Misplaced

by SL Hulen

  “Me? I’m a half-hearted Catholic at best. I parted ways with religion a long time ago,” Victoria responded, unloading her shoulder bag.

  Daylight provided the small residence with a spaciousness that would dissolve after sunset. With the exception of a few colorful vases and a large, bright, red-and-blue rug in the center of the room, most of the furnishings were the color of sand. Victoria opened a window and the curtains billowed softly. Khara inhaled deeply. Bathed in sunlight, she began to relax.

  “How is it you are allowed to live alone?”

  “Who would stop me? Besides, I don’t live entirely alone; Dante shows up occasionally for dinner. Here, let me show you around.”

  The main room included an indoor area for cooking, no doubt required by the inhospitable climate. It featured several cabinets, some featuring shiny compartments and was strangely empty for a place where food was prepared. Victoria went so far as to reveal her sleeping quarters, her bathing area and closet. Afterwards Khara followed her up a narrow staircase to a small upper story where they passed a room completely lined with bound manuscripts. At the end of the short hallway, they stopped in front of a door.

  “Your bathroom. Towels are under the sink.”

  Khara instantly understood the purpose of the throne-like chair, its surface smooth and white, but raised her eyebrows at the empty vat nearby. “And that?”

  “A bathtub.” Victoria turned knobs that caused both hot and cold water to come forth. “I’ll bet you’d like to freshen up a bit. Take your time; I’ll be downstairs.” She smiled and pulled the door closed.

  A few minutes later Khara emerged. With her face washed and damp hair smoothed away from her face, she felt better.

  “I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” Victoria offered, “I converted the guest room years ago so I could have more space for my books. Wine?” She handed Khara a glass goblet. Seemingly, this woman’s wealth had no limit. “Come, I’ve saved the best part for last.” Victoria led her onto a balcony just large enough for a heavily padded chair that could have accommodated a small family.

  “Indian summer; best weather of the year. The sunsets are spectacular before the cold weather sets in. Look at the way the fuchsia goes gray,” Victoria observed, pointing to the sky.

  “I probably ought to follow my uncle’s advice—stop renting and buy a proper house.” She took a long drink. “But my work keeps me so busy…”

  A fleeting shadow of sadness darkened Victoria’s eyes. In her, Khara sensed something familiar, and for a time she forgot the horror of the last days.

  Night fell quickly, and they went inside. Victoria removed her shoes and stretched out on the sofa while Khara contemplated how to tell a story she herself could not comprehend.

  “As I told you,” she asserted with some hesitation, “I am Egyptian.” Her mind racing, she asked, “Do you know of Egypt?”

  “Of course.” Victoria’s smile reassured her. “One of the greatest civilizations.”

  Hearing this, Khara’s shoulders began to shake as she sobbed her relief.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  Khara shook her head. “No, it’s only that…forgive me. The last days have been an ever-worsening nightmare.”

  “Then the coyote was right. You were taken against your will.” Victoria set her drink down and leaned forward. “It’s all right; you can tell me.”

  “There were strange lights and sounds. I could not move.”

  “You were probably drugged. Kidnapping is big business on the border. Young women are snatched off the street, sometimes even from the safety of their homes, and sold as sex slaves. Most are never seen or heard from again. You were very lucky, Khara.”

  “If only what I experienced could be explained so easily.” She took a deep breath. “I am the eldest daughter of Pepy II, Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt.” Khara held her head high.

  Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Really? Go on.”

  “Two days ago, at my coronation ceremony, my father—” “Wait, wouldn’t that make you some sort of princess?”

  Khara lowered her head. “It does. That is why I must return. As quickly as possible.”

  “Who else have you told this story?”

  “Only you.”

  “Let’s keep it that way for now,” Victoria cautioned and then fell silent, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. It was an expression Khara knew well; it was the same one she had given Nandor when he told her he had witnessed winged fish flying over the ocean, or great lizards that changed their colors whenever they wished.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Let’s just say that in my line of work I hear lots of stories, but yours is definitely a first.”

  Khara rubbed the cuff through her dress. “There is no explanation for why I am here. How is it that I’m able to understand you?”

  “Isn’t it my turn to ask questions? Look, sometimes it takes a while for the…” she paused, trying to find the right words, “…for things to wear off. I’ll bet that in the morning, everything will be much clearer. By the way, weren’t all the pharaohs men?”

  “I am obligated to fulfill my father’s wish, regardless of my sex.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps you should be drinking water instead.”

  The humiliating silence that lingered in the room vanished instantly when a grey cat strode through the balcony door.

  “Hey buddy,” Victoria called in a friendly way as she rose from the couch. “Where you been?”

  Clearly she is unaware of how improper her greeting is, Khara thought, lacking the attention and respect required for a sacred beast. Gathering bedding from a cabinet in the next room, Victoria’s insolence continued. “Meet Dante,” she called. “He doesn’t really belong to me; I just provide him an occasional meal and soft pillow.”

  Touching her palms together as though in prayer, Khara bowed. “It is an honor to be in his presence.”

  “I didn’t hear you, what did you say?”

  He approached, his round body swaying from side to side. The presence of a cat was the shining beacon of hope Khara had been waiting for; it meant Victoria could be trusted. “How is it you possess the affinity?” he asked, the pupils of his jade eyes opening wide. Khara reached down to stroke his silky fur. “It must be this,” she replied, and showed him Nandor’s cuff. He sniffed it indifferently. “Of course, I also pray faithfully for the balance, harmony, and intuition the Goddess Bastet promises.”

  He stopped in his tracks, turning his spectral gaze upon her. “So the old ways are not completely forgotten.” Moving closer, he pushed his head against her willing hand.

  “Old ways? Tell me, all-knowing one,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear. “What kingdom is this?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Khara knew well that his divinity entitled him to swing from benevolent to cruel in a single moment. It was unwise to press further and risk an undeserved curse, which she had no doubt could be hurled from his paws in an instant.

  “Where am I?” she whispered.

  He blinked. “In the home of my mistress, where no harm will come to you.”

  Victoria joined them at the table. “Here, boy,” she called reaching out to him with her free hand. He ignored her. Stretched out, his head resting on Khara’s foot, he could not have looked more insulted. “I’m not the dogcatcher, you know,” she said, rising to pull a bag of food from one of the cabinets, which she scattered into a small bowl decorated with blue footprints and set on the floor.

  “Perhaps if you addressed him in the proper way,” Khara remonstrated gently, instructing the proper position of the hands.

  Victoria groaned. “Really? This is too much. Now I have two sets of eyes scrutinizing my every move.” She set the blankets and pillows on the sofa. “You must be exhausted; I know I am. It’s been a rough day for us both. I think I’ll turn in early.” Pausing in the hallway, she added, “You’ll—we’ll both be better in the morning.”

&nb
sp; Dante jumped onto the soft pile, showing Victoria his hindquarters and switching tail.

  “Judas,” she said under her breath, sweeping by him on the way to her room.

  Khara worried Victoria might return to throw her out, but gradually, the noises in the next room ceased. Even the sacred one abandoned her for the outdoors, leaving her blessedly alone.

  The moon was well on its path through the sky when Khara tiptoed upstairs. In the light filtered through a single window above the bath, her reflection waited. Remembering how Victoria had made the room light, she pushed the knob up. Before tonight, she had only seen her image in bronze mirrors that tinged everything with an unflattering shade of mustard. Now Khara saw herself as others must see her. Unhurriedly, she explored her lean body, skimming her hands over her hip bones and across her belly before twisting to study her backside. How slight the difference between her and Menefra! Turning to Nandor’s pouch, which hung just below her ribs, she held the blood-stained bag against her cheek before pulling the drawstring open. She removed the tiny packet of folded papyrus filled with the bitter-smelling powder that had caused Menefra’s temporary blindness. Next, she found a vial of scented oil, which she sniffed before setting on the counter. Frankincense, but mixed with something clean and fresh-smelling. Mint, perhaps.

  Nandor’s cryptic message still baffled her. There had been no time for him to explain.

  Finally, she fished out her coronation bracelets, a gift from her father and only jewelry she had not left at the ledge. Together, the three delicate bracelets formed the ornamental band of Egypt’s first woman-pharaoh. She removed the cuff from her thigh, set it next to the bracelets, and contemplated the vision in the mirror before putting out the light. “Enjoy your victory, sister, for the next time we meet it will be you who is erased.”

  She padded down the hall, passing the room filled with bound pages—books, Victoria had called them. She longed to examine them more thoroughly, but it would not be tonight. Comfortable for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, she returned to the sofa and quickly slipped into a death-like sleep.

  Chapter Six Victoria

  There was a thunderstorm in the middle of the night. Victoria could not remember how she came to be standing on the patio. Silvery cottonwood leaves and feathery sand swirled around her bare feet as the sky rumbled and flashed bright in the distance. She had been sleepwalking again, dreaming of the lullaby her mother sang while braiding her pigtails.

  “Not so tight, Mamá! It hurts!” she’d squealed.

  Unlike her grip on the braid, her mother’s voice had been gentle. “Shall I tell your Papí how much you complain?”

  “No,” she had answered intently. Do you think he’ll bring Dón Gustavo for dinner again? I like him; he always brings me caramelitos. His stories about the police, though,” she had searched her mother’s face for the truth. “Can they really be true?”

  “Some of them must be.” Her mother’s singing had stopped. She looked far away, and then bent down so that they were nose to nose. “Dón Gustavo’s and your father’s friendship is not to be discussed outside of this house. ¿Entiendes??”

  Victoria had ignored her. “Teresita is always bragging that her father will soon be the mayor and they’ll be rich—with the help of Dón Gustavo. But if he could, wouldn’t he make Papí the mayor instead?”

  Her mother pulled the ribbon so tight that Victoria thought her braid had been guillotined. “Ay, nińa! I’ll be happy for the day your thoughts turn to boys!”

  During the day, she could never remember how the tune went, or how her mother’s voice was as clear and light as spun sugar. Curling up inside the patio chair, she watched the storm until she fell asleep. It was not quite dawn when she realized the screams that had wakened her were not a dream and dashed inside. Slumped on her knees, Khara held wisps of her hair between clenched fists as she beat the floor. Victoria yelled, “Wake up!

  It’s me, remember? Wake up! You’re safe now.”

  Khara’s arms, eyes, and breath froze in a moment of terror.

  Victoria wrestled her into her arms and rocked her back and forth. After a few moments, Khara’s composure returned and she pushed away. Bewildered, she wiped her face and looked around the room. Victoria reached for her again, and this time she did not resist. Khara sobbed softly while Victoria sang her mother’s lullaby.

  Ay, mi palomita (Oh my little dove) La que yo adore (Whom I adored) Le crecieran alas (Who grew wings) Y volo Y se fue! (And flew away)

  Ella no comia (She did not eat) Ni frijoles ni arroz (Either beans or rice) Y se mantenía (And she lived only) Con solo mi amor (On my love)

  Me sente en un tronco (I sat upon a tree trunk) A verla pasar. (To see her pass by) Y como no pasaba (When she did not pass) Me eche a llorar. (I burst into tears)

  Afterwards, she whispered, “I don’t suppose you want to be here anymore than I did when I first came. Go to sleep now.”

  A few hours later, Victoria tiptoed into the living room, expecting to find her guest fast asleep. To her surprise, the couch was empty, the patio door flung open. Khara stood at the railing, her black hair shining and dancing in the morning breeze. To Victoria’s sleepy eyes, it appeared that she had caught the rising sun, balancing the giant disk perfectly between her outstretched arms. She seemed to be praying or perhaps singing, given the rhythm of her words.

  She had become a voyeur in her own home. Unable to turn away, Victoria watched Khara’s graceful hands coax the sun higher into the sky. Soon she finished and descended to her knees, allowing Victoria to slink into the kitchen and make coffee.

  Next, she rummaged through her dresser. Victoria was five, maybe six inches taller than her guest, and it applied all the way around. Pulling out a black cashmere crewneck the dry cleaners had shrunk at least two sizes, she laid it on the bed.

  When she looked up, Khara stood silently in the doorway. Victoria beckoned her in and held the sweater up to her slim shoulders; it looked as though it would work. In the back of her closet she found a knee-length paisley skirt of soft grays with splashes of violet and magenta and an elastic waist. Khara examined the fabric’s soft drape and outlined the teardrop shapes of the paisley with the tips of her fingers.

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Victoria said as she handed her the sweater, “but were you praying?”

  Khara nodded. “It is my responsibility. Now more than ever.” The loveliness of her face was momentarily distorted with pain. “Surely you feel some obligation to pray.”

  “My days of asking for things that can never be are over.”

  “Perhaps you ask too much,” she answered matter-of-factly, or pledge too little in return. I admire your conviction, however. Perhaps if such a choice had been mine…”

  “What do you mean?” Victoria demanded.” Everyone should be free to make their own religious choices,” she concluded, cheeks flushed at her perception of injustice.

  “You cannot possibly understand. It falls on me to assure the comfort, strength, and majesty of all that is Egypt.”

  “Is that all?” Victoria had to smile. “Well, at least your prayers have a fighting chance. Now go change; you can’t keep wearing that torn-up rag. Try those on while I scrounge up something for breakfast.”

  With the exception of her sandaled feet, the young woman who returned bore little resemblance to the dazed refugee left at Victoria’s office the day before.

  “Wow. I hardly recognize you.”

  Khara smiled shyly. “Such beautifully made garments. They are as light as air, and yet warm.”

  “I hope you’re feeling better this morning,” Victoria said in her most charming voice, the one she used to pry information from unwilling witnesses.

  “I do, though nothing has changed.” Khara’s eyes swept the room. “The advances here are undeniable.” She pointed to the refrigerator and stove, at the television, even at the window.

  “All these things make me afraid for Egypt.”

  �
�But that’s silly. Your country is on very good terms with the United States.”

  Khara’s eyes narrowed. “If what you say is true, that knowledge would rest with me.”

  Victoria eyed her dubiously. “Still an Egyptian princess after a good night’s sleep?”

  “And you are still unconvinced.”

  “Call me a skeptic. Fortunately, the means to clear this matter up is only a short drive away.”

  “Then let us not delay.”

  “It would be better if we went tomorrow.”

  “A pity, since you have as much as called me a liar. Nevertheless, it shall be as you wish.”

  Victoria watched her take a moment to gather herself, removing all traces of emotion from her face.

  “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that nothing can be done about your situation until Monday.”

  Just then the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “You’re still coming to dinner, aren’t you, mija?” Victoria’s aunt asked, her muffled voice giving away the fact that she’d covered the receiver as she frequently did when gossip was afoot. “Your uncle is very worried about you! What is this I hear—you’ve turned your home into the rescue mission? You know better than to take chances like that. Nice girls, they don’t go around getting lost, do they?”

  “I was going to tell you myself.” Khara was following her every move, intentionally eavesdropping.

  “Oyé, this is not one of your better decisions. I prayed a good five minutes extra this morning. That you’ll come to your senses and stop—”

  “Tia,” she interrupted, “with you and the holy Catholic church on my side, what can go wrong?” Abandoning sarcasm, she closed the call with, “I can’t really talk right now. We’ll be there at six.”