by Anne Rice
He moved closer; irresistibly drawn by what he saw, though it repelled him completely. He felt the first wave of nausea strike him as his eyes locked on the first mummy, the tallest and leanest, propped at the near end of the wall. Then the second wave came as the merchant stepped forward, belly preceding him beneath his striped cotton robes, hands clasped behind his back.
"Allow me to offer you a great bargain!" said the merchant. "This one here is not like the others. See? If you look you can see the fine bones of this one, for he was a great King. Come! Come closer. Have a good look at him."
Slowly Elliott obeyed. The wrappings were thick, moldering, as ancient in appearance as any he had ever seen! And the smell rising from them, the rotting, stinking smell of earth and bitumen; but there, beneath that thick veneer, he could see the face; see the nose and the broad plain of the forehead, see clearly the sunken eyes, the thin mouth! He was staring at the face of Henry Stratford, and there was no doubt.
The morning sun broke in glorious rays through the round porthole, piercing the sheer white veils of the small brass bed.
They sat together against the barred bedstead; warm from their lovemaking; warm from the wine they'd drunk.
Now she watched as he filled the tumbler from the vial. Tiny lights danced in the strange liquid. He held it out to her.
She took it from him, then looked into his eyes. For one tiny moment she was afraid again. And it seemed suddenly she was not in this room. She was on the deck in the mist and it was cold. The sea was waiting. Then she shivered, and the warm sun melted over her skin, and she saw the touch of fear in his eyes too.
Only human, only a man, she thought. He does not know what will happen any more than I do! And she smiled.
She drank the tumbler down.
"The body of a King, I tell you," said the merchant, leaning forward in farcical confidentiality. "I give to you for nothing! Because I like you. I see you are a gentleman. You have good taste. This mummy, you can get it out of Egypt, it's nothing. I pay the bribe for you. . . ."On and on went the chant of lies, the song of commerce, the idiot imitation of truth.
Henry under that gauze! Henry locked in the filthy bandages forever! Henry whom he had caressed in that little room in Paris a lifetime ago.
"Come now, sir, don't turn your back upon the mysteries of Egypt, sir, deepest darkest Egypt, sir. Land of magic . . ."
The voice faded; echoed for a moment as he stumbled a few steps away and towards the full light of the sun.
A great burning disk, it hung over the rooftops. It flashed in his eyes as he looked up at it.
And never taking his eyes off it, he grasped the cane firmly as he reached into his coat and pulled out the flask. Then dropping the cane altogether, he opened the flask and drank the contents in great easy gulps to the very last drop.
Petrified as the chills passed through him, he let the flask fell into the dirt. He felt the heat in spasms. He felt his numb leg come to life. The great weight in his chest slowly melted; and stretching his limbs with the utter abandon of an animal, he stared wide-eyed at the glaring sky; at the golden disk.
Before him the world pulsed, shimmered, then became solid again as he had not seen it since his middle years when his vision had begun to slowly fail. He saw the grains of earth at his feet.
Stepping over the silver walking stick, ignoring the shouts of the merchant behind him that he had lost his cane and must wait, he walked out of the bazaar with long easy strides.
The sun was high above in the noon sky as he left Cairo, as he walked on along the thin road to the east. He did not really know where he was going and it didn't matter. There were monuments and wonders and cities enough to behold. His steps were quick, and the desert had never seemed so beautiful to him, this great monotonous ocean of sand.
He had done it! And there was no undoing of it now. Eyes fixed on the vast azure emptiness above him, he gave a soft cry intended for no one, merely the smallest, most spontaneous expression of his joy.
They stood on the deck, the warm sun blanketing them as they embraced one another. She could feel the magic moving through her skin and her hair. She felt his lips graze hers, and suddenly they were kissing as they had never really kissed before. It was the same fire, yes, but now her strength and her urgency came to the fore to meet his.
He lifted her and carried her back into the little bedroom and laid her down on the bed. The veiling fell silently around them, snaring the light and wrapping them up in it.
"You are mine, Julie Stratford," he whispered. "My Queen forever. And I am yours. Always yours."
"Lovely words," she whispered, smiling at him almost sadly. She wanted always to remember this moment; to remember the look in his blue eyes.
Then slowly, yet feverishly, they began to make love.
11
THE YOUNG doctor grabbed his bag and ran towards the infirmary, the young foot soldier running beside him.
"Just dreadful, sir, burned to a crisp, sir, and wedged down there under the crates at the very bottom of the freight car. I don't know how she can be alive."
What in God's name was he going to be able to do for her, out here at this godforsaken outpost in the jungles of die Sudan?
He steadied himself against the doorjamb as he came to a halt inside the room.
The nurse shook her head as she came towards him. "I don't understand it," she said in a stage whisper, with a pointed glance at the bed.
"Let me see her." He pulled back the mosquito netting. "Why, this woman's not burned at all."
She lay asleep against the white pillow, her black wavy hair stirring in the sunlight, as if there actually were a ghost of a breeze coming from somewhere through this infernally hot room.
If he had ever seen a woman this beautiful, he couldn't remember it and frankly didn't want to be reminded of it just now. It was almost painful to look at her, she was so beautiful. And it wasn't a china doll prettiness she had; her features were strong though exquisitely proportioned. Her rippling hair, parted in the middle, made a great shining pyramid of darkness beneath her head.
As he came round the side of the bed, she opened her eyes. How remarkable that they should be so startlingly blue. Then the miracle of miracles. She smiled. He went weak looking down at her. Words like "fate" and "destiny" came to his mind, idly, yet persistently. Who in the world could she be?
"What a handsome man you are," she whispered. Perfect British accent. One of us, he thought, hating himself instantly for the snobbish thought. But her voice was purely aristocratic.
The nurse mumbled something. There were whispers behind his back. He drew up the camp chair and sat down beside her. As casually as he could he lifted the white sheet up over her half-naked breasts.
"Get this woman some clothing," he said without looking up at the nurse. "You gave us all quite a scare, you realize. They thought you were burned."
"Did they?" she whispered. "It was kind of them to help me. I was in some close place where I could scarcely breathe. I was in the dark."
She blinked up at the sunlight coming in the window. "You must help me up and out into the sunshine," she said.
"Oh, it's much too soon for that."
But she sat up, clearly undeterred, and started to wrap the sheet about her like a gown. The fine dark eyebrows gave her a distinct look of will and determination, which he found oddly exciting in a very direct physical way.
Like a goddess she looked, with the thing draped over one shoulder as she rose to her feet. Again that smile flashed at him, subduing him utterly.
"Listen, you must tell me who you are. Your family, your friends, we'll send word."
"Walk outside with me," she said.
He followed her almost stupidly, taking her hand. Let them whisper! They'd come running with stories that she was burnt like overdone beef! There was nothing at all wrong with this woman! Had the world gone mad?
She went across the dusty yard, leading him through the gate into the small garden, wh
ich was his actually, not for the patients, just adjacent to his bedroom and his office doors.
She sat down on the wooden bench, and he sat beside her. She threw back her hair as she looked up into the hot sky.
"But it's no use your being out in this terrible heat," he told her ' 'Especially if you have been burned.'' But this was stupid. Her skin was flawless and radiant all over; her cheeks were beautifully flushed. He'd never seen a healthier human being in his life.
"Is there someone I should contact?" he tried again. "We have a telephone and a telegraph out here now.
"Don't concern yourself about it," she said, lifting his left hand and playing idly with his fingers. He was ashamed suddenly of what this aroused in him. He couldn't stop staring at her, at her eyes and then at her mouth. He could see her nipples through the sheet.
"I have friends, yes," she said almost dreamily, "and appointments to keep. And accounts to settle. But tell me about yourself, Doctor. And tell me about this place."
Did she want him to kiss her? He could scarcely believe it and he had no intention of passing it up. He bent to touch her lips, hmmm. He didn't care who was watching. He ran his arms around her, and gathered her against him, stunned by the manner in which she yielded completely, breasts hot against his chest.
In another second he would drag her to the bed, if she wouldn't come of her own free will. But he knew she would.
"There's no great hurry to contact anyone," she whispered as she ran her hand inside his shirt. They were on their feet, moving together across the flags towards the bedroom door. She stopped as if she could not even wait for that. He picked her up and carried her.
Sinful, wicked, but he couldn't stop himself. She clamped her mouth on his and he almost dropped in his tracks. He set her down on the mattress, and shut the wooden blinds. To hell with everyone else.
"You're sure you . . ." he faltered. He was ripping off his shirt.
"I like men who blush," she whispered, gazing up. "And yes, I'm sure. I want to be prepared before I see my friends again." She unwound the sheet. "Very well prepared."
"What?" He lay down beside her, kissing her throat, running his hand down over her breast. Her hips rose against him as he climbed on top of her. She was undulating like a serpent in the bed, but she was no serpent. She was warm and fragrant and ready for him!
"My friends . . ." she whispered, staring at the ceiling as if faintly dazed, a tiny spark of distress in her blue eyes. But then she looked at him-all hunger suddenly, voice dropping to a monotone as she stroked him, her nails deliciously grazing his shoulders. "My friends can wait. We have time to see each other. All the time in the world!"
He hadn't the slightest idea what she meant. And he didn't care.
THE END
