THE LABORS OF the world’s mummy experts are clearly, unquestionably heroic. Confronted daily by our talent for destroying the ancient dead, they labor on nevertheless, preserving all they can of mummies. Few spare themselves in this grand quest. They empty their bank accounts and relinquish their holidays and retirement years, ignoring the bewildered looks of family and friends. They spend years sniffing out lost mummies in cobwebbed basements and filling filing cabinets with thick dossiers on missing bodies, hoping one day to encounter them in the catalogues of estate sales. They raise money to build entire new museums and acquire climate-controlled display cases. They examine mummies minutely. They calculate their height in life from the length of their femurs, and measure the thickness of their resin coatings, the width of their navels, and the eminence of their pubes. They debate earnestly among themselves the ethics of putting the ancient dead on display. They maintain coolly professional relationships with their subjects. They don latex gloves to conduct their examinations and refrain at all times from making personal jokes at the expense of the dead. They never talk lightly or unfeelingly about the mummies’ ailments. Indeed, they often speak as if the mummies themselves can hear exactly what is being said.
By these daily acts of devotion, the world’s mummy experts throw open the doors to lost worlds and lost times. They offer us proof, as clear as can be, that the distant past was not peopled with vague shadows and shades, but with men, women, and children who were very much like us. They show us that even the greatest kings and holiest saints were really human beings, people of flesh and blood and frailty. And they poignantly reveal, time and again, that even the most illustrious and legendary once suffered the common toll of humanity—disease, injury, and pain.
The scientists I first met at the Third World Congress on Mummy Studies, when all is said and done, are a most exceptional group of people. They are compassionate, considerate, and fiercely stubborn, lavishing the kind of devotion on the dead that most of us reserve for the living. They are some of the finest people I have met—bright, engaging, funny, exuberant, and full of life. I count it an honor to have made their acquaintance in Arica. I certainly look forward to seeing them again. And I have a good idea when and where that will be. The Mummy Congress organizers have already announced the host city for their next meeting: the tiny city of Nuuk, Greenland.