The Nile River 1922
They ran aground three times in as many days which caused general alarm but tended to be a fairly easy fix, as far as Ella could tell, with the crew scurrying around jamming huge poles into the sand banks to spring the boat free.
She loved to listen to the singing of the crew as they worked. They often sang and she found the melodies reassuring. She hoped it meant they enjoyed their work and didn’t feel too badly oppressed. Because the Nile ran from south to north, the trip was upstream against the current, making consistent progress depend more and more on the efforts of the crew rather than the wind. The Satiah’s captain, a taciturn, dark Egyptian named Ahmed, often commanded his men to strap themselves to the boat and hand row the dahabiya when it slowed noticeably.
One afternoon, watching the men sweat and strain as if they were slaves in a wheelhouse, Ella asked, “Are we in a hurry?”
“Mr. Carter is anxious to return to his excavation site.” Julia said. “If Lord Carnarvon hadn’t asked him to escort us, he would never have left. His work is very important.”
“And why, again, is it we are going there?”
Julia put down the pencil she was using to sketch with and squinted against the sun from her lounge on the top deck. As usual, the two women were alone.
“My husband believes that Mr. Carter is very close to making a big discovery.”
“And he wants in on it?”
“It will be the making of anyone attached to the find. When it happens.”
“Well, why are you going there, then?”
“I told you.” Julia looked uneasily over the banister at the stairs. “I want the adventure.”
“Okay, that’s just hard to believe, Julia. Excuse me for saying so. You hate the sun. You despise the bugs. You can’t bear to have any of the Egyptians actually touch you.”
“Well, none of that is true,” Julia said but she looked unsure as if she had not seen herself that way until this moment. “I am very plucky, I’ll have you know.”
“If you say so.” Neither spoke for a moment. A stillness descended on the boat broken only by the soft sounds of the crew’s singing below. There was a pleasant breeze on the deck. Ella turned her face up to the sun.
“You’ll freckle,” Julia warned.
“What is it you are drawing?”
Julia turned her sketchpad so that Ella could see a depiction of the riverbank with palm trees and the suggestion of a village on the horizon. The lines were clean and confident, the representation true.
“You’re good, Julia,” Ella said. “You know, Howard said he started out on his first archaeological excavation as an artist. Maybe that’s something you could do when we get to his camp.”
“I cannot believe you call him Howard. Really, Ella! And I’m not looking for employment, thank you.”
Digby materialized from the top rung of the ladder, spoke loudly and pointed over the women’s heads. “You can see the temples of the Eighteenth Dynasty just there.” Ella noticed that Julia jumped violently at the sound of his voice.
“Will we be stopping to see them?” Ella asked, shading her eyes and looking in the direction he had pointed.
“Oh, heavens, no,” Digby said, looking at her and licking his lips. “Carter would pop a gasket at the mere suggestion. As it is, any time now I expect the man to jump out and start pushing.” He laughed at his own wit.
Earlier that morning Ella had caught a glimpse of Digby and Julia whispering behind the bulkhead. It didn’t look like a pleasant conversation and Ella could see Digby’s hand gripping Julia’s arm tight enough to leave finger marks that were still visible moments later. Ella found herself thinking even an unhappy conversation, surely, was better than no contact at all.
“Well, I’m sure he’s anxious to get back to work,” Ella said. She was glad they were not going to stop. Tombs and temples sounded boring and dusty. She looked at Julia to see her reaction but Julia had buried herself in her drawing, refusing to look up.
Dinner was a delicious roast chicken with crispy potatoes and canned peas. As this was their last night before they landed at Luxor, both Digby and Carter had urged the two women to join them on the upper deck after dinner. While the men smoked their cigars and sipped their brandies, Julia and Ella, both tucked into warm woolen wraps, drank sherry and listened to the men talk.
The Milky Way stretched brightly and clearly across the sky. Ella had never seen a night sky so stunning. In US cities, she had become so used to the smoggy southern nights that blocked out the stars that she felt like she was seeing the celestial display for the first time. No wonder people write poems about the stars in the sky, she thought with wonder as she watched them twinkle in the deep blue firmament.
She found herself longing to share the sight with Rowan. Was Carol right? Was she so selfish that she didn’t deserve him? Ella knew she had been thwarted in returning to her own time—and to Rowan—but she also knew, not so deep down, that she hadn’t tried very hard either. She watched the stars and missed him deeply. She had to force from her mind the thought that, in 1922 Rowan yet existed.
William came up with a tray of hot coffee. Earlier that day he had related a story to Ella and Julia that he had heard in one of the villages of grave robbers who were accused of murdering a boatload of Dutch tourists the season before. They robbed the group of their artifacts only to discover that the artifacts were fakes purchased in Alexandria before their trip.
Ella liked William’s stories. He was colorful and animated and spoke English well. She noticed he was careful not to speak to either of the women when Digby was present. Even now, as he handed out the coffee cups, he kept his eyes down as if afraid that Ella might engage him in conversation.
“Mr. Carter,” Julia said, as she waited for her steaming cup of coffee to cool, “what did Monsieur Maspero have to say about your prospects?”
“Don’t be stupid, Julia,” Digby said. “That idiot Maspero wouldn’t know anyone’s prospects from his hairy arse.”
Ella was shocked. In the few days she had lived in 1920’s upper crust society, calling your wife stupid in public and then following it with the phrase hairy arse was about as offensive as you could get.
“I say, steady on, old man,” Carter said, admonishing Digby. “It’s a fair question,” he said to Julia, who had visible blanched at Digby’s assault. Ella was grateful that Carter was trying to cover up the ugliness. She didn’t know what Digby’s problem was, but it was a relief to know Carter wouldn’t stand for it.
“Not to speak ill of the man,” Carter continued, “but he’s not as fussy as I’d prefer him to be in the acquisition of his museum pieces, if you know what I mean.”
“Isn’t he in charge of who digs where in the Valley of the Kings?” Ella asked.
“That’s right,” Carter said, smiling at her indulgently. “But he’s happy to get his museum items—if they’re genuine—from anywhere and from anyone.”
“Is that bad?” Ella asked.
“It is, actually,” Carter said, sipping his brandy. “The problem stems from the fact that when treasure hunters know there is a legitimate place to sell their stolen goods, there is no motivation for them to stop looting the tombs. And there is always damage done when they do it.”
Digby edged closer to Ella. “The Valley of the Kings is full of tombs,” he said, “many as yet undiscovered, but even the discovered ones still have treasures to yield.”
“That is true,” Carter said. “Though the jewels and gold may have been robbed long ago, the occupants were often left undisturbed. There are some who believe that is the true treasure.”
“Mummies!” Ella said.
Everyone laughed.
“Exactly,” Carter said. “And even better, royal mummies.”
Ella knew about King Tut, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember if Howard Carter was the one who found him. The Boy King, she thought. Here’s where you get found and shown to the world after three thousand long years of obscurity. Again, she thought of Rowan. God, he would love to be here for this. And a faint sadness wafted over her in a steady wave that all the brandy and starry nights could not touch.
Cairo, 2013
Rowan stood at the bar at the Cairo Hilton and showed Ella’s photograph to the bartender. There was no question that Ella had stayed there. Rowan was just trying to fill in the gaps of her last day.
The bartender shook his head. He was a mocha-colored Egyptian with a long, thin face, a pointed beard and dark sad eyes. He regretted that he had not seen the efendim.
Rowan hadn’t expected him to. It was just the last possible line to explore before slamming into a jet-lagged stupor after a long day of travel followed by hours of trying to retrace Ella’s steps. He had spent the afternoon walking the residential streets of Old Cairo and wondering if she was being held against her will in one of the long rows of narrow houses that lined the streets. He spoke with the doorman at her hotel and several of the taxi cab drivers, none of whom remembered her.
As he stripped off his clothes to shower before bed, he tried to calm the part of his brain that usually was the most analytical and so, normally, the most helpful. Tonight it was only a torture to run through all the possible disasters that could have befallen Ella—starting with what might have been orchestrated by Maddie’s ex-fiancé, Gagan Gupta.
Rowan hadn’t wanted to bring up the possibility with Maddie, but it was the only part of Ella’s trip that had obvious sinister features. He had taken a taxi straight from Cairo International Airport to pay a visit to Mr. Gupta. The meeting had been brief enough. Gupta, himself, had been in the hospital with a burst appendix at the time that Ella disappeared. It was possible the man could have had others do his dirty work, Rowan didn’t think that likely. He had talked to a lot of accomplished liars in his time, confronted some of the lowest scum to ever line the bottom of a shoe. And while he planned to track down every possible lead connected to Gupta, his instinct told him they would not lead him to Ella.
As soon as he set foot in Cairo, he had been assailed by a certainty of feeling that Ella was no longer in the city. All the excuses or hopeful suppositions he might tell himself back in Dothan were useless here.
Somehow, he just knew. Ella wasn’t here.
After he emerged from the shower, he glanced at his cellphone and saw that a call had come in from Maddie. He tucked the phone under his chin and rang her back.
“Maddie? You called?”
“Rowan, honey, I forgot something El told me that might not be important…”
“What is it?” Rowan interrupted. In his experience, it was always the bit of information that didn’t sound important that was the missing piece.
“The souvenir she said she was going to pick up for you? I just remembered that she did tell me what it was.”
“And that was…?”
“She said she was going to go get the Book of the Dead. I remember now, because she said it was kind of creepy and I thought at the time, ‘well, if you know it’s not such a great souvenir why go? Just grab a Sphinx keychain at the airport and come with me!’ You know? But I thought it must have been something you had mentioned you were interested in. Is that it?”
The Book of the Dead? Rowan was bewildered. “No,” he said, wondering how in the world this information could be helpful. “But thanks, Maddie. That’s a big help.”
“Just bring her back, Rowan.” Maddie said, with a strong calm voice. “Just please find her safe and bring her home. I have enough guilt to deal with for one lifetime just handling the fallout with my family over Gagan without adding losing my best friend on top of it.”
“I’ll find her,” he said gruffly. After he hung up, he looked out the window into the glow of the light pollution surrounding the hotel like a mystical fog.
The next morning, Rowan took a taxi to Old Cairo where Maddie said Ella had gone to find her souvenir. The shops that lined the pedestrian walkway were a mishmash of hookah shops, coffee shops, and souvenir stands. He tried to imagine what Ella would have thought as she walked down this same row. He looked at the merchants, all of them Egyptians and most of them male, and tried to imagine how they must have seen her.
Did they openly stare at her? They would have responded differently to her—a petite, attractive Western woman on her own—than they were responding to him. As he walked, most got eye contact with him, some grinned, one or two waved to him to come closer. Would they have been this bold with a lone woman?
He entered one shop that appeared to be an ancient bookstore, its shelves were lined with old volumes and pottery and what looked to him like fake antiquities. An overweight middle aged man approached him from behind the counter and laid his hands out in front of him.
“May I help you, effendi?” he asked, his voice rolling and soft like the beginning of a purr.
“I am looking for an item,” Rowan said. He smiled warmly but was his eyes were cold and serious. “Do you know where I can find something called The Book of the Dead?”
The man smiled at Rowan showing two gold teeth top and bottom in the front of his mouth.
“The Book of the Dead,” he said. “This can be found in our very excellent Cairo Museum. Perhaps you have been there? It is very popular with all tourists.”
“I am not looking for a museum artifact. I was told that I could purchase this Book of the Dead.”
“You were misled, effendi,” the man said, his eyes darting behind Rowan as someone came into the store. “All artifacts are protected by the state. No one may own or sell such a thing.”
He thinks I am the police, Rowan thought.
“I see,” he said. “Well, you’re right. I guess I was mistaken.” As he turned to leave the store, a beautiful older woman stepped up to him and held a hand out to stop him. She wore a scarf that covered her hair and throat but her eyes were large and expressive and her smile wide and generous.
“Wa 'alaykum as-salām,” she said to him.
“Ma-am,” Rowan said putting his hand up to a nonexistent hat in salute.
“I am Yeena,” she said, her eyes glittering with pleasure at the sight of him.
He frowned and turned to look back at the man behind the counter, but the shopkeeper had disappeared. Rowan looked at the woman in confusion.
“Are you mistaking me for someone?” he asked.
“I am sure not,” she said. “You are looking for your wife, are you not? I knew you would come.”