Author's Note:
Dear readers, writer's block is imminent! Which means less writing, less posting...what a nightmare. Argh! Any remedies? Multiple rentals of Oded videos perhaps?
Just a reminder: The Wafd - A Nationalist party that forcefully insists on Egyptian Independence from Britain.
Chapter 3 – For None shall Time Standstill
Ardeth Bay stood unmoving in the back exit of the Museum, his booted legs bringing him into the noisy Cairo evening again, marvelling at the drift of thoughts that held his mind captive.
There was no apparent sign of followers nor messengers; there was a slight movement that the peripherals of his eyes caught, yet he couldn't be entirely too sure.
Dangerous times.
But he realised that such were the times that he had grown up in; he had not known any other era that he might have felt comfortable in – any time of peace would have been too absurd, too unthinkable for people who lived on the edge of both exhaustion and exhilaration, when they constantly fought ideologies and mindsets that exploded on the fringe of beliefs, never more prominent and insistent in such days, or when they fought the more sinister hold of their own blindness and panic, enemies found within themselves.
The council of leaders wish to see you, a voice filtered past the cacophonous drift of peddlars and he felt the light movement of paper slipping into his palm, the masked stranger with the veil moving into the foam of the crowd the same way he had come.
He had pulled his veil over his face as he exited the Museum hastily, becoming a figure of stealth and anonymity, or even a figure of fear and dread, depending on those who looked upon him. The faithful horse, the exquisite white Egyptian Arabian that was his father's awaited him patiently, neighing its soft, unique greeting before taking off with its beloved rider on a route well trodden.
He wondered how Rick reacted to Taqiyyah's summons, sudden and unexpected. The ex-French legionnaire soldier had grown undeniably in his esteem; now they trusted each other with their own blood; Rick was now bound to them, and they, to him.
Allah be thanked, that he had a powerful ally on his side, now that he was a wanted man, caught between the Medjai, his people and all who called themselves Egyptians. His hand went unconsciously towards the comforting curve of the scimitar that hung snugly at his hips, closing over its hilt tightly, knuckles trembling from the effort.
Ardeth Bay sighed.
He had seen, from the slight dip of her head that she was disappointed, perhaps even incensed that he had politely turned her down, but the persistence that Abdul had told him about had made him chuckle. Abdul, the loyal subject of his, who had pledged his life above his, another incomparable Medjai curator, just as the previous curator had been. It was easy to convince himself of the complacence that he was wont to feel, to reassure himself that the major ends of Egyptian affairs were safely in Medjai hands, ignoring the growing discontent that was stirring among some renegades.
Evelyn Carnahan's indomitable spirit touched him; it rekindled in him the fires of leading the Medjai, fighting for Egypt the underground way, fanning anew his principles that were unflagging until the nonsense with the Wafd began. Strange how a woman's spitfire had the power straighten his posture and renew his mind, triggering off a fresh onslaught of determination to restore the Medjai.
If only she had understood what had really happened to her father, seen its complexities and the issues that were enmeshed within. For that reason he was unwilling to show her the archives of correspondences that revealed all that had actually transpired.
But he couldn't – wouldn't tell her, the sentiment that a man should not sow further seeds of discord among family members starkly overbearing. There is method in man's wickedness – they grow in degrees, but their children should never pay for it, his firm stand unwavering, even in the hurt that he saw visibly emerge in her face. Scars, like spread raindrops had freely scattered on him, both physical and emotional – she couldn't have possibly known all that he dealt with, not even when they fought the One who shall not be named those years ago.
You do not know the far-reaching consequences of what you ask, Evelyn Carnahan. He had told her somewhat harshly, ready to defend his cause, yet not wanting to offer a reason, praying that she would accept all that he said with good faith.
You, however, had promised the unending gratitude of the Medjai, She had answered him with even greater conviction, her eyes beseeching.
Surely you, Miss Carnahan, are no stranger to what we might call changing circumstances. He had gritted back with equal intensity, wondering if she recognised the threat her request was posing, trying his utmost to enlighten her through his rebuttals.
You withdraw the friendship of the Medjai then?
I said no such thing.
But you implied it.
That was a friendship forged hastily and urgently, in necessity; he had remembered - a ghost of a memory nonetheless, the time when he promised her the friendship and gratitude of the Medjai, full of the accompanying exhilaration as he rushed out of Hamunaptra before its explosions singed him.
Now he wasn't sure anymore, in full recognition of the selfishness that arose, if he was paying the price for it now. Had only her highly inquisitive mind calmed, and rationally opted to return to England this very moment, then will all of them sleep in beds of ashes, with the past indeed buried and burnt out, the clock no longer striking the same hour as it had been doing throughout the years, where the living can then take their rightful place.
Only when she went away – if she went away, at all.
Then if I cannot appeal to you for this favour on the grounds of previous circumstances, would you accept this appeal as I make it, now, as someone who desperately wants answers for the peace of mind? She had said with open honesty, and it become antagonisingly clear to him that the ones with layers, with shades were in fact him and O'Connell, their entanglements too deep to redeem the simplicity of matters back to them.
He had seen with no little remorse that his words had unintentionally humbled her, yet, he was unyielding.
Each glistening minute had become precious, no sways of the minutest fractions could he allow, not when Egypt lay suspended between the Egyptians and the British. Both were unmixable, like oil and water, the Wafd had said, his father had said. But in truth he was not sure if he echoed such sentiments, guilt assaulting him for he knew that he ought to have felt the same way as his father and grandfather had, in the tradition of the unity of principles that the Medjai Chieftains need to govern with.
"No such luck, sis?"
Jonathan Carnahan lounged in a chair that looked altogether comfortable for him, his posture fitting for the Bourbon Kings of France as was the chair he sat in.
She was pacing restlessly, oblivious to all finery of the expensive hotel Jonathan had insisted in staying in, even if it was for a couple of days. He appreciated the fact that their room and very very much the whole of the hotel had preserved the architecture of Napoleonic Egypt, a quaint reminder of a Cairoan Paris of the 18th century.
Just to show them that we foreigners can't be trifled with, he had told her. She failed to understand such logic, and scolded him indulgently for orientalist weaknesses and over indulgence but nevertheless acquiesced; her eagerness to uncover the parental mystery overshadowing the lesser administrative duties.
"Not yet," Evelyn Carnahan gritted out. "But I will not take a negative for an answer."
"Met anyone interesting?" He asked casually.
"Not anyone whom we don't know," he admitted readily.
That had sparked interest; Jonathan leaped off the chair, not caring that it overturned, as he took his place in front of her, barring her any additional movement with his lanky frame blocking the doorway as she approached.
"Ah, saw important people then, did ye?"
"Rick O'Connell and Ardeth Bay in the flesh," she affirmed. But that was it.
"That was it?" He asked disbelievingly. "Surely Evy, you are capable of more."
She glared at him briefly.
"We were shocked and stunned and our emotions spoke more than our mouths. Not like that helped things. But lack of progress can be attributed to Ardeth's lack of co-operation. Of course, he thought granting me access to the government archives would be nothing short of a catastrophe." Her words were ironic, tinged with the slightest trace of bitterness.
Her bother gazed at her levelly, feeling as if the precious burden of the younger sibling had both paradoxically grown and lifted from his hands. The younger sister who was now never good-humoured without an edge of cynicism that had emerged only recently, a beautiful flower that seemed encased in transparent hard glass. Those who saw the flower from afar marvelled, while those who drew nearer for a closer look sighed in pity, for they saw that it was shielded by transparent yet solid impermeable material that expanded and grew in thickness, enhancing its appearance with a glorious sheen of reflected light, protecting the delicate petals from unwanted elements.
He mulled this over briefly. It would either work for her good, or against her. You must be foolish to think that people do not change, Evelyn had told him repeatedly; it was her mantra for the past few years and unknowingly, she had grown into the mantra; the power of her mantra had changed the artless woman as well.
He was disinclined to agree with her; he was grateful at least, and thought that he hadn't changed in the slightest bit, for people recognised the old Jonathan, the flaneur extraordinaire with a penchant for entertainment and everything feminine that walked upright on two legs.
Jonathan Carnahan frowned. Both at the Evy's behaviour and his own willingness to remain the same way he is. The naivety that had once terrified him now only appeared at will; he realised with trepidation that she had ejected him from her thoughts when once upon a time she had freely let them loose. If that signalled that she was finally learning the ways of the world, then he thought there was reason that Egypt had to be very afraid indeed.
"I met someone today," he ventured lightly. "Someone whom we met when we were younger, and did not recognise."
"Tell me more," she replied immediately, intrigued.
"Najya Savita Mahadeva."
"Not familiar at all."
"Are you sure?" He peered at her disbelief.
"Mother's cousin. She recognised me after the second confused glance, appraising me with large eyes and puckered lips. And then later showered me with either Arabic blessings or curses. Sometimes just knowing the basics of the Arabic language is indeed a hidden blessing."
"Well! It seems then that I was not the only one with encounters!"
"You could say that, old mum. At least you now know where we might turn to for additional sources and not to mention, alternative accommodation should our money run out."
"Just like you, Jon, to see the wily side of things."
"With me, baby sister, the crooked bones in the body open the way into deeper surprises that you never dreamed of."
"I will try my luck at the Museum until the bruised ego is finally nursed back to life."