Pharaoh

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  Behind the site, on the hillside, was a wheeled cistern connected to pipelines which distributed the water to a number of trailers. One of them was much larger than the others, and Blake imagined it was the residence of the site manager or mining foreman.

  All the company vehicles were lined up in a rectangular area marked off by a row of stones: a tracked drill, a dump truck, three Jeeps, a truck and two three-wheeled ATVs.

  About 200 metres away from the camp was a cabin with a sack outside full of white powder, also sprinkled liberally all around the structure. Obviously the latrine, with its supply of quicklime to dump into the pit, replacing the toilet flush. He decided immediately that he would never use it; the desert was a big place, and there was nothing worse than the shared latrine in a camp.

  On the right, looming over the main valley, the mountain took on the shape of a crouching lion or sphinx. The hammada terrain was typical, a geological formation common to the entire Middle East and most of North Africa: compact soil and sand covered by flint and limestone pebbles. But the setting sun helped to soften the eroded landscape, cloaking it in a rosy glow and making the dried satinpod fruit sparkle like so many silver coins.

  The sky had already turned cobalt blue. A full white moon was rising at that moment opposite the setting sun, hovering over the deserted, silent mountain crest. It looked like it was rolling forward over the rugged peaks.

  The car stopped in front of the main trailer and a well-dressed man in a khaki-coloured bush jacket came forward to welcome them.

  ‘My name is Alan Maddox,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Ras Udash, Professor Blake. I hope you had a good trip.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Maddox,’ replied Blake. ‘The trip was fine and I’m feeling much better than I had expected.’

  Maddox was a hefty man of about sixty, with wide black eyebrows, a grey moustache and beard. He wore an Australian ranger’s hat, grey cotton trousers and a pair of military boots.

  ‘This is your lodging,’ he said, pointing to a grey trailer off to the left. ‘I’m sure you’d like a shower. The water is always nice and hot here. Dinner will be ready in half an hour, here in my accommodation. I hope we’ll have the honour of your company.’

  ‘You can count on it, Mr Maddox. I never manage to eat on planes, not even luxury planes like your Falcon. I’ll see you in half an hour.’

  Gordon and Sullivan also went to their living quarters, located to the right of the main unit.

  Blake entered his trailer, which smelled dusty. Someone had hastily wiped down the floor and the bathroom, smearing the mirror above the sink. The place was sparsely furnished, but he was relieved to see that there was a computer on the desk with what looked like a modem connection and a small portable television.

  He got into the shower and let the water run hot. He couldn’t help but remember the last shower he’d taken, curled up on the floor like a dog, his stomach gripped by cramps.

  He rubbed himself dry with a towel, combed his hair carefully and arranged his toiletries, while the TV blared with news of rioting and skirmishes at the outskirts of Jerusalem and in Hebron. Fifteen Israeli schoolchildren killed before the gunman took his own life. Blake couldn’t shake a feeling of dismay; he couldn’t remember when the situation had ever been quite so bad in the Middle East.

  Would a fifth war break out between the Israelis and the Arabs? And what would the consequences be? He turned off the television, threw a jacket over his shoulders and went outside.

  The camp was deserted but he could see lights on in the other trailers and hear the distant rumbling of the generator. For a moment, he thought he saw men moving about on the mountain crest in front of him; it looked as if they were carrying guns.

  Suddenly, two trails of flames streaked across the sky as the silence was torn by a thunderous roar. Two jets were chasing each other at low altitude, as if simulating an aerial duel. One of them launched a couple of decoys and managed to get his pursuer off his tail. The decoys fell into the desert, scoring the darkness with two cascades of silvery sparks.

  ‘Never touch anything around here that isn’t wood or stone,’ said a voice behind him.

  ‘Gordon, it’s you! Where did you come from?’

  ‘From my lodgings – that yellow trailer down there on the left. Just enough time for a shower. Maddox is a stickler for punctuality. He’s from an old Virginian family and he’s used to crystal and silver at dinner. What did you think of him?’

  ‘He seems . . . polite, pleasant.’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t let yourself be fooled. He’s a tough one. He’s old fashioned, very righteous. There’s only one thing he cares about: the best interests of the company, and getting the work done.’

  ‘He knows all about the tomb, right?’

  Gordon nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘Has he seen it?’

  ‘Yes, he has. We took him over one evening before we left for Chicago. He was very impressed. Anyway, you’ll soon be hearing about it all from him. Come on. He’s waiting for us.’

  They walked towards the trailer which was being used as the camp headquarters.

  Blake stopped suddenly. ‘Did you see those two fighter planes, Gordon?’

  ‘Sure, I saw them, why?’

  ‘They were Jaguars, if I’m not mistaken. French-made stuff. What were they doing here? What I mean is, those had to be Israeli fighters, right?’

  Gordon was uncertain how to answer. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about weapons. Anyway, the situation is incredibly tense in the whole Middle East. Nothing would surprise me. But don’t worry, the area we’re working in is far off the beaten track. No one will bother you.’

  They had reached Maddox’s trailer. Gordon knocked and their host answered the door personally. His hair was still wet from the shower and he had changed: a Panama suit, blue shirt and cotton neckerchief.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you all!’ he greeted them. ‘Gordon, Professor Blake, please, come in. I was just getting myself a drink. What do you say to a martini?’

  ‘A martini would be wonderful,’ said Blake.

  ‘Fine for me too,’ said Gordon.

  Sullivan was sitting in a corner of the room and was already sipping his cocktail. He greeted them with a nod.

  The table was set with real porcelain, crystal and silver, a carafe of water and one of white wine, and a basket on the white tablecloth held freshly baked Bedouin bread. A synthetic Christmas tree sat on a table in the corner, decorated with dried desert fruits that had been decorated by hand and some coloured lights that blinked on and off.

  Maddox had them sit down, with Blake to his right. ‘I’m pleased that you accepted my invitation, Professor Blake,’ he said. ‘Mr Sullivan will already have explained everything, I assume.’

  ‘Yes, he has indeed.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Blake tasted his martini. Exactly the way he liked it: the glass had been just rinsed with vermouth, then filled with straight gin and ice.

  ‘It’s hard to say without having seen anything, but from what Gordon tells me it would seem to be a very important discovery. Too important to be investigated like this.’

  Maddox looked him straight in the eye. ‘You are quite . . . forthright, Professor. That’s fine with me. I don’t like beating around the bush myself. Do you mean that you don’t feel up to the task, or you don’t approve of our methods?’

  An Arab waiter came and began to serve them. ‘I hope you like couscous. It’s all we have.’

  ‘Couscous is fine. I love it. Mr Maddox, if I’ve understood the situation, what I feel doesn’t make much of a difference, and I hardly think it would cause you to change your mind. On the other hand, I’m virtually washed up in my field and quite frankly I’m grateful for this opportunity. In other words, I’m in no condition to make demands. I would only like it to be clear that I’ve accepted this job purely in the interest of science, and in the hopes of publishing the results of my preliminary exploratio
n and the studies that will follow.’

  Maddox poured him a glass of wine. ‘I’m not sure that you will have the possibility of conducting any further studies, other than viewing the tomb and the objects it contains.’

  ‘I have to, Mr Maddox. You can’t be saying that you expect me to understand everything at first glance. Let me tell you, I don’t think anyone could.’

  Maddox listened quietly and Sullivan looked at him from the corner of his eye.

  ‘I could provide with you access to the Internet on the company computer, under our surveillance, naturally. Would that be sufficient?’

  ‘It would help,’ answered Blake. ‘I could consult the library at the Oriental Institute and other research institutions. I would say that might be sufficient.’

  ‘As far as publication goes,’ continued Maddox, ‘it’s a problem that can’t be dealt with now. I’ll have to think about it and consider all the repercussions. Please, let’s face one problem at a time, shall we?’

  The Arab waiter passed with some beans and poured wine into their glasses.

  ‘It’s a Californian Chablis,’ said Maddox. ‘Not bad, is it? As I was saying, one problem at a time. We would like you to examine the tomb and to determine, if you can, when it was built, and to describe and appraise the objects it contains. I can assure you that we have no intention of doing anything illegal. The fact is that this discovery came as a complete surprise and has considerably interfered with our schedule. We will continue to work as you occupy yourself with the excavation. You’ll be able to count on the collaboration of our staff, who have already cleared away the entrance, and use all the technical means at our disposal. Your fees will be paid in cash, when the work is completed, or into an account of your preference, in the United States or elsewhere.’

  ’One question,’ said Blake.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘At the Warren Mining Corporation site at Ras Udash.’

  ‘What I mean is, in what region?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Then I must warn you that my inability to locate the tomb topographically may very well interfere with its identification.’

  Maddox stared at him without blinking an eye. ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take, Professor.’

  The waiter began to clear away the plates and Maddox got up. ‘I would suggest that we have our coffee outside, in the Bedouin tent. It’s much cooler and you can smoke if you like.’

  His guests followed him into the tent and settled on wicker chairs arranged around a little cast-iron table. The generator was to the leeward and the noise it made was carried off by the evening breeze.

  Maddox passed around a box of cigars. ‘Always so difficult to find in the States,’ he said. ‘If only they’d lift that damned Cuban embargo. Here it’s not a problem. In the Fertile Crescent, all the heads of states, ministers and members of parliament smoke them.’

  ‘That’s not all they smoke,’ snickered Gordon.

  Blake drank his coffee and lit a cigar. ‘When do you want me to start?’ he asked.

  ‘Tomorrow’s fine,’ said Maddox. ‘If jet lag isn’t a problem. The sooner you begin the better.’

  As they were still talking, Blake noticed a light approaching in the midst of a cloud of dust on the track that led to the camp, and the two-stroke engine of an ATV could soon be heard over the noise of the generator. The ATV stopped in the vehicle parking area and a person wearing a dark work suit and a helmet got out. When the helmet was removed a wave of blonde hair settled onto the shoulders of a young woman of about thirty who approached the tent with a quick, light step.

  Maddox got up and walked towards her. ‘Sarah, come on over. Have you eaten? Sit down and I’ll have something brought out for you.’

  The girl stepped out of her overalls and hung them on a pole, remaining in jeans and a T-shirt. Blake watched her admiringly as a light wind lifted her hair around her face.

  ‘Let me introduce our guest, Professor William Blake.’

  ‘The Egyptologist,’ said the girl, extending her hand. ‘I’m Sarah Forrestall. Welcome to Ras Udash. I hope you’ll like it here in this inferno. Thirty degrees by day and two or three below zero at night, but it could be worse. This is the best time of day: not too hot and not too cold.’

  ‘I’m used to it,’ Blake said.

  ‘Sarah is our topographer. She may be useful for your work,’ said Maddox.

  ‘Right,’ said Blake. ‘A topographer would be just the thing, if you’d let me know where we are, that is.’

  Maddox didn’t seem to notice, and not even Sarah picked up on his comment as she sat down to eat a cold chicken sandwich that the Arab waiter had brought, together with a bottle of mineral water.

  ‘Professor Blake will be starting tomorrow. Can you give him a ride out and help him if he needs it?’ asked Maddox.

  ‘With pleasure,’ said the girl. ‘I’ll meet you at the parking area at seven, if that’s all right with you. What do you need?’

  ‘Not much. A ladder to begin with. A rope ladder would be fine. A harness, a torch, a ball of string and a pad of graph paper. I’ll take care of the rest. Tomorrow I’ll just be doing a general survey and setting up a work schedule. I still don’t have a precise idea of what I’ll find and what problems may come up. Later you can help me to map out the elevations and position the objects inside the tomb.’

  The girl seemed disappointed. ‘I had imagined that you’d be bringing in a load of sophisticated instruments, but all you seem to need is a rope ladder and a torch.’

  ‘I’m old-fashioned,’ said Blake. ‘When the time comes I’ll show you some advanced methods of research, but for now that’s all I’ll be needing. I want to figure out who the person buried in that tomb is. All the way out here, so far away from everything and everyone.’

  Gordon got up, said goodnight to them all, and walked off to his trailer, soon imitated by Sullivan.

  Maddox looked at his watch. ‘We turn in early here,’ he said. ‘And I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Goodnight, Professor Blake.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Maddox.’

  Sarah got up and walked towards a camp stove. ‘I’m going to make some coffee,’ she said. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘Love it,’ said Blake.

  ‘It’ll keep you awake. Aren’t you tired?’

  ‘Dead tired, but I’m not sleepy. It’ll come, sooner or later. A cup of coffee more or less won’t make much difference.’

  ‘Well, we don’t have any more than ten, fifteen minutes before they turn off the generator. Maddox can’t sleep with the noise of the engine.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And it will get freezing cold out here before you know it. The temperature drops from one minute to the next.’ She poured him some boiling coffee in a plastic cup. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Eager as all hell to get started. I’m afraid I won’t close an eye tonight. I still can’t believe all this actually.’ He took a sip of coffee and glanced over at the girl sitting in the circle of light cast by a single bulb with a jacket thrown carelessly over her shoulders. She was very pretty and she knew it.

  ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ he teased.

  ‘They’re paying me well,’ she said. ‘What about you?’

  ‘What do you say to a fire?’ he asked in reply.

  ‘You mean a camp fire?’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of dry wood around here and it’s starting to get cold.’

  The generator suddenly went off and the camp was lit only by the light of the moon.

  ‘If you like.’

  Blake went towards the dry river bed, uprooted an old tree trunk and dragged it to the tent, then gathered some brushwood, dry tamarisk and broom branches, and used his lighter to set fire to the pile he’d arranged. The flames rose crackling and enveloped the trunk in a ball of lively orange light.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He took a chair a
nd went to sit next to the bonfire, lighting up a cigarette.

  ‘Well, what about you? What are you doing in a place like this?’ the girl asked again.

  Blake turned towards her and noticed her slim figure caressed by the light of the flames.

  ‘I was an Egyptologist at the Oriental Institute in Chicago, and not one of the worst. I got burned doing something stupid and my superiors and colleagues couldn’t believe their luck. I accepted this job because I had no future.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Divorced. For . . . two days now.’

  ‘Fresh wound, huh?’ She studied him with an odd expression that to Blake looked like condescension.

  ‘When it rains, it pours, I guess,’ he said. ‘Things happen. You survive. A change of air and starting to work again will do me good.’

  Sarah met his glance for a moment through the flickering light and read emotion much deeper than the perfunctory words he’d pronounced. She felt a wave of desire for him, but pulled back instinctively.

  ‘You can count on my technical assistance,’ she said. ‘Anything else you can forget about.’

  Blake didn’t respond. Instead, he poked at the ashes under the fire to stoke up the flame, then stood up. ‘Thanks for the company,’ he said, and walked away.

  In his trailer, he felt a wave of claustrophobia mixed with anger at Sarah’s needlessly scornful words, and he realized that he wouldn’t be able to bear staying inside.

  He took a sleeping bag and went out of the back door, walking off along the edge of the hills that bordered the camp to the east.

  He was soon under the shadow of the sphinx-shaped mountain and he continued to walk along a dry river bed that descended towards the valley. In a corner he found a strip of fine, clean sand and stretched out, taking in the incredibly bright, clear constellations.

  He thought angrily of Sarah’s blonde hair and her body sculpted by the light of the fire, seething at the thought of what she must think of him, until the silence of the desert, the cosmic silence of complete solitude, entered into his spirit and calmed him. All of the ghosts crowding his mind began to fade away, and he gradually became aware of the creatures of the night, heard the trotting pace of the jackal and the timid, watchful gait of the gazelle.