My Father the God

by D. Allen Henry

  Fig. 3 Photograph of Ramses II’s Temple during Reconstruction

  Three Months Later

  Sloan could feel summer coming on rapidly. It was now early April, and the afternoon heat had become stifling. He didn’t want to think about the coming torridness. Most days he kept busy by watching the crews assemble the blocks of stone that had been arrayed within the staging area. Each day the cranes lifted a few predetermined blocks into place, and these were joined with cement. Sloan was assigned to ensure that the consistency and properties of the cement were properly prepared for the joining process. It was hard work, not to mention highly repetitive in nature.

  Sloan considered his job to be rather mundane, but that was precisely what he had in mind. He needed his faculties to be focused on his primary mission – survival. This far from civilization, very few new faces appeared each week in Abu Simbel, and he made it his covert responsibility to meet each and every one of them, thereby maintaining a careful lookout for his nemesis. Patience was the key word, there being little for it but to wait for James to show his hand. Sloan was certain that, given what he had learned from Isolde’s exposé, James would sooner or later make his appearance.

  Late September

  Sloan was quite impressed with the progress to date. The four statues of Ramses had now been completely reassembled adjacent to the dome that had been constructed on the cliff. John had just that day informed him that they were ahead of schedule, with completion anticipated within the year.

  He had now been on site for nearly nine months, and still there was no sign of James. Although he remained confident of his plan, he had of late begun to consider the possibility that James hadn’t yet discovered where he was or, more ominously, that he had done away with himself. Or perhaps he was simply unable to pursue Sloan, having been incapacitated or worse. But one thing was certain - Sloan could not go in search of James as, upon finding him, he would find himself on James’ turf rather than on one of his own making. Accordingly, he was obliged to continue to wait things out.

  Late December

  Sloan could only marvel at the fortitude of the workers. It was now near the end of Ramadan, and somehow the entire workforce had managed to survive despite fasting during the daylight hours. What made it so impressive was that not only did they avoid food during the daytime, they also did not drink any liquids, amazingly including water.

  The daytime temperature reaching a hundred degrees on most days, it made it impossible to work long hours under such conditions. The workers therefore rose early, working from 4 A.M. to 10 A.M., and then again from two hours before sunset. Accordingly, Sloan’s regard for the workers grew with each passing day.

  Nighttime, June, 1970

  Sloan lay awake in his bunk, fearful of what might happen should he fall asleep. Around two in the morning, he heard it - a slight noise, as of muslin scraping on wood. Rolling over immediately, he peered into the azure eyes of his intruder, who for his part said affably, “Hello, Sloan, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

  “James,” Sloan responded in recognition, “What took you so long?”

  “Tough times,” James responded matter-of-factly, “I apologize, but I’m here now.”

  “And so you are,” Sloan responded placidly.

  “So, let’s go,” James commanded crisply.

  “Go? Where?”

  “Best not to argue, Sloan. I have a pistol under my caftan,” James ordered, “Come on, you know exactly what’s going down. Let’s go.”

  At this, Sloan gave no response but, arising from his bunk, he quickly donned his caftan and, at James’ urging, he led the way from the tent. Once outside, James pulled the pistol out and, motioning with it, he pointed, “That way!”

  Showing little concern, Sloan continued to lead the way. The pair set off, walking southwards along the western cliffs for several hours before so much as another word passed between them.

  Finally, the sky growing light towards the east, James commanded, “Alright, Sloan, turn west, away from the Nile.”

  “Why?” Sloan responded quizzically, “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going for a stroll in the Nubian desert.”

  “What! Why ever on earth for?” Sloan asked in apparent terror.

  “I’m going to hell, and you’re going with me, you son-of-a-bitch!” James uttered vehemently, “You turned me in, didn’t you!”

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, James,” Sloan responded serenely, “I did no such thing.”

  “Bull shit!” came the response, “Keep walking, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  The pair walked on for a few minutes, at which point James asked intrepidly, “If you didn’t turn me in, who did?”

  “Isolde did it, you fool.”

  “How could she?” James said with a penetrating frown, “She’s dead!”

  “She gave all the evidence to one of your victims,” Sloan replied offhandedly, “Someone who just happens to be a lawyer.”

  James halted in his tracks for a moment and, realization flooding over him, he murmured to himself, “Ah, that does make sense, when you think about it. She always did hate my guts for lying about you being dead in Burma.”

  “Rightfully so, if you ask me,” Sloan responded serenely.

  “She eventually figured it all out, I imagine,” James said to himself and, glancing toward Sloan, he asked, “So how much do you know?”

  “Everything,” Sloan responded flatly, “Isolde told me the whole story.”

  Completely unfazed, James replied thoughtfully, “Ah, I see,” and after a moment he observed, “Well, it’s been a good game, hasn’t it! I had you right down to the end game, and if Isolde hadn’t gotten cancer, I’d have been within sight of checkmate.”

  “Bloody hell,” Sloan murmured noncommittally.

  “You idiot, you never had the slightest notion,” James rejoined, “The whole time it was me! I was the one kicking your ass. I was the one bringing you down, you and Sabrina, and Isolde as well!”

  “Right, but you failed, didn’t you!”

  “What makes you think that, Sloan?”

  “They fired you!”

  “That may be, but look around you,” James countered arrogantly, “Does it look to you like the game is over?”

  Sloan halted in his tracks and, certainty now coming over him, he blurted, “Is this a part of the game then?”

  “Of course!” James retorted in superiority.

  “And what is the objective, if I may be so bold?”

  An enormous self-righteous grin spreading over his features, James exclaimed, “Why, to win, of course!”

  Apparently nonplussed by James’ inane behavior, Sloan queried, “And just exactly how do we determine the winner?”

  “I should think it would be obvious - last man standing,” James announced condescendingly, “We’re going to walk straight west, and the last one standing is the winner.”

  “You crazy fool, we shall both die!”

  “You first!” James replied gleefully, “I’m going to finally beat your miserable ass at something!”

  “You’re out of your mind!” Sloan exclaimed, “I’m going back. This is insane.”

  “No you’re not!” James screamed obsessively.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because I’m the one with the gun, that’s why!”

  Obviously unimpressed, Sloan replied, “Bollocks!”

  “I’ll shoot you where you stand if you try to go back.”

  At this, Sloan turned towards him and admitted in resignation, “Alright, you’re up by a pawn, so I suppose I must keep playing the game, at least for now.”

  “Damn straight!” James said and, motioning with the pistol, he commanded, “Now walk! Toward the west! That’s right!”

  The pair now walked in total silence for several hours. By noon the searing heat and scorching rays of the sun had begun to take their toll on the two.

  Eventually, to
take his mind off his agony, Sloan asked, “Did you ever love her?”

  “Who?” James queried.

  “Isolde!”

  “Hell, no! Why would I love that witch!”

  “Well, then, were you in love with Sabrina?”

  “No!”

  “Well, just who did you love?”

  “Nobody! But I sure as hell hated your guts. From the first time you knew more than me in that damn study group, I vowed I’d win. Boyle’s Law…pshaw! And today, I’m finally going to do it. All I have to do is keep walking. Sooner or later you’re going to drop dead. Then I’m going to kick your stinking ass!”

  Seeing that further discussion was a waste of time, Sloan shut up and kept walking. Near sunset, his feet by now killing him, he decided to try again, saying, “Why couldn’t you let well enough alone, James? Was your sexual perversion at the heart of it all?”

  “Perversion? Perversion! I’m not perverted! That was just a means of getting the goods on you. It’s all about winning, you fool!”

  “Surely there is something more important than winning,” Sloan mumbled.

  “Like what? Just tell me,” James queried.

  “I don’t know…,” Sloan said thoughtfully, “How about dignity?”

  “Dignity! That’s absurd!”

  “Then how about honesty?”

  “You can do better than that, you fool!” James ridiculed.

  “Let me think about it,” Sloan mumbled, adding inanely, “I’ll get back to you on it.”

  “Meantime,” James instructed, “Keep walking!”

  The pair walked through the night, and by morning, both were very near to exhaustion. Stating the obvious, Sloan exclaimed, “You’re going to kill us both!”

  “That’s the general idea, you idiot!” James exclaimed, but suddenly he stopped and sat down, saying, “Five minute break. We have a long day ahead of us, and we’ll need our energy.”

  “Energy! What energy? It’s going to be a short day, because we’ll both be dead within a few hours!”

  Five minutes later James waved the pistol, motioning Sloan to stand, and off the pair went, heading ever westward. By noon both of them were wandering aimlessly and stumbling repeatedly, but James continued onward, exclaiming, “I’m winning! I’m going to beat you, you son-of-a-bitch!”

  Sloan said nothing, intent simply on preserving his energy for the challenge ahead.

  Half an hour later, James exclaimed, “I can see it! Up ahead, there it is!”

  Peering into the endless desert before them, Sloan muttered, “There’s what?”

  “The White Queen! There she is! I have her in my sites! Your queen is going down, old boy, just like everything else in your life. I took everything from you. First, I took Isolde, and then I took Sabrina. And I fucked them both, hard!”

  “You never slept with Sabrina,” Sloan said with certitude.

  Now evidently delirious, James mumbled, “I didn’t? I could have sworn I did.”

  “You’re confusing your porn movies with the real thing, you pervert,” Sloan blurted.

  James stumbled and, falling to the ground, he crowed, “I won! I took the White Queen!”

  “You’re dying, you fool! There is no White Queen.”

  “But I’m the Black King! There must be a White Queen!”

  “You are most definitely the Black King, dear James, of that I am quite certain.”

  “And you are the White King, Sloan, as ever, always the good guy – The White King!”

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong, James. I am no king.”

  James, now wallowing on the ground in agony, croaked, “But if you’re not The White King, who are you?”

  “I’m a dung beetle!”

  “You’re a dung beetle? How could you be a dung beetle? I couldn’t possibly lose to a beetle!”

  Kicking the pistol away from James, Sloan replied, “Oh, but I assure you, you can and, as a matter of fact, you have.”

  “What! How’d you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Win, you fool! I had you! I had the upper hand. I sneaked up on you in the middle of the night. I had the game rigged! Why am I lying on the ground in agony, and you’re still standing?”

  “Because I spotted you three days ago, that’s why.”

  “What! How’d you do that? I was disguised. I died my hair and my skin, and I even had my nose broken so you wouldn’t recognize me. Surely the beard hid my features.”

  “I spotted the blue eyes. I’ve been searching for a pair of pale blue eyes for nigh onto a year and a half. And yesterday, I finally spotted yours. The Bedouins don’t have blue eyes. You’ve the first pair of blue eyes I’ve seen since I arrived in Abu Simbel. So three days ago I began drinking water assiduously, and the night before last I drank as much water as I could before I went to bed.”

  “So you knew I was coming for you?”

  “Right.”

  “How did you know I wouldn’t just kill you?”

  “Because I knew your weakness! Everything is a game to you, James. It always has been. I knew there would be a game to play, and out here in the desert, there is only one game – survival.”

  “Aw, hell, Sloan, it’s just a game!” James exclaimed from his prone position, “Couldn’t you let me win, just this one time? After all, it’s the last time we’ll play the game, isn’t it. I should’ve had my victory.”

  Sloan sat down beside James and offered, “Here’s your victory - I’ll stay with you, my friend.”

  “You’re not my friend!”

  “True, but you are mine, as you have been for my whole life.”

  “But that isn’t fair. I can’t be your friend if you aren’t mine!”

  “Wrong!”

  “Wrong? What do you mean, Sloan?”

  “Friendship isn’t conditional,” Sloan announced with certitude.

  “What an unmitigated idiot – thinking that goodness and friendship gets you anywhere in life,” James mumbled, “I knew you were wrong all the time, and I’ve still won, because you’re going to die with me out here in the desert…,” at which point his voice trailed off, and it was the last thing he said. He died a half hour later.

  Sloan immediately stripped the caftan from James’ body and headed north as, aware that suspicion would fall on him should anyone find him in the middle of nowhere with a dead man, he was intent on putting as much distance between himself and the corpse as possible.

  Two hours later, tugging his own caftan off in the afternoon sun, he pulled a tightly wrapped wire from the lining. Unrolling the wire, he used it as a post and built a tiny tent with the two caftans. He then crawled within it in an effort to avoid the heat and fell into a tortuous sleep.

  Two hours later, the sun having finally gone down, he arose from his den and again headed north. He kept his sights on the low hills before him, and now he walked purposefully in that direction. As darkness set in, he kept his bearing via the North Star. He reckoned he had to walk twenty miles before sunrise, or he would die.

  That night he walked relentlessly, the agony of it unbearable, but he kept telling himself that he had survived worse in the war. So on and on he went, placing one step ahead of the other, one more step, one more mile, one more hour. An hour before sunrise, he began to make out the outline of the hills before him. As he had hoped, they were now no more than two miles distant. If only he could make it to them, he might yet survive. An hour later, though the sun had risen by then, he was safely within the shadow of the hills.

  He sat down for a few minutes awaiting further sunlight to guide him, and then he set off in search of his marker. He found it a half hour later – a stone outcropping on the face of the hill. Lining up by it, he set off directly to the base of the hill, and once there, he began to dig precariously.

  Although it took a full hour, he finally found it – the canteen he had buried there almost a year ago. Now, if it
was still full, he would survive, and so it was. Over the course of the previous year he had buried six canteens at various spots in the desert, but he only needed the one. He drank the water sparingly through the day, and when night fell, he set off toward the east, arriving at the Nile on the following day.

  Stumbling into the camp shortly after noon, he was met by John Bonner, who stopped dead in his tracks, stared at him as if he’d seen an apparition and blurted, “Bloody hell, Sloan! Where on earth have you been?”

  “I went for a stroll,” Sloan mumbled, thinking to himself how some truths are really lies.

  “A stroll!” John blurted out incredulously, “Man, you’ve been gone for four days! That must’ve been one helluva walk!”

  “Yeah, it was fun,” Sloan, thinking to himself that some lies are really truths.

  “Say,” John inquired, “Did you perchance see a Bedouin, a guy with blue eyes?”

  “Sure, I saw a whole tribe of them out in the desert,” Sloan lied, thinking to himself that it was high time he told a lie, somehow thankful for such an opportune moment to dismiss the burden of unrelenting honesty.