Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

“The most difficult part is that I did not know why she no longer wanted to be married,” he said. “We spent almost two years going to counselors, taking romantic vacations; I did not want a divorce.” I felt his shrug. “However, in the end, my wishes were secondary. There were other things about me she also could not live with.” He paused, as if he had revealed too much, then spoke in a rush “However, she is happy now, and we still work well together.” We turned toward the temple and joined the groups of people lining up before the Tourist Police gates in front of Karnak. I was relieved for the change of subject.

  Despite, or perhaps because of, the multicultural ragtag gathering before it, Karnak was one of the most impressive places I had ever seen, especially at night. Lights illuminated the lengthy Avenue of Rams, and the whole temple seemed an embodiment of the mysterious and occult I fingered my ankh and felt a companion chill to the one from the souq run down my spine; just for a moment I questioned the wisdom of my evening's plan. Only for a moment, though. I wasn't planning on stealing or defacing anything, I just wanted some unusual shots of the place. Perhaps I could even sell them and make up for some of the cost of this trip.

  “Tonight is in French,” Anton said. “I hope that is not a problem for you?”

  I smiled. “No, French is my second language, though my accent is definitely not Parisian.”

  A sounding boom indicated the “show” was about to start and we joined the throng in buying tickets and moving through the gates. Suddenly we were plunged into darkness… then a smattering of lights spotlighted the foreboding stone pylons.

  A sensual feminine voice spoke against a background of dissonant music. “May the breath of Shu soothe your brow, O weary sojourner.” A male voice joined in. “Walk now in the steps of the imperial family of Thebes, entering into the House of the God, a house built for two thousand years for the god, his human family and priesthood alone. Listen to the whispered response of the all-knowing, all-being Creator. Stride forth, Omortal, and behold the hidden glory of the Unknowable Ones.”

  Anton took my hand in a warm, dry clasp and we moved forward with the crowd. The light from the moon was hidden as we passed through the inner courtyard, before an enormous statue of Rameses the Great and into the columned porch.

  I suddenly became aware of how alien Egypt really was to our modern world, with animal-headed gods, intermarrying brothers and sisters, and everyone walking around half-naked. It seemed so far removed from our Western mind-set. I felt chilled by the strangeness of this place. Not only was it foreign ground, but it all seemed so vividly, disconcertingly, different.

  The voice continued to speak over the hushed crowd. “All of the majesty of the dynasties is represented here at Karnak. I am the neter: the father of all, the mother who birthed the fountainhead of all life. I am the sun of day and the defender of the night.” The voices spoke together: “I create that which is, from Chaos. I walk before, so that men should have a path of life. Come, worship the eternal.”

  For the next hour or so I imagined the temple in all its glory: shaven-headed priests clad in leopard skins scurrying to and fro to meet the golden god's every imagined need; the never-ending construction as each pharaoh sought to make an everlasting impression on the place; the wealth of gold and jewels that was supposed to have adorned the temple. When the lights came up around the Sacred Lake, I realized I'd better move quickly if I wanted to stay the night and catch the sunrise from Karnak Temple.

  We were caught up in the crowd, being ushered through the temple by Tourist Police with polite but firm gestures. Anton put his arm around my waist so I wouldn't get crushed. As we left the ancient temple, still within the modern gates, I saw my chance.

  “Anton, I see a ladies’ room. Please excuse me.”

  He looked baffled. “You mean the toilet? I never understand these American euphemisms for basic necessities,” he muttered. “You go on, and I will wait.”

  Initiating plan two. “Don't be silly. Look, there is a café just outside the gates. You go wait for me there and I will be out in a minute,” I said. He looked at me quizzically, but I decided it was just my guilty conscience for lying to such a nice guy.

  He shrugged, gave my waist a quick squeeze, and walked away. I struggled upstream through the people and finally pulled aside to the revolting, overused facilities. Gagging from the stench, I walked away and sat down behind a pillar, upwind of the toilets.

  I could see the café, where Anton had selected a table facing the front gate. I swore softly. Time to implement the backup measure.

  After scanning the Arab children around me, I picked out a ragamuffin boy and gestured to him. Giving him a note and a ballpoint pen in payment, I instructed him to deliver the folded piece of paper to Anton. The attractive doktor had been drawn into a game of shesh-besh, and for a few minutes I wondered if I should join him. He had been wonderful and entertaining, and he was definitely good-looking in a rugged, intellectual kind of way. Camille would love him, I thought abstractly.

  The boy had already reached him, and I watched Anton read my note informing him that I had run into my sister and an old friend and we had gone to my friend's hotel and I would see him for breakfast in the morning. He shrugged, then handed the boy some gum, mussed his hair, and rejoined the game.

  I watched as the last of the tourists were escorted out of the gate, and I melted farther back into the shadows, keeping my eyes on the many caretakers milling about the grounds. They shouted back and forth to each other, bidding good night with wide gestures and laughter in their voices.

  Satisfied the grounds were empty of tourists, they began to file out, joining the group at the café. The moon had risen high, and feeling safer from discovery now, I stepped into the light and checked my watch: 10:53. I sat quietly, waiting until the lights of the café went out and its doors were also locked.

  I felt a moment of trepidation; what had seemed like a childhood prank would not be very funny if I were found out now. I stayed as silent as one of the stone sphinxes.

  Finally, all was dark and the only sounds drifted in from the river. I let out a breath I'd been unaware of holding. Certain there must be more guards, I knew I'd have to be cautious.

  I passed quickly through the Great Court, its statues given an eerie life in the stillness. Moonlight streamed over my shoulder as I paused in the Hypostyle Hall, not daring to breathe, waiting for sounds of pursuit Had I been discovered? Not a sound. I could hear guards in other parts of Karnak Temple, calling out to one another to be careful of the jinn, the night demons, as they went home after another long, tourist-filled day. They would not be pleased to find me.

  I dodged from column to column and crossed an ancient hallway until I found myself beside Queen Hatshepsut's partially blockaded obelisks. With reverent fingers I touched the hieroglyphs and was jolted by an almost physical sensation. Stars sparkled above in the sky, visible through the broken roof. I held my watch up to the moonlight. Although it read 11:20, my military upbringing translated it to 23:20. Dizziness swept over me and I touched the cool stone, controlling the fear and anticipation that raced through my veins and steadying myself. Something else prickled my scalp… déjà vu? Since I'd been here before, I ignored it. I mean, I was in an ancient Egyptian temple, late at night on my birthday, doing something really stupid. Of course I would feel a little creepy! I also felt compelled.

  I shifted my daypack. The bag was really heavy, and I briefly reconsidered my pack-rat traveling habits. Switching it to my left shoulder, I took a left at the eross-passage. Almost immediately I found myself at the “Do Not Enter” ropes that barred these three chambers of Karnak. With another backward glance, I stepped over the ropes and passed two of the small rooms in favor of the third.

  Again, compulsion overwhelmed me.

  The room was dark, lit only with the spotlight brightness of the moon. I sat on a carved stone table, directly in its path. By dawn I would have some awesome pictures of this place, both sketches and photos. I sat quietly
, absorbing the atmosphere and wondering what would happen if I got busted for being in here. Like a ghost story, it was both scary and exciting. A breeze blew over me, laden with the same citrus and incense that had followed me since I'd arrived in Luxor.

  The shadows of profiled figures were barely visible on the wall; traces of black paint pocked the drawing like scars in the moonlight. As I looked about the room, my eye caught a glitter of metal on the floor. The smell of incense grew stronger as I knelt on one knee, stretching my left hand toward the metal. This action caused my overloaded backpack to shift, and I reached across my chest with my right hand to catch it.

  Then it happened—instantly and without warning. My sensations snapped and I was caught in a whirlpool of energy, spinning with so much force that I could taste sound and hear smell. I was being pulled down rapidly. Nausea rose in my throat and pressure built in my head until my ears popped. Through flashes of indescribable color that I could feel, I saw a woman. Dark and elegant, she hurtled toward me from below. In panic I reached out to stop her, seeking the solidity of another body, but I screamed as she passed right through me, through my flesh, my bones, severing me from my body in a bloodless surgery. The last thing I saw before darkness was her mouth, open in the terror of a soundless scream.

  PART II

  CHAPTER 2

  Silence. Seeping coldness. Chloe lay still, trying to overcome the nausea and pain that had racked her body in those last few seconds before thankful oblivion. Once her senses were sorted, she did a mental review of all major appendages and body parts. She could feel very little, and the parts she did feel hurt like hell; she wished they were numb, too. She tried opening her eyes, and after an effort that caused sweat to bead her upper lip, she managed it. Slowly her vision focused.

  Egypt. White walls with life-size figures in colors so bright, they hurt.

  The floor on which she was lying was cold and getting colder. Chloe attempted to sit up, only to fall back onto the stone, boneless as a rag doll. She looked around again, a feeling of horror and disbelief growing in her.

  Something was wrong.

  Was she dreaming? But dreams should not be filled with cloying odors. She should not hear singsong voices from beyond this room. She should not be able to taste the blood from a cut on her lip. She should not feel bruised and battered.

  Something was terribly, horribly, unfathomably wrong.

  Before her was a cleaner version of the last room she had seen. It was in good repair, fresh and colorful. The parading gods and goddesses were painted brilliantly and seemed almost to move in the still air. The room was filled with a muggy odor she couldn't quite place, the star-painted ceiling hazy through the fog of smoke. There was also an acrid smell, a frightening smell … very recognizable, but she couldn't recall it now. Chloe turned around and looked up at the granite table. Her pulse trebled.

  A silver statue stood on the table, a perfectly formed female with a horns-and-disk headdress. Before the statue were silver bowls of incense and a large plate with bread, dates, and what looked like a whole roasted bird, complete with head and feet. Several silver goblets were beside it. Chloe looked hard at the statue and felt something in her mind stretch, grasp, and miss. She knew she knew who it was and what it meant; she just couldn't reach it now.

  She turned back to the window. Dawn was breaking, sending slivers of pink and rose into the misty silver of the sky, invading the black shroud of night.

  As she mentally shrugged away sluggishness, her mind suggested and rejected possibilities for her position. Another indigestion-induced nightmare? Delusion? Serious drugs? Insanity?

  Shakily, clutching at what she called an altar, she drew herself to her feet—and promptly fell down again.

  Someone rushed to her side. “My lady, my lady? By the gods, what has happened?”

  Chloe's fogged mind perceived a girl about fifteen years old, with a heavy black wig and black-ringed eyes, wearing a white dress that exposed one tanned breast, kneeling at her side, holding her hand, and chattering in a voice and words that came and went like a car phone just out of range. Chloe heard rushed footsteps in the corridor, and the girl leaned close to her, her face full of concern, awe, and more than a little fear.

  Two men entered the room, dark skinned, wiry, and bald. They were wearing dresses! That was a new twist, even in her sometimes wild dreams. Where in the bloody universe was she supposed to be? She reached for the silver ankh that hung around her neck; her stained fingers gripped it … funny, it hung much lower than usual. She looked down and saw her body, with only a few scraps of white cloth hanging from a belt at her waist and streaks of fresh red what on her skin. Her hands were also coated with it.

  What the hell was going on? Chloe's head felt as though it weighed a ton. It kept flopping around as she tried to see the girl and understand what she was saying. The girl spoke rapidly, her hands flying as she talked to the men. Chloe heard the frustration and fear in her voice but had no idea why she was so upset.

  The concept Chloe refused to acknowledge pinched, poked, and prodded her consciousness, giving her no choice but to pass out and hope that when she came to, it would be in a ruined temple, helped by somebody named Mohammed carrying a Diet Coke.

  No such luck.

  Instead a terrible itching woke her and she started, fully expecting large portions of her body to be covered with fire ants. She writhed and whimpered but was unable to tell why she itched so badly.

  Suddenly it was over, the burning itching replaced by strong awareness and feeling. Once more she could move her body and feel something besides her face. Her fingers touched the smooth painted wood of her bed and traced the raised design on its edge. She felt the roughness of a linen sheet on her knees, belly, and breasts. Chloe looked around her. The room was all white, with a cloth-covered doorway and a small alcove off to her right. It could be any room, any time, any where.

  An insane asylum, she thought. That must be it. Where was her straitjacket? In a movie, when one woke up in a room like this, it was always in a straitjacket.

  As her mind cleared, the possibilities and impossibilities crowded in on her. The only rational conclusion was that she had been kidnapped and was on some strong mind-expanding drug. It was understandable she would dream of Egypt, since that was what she had ingested mentally for the past month.

  She'd heard rumors of kidnapping and white slavery. Despite government policy against it, it was still practiced in Egypt and the Middle East. Chloe had felt fairly safe, however, since she was the antithesis of what the Middle Eastern mind considered attractive. According to Cammy, the ancient Egyptians had always considered their Satan to be a redhead, and uneducated Egyptians still feared light-colored eyes and red hair. So she'd doubted they'd go for her.

  Not to mention she was too tall and too lean for most Egyptian tastes.

  Her musings were interrupted when the door curtain was pulled back and the same girl from the temple entered—at least Chloe thought she was the same.

  Seeing Chloe awake, she crossed her breast with her forearm and knelt. When Chloe just stared at her, she rose and came toward the bed.

  “My sister, are you faring better?” She glanced nervously away from Chloe's eyes and made a small gesture that some part of Chloe's mind identified as a sign against the Evil Eye. Chloe understood the girl, but the words didn't feel familiar. It was as if something were interpreting in her head before the words actually got to her brain, making her very dizzy. That smoke … an incense … where had she smelted it before?

  The black-haired girl pulled back the sheet and Chloe saw that her body was clean and naked. Well, she thought it was her body … but the freckles that were the plague of redheads were gone, and her skin was a rich café latte. The girl reached out and felt the pulse at Chloe's throat and men touched the juncture of her thigh.

  Chloe tried to jerk away from the familiarity of the touch, but her muscles did not respond. The girl watched Chloe carefully with her black-circled
eyes. Pulling the sheet back up, she spoke in a gentle, singsong voice.

  “The Sisterhood has been most concerned for you, my lady. To sleep for so many days is quite unhealthy. Even My Most Gracious Majesty has inquired after you. She is sending a foremost magus to heal you. The priestesses have offered special intercession to HatHor for you also. The goddess will not allow her favorite to be sick.” As she spoke she gathered a washbasin, assembled a tray of food, and emptied several jugs of water into the bath in the alcove.

  Chloe raised her hands to her head. What was this girl talking about? What sisterhood? Which majesty? A magus? What the hell was that? What did they all have to do with her, and where in the bloody universe was she?

  She who was no longer the same color.

  Chloe decided she had endured this patiently and the time to speak was now. She would have answers. If this was a dream, some pointed questions should wake her up. If this wasn't … She ignored any possibilities and opened her mouth to speak. Only a strange gurgling came out, though, shocking Chloe and scaring the girl so badly that she yelped.

  “Hush now, my lady,” she said in a wavery voice that belied her familiar words. “Please, rest now, and perhaps the hemu neter will drive this kheft from you. Please, eat now.” She placed a tray of breads, figs, and a flagon of milk in front of Chloe. Her stomach rumbled in response. The girl laughed, the first unguarded moment Chloe had seen since she'd opened her eyes.

  “Perhaps a kheft has your tongue and so your stomach speaks for you, my lady,” the girl said teasingly. With a strength Chloe would not have thought the girl's body capable of, she eased Chloe into a sitting position. Basha handed her the milk.… Wait, where did that thought come from? Suddenly, in a drowning wave, rushed in thoughts of where and who and why she was, with little order or sense to them.

  She knew Basha was her serving girl, and she, Chloe, was actually RaEmhetepet, one of the priestesses to HatHor; that they were in a small room beneath the Karnak Temple compound; that for the Great House to send a magus she must be extremely ill….