from having been in all sorts of weird positions while I worked, the muscles in my arm trembling with fatigue from the four solid hours of painted-wall washing, my fingers raw from rubbing against the rough plaster, my fingernails torn where I picked out little leftover bits of mulberry bark bandages that had been used to hold the walls together, and my head throbbing from having gone for six hours in one— hundred plus degree weather without food or water. “You don’t think we’re doing real work? What planet are you from?”

  “Oh, come on, everyone knows you guys are just in there playing around while we do the hard stuff.”

  I just looked at her standing there, then shook my head and walked toward the mess tent. There was no use getting into a fight with the queen of the Lip Gloss People. Besides, it was too hot to argue, and I was too hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. In that order.

  I collected a tray, a plate of some sort of lamb stew, and a big bottle of not-very-cold soda pop, and plopped myself down at a table next to the girl I’d met the night before.

  “Hi Sunita.”

  “Hi,” she said as I popped the top on the pop and sucked down about half the bottle. She pushed back a thick black braid and gave me a nice smile. “Hot out, huh? I knew it was going to get hot during the days, but I didn’t expect it to be this hot.”