The curse of Kalaan (2 page)

              It was a secret for no one that the young count, as well as being a renowned Egyptologist, had been a buccaneer. He began in the service of Napoleon Bonaparte when he was only fourteen and then went on to serve Louis XVIII and Charles X, following the Restoration of 1814, which had brought back the Bourbon monarchy.

              Kalaan, whose father had been a buccaneer before him, followed in his father's footsteps; but the old Count of Croz had disappeared at sea during a dangerous mission against the British, well before the new King of France returned to the throne.

              A buccaneer is exactly how Champollion, who never tried to hide his admiration, saw Kalaan, imagining him upright and proud at the helm of his frigate, unaffected by the cascades of salt water pelting down on him, while facing the unleashed elements of a powerful storm.

              The two men had run into each other several times in Paris, usually at the Louvre Museum. Their most recent encounter was during the inauguration of the Musée Charles X, where eight new rooms in the south wing of the Cour Carré, were devoted to Egyptian and Greco-Roman antiquities. At the time Jean-François hung on every word the count said after returning from one of his numerous expeditions to Egypt, whereas Champollion, the ‘decipherer of hieroglyphs’ only dreamed of discovering that faraway land that called to him. His dream had always slipped through his fingers just as he thought it might come true.

              It had finally happened! Champollion was living his adventure and savoring every minute of it. Sumptuous Egypt seemed to open her arms and constantly thrilled him with her rich and mysterious history. And now, on this seventh day of November in 1828, adrenalin was rushing through his veins again and he was getting restless waiting to hear what it was that Kalaan so wanted to keep secret.

              Unable to control himself any longer, Jean-François asked questions rapidly, one after the other, and only stopped when he realized he hadn't given the count, who was looking at him with amusement, the chance to answer — as if he would even deign to do so.

              The small boat shook as its hull slid squealing onto the sand of the west bank. They were already at their destination and Kalaan's men were quickly pulling the felucca to higher ground. They helped Champollion out onto land while Kalaan, who had jumped into the water before they hit the sand, was heading towards the dry desert zone that could be seen just beyond the lush green belt. Despite being a nobleman, the Count of Croz, totally lacked the manners and courtesy that would have him wait for his guest. Only Lil' Louis, the young aristocrat's sturdy right-hand man, who was well into his fifties and Salam, Kalaan's mysterious Tuareg friend, stayed back with him, exchanging embarrassed glances. Kalaan's lack of good manners obviously disturbed them.

              "Lil' Louis!" exclaimed Champollion, warmly shaking the man's large hand. "What a pleasure to see you again!"

              "Likewise," the old seafarer replied cheerfully, "Mighty pleased t'see ye. The sooner ye get the lad outta this hole, the sooner we go home. Oy'm fed up with guzzling sand!"

              Champollion burst out laughing at Lil' Louis’ outspokenness. With his graying hair, pudgy cheeks and round belly, the little fellow, whose trousers were always falling, cut a comic figure and, with Kalaan, the two of them formed an odd couple. Jean-François cleared his throat to regain composure and turned to Salam, whom Lil' Louis quickly introduced.

              He was what they call a ‘blue man’
[12]
, tall and imposing, dressed from head to foot in a
takakat
[13]
and an indigo cheich, the long traditional costume of his people. The cloth across his face hid everything but his dark, unfathomable almond-shaped eyes, thick dark eyelashes and well-defined eyebrows. The man was heavily armed, wearing a
takoba
[14]
,
held at the waist by a brown leather belt. It was only visible by its cross-shaped hilt sticking out of a brown leather sheath. The blue man also carried a spear and a goatskin shield and was most certainly wearing a
telak
, the traditional Tuareg dagger, under his left sleeve
.

              On seeing the blue man, Jean-François thought of the count and had a troubling idea, "
God has united the light and the shadows about me, the light in Kalaan and the shadows in Salam. Could this be a sign?"

              "As salaam alaykum
, peace be upon you."
Bowing his head with respect,
the Tuareg spoke in Arabic, not in Berber
[15]
. His voice was rich and gravely.

              "
Wa 'alaykum salaam,
upon you be peace," replied Jean-François, who spoke Arabic fluently.

              The brief exchange stopped there and, following Salam's signal, the three men headed in the same direction as Kalaan had just a few minutes earlier. The heat on this side of the Nile was strangely heavier than on the east bank at the ruins of Tell el-Amarna. Jean-François was soon aware that Lil' Louis, who was on his right, appeared to suffer even more; and his breathing became more and more labored with each heavy step.

As they pushed on, leaving behind the greenery and flat ground, and got closer to the blazing furnace of the dunes, it became more and more difficult to walk. It was almost as if the fine sand into which their feet were sinking deeply, was trying to break their will to continue.

              The wretched sand... It got into everything. It made their mouths gritty and cottony and their eyes were so irritated that there were tears in them. The clothes became rough and itchy and even the boots, which were supposed to serve as protection became torture. With each step forward the desert took its retribution, and put the men through cruel torment.

              About a hundred yards further they finally reached the count who had deigned to wait for them. He lowered the bottom strip of his cheich, thus uncovering his face, and handed a goatskin canteen full of water to his Egyptologist friend.

              "Drink. Now is not the time to fall to sunstroke. You too Lil' Louis," he said scolding, when he noticed the sorry state his old friend was in. "Good heavens, perhaps the next time you will listen to me and stay on the boat!"

              "Oy promised yer mother oy'd not let ye outta me sight, lad!"

              "Did you also promise her to die of stupidity? Drink!"

Champollion gratefully accepted the water, which, despite its unpleasantly warm temperature, was refreshing. After quenching his thirst, he quickly handed it to the old seafarer. The old man in turn slaked his own thirst and handed the canteen to Salam, who declined, shaking his head.

              "For sure," Lil' Louis grumbled, "No one tells off the blue warrior, right!"

              "This is Salaam's home,” Kalaan replied stiffly, as if he'd already said the same thing a hundred times. "You can't possibly compare his tolerance to this heat with yours."

              Jean-François couldn’t help but show his curiosity about the blue man. Kalaan realized this and smiled before speaking again.

              "Salam wanted to welcome you with honor, wearing his full ceremonial attire. He would like to be dressed entirely in white, to express his respect for you, but unfortunately he'd only packed his indigo twill."

              "I thank him for that," said Champollion particularly touched by such deference, for he felt he was nothing more than a small ordinary man. He had such a mistaken opinion of himself, while the world of explorers both respected and envied him for being the first person to decipher hieroglyphs. In Salam's eyes, he was a man among men.

              "We're only a few steps away," Kalaan revealed pointing towards a stretch of high dunes.

              The blazing heat was now unbearable and strange spiraling arabesques were rising in the air, making the view hazy for miles around in all directions.

Suddenly, there was an extraordinary, bloodcurdling sound, then a second one that sounded like a muffled moan, immediately followed by another, one wave of sound after another. There! The sound shifted again and little by little transformed into something resembling the beating of drums, getting louder and louder. No! Now it was a low moan again!

              "We call it the ‘
song of the dunes’
[16]
,”
Salam explained in his richly accented voice, influenced by his native Berber tongue. The ancient ones used to say that these songs either called us to death, or announced it."

              Champollion started shivering from head to foot; not from cold but from fear, a fear that had been constantly with him for some time now, the fear that his demise was imminent and that he would die before he could complete his voyage and see all that the world had to offer.

              "‘Tis nothing but a legend, Jean-François," Kalaan tried to reassure him. "The noise comes from the wind caressing the dunes, or when our feet dig into them creating little sand avalanches. But I can understand your consternation. I felt the same way the first time I experienced the phenomenon. So, shall we go?" he urged, no longer concerned with his friend's distress. And he swirled around to start back on his forced march.

              Once again, he didn't wait for his companions. Champollion shook off his morbid thoughts and ordered his unwilling body to follow the young nobleman.

              "Zounds! He trembled like a weak woman," mumbled Lil' Louis so that only Champollion could hear him. The Egyptologist stifled his laugh with a cough as Kalaan opened his mouth to speak again.

              "Fear can be respectable when it pushes us to make the right choices!" he said over his shoulder. "Only fools and imbeciles can't understand this."

              "And you my, friend? Is there anything on this earth that terrifies you? You look solid as a rock, so much so that it is hard for me to imagine you could feel such an emotion."

Kalaan broke into a hearty laugh and turned to look into Champollion's eyes.

              "If I were to confess what gives me cold sweats, you wouldn't believe me."

              "You could always try, unless it must remain a secret."

              "Aye, we’re all ears now," the old sailor added in a honeyed voice.

Kalaan looked down at him, his lips pursed in a cynical, almost bitter expression. "I have no secrets. Well, since you insist on knowing, what frightens me more than anything are women!”

Champollion looked dumbstruck for an instant, thinking he hadn't heard correctly. He then burst out laughing, but quickly regained his composure when he saw the vexed look on the face of the Adonis, beloved by all women. That didn't stop Lil' Louis from guffawing and slapping his knee. Salam simply nodded silently.

Champollion realized with stupefaction that the count wasn't joking. This womanizing rake was afraid of women! The announcement was hard to believe.

"I can no longer stand their tittering, their simpering, their frivolity and their guiles! They're all the same, not one better than the other. Except, of course, for my sister Isabelle and my mother," he muttered, apologetically thinking of the two ladies in question. “I loathe them so much, I could almost become a monk!”

“You are joking, aren’t you?” Champollion exclaimed.

“Absolutely not! I must have liked them at some point, or at least enjoyed their company. But today I’m tired of them. All I see when I look at women now is their duplicity and their abounding hypocrisy. Don’t be mistaken, I’m no monk; they serve me well ... for dalliances, I must admit. But it stops at that.”

Jean-François thought he saw a spark of humor in the dark eyes of the ever-silent Salaam, and began to think about the young count’s words. He was a strong handsome man, rich and free; and certainly all the matriarchs of French nobility were aware of this. Kalaan most likely had to suffer all the marriageable young ladies from all over France being paraded at his door. He was also said to be an excellent lover, and every widow or unhappily married woman probably did everything possible to add him to their list of conquests.

Seen from that point of view, the fairer sex could be considered somewhat frightening. Now Jean-François could understand and give credit to Kalaan’s words. However, he would have liked to have the same type of fear as his friend, rather than one of an early demise.

“The tomb is just down there,” the count announced, pulling Champollion from his thoughts.

A tomb? Where?
They were standing at the ridge of a high dune and nothing around them could confirm what Kalaan said.

However, when he followed Kalaan’s eyes and looked further down, Jean-François couldn’t suppress an exclamation of surprise. There, at the foot of the dune, what looked like stone walls most likely of human construction, had been revealed. The ancient earthy coating had been partially removed and clearly marked the entrance to something resembling a mausoleum. Yet it remained completely invisible to anyone standing at the edge of Tell el-Amarna.

Kalaan’s baritone voice cut through the silence. “The desert jealously hides its secrets and nature, either by whim or as a joke, and enjoys teasing us by raising storms to reveal to the world what should never have reappeared. We are the first to have laid eyes on this edifice since time immemorial. It has never been charted by Sicard, or by the scientists who were here during the Egyptian campaign
[17]
, nor by Belzoni
[18]
and most certainly not by the vile French consul Drovetti
[19]
. I have made certain of this. We are standing before a great discovery!”