The Ka

by Mary Deal

  “What are you getting at?” Clifford asked.

  “Well, again Clifford, forgive me. But, minus the toy, this is the identical position your Rita lay in when she passed away.”

  Clifford's eyes bulged as he went in for a closer look. “Rita? Why Rita? Who can these people be?”

  No one spoke. It left a lot to the imagination.

  What remained of the woman lay on the far side on top of the sarcophagus under the slanted black pyramid beams. Her head and neck rested on a tiny carved wooden bench used as a pillow by the Ancients. Her long curly red hair lay sprawled around her head. The skin and bones of her feet remained in preserved sandals. Wearing a long pleated dress of finest linen gauze, she seemed wonderfully preserved, naturally mummified. Her white dress and cloak had yellowed slightly. Historical accounts of fashion proved true. The clothing she wore left her nearly naked, in those days, a way of handling the oppressive heat. One breast was exposed. The woman had drawn her garment partially over her body. With one leg slightly bent and raised at the knee, her pubic hair showed underneath. She wore nothing else. Her many gleaming jewels spoke of one dressed for the auspicious occasion of being entombed.

  Remains of the man sat on the floor slumped against the gloriously carved sarcophagus. His carved pillow bench verified that he had not made it to the top to lie under the pyramid beside the woman, as they might have planned. Nor had his body fared as well. With legs outstretched, his sandals had broken apart and fallen off. The leather strips lay haphazard.

  “See here,” Dr. Asim said, pointing. “His toenails have fallen out.”

  The man's legs seemed elongated, grotesque, stretched out like that inside withered skin. One of his arms had come loose at the shoulder socket with skin stretched to coarse tethers as the arm hung limp in the sleeve of his disintegrating garment.

  Four golden tutelary goddesses wearing scorpions on their heads stood at each corner looking down at the huge black sarcophagus, arms outstretched encirculating beams of the pyramid.

  “Look at their faces!” Burton said. He cringed, put a hand over his mouth, and then spoke in a whisper. “They look like they might speak.”

  Clifford silently studied the position of the woman. Seeming to remember, he produced a small compass and half-turned with it. “Shrines, sarcophagus, and coffin usually face east and west. Chione's alter ego, here,” he said, tapping the lid, “sleeps with her head to true north.”

  Chione smiled. “Remember the goddesses found in King Tut's Treasury?” she asked, motioning to the golden statues quietly gleaming under the lights. “The one on the southwest corner is Isis. Nephthys is on the northwest.”

  “So Neith is on the southeast,” Bebe said. “Selket's on the northeast.”

  “They're all facing inward,” Clifford said. “Whatever's in this black box must have needed extra protection.”

  Clifford moved close to one of the Goddesses and blew dust from one of the arms. He leaned forward, and as if to test for true gold, opened his mouth, and prepared to chomp down.

  “Clifford!” Dr. Withers said. “Leave your bite impressions at the dentist's office!”

  Making people laugh was Clifford's way of carrying on despite having difficulties being in the room.

  The laughter subsided. Dr. Withers looked as if he needed to make his a personal connection despite his rule of not touching anything. He hesitated and then rubbed a finger leaving a mark in the dust on the lustrous stone. “Black diorite,” he said, bending closer to inspect. “Looks like the lid and the pyramid are one piece.”

  The lid was actually the floor of the pyramid structure, square at the bottom, creating an overhang on both sides of the rectangular sarcophagus.

  “What do you make of that lid?” Clifford asked. In all his years as an Egyptologist, surely the odd shape was out of the norm.

  “You've heard of nonconformists, haven't you?” Dr. Withers asked with a wry smile.

  “Black represented rebirth,” Chione said.

  The sarcophagus was etched around the edges with a border of beautiful lotus blossoms and lotus buds, known as iniuts. A mural on one side showed Tauret in meditation inside her pyramid and surrounded by tools of her trade.

  “Look at this,” Bebe said as she bent down to study the carvings. “The Aten.”

  Sure enough, opened hands on the ends of the rays of the Aten reached down.

  “Why the Aten?” Clifford asked. “We already know she was converting to Amon.”

  “The Aten symbol helps confirm my theory,” Bebe said. “Look around you, people. Except for those few items in the corner, this chamber's empty.”

  “Which suggests?” Parker asked after having inspected intently but not commenting.

  “They were in a hurry,” Bebe said. “They didn't even have time to make her a new sarcophagus depicting Amon.”

  “Yes, yes,” Dr. Withers said, nodding.

  The opposite side of the sarcophagus contained a scene with several children lovingly attentive to Tauret. On each end, to the north and south, Tauret's full cartouche showed, written with the symbol of Aten.

  “What was the rush?” Bebe asked again. “Once a person died, the mummification process averaged seventy days. They had plenty of time to make changes.”

  “Agreed,” Burton said. “Once she was dead, why not take the time to correct things?”

  “Same with Tut's sarcophagus and coffinettes,” Aaron said. “In addition to coffinettes possibly belonging to Smenkhkare, his sarcophagus was thrown together from parts of different sarcophagi, the base meant for Nefertiti.”

  Particularly since Tutankhamon was Pharaoh, why didn't they take the time to make things right?” Parker asked. “Why the sense of abandonment in his burial as well?

  “See what I'm getting at?” Bebe asked. “Why were these two people—Tut and Tauret—whose lives were connected, buried in such haste?”

  “With a little luck,” Dr. Withers said, “we'll be able to offer some new theories before we vacate this hillside.”

  “Like Chione first mentioned,” Bebe said. “Maybe even change history.”

  Chione looked up. “Another pyramid ceiling.” She flashed her light upwards. Then she saw it. The others did too.

  “Would you look up there,” Dr. Withers said, teasing and acting as if he had not seen the ceiling when the photographers went through.

  Chione studied the glyphs up inside the point of the pyramid ceiling. She turned circles, with her head tipped backwards. “It's the Egyptian Zodiac.”

  “Who's going to interpret the symbols?” Parker asked, being facetious, but friendly.

  Up inside the tip of the ceiling pyramid, was a full astrological calendar, carved and painted in glorious color. The rest of the ceiling was painted black. The walls were solid black, nothing more. Chione took a better look and exclaimed,. “Hey, everyone,” get a load of these walls!”

  Again, they directed flashlight beams. Hieroglyphs seemed crudely scratched into the black paint on the remaining three walls.

  “Not your everyday glyphs,” Clifford said, exaggerating.

  “Scratched in after the walls were painted?” Aaron asked.

  “Too crude,” Randy said. “Like they were done in the dark.”

  “Randy,” Clifford said quickly. “You just turned the lights on.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “These glyphs, Randy, everyone? One of these two people,” Clifford said, motioning to the bodies, “scratched these into the wall in the dark.”

  “Probably the man,” Dr. Kent said. He had been leaning over the male body. With gloved hands, he carefully lifted the edge of the man's garment revealing a pouch out of which poked handles of small tools.

  “Chione… Bebe,” Dr. Withers said. “I want those glyphs interpreted as soon as possible. These two people had something important enough to say that they gave their lives for it. Put your expertise together and don't quit till you understand the meaning of every last mark.”
>
  They took a closer look at the walls. Scratches and gouges were everywhere, as high as the person might have reached.

  The doctors examined the man's body. Randy stooped next to Dr. Asim. “Look here,” he said, with gloved fingers carefully pulling aside the rumples of the man's cloak over his chest. “A cartouche.”

  “It's Father,” Chione said, blurting, for a moment not realizing what she had said. She and Clifford stared at one another. The others thought she had made a joke and laughed. She knelt to read the small turquoise cartouche that hung around the man's neck on a leather strap. “I mean this is Umi, Tauret's father.”

  “Then the woman is Meskhenet,” Kendra said.

  “If so,” Dr. Withers said. “That second tomb containing their cartouches stands empty of its intended occupants.”

  “So why—how would they end up in here?” Burton asked.

  Chione stood. “One thing I'm sure we'll find scribbled on these walls is that Meskhenet and Umi chose to die with their daughter.”

  “It's all here,” Clifford said. “What Umi had to say will make people listen.”

  What motivated Clifford to make such a statement, given he was not that adept at translating the glyphs?

  Silence filled the room with respect and reverence. The presence of Tauret's parents raised more questions and heightened the mystery.

  “Why?” Randy finally asked.

  “We'll learn it from the walls,” Clifford said. “But, hey, where are the canopic jars—”

  “Over there,” Dr. Withers said as he swung his light.

  In the far corner stood the elaborately decorated alabaster canopic jars, translucent and dazzling. Their lids, each bearing a different carved head of one of the four sons of Horus, sat haphazard and loose on the floor. One lid lay upside down. Other jars sat nearby. Aaron and Clifford went to inspect. “Two are empty,” Aaron said, flashing his light to peer inside. “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Ask the goddesses,” Chione said.

  “Can't,” Clifford said. “Judging by the way these jars have been handled, they must have fled.”

  “What's under this diorite pyramid better be perfectly preserved,” Dr. Withers said. “In as good a condition as Chione's lunch.”

  “I couldn't tolerate another thing going wrong,” Kendra said.

  “As archaeologists,” Clifford said, reminding. “We can't change a thing, can we?”

  The entrance wall of the Burial Chamber was opened completely and hefty support beams had been installed with the capable aid of the Norwegian crew. Simultaneously, runners brought freshly developed photos in for approval. Dr. Withers decided it was time to move to the next task.

  Chione exited the tomb to help prepare Inventory for arrival of the statues. The four golden goddesses covered with padding and cloth exited the tomb to a chorus of exaggerated responses from onlookers. The breeze blew at the coverings exposing a glimpse of a long graceful golden arm and hand. The Egyptian police kept at bay the daring that tried to sneak close in order to snap a chance photo. The media were held back as well, but their equipment could zoom in on a grain of sand at two hundred feet.

  Drs. Kent and Asim examined the bodies of Meskhenet and Umi and released them for shipment to the Madu. Each of the withered remains was treated with preservative, wrapped in thick layers of gauge and placed on a separate tray. Because of Umi's sitting position, they taped him upright on the tray with legs outstretched over sideboards.

  Aaron arrived out of the shaft to await the bodies. Bebe came next up the ladder and met Kenneth and they stood among the workers awaiting the arrival of the parents. Soon, Masud joined them from down the hill.

  As the bodies were hoisted out, wailing began from a group of women among the throng of onlookers; plaintiff wails like none yet heard. The wailing escalated to a full-blown chorus. Some wailed, nearly screeched, while others cried. Dogs howled mournfully. The onlookers seemed confused by it all.

  “Word gets around just too fast,” Aaron said. “Some of the workmen must act as a voice for the locals, keeping them posted about our findings.”

  “Why the sudden swell of locals too?” Chione asked. “The crowd seems in a state of unrest, a lot of men milling around.” Another foreboding chill transited her body. She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them wide and could only wonder what had come over her.

  The tray bearing Meskhenet began to appear at the top of the shaft, rising in slow motion as the laborers cranked the lift winch gently so as not to tip the tray. A hush fell over the crowd. Immediately after Meskhenet came Umi. The crowd went wild again, yelling and applauding upon seeing each major artifact.

  The wailing and screeching resumed, as laborers hoisted the two trays to their shoulders for the trip down to the inventory tent, a hot air balloon passed too low overhead dragging an ominous dark shadow over the portcullis area. The balloon and its occupants drifted slowly. Like the mourners on the riverbanks in 1898, who honored a cache of royal mummies being transported by Victor Loret, the archaeologist who found them, gunshots rang out. More wailing and more gunshots. Some in the crowd screamed and pointed upward as the hot air balloon flapped limp and began to deflate, finally plummeting to the rocky earth in the distance.

  “This is not happening!” Masud said, taking a step sideways to better see. More gunshots. Masud groaned and doubled over clutching his chest. Kenneth screamed, dove for Bebe and knocked her sideways to the ground, covering her with his body. More wailing. More gunshots. Masud flew backwards from the second impact and landed where Bebe moments before stood. His chest was covered with blood. The workmen dropped the trays and everyone lay prone with no place to go. Chione lay flat and covered her head with her arms and hands. They were in plain view, like targets in a shooting gallery.

  Chione moved her arm slightly to watch downhill as police on foot and horseback pushed and shoved their way through the throng of people pressing in for a better view. Only three to five seconds had passed but her heart used up a year's worth of beats. No more gunshots. Chione crawled over to Masud. Aaron was on his knees beside him.

  Dr. Withers and Clifford finally exited the shaft seeing everyone on the ground.

  “What's hap—?” Seeing Masud, Dr. Withers dropped to his knees to help.

  Kenneth and Bebe stood slowly and peered cautiously around. Kenneth kept himself between his wife and the crowd.

  The two doctors came out of the shaft and were dragged over to Masud. A police officer arrived, breathless, having run up the hill. “A stray bullet?” he asked.

  “What a horrible accident,” Clifford said.

  “Never mind,” Masud said. His breath gurgled. “No accident.” Blood bubbled from his mouth.

  “Masud?” Dr. Withers asked. “Why you?”

  “Not for me… for Kenneth.”

  “You weren't near Kenneth,” Aaron said. “You were beside Bebe.”

  “Yes,” Masud said, gurgling, barely able to hold his eyes open. “Best way… hurt… Kenneth… shoot his wife.”

  “Wha-at?” Kenneth asked, keeping Bebe behind him.

  “Someone… doesn't… like… Kenneth,” Masud said as his breath faltered. He gurgled and choked. “Praise be… to Allah!” Then he went limp and his breath stopped as the doctors tried frantically to revive him. Workers gathered around waiting to help.

  When Dr. Kent pushed on Masud's chest applying CPR, blood squirted out of his mouth and nose. The blood did not flow unless his chest was compressed. Finally, they knew Masud would breathe no more. Dr. Kent sat back on his heels and shook his head. His gloved hands dripped blood that had gushed up through the bullet holes in Masud's chest.

  “Someone's trying to pay you back, Kenneth,” Clifford said. “For having found that other tomb.”

  “How would Masud know who the bullets were meant for?” Chione asked.

  “You think he had something to do with those… those—” Dr. Withers could only sigh heavily.

  “I'm not insinuati
ng anything,” Chione said. “But how would Masud know they wanted to get to Kenneth?”

  “Did he mention Bebe and Kenneth to keep suspicion off himself?” Dr. Withers asked.

  “Maybe not,” the police officer said. “With his dying breath, he prays to Allah.”

  “More likely,” Clifford said. “The bullets were meant for Masud, to keep him quiet because of his involvement with Dakarai.”

  “Who was in the balloon?” Kenneth asked. “Why'd they shoot that thing down?”

  “Shot down what balloon?” Dr. Withers asked, looking to the sky.

  “Yeah, what balloon?” Clifford asked.

  “The air balloon,” the officer said, pointing down toward the valley. A group of people and more Bolis had gathered around the colorful deflated balloon spread over the rocky terrain. “Maybe pay back men who found two victims in desert.”

  Maybe Masud had told the truth, but with his death went the secret as to his involvement with Dakarai. Maybe someone did mean to kill him.

  Kendra lay curled into a knot in the dirt whimpering. Chione went to her side.

  “I can't bear the thought that my husband is involved,” she said, uncurling and wrapping herself in Chione's arms. “Chione don't you know? Can't you tell?”

  “You know I can't, Kendra, unless it comes to me. I haven't received anything about Royce.”

  “I've got to get myself together,” she said, drying her eyes. “Got to make some decisions.”

  By late the next afternoon, the few artifacts in the Burial Chamber had been removed and packed. Two of the polished canopic jars were found to contain a good supply of ancient natron, a salt compound of sodium carbonate and sodium chloride used for dehydration in the mummification process. A sizeable quantity of cowry shells, representing a desire of the wearer to have children, was found on the floor around the jars. Two faience vases contained more glass beads, a rare commodity in those days. Scattered children's toys were gathered.

  Shabti statues, meant to jump to the command of Osiris if the dead preferred not to work, were not found in figure form nor scratched on the walls; in fact, nothing substantial to signify progression into the Afterlife.