Children Of The Storm Part 12

Emerson, who had outstripped the rest of us, was on the veranda, pacing up and down. "Perfect timing," he announced. "Here they come."

Looking out, I beheld an extraordinary caravan heading toward the house. A string of carts drawn by donkeys and mules, two camels carrying heavy loads, and several dozen men, chanting and cavorting, were led by Selim, mounted on horseback.

The carts drew up in front of the house. They contained several huge packing cases. The men set about unloading them and the donkeys. Emerson rushed out. "Is it all here, Selim?"

"We will soon see, Emerson." Selim brandished a crowbar. Emerson s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him and began prying at the largest of the wooden cases.

The hideous truth began to dawn. "Oh, good Gad," I said in a hollow voice. "It cannot be."

Under Emerson's vigorous a.s.sault the top of the case lifted and the sides fell, disclosing a metal framework. At first glance it bore little resemblance to the object I had expected and feared to see, for many of the parts were missing. I knew what they were, and where they were-in the other packing cases, which the men, under Selim's direction, were prying apart. One by one they appeared-the metallic shapes of the bonnet and fenders, four large wheels, and a number of other objects I could not identify.

We had owned several motorcars. My primary objection to the cursed things was that Emerson insisted on driving them himself. When we were at our English home, in Kent, the local population soon learned to clear off the roads when Emerson was on them; in the crowded streets of Cairo, motoring with Emerson took a good deal of getting used to. They were fairly common in the city by now, and during the war the military had built roads in other areas, but when we moved to Luxor for an indefinite stay I had managed to persuade my husband to sell the vehicle, pointing out that its utility in the Luxor area was limited.

Emerson had quite an audience by then-ourselves, including Walter, our workmen, the porters, and half the population of Gurneh. Some squatted on the ground to watch, others pushed and shoved to get a better view; there was a positive whirlpool of fluttering robes.

When I finally found my voice I had to raise it to a scream in order to be heard over the hubbub. Emerson, kneeling beside the mechanism, pretended not to hear, but on the third emphatic repet.i.tion of his name he decided he might as well face the music. Rising, he approached me, extending a hand stained black with grease.

"Come and have a look, my dear," he said. "Everything seems to be in working order, but of course we cannot be certain until we get it back together. Ramses, would you care to lend a hand? You and I and Selim-and David . . . Where is he? I sent someone to the Castle to fetch him."

"He'll be along shortly, I expect," Ramses said, with an apprehensive glance at me. "Father, wouldn't it be advisable to clear away the remains of the packing materials first? Someone is going to step on a nail or run a splinter into his foot."

"Excellent idea," exclaimed Emerson.

"You are going to put it back together here-on the spot?" I cried in poignant accents. "Smack in front of the house? Why did you take it apart in the first place? That's what you were doing that day in Cairo! Why, Emerson? Why?"

"It seemed the quickest way of getting it here undamaged," Emerson explained disingenuously. He wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a long black streak. "It was supposed to be on yesterday's train, but apparently they could not find the s.p.a.ce. Selim most efficiently supervised the unloading and got the cases onto the ferry, and found these obliging fellows-"

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it! What possible use can you have for a motorcar here? There are no proper roads!"

"Good Gad, Peabody, we motored clear across the Sinai and through the wadis in a vehicle like this one. The roads are much improved since the war." He then proceeded to contradict himself by adding, "The Light Car Patrols, which did such a splendid job against the Senussi, are being disbanded, and n.o.body in the military gives a curse about maintaining the desert roads. That is how I was able to get my hands on this vehicle. It is an improved model of the Ford Light Car-"

"I don't want to hear about it."

Emerson can only be intimidated up to a point. He drew himself up, glared at me, and rubbed the cleft in his chin, leaving additional black streaks. "I suppose a fellow can purchase a motorcar if he likes."

I knew I had lost the argument. It had been lost, in fact, the moment the confounded thing arrived. Moreover, every male person in the vicinity was clearly on Emerson's side; Ramses had abandoned me and was helping Selim sort bolts and nuts and other undefined bits, and Walter had removed his coat and was rolling up his sleeves. Additional reinforcements were about to arrive. One of the approaching horses was David's mare Asfur. There were two other riders-Cyrus and Bertie, I presumed. Evelyn and Katherine had resisted the lure of the motorcar.

Nefret put her arm round me. "Come in and have a cup of tea, Mother."

"We may as well," Lia said. "They'll be playing with the car for the rest of the day."

Fatima had not ventured to come out; clutching the bars, she stared at the vehicle as if it were a large, dangerous animal. At my request she rushed off to brew tea and we three females sat down to watch the proceedings.

"Thank goodness Gargery isn't here," I said. "He'd want to pitch in too. I hope they can get the confounded thing together and drive it into the stable before the children join us for tea."

"It doesn't seem likely," remarked Lia. David had not even greeted her. Except for Cyrus, who was watching from a safe distance, the men had stripped to the waist and were waving their arms and arguing. The porters dashed about gathering up the debris; every sc.r.a.p of wood, every nail would be of use to them.

"They will waste a good deal of time arguing about what to do and who is to do it," I remarked. "A woman's clear head is what is needed, but we may as well leave them to go about it in their own disorganized way. Ah, thank you, Fatima. Join us, if you like; it should be amusing."

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

For once, Emerson's consuming pa.s.sion for excavation yielded to an even greater pa.s.sion. A man of iron discipline, he went out to the dig every morning-dragging most of them with him-but he could hardly wait to get back to his new toy. Emerson's reasons for dismembering it made a certain amount of sense-manhandling an entire motorcar onto and off of a flatcar had certain built-in risks, given the makes.h.i.+ft methods the Egyptians employed-but Ramses suspected his father had done it partly because he wanted the fun of taking it apart and putting it back together. He didn't even object to the audience that collected every afternoon. Few Luxor men had ever seen a motorcar. They sat round in a circle, round-eyed and breathless, watching every move Emerson and Selim made. After the first afternoon Ramses and David became part of the audience, since they weren't allowed to do anything. Naturally, a number of essential bolts and nuts had gone missing. Selim managed to find replacements. You could find almost anything in Egypt, or, if necessary, find someone to make it. Selim was an expert mechanic, but the process took a lot longer than it ought to have done, with Emerson "helping."

His mother bore the circus with surprising equanimity. Once or twice Ramses thought he saw a suppressed grin, as she stood at the barred door watching. They were besieged with visitors, not only local people but foreign residents and tourists offering advice and a.s.sistance. Emerson ignored the advice and refused the a.s.sistance, but he was perfectly willing to stop and talk, answer questions, and generally show off. The children did their best to get out and join in the fun; the only one who managed to elude the watchers was Davy, who was s.n.a.t.c.hed up by Emerson as he was reaching for a spanner. He tucked the child under one arm, a procedure Davy found immensely entertaining, and carried him back to the house.

"Good Gad, Peabody, why did you let him out?" he demanded. "He could hurt himself with those heavy tools, you know."

His wife raised her eyes heavenward. "Yes, Emerson, I do know. If you had had the elementary good sense to move the motorcar to the stableyard, out of sight of the children-"

"Bah," said Emerson. "One would suppose that four women could keep track of a few little children."

Her lips tightened into invisibility, but she said only, "I will take steps, Emerson."

What she did was pen the children into an area at the far end of the veranda. The barricade consisted of furniture and boxes; any one of them could climb over or squirm under them, but not without alerting an adult. Inside the enclosure she placed their toys, cus.h.i.+ons and rugs, and a child-sized table and chairs borrowed from the twins' room. Their initial indignation faded when she explained that this was their own special place, into which no grown-up could enter without an invitation, and handed over a box of crayons and a pile of blank paper.

"Now we will see who can draw the best picture," she said.

Ramses thought it would take more than a few boxes to keep Davy penned in, so he volunteered for watch duty and took a chair next to the barricade. After approximately fifteen minutes he wished his mother hadn't added a challenge to what was otherwise an excellent scheme. Paper after paper was thrust at him, and admiration demanded. Except for Dolly's, which were very good for a boy that age, he couldn't even tell what the scribbles were supposed to be. Evvie's were as unidentifiable as those of his children. He tried not to be glad of that. He hadn't been much concerned about the twins' inability to communicate, but having Evvie around chattering like a magpie invited invidious comparisons. Women-mothers-couldn't help making such comparisons, he supposed. They even counted teeth. He had been informed by Nefret that Charla had two more than Evvie.

Late Thursday afternoon the final bolt was tightened and the entire family was summoned to watch as Emerson, sweating, oil-stained, and blissfully happy, gave the starting handle a vigorous turn. The engine caught with a roar that was echoed by a resounding cheer from the audience and Emerson jumped into the driver's seat. Ramses saw a spasm cross his mother's face. She hadn't the heart to forbid him to try the vehicle out; nothing short of a earthquake could have stopped him anyhow.

"Slowly, Emerson, I beg," she shouted. "Slowly and carefully, my dear!"

Emerson refused to come in to tea. Grudgingly he allowed Selim his turns behind the wheel; for the next hour they drove back and forth in front of the house. Their offers of rides were enthusiastically received by the children but firmly declined by both mothers and grandmothers. Only the bursting of a tire put an end to the performance; apparently not all the nails had been picked up.

After Emerson had gone off to bathe and change, his wife said wryly, "Let us hope the worst is over. We really ought to get back to our duties. Tomorrow is Friday. I presume, Nefret, that you and Ramses will be paying your weekly visit to Selim? What about you, David?"

"Not this week, though Selim was good enough to ask me. I want to see Grandfather's tomb."

"Are you taking the children?"

"Dolly wants to go. He has made something of a hero of his great-grandfather. I suppose we'll have to take Evvie as well, she always insists on going where Dolly goes."

Nefret's raised eyebrows indicated disapproval of some part of the scheme, but she said nothing at the time. The following afternoon, after they had returned from Deir el Medina, Ramses, delayed by a lecture from his father, went to their room to change. Nefret was standing in front of the mirror, so absorbed in what she was doing she didn't hear him. Her head and shoulders were thrown back and her hands stretched the fabric of her thin undergarment tight across her body, so that it outlined every rounded curve.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked, studying the effect appreciatively.

Nefret let out her breath in a little scream and whirled round. "I wish you wouldn't creep up on me like that!"

"I wasn't . . . Sorry. What were you doing?"

"Nothing." She let the fabric fall into its normal folds and went to her dressing table. "I was surprised to hear David say they are taking the children to the cemetery. We've never taken the twins."

"Do you want to?"

"I was attempting," said his wife, with uncharacteristic sarcasm, "to induce your opinion, not a question about mine."

"Oh. I don't think I really have one. It's entirely up to you." Her expression told him this wasn't what she wanted to hear, so he tried again. "They never knew Abdullah; he is as remote to them, at their age, as-well, as one of the heroes in the books you read to them. It can't hurt, surely, to tell children about the brave deeds of their friends and ancestors."

"That's one way of looking at it."

"Do you want to go with them?"

"Some other time, perhaps. Selim is expecting us, and Kadija would be disappointed if we didn't go. Do you mind?"

"Of course not." He added with a smile, "Fond as I am of our family, it will be good to be with you and the twins."

"Ramses . . ."

"What is it, dear?"

She had been playing with the objects on her dressing table, s.h.i.+fting them back and forth. Turning, she put her hands on his shoulders. "Did Mother tell you . . ."

"Tell me what?"

Her hands cradled the back of his head and bent it down to meet her upturned face. Her mouth was soft and yet urgent, and as he held her close he began to think of other things he'd rather do than pay social calls.

"I love you very much," she whispered.

"I love you too. What brought this on? Not that I really care," he added. "Let's do that again."

He tried to hold her, but she slipped away, laughing. Her face was unclouded. "Darling, you know the children will be pounding on the door if we don't come."

She was right, of course. Children were a blessing, no doubt of that, but there were times . . . With nostalgia not unmixed with guilt he remembered the days when their embraces hadn't had to be calculated, and the only interruptions came from criminals-and, occasionally, his father.

He kept thinking about it all afternoon, abnormally conscious of his wife's presence. She'd started to ask him something and then changed her mind. Did she know something he didn't-something his mother had told her-that caused her to fear for him? Was that what had prompted that spontaneous, pa.s.sionate kiss? It would be just like the two of them to decide they needed to protect him . . .

Selim had to speak to him twice before he responded. "Sorry, I was thinking of something else."

Selim hadn't missed his fixed stare at Nefret. He murmured, "And a happy thing it is to think of. But when will you all come to us? Daoud wants to have a fantasia, here at Gurneh."

"Talk to Mother," Ramses said. "Where is Daoud? He usually joins us."

"A scorpion stung him."

Scorpion stings were seldom fatal, but they were extremely painful and often debilitating, even for a man of Daoud's strength. "When did this happen?" Ramses asked. "Why didn't he come to Nefret?"

"This morning. There was a meeting of the creatures in his sleeping room, it seems," Selim said with a grin. "The sting is on his foot and he cannot walk. But Kadija has taken care of it. He will be ready for work tomorrow."

"The famous green ointment," Ramses murmured. It probably would have the desired effect; Daoud was a firm believer in its efficacy, and the stuff did seem to work. "Tell him to stay at home if it is not better."

Selim nodded and went on to speak of something else. Scorpions were only too common in Egypt, but it was unusual for them to be found indoors.

When they took their departure Ramses promised to speak to his mother about a date for the fantasia. The children had spent the entire time playing some incomprehensible game that involved running, hopping or rolling back and forth across the courtyard, and the twins were characteristically filthy and uncharacteristically limp with fatigue. Ramses looked down at the curly black head that rested against his chest.

"They should drop off to sleep right away," he said hopefully.

Nefret chuckled. "Don't count on it. The Vandergelts are dining, you know."

"All the more reason to hurry."

There was no hurrying the horses on the hillside, among the cl.u.s.tered houses of the village. They reached the level floor of the desert and he was about to let Risha run when he heard something.

"Listen," he said, reining the horse in.

"I don't-" It came again, and now Nefret heard it too-a high-pitched, wavering scream.

Ramses plucked his drowsy daughter off his s.h.i.+rtfront and held her out. "Take her. Quick."

Nefret obeyed instantly and instinctively, cradling both small bodies tight in her arms. He thanked G.o.d she was a superb horsewoman and that Moonlight was responsive to her slightest word or gesture. The scream came again; this time it was followed by a cry for help. The words were English, the voice was a woman's. Nefret's eyes opened wide.

"Ramses, what-"

"Get the children home. Right now."

He didn't wait for a response. Glancing back as he headed Risha toward the hills, he saw that Moonlight had broken into her long, smooth gallop. If they had been alone, Nefret would have insisted on accompanying him, but the children's safety came first, even though it was unlikely that the agitated female was in serious trouble.

The woman continued to call out; her voice was weakening and broken by long gasping sobs. He found her at last, backed up against a rock outcropping. The man who confronted her was laughing as she struck at him with what appeared to be a fly whisk. It wasn't much of a weapon compared with his knife. He was deliberately playing with her, easily avoiding her feeble blows and cutting at her arms and face. He was enjoying the game so much he failed to hear the hoofbeats until Ramses was almost on top of them. He had to pull Risha up to avoid running both down. The man let out a bleat of alarm and ran. Ramses was about to go after him when the woman sank to the ground.

Not knowing how badly she was hurt, he abandoned the idea of pursuit. He'd recognized her immediately, from her clothing. It was the same she had worn the day Justin and his grandmother had been at Deir el Medina-a drab, dark gown and a hat that even he recognized as a hand-me-down. Mrs. Fitzroyce's companion. What the h.e.l.l was she doing here, alone and under attack? The Gurnawis didn't attack tourists.

There was blood on the ground-not much, but it was still flowing. He turned her carefully onto her back. The blood came from a cut on her arm. He couldn't see any other wounds on her body. Gently he untied the ribbons of her atrocious hat and removed it.

Her eyes were open. They were hazel, fringed with long lashes. Tears and a peculiar grayish film smeared her cheeks. Under it her skin was smooth, her cheeks dotted with freckles.

He remembered those hazel eyes.

"My G.o.d," he whispered. "It can't be . . . Molly?"

CHAPTER FIVE

Our little expedition to the cemetery did not get off until later in the afternoon. Emerson had decided to accompany us, and it always takes him a while to turn his mind from his work to more mundane activities (if one can call a visit to a saint's tomb mundane). His suggestion that we all drive in the motorcar was doomed from the start; he only did it to stir me up. In my opinion it was not really a useful method of transportation. Like the one we had used in Palestine, it had seats for only two people, with a sort of platform behind on which goods or persons could ride. Someone, most probably Selim, had fitted that other car with a canopy and relatively comfortable seats; crammed into this "tonneau," as it might loosely be called, Nefret and I had suffered the long tiring journey across the Sinai. What final modifications Emerson and Selim meant to make to this one I did not know, and I rather doubted that they did themselves. They were always taking parts off and putting them back on.

With the natural ingrat.i.tude of the young, all the children preferred Emerson to everyone else, including the mothers who had nurtured them and the devoted souls who kept them safe, clean, and healthy. His unorthodox notions of entertainment and his uncriticial admiration no doubt explain this. Children are not noted for rational discrimination. After Evvie had made her desires plain, he took her up with him. I had hired several donkeys for the season, since Evelyn candidly admitted she preferred their plodding pace. To his great delight I a.s.signed one of them to Dolly.

We did not take the animals into the cemetery. I don't know that there was any particular prohibition against it, but it seemed disrespectful. When Emerson put her down, Evvie tried to squirm away from him, but he held her firmly.

"This is like a church," he explained. "You must be quiet and not run over the graves."

"Are there dead people down under the ground?" Evvie asked curiously.