Lion in the Valley (33 page)

"Good
Gad," I cried in agonized tones.

Emerson,
naive creature, chuckled in amusement. "My dear boy, your feelings are
quite normal, I assure you. They are the first childish stirrings of sensations
which will in time blossom and mature into the noblest sentiments known to
mankind."

"So
I surmised," said Ramses. "And that is why I wished to discuss the
matter with you. Since these are normal, natural sensations, I ought to know
more about them."

"But,
Ramses," his father began, belatedly aware of where the conversation was
leading.

"I
believe I have heard Mama say on several occasions that the relationships
between the sexes were badly mishandled in our prudish society, and that young
persons ought to be informed of the facts."

"You
did hear me say that," I acknowledged, wondering what had ever possessed
me to say it in his hearing.

"I
am ready to be informed," said Ramses, his elbows on the table, his chin
in his hands, and his great eyes fixed on me.

"I
cannot deny the justice of the request," I said. "Emerson—"

"What?"
Emerson started violently. "Now, Peabody—"

"Surely
this is a matter more suitable for a father than a mother."

"Yes,
but—"

"I
will leave you to it, then." I rose.

"Just
a moment, Papa," Ramses said eagerly. "Allow me to get out paper and
pencil. I would like to take a few notes."

As
I strolled toward the kitchen I heard Emerson begin speaking. His voice was too
low to enable me to make out the words, but I thought he said something about
amoebae.

The
kitchen was only a cooking fire in a ring of stones, with the cook's pots and
pans and jars set here and there in seeming confusion; but Hamid knew where
everything was. He was a cousin of Abdullah's, and I must say his appearance
would not have inspired confidence in a prospective employer, for he was
cadaverously thin, with sad, drooping mustaches. In this case the prospective
employer would have been misled, for Hamid's cooking was first-rate. He looked
up from the pot he was stirring and told me dinner was ready. I persuaded him
to put it off for a while; if Emerson was beginning with one-celled life forms,
it would probably take him quite some time to work up to the hominids.
Delighted at my visit, the men gathered around and we had a refreshing gossip.

Before
long, however, Hamid's mustaches drooped even more visibly and his comments
became brusque and sullen. I gathered that, like all great chefs, even those
who wear turbans instead of tall white hats, he would do something unpleasant
to the food if it were not served on time. I therefore told him we would dine,
and went to collect the diners.

Emerson
had vanished. Ramses was scribbling busily by the light of a candle.

"Is
the lecture over?" I inquired.

Ramses
nodded. "For the moment, yes. I had not finished asking questions, but
Papa informed me he had no more to say on the subject."

"Do
you consider that you have been properly educated?"

"I
confess," said Ramses, "that I find myself unable to visualize
certain of the procedures. They sound, if not physically impossible, very
tiring. I asked Papa if he could draw a diagram or two, but he said no, he
could not. Perhaps you—"

"No,"
I said.

"Papa
did mention that the subject was to be avoided in conversation and that our
particular cultural mores view it as taboo. I find this rather curious, since
to the best of my knowledge other societies do not share this attitude.
Relative cultural values—"

"Ramses,"
I said. "The topic of relative cultural values must be regarded at this
time as a digression. Can you not turn your attention to more immediate
questions?"

"For
example, Mama?"

"For
example, dinner. Hamid is fetching it now and he will be seriously displeased
if we let the food get cold. Fetch Mr. Fraser and Miss Debenham, if you please,
and I will call your papa."

I
found Emerson on the roof, brooding silently in the starlight like a life-sized
sphinx. I congratulated him on his efficient handling of a complex subject, to
which he replied, "I beg you will not mention it again, Amelia.
Ill-natured persons might view any comment whatever as tantamount to rubbing it
in."

Dinner
was not a social success. Ramses kept glancing at his notes and occasionally
adding a word or two, a process that made Emerson extremely nervous. Enid
ignored Donald, addressing most of her remarks to Ramses. The
kawurmeh
was
excellent, though a trifle overseasoned.

I
asked Donald why he had not made his presence known to his brother. "For
surely," I added, "you must have heard his voice."

"I
heard him," Donald answered shortly.

"How
could you resist such an affectionate appeal?"

"You
can hardly suppose I would expend so much effort in avoiding him and then
change my mind."

Enid
said, ostentatiously directing her comment to Ramses, "Cowardice, you
know, is not always of the physical variety. Refusal to confront the truth is a
form of moral cowardice, which to me is even worse."

Statements
of this nature were not designed to improve the mood of the gathering.

Nor
was Emerson any help. As a rule, after a successful day of excavation he is full
of cheerful talk about his accomplishments and his plans for the future. I
attributed his silence to resentment—unreasonable and unfair in the extreme,
since it was Ramses who introduced the subject in the first place, and I only
acted as any mother would have done. My attempts to woo Emerson from his bad
humor by questioning him about the temple ruins won no response.

As
might have been expected, Ramses was quite ready to talk, and I must say his
conversation was a curious blend of his normal Egyptological interests and his
new infatuation. He kept inviting Enid to come to his room so he could show her
his Egyptian grammar.

At
the end of the meal Emerson announced abruptly that he intended to go to Cairo
next day. "It is the day of rest for the men, so I won't be losing any
more time
than I would in any case. I count on you, Mr. Fraser, to
watch over Ramses and the ladies—"

"The
ladies!" I exclaimed. "I hope you don't include
me
in that
category, Emerson. Naturally I intend to accompany you."

"I
phrased it badly, Peabody. Pray excuse me. I had hoped you would also remain
here, on guard. You are worth a thousand men, you know."

This
flagrant attempt at flattery was so unlike Emerson, I could only stare in
silent astonishment. Donald said, "As to that, Professor, you may be sure
I will do my duty with or without Mrs. Emerson's assistance. Even a moral
coward may be willing to die in defense of the weak and helpless."

This
statement infuriated both Enid and Ramses. Enid suggested that they retire, to
inspect the grammar, and they went off together. Bastet followed them, but not
before she had indicated her loyalty to her young master by biting Donald on
the leg.

It
was agreed that we should spend the night at the house, in order to be ready to
catch the early train. Emerson applied himself to writing up his professional
journal, while I labeled and sorted the artifacts that had been found.
Sometimes, though, when I looked up from my work, I saw him sitting with idle
hands staring at the paper in front of him, as if his mind had wandered far
from his work. I went to bed early. Emerson did not come up with me, nor did he
rouse me, as he usually did, when he joined me later.

The
zenith was still dark when I was awakened by a surreptitious sound below, but
the faint pallor of the eastern sky showed that dawn was not far distant.
Carefully I crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down.

The
sound I had heard was that of the door being softly opened and closed. I
expected to see a diminutive form creeping out on some unimaginable errand, but
the shadow that stole toward the gate was that of a man. I had no difficulty in
realizing it must be Donald.

I
did not waken Emerson. When roused suddenly from profound slumber he makes loud
noises and strikes people. It took only a moment to slip into the garments I
had laid out ready for the morning, and to seize my trusty parasol. I did not
take my belt of tools, for I feared their rattling would arouse Emerson and
make the surreptitious pursuit I contemplated impossible. As it was, the
parasol caught my foot as I was climbing down the wall and caused me to fall
rather heavily. Luckily the earthen surface muffled the thud. I reminded myself
that in future, should such a descent become necessary, I had better drop the parasol
down before descending myself.

Donald
had left the gate slightly ajar. Slipping through it, I looked in vain for him,
and feared he had escaped me. However, I had some idea where he might be going.
As I dressed I had remembered a statement of his brother's the day before. That
rambling, sentimental speech had not been so pointless as I had believed; for
in reminiscing about childhood days, Ronald had suggested an assignation,
hoping Donald would overhear. He had obviously known Donald was among us, even
as he had been aware of Enid's presence. How he had come by this information
was a matter of some concern, but I did not waste time speculating on it. With
any luck, I would soon be in a position to ask him point-blank, for I felt sure
Donald was going to meet his brother on the reedy bank of the canal, near the
place where the latter had been shooting.

The
sky lightened and the rim of the rising sun
peeped over the hills. I
followed the path along the dike that skirted the village, for I assumed that Donald
would want to avoid being seen. Sounds of activity and the acrid smell of
woodsmoke from the cooking fires were already to be discerned, for, like all
primitive people, the villagers rose with the sun.

I
had not gone far when I saw the young man ahead of me. A few others were abroad
by then, and at first glance one might have taken him for an industrious farmer
heading for the fields. It was obvious that he thought he had left the house
unobserved, for he did not look back. However, I took the precaution of
concealing myself behind a small donkey loaded with sugar cane, which was going
in the same direction.

Finally
Donald left the path and plunged into the lush green growth between the canal
and the river. I had to abandon my donkey, but the reeds and coarse grass
sheltered me so long as I moved with my back bent over. At last Donald stopped.
I crept forward and crouched behind a clump of weeds.

Donald
made no attempt to conceal himself. On the contrary, he straightened to his
full height and removed his turban. The sun's brazen orb had lifted full above
the horizon and its rays edged his form with a rim of gold. His sturdy shape,
the sharp outline of his profile, and above all the red-gold of his hair
rendered him a prominent object.

I
could not help recalling Emerson's insistence on the red hair of the god Set.
Had I been misled after all by a consummate actor simulating the role of an
innocent, wronged young Englishman? Impossible! And yet— what if Sethos were
not one brother, but both? His seemingly uncanny ability to accomplish more
than an ordinary mortal could achieve would thus be explained.

Yet
the other half of the persona (if my latest theory
was
indeed correct) failed to make an appearance. Donald was as puzzled by his
brother's absence as was I. He scratched his head and looked from side to side.

A
violent agitation in the reeds made him turn. I was not the source of the
disturbance; it came from some distance to my rear. However, it had the unhappy
effect of turning his eye in my direction, and the screen of weeds proved too
frail a barrier for concealment. In two long strides he had reached my hiding
place and plucked me out of it. He had not expected to see me. Astonishment
contorted his face, and his hand fell from my collar.

"Mrs.
Emerson! What the devil are you doing here?"

"I
might ask you the same thing," I replied, tucking my waist back into the
band of my shirt. "At least I might if I did not know the answer. Your
brother's message was heard and understood by me. However, it appears that he
has been delayed. What was the hour of the rendezvous?"

"Sunrise,"
Donald replied. "That was the hour at which we were accustomed to go to
the marsh to shoot. Please go back, Mrs. Emerson. If he wants to speak
privately with me, he won't make his presence known so long as you are
here."

I
was about to acquiesce, or appear to—for of course I had no intention of
leaving until I had heard what the brothers had to say to one another. Before I
could so much as nod, a disconcerting thing happened. Something whizzed through
the air a few inches over my head with an angry buzzing sound. A split second
later I heard the sound of the explosion. A second and third shot followed.

With
a stifled cry Donald clapped his hand to his head and collapsed. So startled
was I by this untoward event that I failed to move quickly enough, and I was
borne
to the ground by the weight of Donald's body.