Читать книгу: «The Curse of Pharaohs. A novel», страница 4

Mr. Atkinson smiled: “We Americans adore both the Bible and dinosaurs at the same time and we adore them like no one else in the world! American dinosaurs are the largest and most ancient in the world!”

“In my opinion,” the colonel noted, “America is using dinosaurs like a teenager, building its complex of historical superiority. What mean hundreds or even thousands of years of Old World history compared to the hundreds of millions of years of our dinosaurs? What do you think, Mr. Gregson? It seemed to me that you agree?”

Gregson thought for a moment and replied: “I suppose you’re not the first person to have such a cynical thoughts. But in our Old World people rarely express their ideas so openly. Maybe that’s why they started acting in complete silence much earlier than you. And, accordingly, they have already moved much further in this direction than you.”

“Perhaps.” The colonel nodded thoughtfully. “However, most likely, the same people act here and there.”

“Who are they?”

The colonel just looked up at the ceiling, shrugged his shoulders and laughed.

“I’ve heard that Freemasons played a big role in popularizing Ancient Egypt.” Atkinson noted.

“You also understand nothing about our science: neither in history, nor in Egyptology!” Lepont declared loudly and added, addressing Gregson. “Since you are going to write a book on this topic, do not try to take into account all that nonsense!”

Gregson smiled: “I would be very grateful if you help me figure out this topic.”

Lepont shrugged. “Try it and, if you have a sincere, I emphasize, sincere desire to understand this matter, I will give you some literature today.”

Poetry

FIGARO. He took the Matter in a serious Light, and turned me out of my employment, under Pretext that the Love of the Muses, and Attention to Horse affairs were incompatible.

COUNT. Most profound Wisdom!

Beaumarchais. The Barber of Seville.

FIGARO. What Beauty, what Cunning, what Love!

COUNT. And do’st thou think she will be mine Figaro?

FIGARO. She’ll sooner come thro’ those iron Bars, if necessary, than disappoint you.

Ibid.

The book given by an archaeologist – A Thousand Miles Up the Nile by Amelia Edwards — acted on Gregson like a sleeping pill. Either from what he had read, or from the satiety after dinner, he gradually dozed off. He had horror dreams where he was chased by dinosaurs with a heads of crocodiles and birds. When he woke up, he picked up the book and went out on deck to breathe.

Mademoiselle Saad was standing near the side, surrounded by her companions: Verte with Lepont and the colonel with the secretary. Mademoiselle Saad was singing a strange song, in which Gregson could hardly recognize some familiar French and Arabic words.

Mademoiselle Saad turned to him and explained: “We were just looking at the sea and arguing about poetry. I recalled a song about the sea. I heard this song in Marseille. It was sung by a boy at the pier. I didn’t remember everything, but I liked the song. In English, it would be something like this:

 
A white ship on a blue sea
Thrown by a wave towards the blue sky.
And there is a blue bird hiding in the blue sky.
And there’s a white angel singing.
I smile at this miracle,
Charming my mind, eyes, ears.
I thank Allah for everything!”
 

“And I say that this is a real primitive!” Said Verte. “There is no real high poetry here. This is how a true poet writes about the sea.” And he began to recite in French, howling and drawling:

 
I dreamt the green night of blinded snows,
A kiss lifted slow to the eyes of seas,
The circulation of unheard-of flows,
Sung phosphorus’s blue-yellow awakenings!
For months on end, I’ve followed the swell
That batters at the reefs like terrified cattle,
Not dreaming the Three Marys’ shining feet
Could muzzle with their force the Ocean’s hell!
 

“Did you understand anything?” Mademoiselle Saad unceremoniously interrupted the recitation, turning to Gregson.

“Alas, I don’t understand French that well.” He admitted. “I only understood that it says about the glow on the sea associated with phosphorus. But I want to note that phosphoric lights in the sea are usually the so-called St. Elmo’s lights. This is not chemistry at all, but static electricity. Although, perhaps, in this case we are referring to the phosphoric glow of seaweed, which is really caused by a chemical reaction associated with some phosphorus compounds.”

The Colonel and Mr. Atkinson looked at each other and laughed loudly at the same time, and the Colonel said: “Xenophon’s Socrates says something like this: ‘I asked the poets what they wanted to express in their works in order to learn something from them. I’m ashamed to tell you the truth, but I still have to tell it. In short, poets say a lot of beautiful things, but they don’t know anything about what they are talking about.’”

“That’s what they call casting pearls before swine!” Verte said angrily. “For laymen, phosphorus is not a high poetic image, just a crude chemical element!”

He turned and walked away from the group. The archaeologist tried to follow him, but did not dare to leave so silently and stayed. To keep the conversation going, he nodded at the book in Gregson’s hands: “Very poetically written book, don’t you think?”

Gregson confirmed: “I find it very poetic indeed.”

“And what love for Egypt it shows!” Lepont happily joined in. “This is also a kind of poetry. Amelia Edwards saw everything with her own eyes and, therefore, inevitably fell in love with Egyptian antiquities! For almost half a century now she makes fall in love with Egypt her readers in various countries of the world!”

“There is indeed plenty of love and poetry in the book and the pictures are beautiful.” Gregson said. “But some places seemed… strange to me. For example, here.” Gregson opened the book where the bookmark was placed: “Do you remember a very poetic place where you talk about the monuments of Abu Simbel?”

“Of course! I remember this book almost by heart!”

Gregson read out: “‘The great statues towered above their heads. The river glittered like steel in the far distance. There was a keen silence in the air; and toward the east the Southern Cross was rising. To the strangers who stood talking there with bated breath, the time, the place, even the sound of their own voices, seemed unreal. They felt as if the whole scene must fade with the moonlight, and vanish before morning.’”

“It’s beautifully written!” Lepont even squeezed his eyes shut and kissed the tips of his fingers. “What confused you here?”

Gregson shrugged doubtfully, choosing his words. The Colonel and Mr. Atkinson exchanged glances. The colonel nodded slightly, and then Atkinson said: “If my geographical knowledge does not fail me, then Abu Simbel is located approximately at the latitude of the tropic, right?”

“Right.” The Frenchman replied suspiciously.

“The Northern tropic.” The secretary clarified.

“Of course, the Northern one!” The Frenchman confirmed irritably.

“If my astronomical knowledge does not let me down, then the Southern Cross is the polar constellation of the southern sky, located near the South Pole, give or take a few degrees?”

“This guy has a real file in his head of all the necessary knowledge!” The colonel commented smiling. “That’s why I drag him everywhere with me.”

Lepont had already figured out where his opponent was going, but still tried to stand his ground: “The stars of the Southern Cross can sometimes be seen in Abu Simbel!”

“I agree.” Mr. Atkinson nodded. “They can, but only above the horizon and only in winter, mainly during the winter solstice.”

Lepont hastened to consolidate the success. “There you go! Perhaps it was this day!”

“You’re almost right about the winter solstice, Mr. Lepont.” Gregson put in. “The book definitely says that our travelers arrived in Abu Simbel on January thirty-first and left on the evening of February eighteenth. I may have missed a lot of artistic beauties, but I usually remember the dates of events, the place of action and important circumstances of events quite well.”

Atkinson persisted “Even so, but there was no way the Southern Cross could have appeared in the east, as it says in the book!”

“That’s true!” Gregson agreed. “And that’s what confused me.”

The colonel smiled faintly through his moustache with only the corners of his lips: “In all great arts, idle talk and high-mindedness about nature are required. From here, in an incomprehensible way, that height of thoughts and that effectiveness of the word flow… This is what Socrates says in Plato’s dialogues Phaedrus.”

Lepont frowned angrily and could not find an answer. Atkinson looked at him triumphantly, smiling. Gregson pitied the frustrated archaeologist and added: “Although, if we interpret doubts in favor of the author, then I tend to understand the words ‘toward the east’ in the sense of ‘a little bit, just a little, a few degrees east of the exact southern geographical direction’.”

Lepont nodded in relief and smiled gratefully, and then Gregson finished: “In general, I would prefer that, instead of poetic beauties, books contain clear, accurate and useful information and be written in such a way that the reader could understand their exact meaning without special effort.”

“You are a scientist, Monsieur Lepont,” the colonel smiled, “you should evaluate the information from the sources critically. And what if other information from this book, say, facts about Egyptian antiquities, is as reliable as the above passage? And what if the wonderful drawings in the book (yes, yes, I am also well familiar with this book!), so what if the drawings are not made from nature at all, but, say, from other drawings?”

Lepont silently snatched the book from Gregson’s hands and, without deigning to answer the colonel, strode away. The colonel and the secretary smiled, put their fingers to the brims of their hats at the same time, and also left.

“Poor boy!” Mademoiselle Saad sighed.

Gregson did not understand: “Are you talking about Monsieur Lepont?”

“No, about our poet, who was mortally offended by you for his idol Rimbaud. A little more and he would have challenged you to a duel. With his passion for the beauties of poetry, he would never achieve true love of a woman.”

Gregson was surprised. “Why? They say women are crazy about poets.”

“Sometimes women dream of moving from poetic images to sensual reality. The feeling of love must condense alchemically and transmute into action. Go from ghostly phosphorescent glow to real phosphorus. And poetry… It takes the feelings in a completely different direction. And I am very impressed by your practical realism!”

She looked directly into Gregson’s eyes and for a moment his breath was taken away and his heart stopped.

“You are very special Arabian woman!“all he managed to say.

Mademoiselle Saad laughed: “Do you really have anyone to compare?”

“I’ve seen enough Arabian women in Bedouin tents when I was in the army,” Gregson retorted.

“Did you only see them or…?”

“Well…” Gregson hesitated and almost squeezed out. “One of them helped me learn Arabic for a long time.”

“Then you shouldn’t have prejudices about Arabian women.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Then come to my cabin tonight! Let’s improve your Arabic language.”

Gregson did not know what to say to such a frank offer and hesitated with an answer. Mademoiselle Saad looked not only extremely attractive, but also somehow dangerous.

“Maybe you have more exotic preferences?” Mademoiselle Saad egged on. “For example, like a couple of Monsieur Lepont and Monsieur Verte?”

She was openly making fun of him. Such an assumption could not be tolerated in any way. Gregson was angry: first, at Mademoiselle Saad, and then suddenly at himself. Why, unlike her, he had not figured out such an obvious explanation for the appearance and behavior of those two.

“I will come. I would hate to miss such unique opportunity to improve my language when you are teaching!”

She gave him a quick glance. Her eyes seemed to be laughing at him. “Then I’ll be waiting for you tonight. Better later.”

She turned and walked away at a brisk pace. Gregson remained standing, staring unseeingly at the sea foam. This woman seems to be gaining control over him. It is dangerous!

A quarter of an hour later a flock of dolphins appeared near the board attracting curious and simply bored passengers. Colonel Watson came up to Gregson, who was standing alone, smiling: “This Mademoiselle Saad is such a hottie, isn’t she? Beware!”

“How do you know?”

The colonel just shrugged his shoulders and smiled into his moustache: “My secretary is putting the moves to Miss Saad’s maid. It was from her that he learned about Mademoiselle Saad laying eyes on you. However, a simple observation would be enough for this conclusion. The challenges of destiny must be accepted. The one evading a challenge is at risk of not living his life. As the Romans used to say: Audaces fortuna juvat. The same rule applies to countries, states, and peoples…”

“And has your observancy told you anything about Monsieur Lepont and Monsieur Verte?” Gregson asked suddenly.

“Of course!” The colonel grinned. “These two are not your rivals in love at all.”

“You are very well informed.” That is all Gregson managed to answer.

“Yes, knowing everything is my profession.” The colonel nodded. “But knowing everything is a rather tedious trade.”

“And what do you do?”

“I am an advisor.” The colonel smiled into his moustache. “I am engaged in painting a picture of the world for big people who have power and make important decisions. Therefore, I need to present the picture of the world first of all to myself and then help others to grasp it.”

“What do you advise big people?”

“Basically, actions in politics. For example, who should be the governor? And who should be the president. On which side is it better for America to enter the war. Or how to use images of dinosaurs to benefit America…”

Gregson did not understand if the colonel was joking, and changed the subject just in case: “I think you said Fortis fortuna adiuvat. That’s the motto of the American military, isn’t it? Where did you serve in the army? Did you fight in Europe?”

The Colonel laughed: “God forbid! I am not a military man in the least. Military service completely discourages the ability to think independently. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, because you served yourself. And if you’re talking about my rank of colonel, believe it or not, I carry it with full right: in America, such a title can be obtained for the most unusual services, and not only military ones. I admit, it tickles when people call me colonel: this title always amuses me extremely.”

“And the fact that I served in the army, is it so noticeable?” Gregson was surprised.

“In your case, it’s obvious. And quite understandable because of the recent war. But what is more interesting is that you are still traveling not entirely in your own personal interests. Is that right?”

“And what indicates this?

The Colonel laughed: “You see, ordinary people with modest incomes rarely spend money on the excesses associated with first-class traveling. But they may enjoy such a luxury if others – who sent them – pay for it.

Gregson smiled: “And, say, for example, our reverend and his wife, to whom would you attribute them?”

The Colonel shook his head: “I believe their missionary work is generously paid for by a certain foundation. I can also assume that the sudden interest of this foundation in the immortal souls of Sudanese Negroes is explained by the likelihood of imminent displacement of Britain from Sudan.”

Gregson thought that the colonel probably was thinking in the same categories as Saed-midjar did. A colleague! Aloud he asked: “And you? Whose interests do you represent traveling to this land of lotuses? And are you really going to indulge in idleness there?”

“Wow, I didn’t think you have such a good memory!” The colonel was surprised.

“Thank you. Nevertheless, let me insist on my question. Are your interests only personal or official?”

“For some time now I have stopped distinguishing between personal and official interests,” colonel have avoided a direct answer, “A real poet ceases to distinguish between himself and his creation, between his fantasy and reality…”

“But isn’t it very dangerous to stop distinguishing the facet of reality?”

“Of course! Very dangerous!” The colonel smiled. “It requires a certain determination and courage. But it is much more important to distinguish between the achievable and the impossible. I wish you to reach that capability! Audacem fortuna juvat.”

The colonel touched the brim of his hat with his fingers and started to move, but stopped and turned around: “By the way, the American military borrowed the motto from the poetry of Virgil.”

All evening, Gregson could not concentrate on the materials on Egyptology and the Carnarvon dossier and barely making it to nightfall knocked to Mademoiselle Saad’s cabin…

***

“Are you judging me?”

“No, Zainab. But all this is very unusual for me. Our women rarely behave so naturally, even the less I expected it from the women of the East.”

“I don’t anticipate very merry life ahead. I will no longer have the same freedom in Cairo. In our country, everything is not the same as in France. Life was much easier for me in Paris. Here, a woman must certainly have a patron: a father, a husband or a brother… my father is dead, my brother will become my patron. He won’t like my free behavior. I’m probably going to get married.”

“And how were you allowed to live alone in Paris?”

“My father loved me very much and sent me to study in Paris. He died recently, so I was summoned back from Paris. And I wasn’t completely alone: I was supposed to be looked after by a maid. The chaperone.”

“Your chaperone is now having fun with Colonel Watson’s secretary.”

“I know. I’m not bothering her, and she’s not bothering me. But maybe I won’t have to get married. I have a useful and well-paid profession. I can support myself on my own.”

“What is your profession?”

“I am a gynecologist and an obstetrician. I can also be a pediatrician. Of course, I would love to study French philology or art, but I need financial independence. There is a great demand for female doctors in Egypt. Many rich people have harems and they have a lot of children. Men are not allowed in there and there are almost no eunuchs left now. Besides, where can one find a qualified eunuch doctor?” she laughed. “And where are you going?”

“So far to Cairo. And then wherever it may take me. May I see you in Cairo?”

“Yes, you may, but only on one condition.”

“Which one?”

She laughed out loud: “Promise me that by the time we meet in Cairo, you remove the hair from your body.”

“Shave my head? Shave off the mustache?”

“No, you can keep the hair on your head. Only from the body.”

“How am I going to do this?”

“In the hammam, of course!”

“And why?”

“Silly question! Because I like it better that way!”

“Will we date tomorrow?”

“No. Don’t come at night any more… I’ll meet you in Cairo. I’ll give you the address where to find me. By the way, what are you going to do in Cairo?”

Gregson surprisingly answered the truth: “To investigate the case related to the Pharaoh. Do you want to help me?”

She clapped her hands suddenly: “I really want to! I love solving mysteries!”

Alexandria

COUNT. There is nothing more diverting than a Battle [pushing the Doctor] first the Enemy is on one Side of the Ravelin, and the Friends on the other.

Beaumarchais. The Barber of Seville.

FIGARO. Good, you shall introduce yourself to the Doctor in the uniform, with your Billet for Quarters, he cannot avoid receiving you.

Ibid.

Life on the steamship got into a rut. The sea was calm; the rolling was barely felt. At night the lighthouses blinked in the distance. All day long, there was an almost continuous clink of dishes around; food seemed to be served without interruption. An electric bell almost hourly called for another meal. Occasionally, a gust of wind covered the steamship with smoke from the chimneys, interrupting the smells of restaurant cuisine. During the day dolphins served as entertainment for passengers, sometimes flashing near the side and after dark the voyagers could marvel at electric lights of occasional cargo and passenger vessels.

The steamship passed Corsica and Sardinia. Lepont quickly forgot hurt feelings related to disrespect to his favorite book and talked incessantly at the table and on deck about the ancient history unfolded on the shores left behind the Muiron.

Zainab hid in her cabin and showed up from there only occasionally, blaming seasickness. In the evening, a fashionable foxtrot was danced on the terrace. At night, the large southern stars lit up and Gregson admired them for hours. During the day he slept off or laid in bed reading the materials on Egyptology prepared for him.

Early Tuesday morning, Zainab unexpectedly came on deck and stood next to Gregson. Together they silently stared into the distance at the horizon, where a strip of the Egyptian coast was already discernible and sails could be seen here and there. The Muiron passed very close to a felucca bobbing on the waves, down there two fishermen in fezzes were pulling nets. In the distance, other feluccas with slanting sails maneuvered with a weak wind.

Lepont and Verte came up and also stood next to each other, admiring the sea view. The shore in the distance was flat and boring.

The archaeologist has long forgotten his previous grievances and started his usual lectures again: “I wonder what Napoleon was thinking approaching Egypt like we are now? The Magical East! For many millennia, the same fishing boats like in the time of the pharaohs depart these shores in the morning. These anglers witnessed here the fleets of the Pharaohs, the Phoenicians, Alexander the Great, the ships of the Romans and Cleopatra. They saw the ships of Justinian and the crusaders of St. Louis and Napoleon. A magical country! The land of pharaohs and nascent Christianity, fanatics and saints… How different it is from Europe, which we left just three days ago!”

While he was talking, the Colonel and Mr. Atkinson came up to them and stood close.

“I was here during the war, too.” Gregson replied. “I remember the enormous heat, thirst, scorching sun, everlasting sand on my teeth, rotten water, unsanitary life and the stench of carrion. However, those who could compare said that the stench of corpses was quite bearable compared to the battlefield in Europe. In the heat, the bodies decompose and dry out quickly. And sometimes they turn into mummies in the sand. At least we weren’t gassed on this front like in Europe. It’s very far from the romanticism of the Napoleonic Wars.”

“The further back the centuries, the more noble the wars were!” Lepont said. “In the old days, it was bravery that decided the matter, not gases and explosives.”

“But your Napoleon defeated the Mamelukes with gunpowder!”

“No! He defeated his enemies with bravery and skill! The French, clad in usual uniforms and fur hats, stood steadfastly in the July African heat under the scorching Egyptian sun. Their indestructible squares with bullets and bayonets fought off the best, selected cavalrymen of the East, protecting our great scientists who marched with the army on a noble mission to explore the ancient secrets of Egypt and bring us the hidden knowledge!”

Then Lepont led a long and boring story about Napoleon’s landing at Alexandria, about the combat path of the Desaix division and the combat path of the Rainier division, about the glorious banners and the imperial eagles soaring over the battle, about folding and unfolding in a square, closing and opening the flanks…

Everyone pretended to listen, showing polite interest. Gregson stared at the long golden ribbon emerging from the water’s edge and was lost in thought.

Somewhere out there, beyond the sand dunes, Alexandria was supposed to appear. There, the first thing to do was to visit the sanitary inspector: to ask questions about the body of Lord Carnarvon. And should there be no doubts about the natural cause of death, then… then what’s next? To return to London with a report? Technically, he has such option. And, strictly according to the rules, this is what he should do. But what about Cairo and so desired date with Zainab? No, Saed-midjar would not be satisfied with such a shallow investigation. It is needed to dig deeper! But where to dig and in which direction? How do the damned Egyptologists know where to poke a shovel to dig up the graves of unknown pharaohs?

Lepont, meanwhile, has already moved on to the battle of the Pyramids: “… When our soldiers, exhausted but covered with unfading glory, who had just put an insidious enemy to flee… … proclaimed: ‘Forty centuries are watching us from the tops of these pyramids’…”

Gregson yawned on the sly. Lepont eventually also realized that the audience was bored and decided to flavor the dry lecture with a historical anecdote: “There are many funny stories about the battle of the Pyramids. They say that near the small pyramid, the one next to the largest, a group of Mamelukes began to chase our drummer. Our drummer, unwilling to give up, climbed the pyramid, where the Mamelukes could not get him. There he started to beat his drum, summoning his comrades. General Rainier sent two companies after him. They scattered the Mamelukes and greeted their comrade with all due military honors.”

“However, this is strange!” Mr. Atkinson said.

“What is strange for you now?” The Frenchman replied contemptuously. “Do you doubt French valor?”

God forbid me to doubt anyone’s valor. I only doubt the French ability to be transported through the air, like the genies from the Arabian Nights.”

“Do you doubt that a man without wings can climb a pyramid that is not the highest? I assure you, a Frenchman can!”

“There is a distance of about seventeen miles between the battlefield of the Pyramids and the pyramids themselves, meaning about twenty-seven kilometers, you can check on the map. I doubt that your drummer, unless he was a deserter, could be so far from his battle lines. I also doubt that General Rainier heard the drum call coming from seventeen miles away.”

Mademoiselle Saad said with surprise: “But I have seen pictures of the battle taking place very close to the pyramids!”

The colonel shrugged his shoulders calmly: “It’s very simple: the customer ordered the artists to depict the Battle of the Pyramids, so they painted the battle near the pyramids. Please continue, Monsieur Lepont. You are telling a very interesting story! What happened next, after the battle?”

Encouraged, Lepont began to tell how exhausted French soldiers finally reached the craved Nile and rushed into its refreshing waters.

“They should not have done this.” Mademoiselle Saad suddenly declared.

“Why?” Atkinson was surprised. “If you are talking about crocodiles, they don’t dwell down the Nile rapids.”

“You should not swim in the Nile if you do not want to catch contagious diseases.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Lepont nodded. “In the Middle Ages, there was often a plague here. But not that year. And, thank God, not this one.”

“But besides the plague bacillus, the waters of the Nile are full of other dangerous microorganisms!” Zainab insisted.

“You are absolutely right.” Lepont beamed. “Indeed, many French soldiers and officers paid for this bathing with eye diseases and suffered from it for years. Eye diseases were aggravated by the burning Egyptian sun.”

“The microbes were obviously fighting on the side of the Mamelukes back then!” The colonel laughed.

“As to Lord Carnarvon, he also suffered greatly from eye disease!” Gregson suddenly thought aloud to himself, recalling the materials of the dossier.

The colonel quickly looked Gregson straight in the face and replied: “‘Anyone who could think would recall two kinds of visual impairment, that is for two reasons: either when one moves from light to darkness or from darkness to light. The same thing happens to the soul.’ That’s what Plato wrote.” Then he looked around at the whole bewildered company and explained with a smile: “Let this story serve as a lesson for all of us! I think, ladies and gentlemen, we should all get sunglasses ready! And unless absolutely necessary, no one should go into the depths of dark unexplored waters!”