The Ka

by Mary Deal

  When Carmelita saw the size of the opening through which she would have to pass, she balked again.

  Parker sighed heavily and said, “Look, Carmel, no one here's responsible for these ancient passages. Do you want to see the inside or not?”

  Carmelita looked disgruntled but signaled they should enter.

  “Okay, this is what you do,” Chione said, lowering herself on all fours and backing into the opening.

  “Ba-ackwards?” Carmelita asked in that same high-pitched whine.

  “You can't go head first,” Chione said, her own patience tested. “It's too steep. Look.” She leaned to the side as far as possible. “The floor has rungs to step on. It'll be easy.”

  “I can't do this,” Carmelita said. “I can't—”

  “Just get on your knees!” Parker said.

  Chione wondered how Parker could tolerate this woman's game playing. He looked like an easy-going cowboy off some dude ranch. Maybe that was his problem. Finally, Carmelita got down on all fours and began following Chione who kept her flashlight trained upward for Carmelita's sake. Parker eagerly followed his wife who grunted and whimpered.

  Not half way down the long passage, Carmelita whined again. “It's too dark. I might slip.”

  “You're doing just fine,” Parker said, directing his voice downward toward his wife.

  “You should have gone first, Parker. What if I slip?”

  “You won't slip,” Chione said. “Just move slowly and place your feet firmly on each rung.”

  A few feet farther and Carmelita whined yet again. “Stop, stop, I can't do this. It's too narrow.”

  Chione looked up. Using the heel of her hand so as not to break her nails, Carmelita pushed against her husband's boots to signal him to climb upward.

  “Carmel!”

  “Go out,” she said. “Go out.” So they began to climb upward to go out.

  “I'll see you inside,” Chione said, “I'm going down.” Let Parker deal with her. Chione was not about to let Carmelita become a problem.

  As Chione approached the others inside the tomb, she pulled her braided hair out of her shirt where she had tucked it so it would not drag in the dust. “To think I had to get this gritty again,” she said, whispering to Aaron. “For her.”

  “Where are they?” he asked quietly.

  Just then they heard Parker's voice coaxing his wife down the portcullis ladder. “I'm right below you,” he said.

  “Ay, Dios!” Carmelita said.

  “Just take it easy. I'm right below you,” Parker said again.

  Chione put her hand across her mouth to keep from openly laughing.

  Aaron beamed a broad smile and shook his head. “I'll take them through the first chambers,” he said quietly. “If Carmelita will allow herself to reach the bottom.” Then he headed back up the passageway.

  In time, Aaron and the Philipses caught up to the group in the Pillared Hall. After a cursory examination of the annexes and reliefs, Carmelita asked, “You still haven't opened the burial suite for us to see?”

  “It's not been located yet,” Aaron said.

  “They'll need to do some excavating topside,” Burton said. His voice expressed practiced patience, probably more for Parker's sake.

  “We will get to see it before we leave, won't we?” Carmelita asked. Her superficial interest was evidence she understood viewing the tomb was merely part of another vacation. She had no inkling of the importance of the work at hand. Nor would she be able to understand the dire situation of locating the most important chamber of all.

  Everyone headed topside scrambling up the portcullis shaft. Dr. Withers stayed at the bottom while Parker again coaxed his wife to make the return trip. Finally Dr. Withers had to call up for a rope to attach around Carmelita's waist should she lose her footing. Some of the men in gallibayas performing duties atop the shaft spoke in Egyptian, which Chione pretended not to hear. Their eyes flashed as they tried hard not to laugh out loud.

  Burton shook his head and walked away.

  “Don't mind Carmelita,” Gracie said to her and Aaron. “She needs a lot of attention.”

  “Really?” Chione asked, not wanting to say anything derogatory.

  “She's nouveau riche,” Gracie said with a French accent.

  “Pardon me?” Aaron asked.

  “You know, the new rich,” Gracie said. “People who aren't born with it. They marry into it.” She smiled. “They complain about everything. They've never had anything. When they get it, they pick it apart. That's the new rich. They put on airs because they don't know how to act like they've always had it.”

  “I see,” Chione said, being nice.

  “She married Parker just after he inherited big,” Gracie said. “But I guess it's me who's gossiping now.” She smiled cautiously. “Just wanted to warn you. Carmelita's nice enough, but she can wreak a lot of havoc.” Then Gracie became serious again. “Help Burton and me prevent Carmelita from ruining things, won't you?”

  What could Carmelita possibly do to ruin anything other than grate on people's nerves? She was only a visiting Director's wife. Certainly she would have no say over what might happen or when. She might, however, be able to influence Parker's decisions and that could lead to a split in management decision-making. In any event, they would soon find out when they met again in the morning to hash over the details of the Yago family offer.

  After dinner, Carmelita again made a nasty issue of her accommodations. Despite footers, no one seemed surprised to hear her frantic screams when she found a huge yellow scorpion in her bed.

  34

  Dr. Withers slipped off to take a nap and others scattered, taking advantage of the slow-down in project activities. Tarik approached and seemed beside himself. Always friendly, Chione welcomed the camaraderie of this young boy, though she did not understand why. She had never felt close to any child. They stepped into the deserted inventory tent and sat at a workbench.

  “Jibade make Aaron wear Egyptian clothes,” Tarik said, smirking and hunching his shoulders. “Gallibaya, turban.”

  “Why would my dad make him do that?”

  “To hide. Jibade say, because of media.” The boy seemed to have much to say and could not relate everything at once. “They go see Amunet, below.” He gestured in the direction of the beggars' camp.

  “Amunet?”

  “A magic woman. That how you say?”

  “He wore a cover-up to see a mystic?” The idea of Aaron going down there did not surprise Chione. His need to find the burial chamber seemed frantic. If a mystic could help, he would see her.

  “Jibade say no one to see Aaron,” Tarik said, then tapped his cheek. “Sun make Aaron skin dark. Look like Pharaoh.” He was cuter when he was being devious. “Jibade tell Aaron visit woman. Aaron, he go. Jibade wise. He hide Aaron in Egyptian clothes.” Tarik giggled.

  “Well, that's interesting, but I really must get busy now.”

  “Please wait, Ma'am,” Tarik said quickly. “Maybe Aaron sick.”

  “Aaron ill?”

  “I hear him say—”

  “Wait a minute. You eavesdropped?”

  “Eav…eaves….” Tarik struggled with the word.

  “You listened, Tarik?” She was about to scold him but curiosity made her hold her tongue. Maybe she enjoyed Tarik being devious because it helped her loosen up. “And?”

  “Aaron tell Jibade he see something.”

  “Aaron saw something.” Chione realized that neither was it the right moment to give Tarik a grammar lesson. “What did he see? Where?”

  “Aaron tell Jibade about picture in head.”

  The moment Tarik mentioned pictures in Aaron's mind, Chione saw a vision of…

  …a young boy, with hair cut in the sidelocks of youth, wearing only a child's pleated kilt, scantily clad for the heat of the day.

  “Wow!” she said.

  “You see picture too,” Tarik said. He was excited. “I know about picture.”

  “You?”<
br />
  “Yes, Ma'am.” He looked pleased. “I follow Aaron and Jibade and hear.”

  “You understand about mind pictures?” She stood and looked outside the tent to make sure no one else heard. “You what? You followed them?”

  As their conversation progressed, Chione gleaned that Jibade told Aaron that a message awaited him if he would visit the psychic reader.

  With the increased frequency of his paranormal episodes, perhaps Aaron trusting Jibade would shed some light on the often times frightening aspects of phenomena. Aaron recently admitted to repeating Tauret's spells like chanting a mantra, as absentmindedly as when he doodled those crosshatches. He was succumbing to the phenomena without a clue of understanding.

  Chione's interest peaked. “What else?”

  Tarik spilled everything. He told of magicians, sorcerers and psychic readers setting up reading tents at the lower end of camp to capture the attention of tourists. Jibade took Aaron to see a woman purported to be a legitimate reader.

  “Real woman. Tell future, always true.”

  “How do you know that, Tarik. You can't poss—”

  Tarik pulled down the lower lid of one eye and said, “I see.”

  As Tarik related more of what he witnessed, he said Jibade asked Aaron to listen with an open mind. Jibade dragged Aaron by the elbow into the tent. Chione had to smile. Aaron would have mixed feelings about going, even if he trusted her father. “What happened when they came out?”

  “Wait,” Tarik said. He hesitated and squirmed on the bench. “I hear more.”

  “That's right, you little—you eavesdropper.”

  “I go behind tent, hear voices. Then go on ground, put head inside tent, and hear.” He must have read the admonishing look on her face. “No one say no.”

  Tarik related that the woman was an American costumed as Middle Eastern. She was tall and thin, wore much jewelry, colorful clothing and thick makeup. The way he described the curtained and veiled room sounded like a theatrical scene from an Agatha Christie movie.

  Jibade introduced Aaron as the man who dreams. Then the seer lit some candles.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “She goddess of mystery,” he said and giggled again. “She have many crystal. She say Aaron to say name and birthday. She say `inside mashrabia paneled room'.”

  Chione gasped. “I know the room.”

  Seeming to remember more about Amunet, Tarik asked, “All American woman wear much bracelets?”

  Chione shrugged. “Some do.” Her mind was on Aaron's reading. “Tell me more.”

  “Amunet say about woman on cot, soft pillows.” He hesitated then raised his eyebrows and said, “I know what they talk.”

  “Tarik!”

  “Aaron grab head.” Tarik grabbed his head at the temples, imitating what he had seen Aaron do.

  The moment Tarik mentioned Aaron grabbing his head visions she had long before seen traipsed through her mind.

  Making love on a woven cot among soft tapestry pillows. Another love scene in the desert. Another, floating on a barge on the Nile.

  Her head reeled. ”Oh, Aaron,” she said.

  “Amunet tell Aaron he together again with woman.”

  “That he has reincarnated? With which woman?”

  “The one he call Umayma.”

  Chione ran her fingers through her hair then held her head. She was receiving too much information too fast. Again she had a sense of urgency, like she had so much to learn and so little time. So little time till what?

  Aaron was fascinated with the fact that after many incarnations and great growth, when the soul neared perfection, it used the physical body only for coming and going between ethereal and earthly planes. Perhaps being told by someone else, Aaron would see that he had reached a highly evolved state, having completed many incarnations, which allowed him to float in and out of psychic experiences. His energy was becoming pure.

  “What else, Tarik?”

  “Woman say he know life as Pharaoh. How Aaron do that?”

  “I can't explain now.” She actually wanted to spend time with this child who seemed teetering on the edge of the Sacred Mysteries. “Anything else?”

  “Woman say need purity for connection to Ancients.” Tarik stood to leave then changed his mind. “Wait, wait. Woman say, `The spell been cast'.”

  “What spell?” Chione asked. “Did she say what spell?”

  “No, I no understand. Woman say Aaron make big de… cee…, wait. Decis….”

  “Decision?”

  “Yes, de-ci-sion. Aaron make big de-ci-sion, change history.”

  35

  During breakfast the next morning, Bebe sat beside Kendra consoling her. Chione knew exactly why. Royce spent little time at the site. Kendra thought the Yagos returned to Cairo. Instead, when the onlookers and everyone else cleared out during the sandstorm, the Yagos set up tents down the hill near the beggars' camp. Royce probably spent much of his time with them. Though the wind had not calmed completely, the Yagos returned to their favored spot on the other side of the restraining wall. Waiting to pounce. Surely Kendra felt her husband was undermining her life and career.

  Bebe consoling Kendra was nearly comedy. Did she honestly know where Kenneth spent his time? Rumor had it that he, too, visited the camp, but not to see the Yagos. Between the two husbands and now Carmelita, their little village could well become what Clifford referred to as the Peyton Place of Thebes. Chione meant to ask him what he meant by Peyton Place.

  After breakfast the team scattered to tend to minor chores. Sunlight was brilliant again. Then Chione saw Aaron, standing high on the hillock, looking out over the site.

  Pharaoh surveying his Kingdom. Pharaoh wearing khaki.

  He saw her and pointed behind her. She turned to see Dr. Withers rushing up with Burton and Parker and motioning for all to join them. She felt ready for a session in the cook tent. Being outside meant always being photographed. It was beginning to unnerve her.

  “Okay, listen up,” Dr. Withers said as cool drinks were being served. He pulled at his mustache, shifting gears.

  Chione watched from her vantage point at the far end of the table, and wondered if Dr. Withers would be able to think without the fetish on his upper lip.

  “First of all, I want you, Aaron,” Dr. Withers said, holding up a notepad for all to see. “To stop doodling on every piece of scratch paper in camp.” Aaron's crosshatching covered the page to the far corners. They laughed as Dr. Withers ripped off the page and threw it onto the table, and then ripped off yet another also marked. “To get down to business, we've got two predicaments here.” He sat forward and peered over his bifocals. “We're going to make some decisions today and we're going to move forward. Burton and Parker and I have already discussed our situation.”

  Burton and Parker nodded and waited.

  No one said a word. They did not know how much detail had been supplied to the Directors, so it was best to let their leader have his say.

  Aaron still doodled crosshatch lines. Chione leaned over and quickly inserted an X in one of the spaces. Aaron positioned the mugs side by side to make sure no one watched their play, and then drew in a circle. The game ended quickly.

  Chione had been feeling powerfully bonded to Aaron and for a moment, mentally questioned why. Then he drew another crosshatch. Quickly she put her X in the same open square she favored on the side of the grid. Her leg was against his under the table. Body heat came through his khaki trousers. He had not moved his leg away. He would not. She pretended not to notice and left hers against his, wanting it there. Then she saw them…

  …on a woven mat, his long bronzed muscular legs wrapped around her.

  “Aaron,” Dr. Withers was saying. “You talk for a while. Tell us your idea.”

  She and Aaron looked up and tried to pay more attention.

  “We plan to bore holes around the periphery of the Pillared Hall,” Aaron said. “We'll have to clear more rubble off the hillock though. If we
can drill down to core rock, some deep delicate holes could tell us when we've gone through into a new chamber.”

  “Excellent idea,” Burton said. The others agreed.

  If the drilling could be done right away, they might find the chamber and would not need additional financing.

  “We'll follow through on Aaron's plan,” Dr. Withers said. “We'll go ahead and hammer out details with the Yagos. We just won't sign anything yet.”

  “Has anyone checked into receiving an endowment?” Parker asked. “How about the E.P.E.A.?”

  “Endowment for the Preservation of Egyptian Antiquities?” Aaron asked. “They're a small start-up group out of Connecticut. They require all artifacts be turned over to them for exhibition. I doubt our Institute would be graced, even temporarily, with any of the artifacts. No thanks.”

  “Well, then,” Parker said. “Any others?”

  “Examined all possibilities,” Dr. Withers said. “Most would be a bigger sacrifice than the Yagos expect us to make.” He sat back in his chair but kept two fingers in the air signaling he had more to say.

  “What about the bank loans you and Aaron—?”

  “Scratch those,” Dr. Withers said, flagging a hand. “Interest rates are exorbitant. Plus, banks don't particularly want artifacts as collateral, especially since we don't yet know which ones we're to receive.”

  “It's too risky,” Aaron said. “Too high a price to pay. The Institute would have to jack up fees for work-study students, launch an all-out campaign for additional grants and donations—”

  “A possibility,” Burton said. “But I'm not much for relying on speculation.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Dr. Withers said.

  Bebe hesitated, and then said, “I hate to suggest this, but what about a small loan with the Institute's property as collateral?”

  Dr. Withers and Forbes and Phillips looked at one another. Then Forbes shook his head. “We've agreed not to jeopardize the CIA's home base,” he said. They, too, had an investment in the Institute.