Author's Note:
Dear all,
Thank you for all your comments so far – every single one of you, Ruse, Mommints, Deana (Ardeth cometh as you wish), Dead-Girls-Watch, sam, Lula, your opinions mean a lot – after all, it's you who have finally persuaded me to write more. We are progressing, albeit slowly for most of you.
Chapter 2 – Needing Answers Desperately
It was as she remembered, the dusty air and the loud cries of the peddlers on the streets, the tantalisingly veiled belly-dancers who mingled seductively with their patrons and the occasional roar of vehicles on the dirt tracks that competed with the horses and the camels for space.
"Ah, old mum. Tis yer turn today. I did go with you the past few days, didn't I?"
That man, is evil and ungiving.
"Have you tried dressing like a belly dancer?" He held the parasol over their heads unwillingly, looking for every opportunity to close it and return it to her.
"What?" She asked in confusion.
He raised his hands in a defensive stance.
"The last time you did it, you captured the attention of a dashing soldier, didn't you? What better time to do it than now, especially now, when you do need information?"
"That's cheapening it!"
"It's called releasing the Carnahan charm whenever appropriate. I am quite experienced with it," he corrected with a smirk.
"I will not dare question that, brother."
"Seriously though, do you need help? I might help you with a few suggestive postures..."
"Enough said, brother. Highly improper in a country like this."
"Oh god, Evy, this primness is so unbecoming on you."
A picture of her mother sprang, unbidden, into her mind. Strange that being in her mother's native country unleashed all that was of her kept locked in her mind, that woman who was an enigma even to her children; giving and temperate as a mother, yet there was always a part of her that she and Jon were never able to reach, tempered by the cheerfulness of her father whenever the melancholy that emanated from her seemed overbearing.
Rahiq Mahadeva Carnahan had said as her daughter was merely a child, on the ship to England, as she waved goodbye to her land, strongly patriotic, the streak of stubbornness and fierce loyalty to the cause of Egypt and her sovereignty. She was sure that her mother was weeping, although no tears manifested on her face; she kept on brave fronts, even when men failed.
The torn entrails of Egypt that you see as we say goodbye
Her open loins for the taking as you ignore her silent groans
My prayer for this age, I ask Allah for arising of wisemen
Who carry in their hearts the whole past of the Egypt
May they recognize the voices and the muted cries of those oppressed
Wisemen who will see the sun
It was brutally honest, the rape of Egypt that her mystical mother had told her, yet defied all odds by marrying an English man who had equally fiercely insisted that love knew no boundaries.
Were her parents good people? Had they lived lives as people with dreams and youthful idealism, that perhaps diminished when their children were born? Did their lives tip the scales in favour of sorrow or of joy?
Heavens, she missed them, in the sudden nostalgia that the hot air brought, the curl of it in her gut making her want to retch.
"Baby sister, that face I see," her brother was eyeing her closely, puzzled at the sudden change in emotions that flashed across her face.
"I'm out to catch a few drinks or so, and will see you at the inn later?" He asked hopefully.
"Oh you cur! Get on with it!"
Their paths split; hers went straight onto the museum, his turned left and then right, disappearing into the shouts of the peddlers and the exotic women that milled around.
Evelyn Carnahan heard approaching noises and snapped her head upwards, adjusting the conservative shirt and skirt that she had chosen. The Museum of Antiquities was as exquisite and familiar as she had remembered, the new curator fastidious and unfamiliar. It was deathly silent, the museum, and the sudden silence sucked all that was noisy into it, the vortex that no thing could resist. Her footsteps hesitating, until a short, roundish man came into view, displeased at the sight of her.
"Good afternoon, Abdul," she started out politely.
"Not you again, Miss," he groaned in exasperation. "Did I not tell you that there is nothing found here?" He stretched his hands out helplessly, exasperation obviously displayed at the tenacity of the woman who stood before him unmoving, arms crossed until she got some answers.
There she was, standing in the exact same position, in the exact same posture for a week, determined to eke out words that she would forcefully pry from his mouth had he not excused himself to the men's room after every few minutes enduring her quick tongue.
He had to tip his hat in grudging admiration – surely there was no one as persistent as her, not even men who had come to him, their façade cool and determined in the beginning, but defeated at the end of his tirade.
"...you have to trust me as I say this," she was saying, hands gesticulating as she spoke, animatedly. "You are the only hope I have," she whispered conspiratorially, "because there is possibly no one else I can speak to regarding this. Please. The whereabouts of the infamous Medjai leader Ardeth Bay."
Abdul pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did you think that you might make me speak as you wish? Did you expect that your persistent lovely presence and wiles will loosen my tongue?"
"My intentions are honourable, truly! Do you think a lone lady would have the power to extinguish the Medjai? Or even outfight Ardeth Bay? He knows me, I'm sure he remembers me."
"I have told you all I know. I do not know Ardeth Bay!"
"But the previous curator was...I knew him you know, in fact I used to work here, for him, see, I can even tell you the catalogue contents of the library, which room housed the -"
"Miss Carnahan –"
"...arranged in a circular manner -"
"Miss Carnahan! The previous curator and your relationship whatsoever to him..that is not my business, Miss Carnahan. Will you please now go? It is not the safest time to travel to Egypt. Go back, please to where you came from."
"Now, don't be ridiculous, Abdul," she scoffed. Surely you know. Her voice grew softer, a lilt, melodious, pleading. "I do have a mission to fulfil and his help will be most appreciated."
He eyed her, with suspicion, admiration and disgust swirling in his face, shaking his head. The salutation, nevertheless, for the reverence of the stranger whose doggedness and diligence weaved rebellious threads of colour into the monochrome of the tapestries of his life.
Yet he could not – would not be moved.
"Do all you foreign females carry yourselves this way? With no sense of propriety? He chided heavily. Go home, Lady. I will not see you anymore unless –"
She frowned at his words, opening her mouth to let loose a flood of sentences that pointed to outraged modesty, pausing as her ear picked up the sound of heavy footsteps that moved with immense confidence, before the slight fumble in the walking rhythm brought it to a halt entirely.
"Evelyn Carnahan."
It was the voice that made her toes curl and her hair stand, the thought that she entertained all those months ago that it might be the voice she thought she had to accustom herself to, for the rest of her life.
Rick O'Connell.
The name came not as easily as she thought it would, blinking her eyes once, twice, she said in a voice which she fervently prayed sounded as cool and professional sounding as she could tailor it.
The brown, sun-kissed hair as she remembered, running her fingers through its luxuriant mass, that same piercing eyes and the powerful build that once and still looked as if they embraced totally, without abandon.
Was it as they said – that geographical distance is all bluff, when the heart was made to believe that the demons were all exorcised, lived in the hope of prudent simplicity and palpitated madly when the opposite came to pass?
Both stuttered, both stared at each other, but those were not stares of lovers who greedily sought to reunite; they were instead gaping, ridiculous looks of incredulity, disbelief and absurd pleasure, knowing that the presence of the other reminded them of pleasant times within the adventurous fight for their survival those years ago.
"Evelyn Carnahan," he repeated, fighting for his composure. "What brings you to Egypt?"
"Well, Rick – Mr O'Connell, I mean..." It was embarrassing, addressing an old flame in which the minute hope of passion rekindled still flickered.
"Just Rick." He stretched his hands out lazily, easily, that old charm returning the same fluid way a man downed alcohol after a hard day. "Is that not how we parted?"
"It is so," she confirmed, wanting to stay, and wanting to flee, pregnant with questions, only realising that he might be her indirect key to answers. There was a contentment about him that she couldn't quite place her finger on, feeling the haziest twinge of jealousy from the knowledge that he had gained a higher peace than she had.
"I see you know each other!" Abdul proclaimed exasperatedly. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"And you would have believed me Abdul?"
The stout curator threw up his hands, muttering about the unfailing logic of women, turned on his nose and walked in the direction where Rick O'Connell appeared, inclining his head briefly to another imposing presence that passed through the walkway, who returned the greeting silently, emerging into the expanse of the lobby surprise written on his face.
"Evelyn Carnahan."
His voice was muffled, but still as arresting as she remembered, or perhaps more so, when the time lapse caused the mind to forget and create a vision that never justified the real. He was clad in his usual attire of black robes, shielding all but his eyes, until he pulled the veil down to clasp her hand gently in his, pressing it to his chest in the manner of greeting of close acquaintances. Yet there was something different about him, an older, riper countenance that the ghost of the Medjai chief did not yet posses two or three years ago, as if the world had slid by him, rewarding him in the only way it knew how – with permanent sadness etched in the face and soul-weary eyes.
"Ardeth Bay! The person I had waited a week to see," she cried out in relief, heaving a momentary joyous sigh, disregarding their clasped hands, rushing to hug him where she had hesitated to do so for Rick.
Hesitatingly his arms patted her back, where hers grabbed his with fervour, rejoicing in all that was familiar in Egypt.
"Taqiyyah asks for you," Ardeth said quietly to Rick, still in the embrace, who nodded and left, grateful to flee the disconcerted frame of mind that he had found himself unexpectedly caught in.
"Where's Rick?" Evy inquired curiously, peering around him.
There is something he needs to take care of, Ardeth motioned with a sharp gesture towards the hidden exit, taking a step back to maintain the appropriate distance between them.
"Surely you came here for something, Evelyn. It confuses me if you were to say it is merely a vacation."
She sighed.
"I need your help, Ardeth. Do you think you might grant me access to the government archive?"
His face changed, hardened at her request, even if it was a fleeting look; it made her understand the power he wielded over his warriors, a defining characteristic that crowned him chief over all.
"You do not know the far-reaching consequences of what you ask, Evelyn Carnahan."