The Ka

by Mary Deal

  Later they agreed to accompany Randy into the tomb with the students and their escorts. They studied the precocious children as they waited in the sunlight for further instructions.

  “These children are all gifted,” Randy said.

  “How so?” Chione asked.

  “Look at them. The oldest one is only eight,” he said. “They know everything about ancient times. They know it all.”

  “Even the younger ones?”

  “Every one of them,” he said. “Even those two little ones sitting over there by the wall.”

  “They can't be more than four or five years old.”

  “It's eerie,” Randy said. “Like they were born with the knowledge.”

  “Do you believe in reincarnation?” Chione asked, taking both Randy and Aaron by surprise.

  Randy rolled his eyes. “What brings that up?”

  “Just a thought,” she said. “The depth of their knowledge has to come from somewhere.”

  Lowering the children into the shaft, two at a time in a makeshift seat, took a while. Making a game of it for the children, Randy took some of the more daring ones down through the original entry shaft, easing himself down the rungs on one elbow. Once inside the tomb, when the wide-eyed, little ones entered the children's room, their elation escalated into playful folly. They ran to pile up on top of one another, lying haphazardly placed, arms rigid at their sides, and staring blank stares.

  “Ari, Ari!” one child yelled. “Mummies!”

  The chaperons, caught completely off guard, urged the giggling children to untangle.

  Chione stared in disbelief. “Remember what they look like, Aaron,” she said. “Remember this!”

  “What they look like?”

  “Just now, their positions. Hold that image till we can look at those photos again.”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  Next the children toured the Pillared Hall and annexes, finally resting, sitting at the north wall near the entrance. As their high-pitched voices echoed through the Hall, the whimpering suddenly came again.

  “Aaron?” Chione asked.

  “I heard it this time,” he said.

  A wave of fright rolled through the group. The two chaperones evidently had not heard. The younger ones began to wail and cling around Chione crying, “Ari, Ari!” Beyond their cries, Chione again heard the soft whimpering, cut short.

  Randy showed no understanding and exited with the more frightened children.

  Once outside, Chione and Aaron went to view the photos of how the real mummies looked in the room when they had been found. “I wonder,” Chione said, looking toward the group of children. Then she all but ran toward them with Aaron in tow. “They need to see these.”

  Upon seeing the photos, again the children gleefully giggled and piled up in a heap on top of one another against the newly built restraining wall. Just as they had done inside the tomb, in the same positions as the mummies lay in the photos.

  Randy seemed confused and swatted at dust on the children's clothing when they finally stood.

  Aaron shook his head. “I'm understanding less and less,” he said, fanning a breeze across his face. “Why doesn't the climate affect you, Chione?”

  “I'm home,” she said. She smiled and wondered what had prompted her reply. Was that why she had been able to settle so readily into Egypt? From where had all the knowledge come that left her feeling she had lived here before? And why did the California Central Valley now feel like it barely existed? She had not once thought of her Egyptian-decorated cottage.

  Aaron stared at the photos, still shaking his head. Finally, he said, “By the way, what did those kids call you?”

  “Ari.”

  “What's that mean?”

  “Guardian,” Chione said quietly.

  During a rest break, she and Aaron returned to the children's chamber. She scanned the glyphs for clues, made notes, and came upon something most curious. “Aaron, look here!” She aimed a flashlight high up the back wall that had previously been hidden behind the pile of mummies and rubble. Some of the paint had been scraped off by the abrasion of the sand, but the carvings remained wondrously intact.

  “Don't make me figure this out,” Aaron said.

  “See the woman?”

  He leaned close. “Yeah, same one throughout. What about her?”

  “Read upwards on the right.”

  “Chione, I'm not that quick at deciphering.”

  She sighed and remembered everyone's impatience. They wanted immediate answers. Absolute facts were not that easy to come by. That is, information that she could validate with dreams and visions then point to a glyph or mural to corroborate her theories. “See these small varied figures?” she asked.

  “Children.”

  “See the women at the bottom?”

  He studied, hesitated, and then finally asked, “Pregnant?”

  “Now you're getting it,” Chione said, encouraging. “Her symbol translates to beq, meaning pregnant woman.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now here's ten,” she said. “Symbol meaning to split or separate. And these….” She pointed to figures of mes, mena and renen. “Women giving birth, nursing and playing with children.”

  Aaron studied the adjacent section. “Children lying prone,” he said. “Why?”

  “Death,” Chione said quietly. She followed a line of tiny prone figures till finally coming to an adult sized symbol at the bottom, then waited for Aaron's recognition.

  “That's the symbol I touched when I heard that voice I told you about,” he said. “Who—”

  “Khentimentiu,” Chione said. “God of the dead's destiny.” Aaron looked stunned but said nothing. “Now see this woman?” she asked, pointing to the female next to the god.

  “Yeah, seated.”

  “The sound of this female symbol is ari, meaning guardian.”

  Aaron went to his knees and got up close to the figure and studied it. “She's the same woman throughout the tomb,” he said. “If Ari is a term applied to the woman buried here, why did the children call you that name?”

  Chione was caught off guard. “I don't know yet.

  Aaron looked bewildered. He seemed to be having much difficulty keeping himself from touching the symbol of Khentimentiu. His fingers moved toward the etching. His hand shook.

  “Look at these walls,” she said, distracting him.

  “What are the meanings of all these other glyphs?”

  “Spells for children, wishing them well, to send them safely into the Underworld. It's as I suspected,” she said, half mumbling, absorbed. “All these children were to share in the Afterlife of the tomb's main inhabitant.”

  “It's as if Khentimentiu predicts—”

  “Exactly as you heard when you touched his symbol.”

  Nothing more could be said. They looked into each other's eyes in the dim light, both fixated on the same thought. Finally, Chione said, “The way I see it—not the way the others might—but to me, Khentimentiu's presence suggests that anyone entombed here will reincarnate.” As incredible as it seemed, Chione now had difficulty accepting what she herself claimed. Suddenly she shivered.

  “The children outside?” Aaron asked. “Live children, who piled up in a heap in the same pattern as the mummies? Then again outside, all in jubilant fun?”

  “How would those unsuspecting children know to do that?” Chione asked. “Unless those children are the reincar….” An idea struck like a bolt of lightning.

  “And the mummy?” Aaron asked cautiously. “If the children are to share in the afterlife of the mummy—”

  “And the children are now reincarnating….”

  “What about the mummy in the Burial Chamber?”

  23

  The next day at noon, Dr. Withers returned, driven up in a jeep. After helping unload some packages, the driver sped off to the Egyptian encampment below.

  “What are you doing back so soon?” Randy asked.

  “I run
this operation,” Dr. Withers said as Irwin served him a meal. “Or had you in your absence forgotten?” To Irwin he said, “Bring me Karkade, please.” His response to Randy showed signs of strain that would certainly be antagonized by Randy's ignorance. “I left Marlowe to look after Clifford,” he said to the group.

  “You left Marlowe in Garden City?” Aaron asked.

  “My wife, my helpmate,” Dr. Withers said. “Guess I should know better than to feel guilty.”

  “Because you left your wife with another man?” Randy asked.

  “No, Randy.” Dr. Withers clenched his teeth as his jaw muscles flexed. “Because I still have my partner, my right arm, and Clifford's lost his.”

  “Oh, well,” Randy said, gesturing toward his sling. “So have I.”

  Everyone moaned and quickly left the table. Randy went in another direction. No one knew why Dr. Withers put up with him. Perhaps now Dr. Withers had reached his limit.

  “Good thing Randy's assigned to the tour groups,” Aaron said when they were outside. “He's good for nothing now as far as our work goes.”

  Randy's knowledge could best be used on the mummies that had already been sent to the Madu Museum. He was unable to contribute much of anything at the site.

  Work continued steadily throughout the day. No one seemed in the mood to speak as artifacts were brought out of the chambers. Fragile relics could not be left in the open air for long so everyone buckled down. The students of Museum Science, as beginners, were slow to put into practice classroom learning of the tedium of artifact preservation, much to Kendra's dismay.

  Twenty-four hours later, a fax arrived from Clifford telling that Rita died of simple heart failure. Oxygen deprivation carried her past the point of waking. When they were able to make Siti understand that she could have done nothing, could not have even awakened Rita, Siti wept.

  Late the next day, Marlowe returned to camp escorted by the aides. She wore Egyptian women's clothing and a sheesh. At first Chione did not recognize her with her raven hair covered and the sheesh shadowing her face. Clifford had decided to remain in Cairo a couple more days.

  “How's he holding up?” Chione asked.

  “Facing it well. Talks openly,” Marlowe said, removing her head covering. “All of his local friends came out in a show of support.”

  “Emotionally, how's he doing?” Dr. Withers asked.

  “Well enough,” she said. “Making plans for a place to live when he moves here.”

  “He shouldn't be alone,” Aaron said. “Maybe I should retrieve him.”

  “Give him a couple days,” Dr. Withers said. “Then remind me again.”

  The next morning, Clifford wandered into the cook tent in time for breakfast. He sniffed the air, smelling the food, as if he hadn't eaten in a while.

  “Jeez, man,” Dr. Withers said. “How'd you get back at this hour?”

  Clifford shrugged. “As well as I know Egypt? Could've walked it in the dark.”

  Chione rushed to give him a hug. “Welcome back,” she said softly. She poured him a cup of coffee and watched attentively as he wearily sat down. In her special way, she could not help but feel more than empathy for the man. She tried to block out feeling his pain.

  “How are my kids?” he asked without smiling.

  “We've had to get them to the Museum right away,” Aaron said. “Everything from that chamber went in the same shipment.

  “Why `had to'?” Randy asked.

  “The museum spirit,” Bebe said.

  Randy sighed quickly and said under his breath, “Museum spirit? A spirit?”

  “An insect,” Chione said. “An insect that decays mummies.”

  “Known to the locals as the Museum Spirit,” Bebe said. “You need to bone up on the facts, Randy.”

  “I've heard of it,” he said. He smiled away the tension. Then he surprised everyone by asking, “How long is Chione going to be with us?”

  From the rest in the group came expressions of outrage. Dr. Withers's lips pinched tighter than ever. “Run that by me again,” he said through clenched teeth.

  This time Randy knew he had better clarify himself. “Chione's not really part of our team,” he said. “She works on staff toward her degree. She's not legit like the rest of us.”

  Clifford choked on his water and glanced at the others. Seeing everyone stuck in exasperation, he asked, This again? It's your opinion that because we all carry degrees, you think she's not as learned as any of us?”

  “Something like that.”

  Dr. Withers relaxed into his chair, expectantly watching Randy walk into the trap Clifford had baited. He signaled Chione with a hidden wave of his hand, begging for patience.

  “Tell me,” Clifford said. “Have you studied Egyptian history, Randy?”

  “I took a crash course about Thebes from the library at the Institute,” he said, looking proud.

  Aaron swallowed quickly. “Do you speak Egyptian Arabic?”

  “No.”

  “Understand any?” Aaron asked again before casually taking another bite of food.

  “No.”

  “Do you read hieroglyphs?” Kendra asked, pointing at him with her fork.

  “Doesn't everyone?” Randy asked.

  “No, but do you?”

  He had started to take a bit of food but paused. “Well, not much,” Randy said, squirming and making no eye contact.

  “Do you know any Egyptians or people who've lived here, other than us?” Clifford asked, taking another turn.

  “No.”

  Dr. Withers stuck an index finger into the air claiming the moment. “Have you intuitively or otherwise contributed to the finding of any significant excavation?” That was his way of reiterating he would accept a find by any means. Especially since his career was nearing an end and he longed to go out in a blaze of glory.

  Finally, Randy caught on and did not answer the last question.

  “Chione can answer an emphatic yes to everything,” Clifford said, sucking his teeth, a mocking gesture toward Randy. “And more.”

  If ever Randy faced the fact that his opinions were too different to be accepted by the group as a whole, it was now.

  The wind whipped up and sent rushing sounds down out of the hills. Bebe cringed. “Those noises, the sounds in the tomb,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like we've all been swept up in the Ka.”

  “Caw?” Randy asked with a mocking grin. He stood like he would leave, knew he was not too popular, yet danced around, flapping his one good arm like a lame bird. “Caw, caw!”

  “The Ka, Randy,” Kendra said. “As in the spirit of the tomb.”

  “More hocus pocus!”

  “Haven't you felt at times that most of what we're all experiencing has already been choreographed?” Bebe asked, ignoring Randy and speaking to the rest of the group.

  Randy threw his eating utensils onto his tray and tucked his cup between his chest and the splint. “Ha! If Chione has anything to do with it, we'll all be doing the dance of the dead.” He left quickly carrying his tray to sit outside with the children.

  Chione looked out to see the children being entertained by Irwin who was showing them how to use chopsticks. Their laughter was infectious. She sat quietly finishing her meal. Randy could be more a part of the group if he would stop giving everyone a reason to pounce on him. A little understanding of his deranged sense of humor would go a long way. On the other hand, she detested the way he always singled her out and belittled her. Maybe Randy, realizing now that no one cared to have him around, might begin to get the message.

  Clifford finished his meal and surprisingly helped himself to a cup of Karkade. Seems everyone had started drinking the Egyptian beverage. When he realized everyone was watching him, he said, “I sat for a long time watching feluccas on the Nile.”

  “Did that bring you peace?” Marlowe asked.

  “Rita loved to sail. We have this enlarged photograph hanging over the fireplace back in California. Rita's in it. Feluccas on
the Nile with those lateen sails, some tattered and decaying, barely able to catch a breeze.”

  “Sounds like an idyllic setting,” Chione said.

  “Yeah, with the light of dusk showing through those shredded sails—”

  “That's how you'll remember Rita? Sailing?”

  “Maybe so. That was her favorite thing to do in Egypt, sailing in one of those fun boats as she called them.” He fumbled with something that sparkled between his fingertips.

  “Guess we should tell you,” Dr. Withers said. “Some of those mourners got into your yurt to do their wailing.”

  “And?” Clifford asked.

  “I sent Dakarai and a couple of the Guard down to get rid of `em but they wouldn't leave. Finally I took Chione. She spoke with them and they left.”

  “You're saying they actually invaded Clifford's yurt?” Bebe asked. “Did you check afterwards to see if they took anything?”

  Clifford only waved a hand to pass it off. He loved the Egyptians and when it came to them, he was one of the most allowing persons on the face of the earth.

  “Nothing had been touched that we could tell,” Chione said.

  “Doesn't matter. Rita and I didn't bring anything of value, except these.” He held up two rings on an extended pinkie.

  “You kept Rita's wedding rings?” Kendra asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “With grave robbers doing a landslide business, I took them off so people could see her in her coffin with no jewelry. Didn't want anyone digging….” He swallowed hard. “I want my Rita to rest in peace.”

  “You did the right thing,” Chione said.

  “Now I don't know what to do with them, where to hide them, and this.” He produced a small plastic bag from his shirt pocket.

  “Red hair?” Dr. Withers asked.

  “I couldn't leave the rings with her. So I gave her a lock of my hair,” he said, gesturing sideways so some could see where he had cut a lock of his own hair to leave in her coffin.

  “So this,” Kendra said, pointing to the plastic bag. “It's Rita's hair? You exchanged hair?”

  Clifford nodded with eyes begging for understanding. The swatch of Rita's hair had been bound together at one end with braided shiny gold thread.