A River in the Sky

We inspected two houses. It did not take long. I had seen many such dwellings in Egypt: varying in size and state of repair, but similar in their basic plan. I selected the larger of the two, which had a spacious central room surrounded by bedchambers, one of which would serve as an office. The kitchen, such as it was, was located in a walled courtyard behind the house. It must have been vacant for some time, since there were birds’ nests in corners and the floors were littered with a variety of substances, from dust and dirt to petrified orange peels and bird droppings.

As I had surmised, the house belonged to Kamir. He explained disingenuously that he had not rented or sold it because no one had been able to meet the price he deemed proper for such a fine house. I told him it would have to do, since he had nothing better, and haggled over the price-he would have thought less of me if I had not.

We then proceeded to Kamir’s house, which was on a higher level. The village was a curious place, almost perpendicular, with houses perched on natural or buttressed ledges, but there was space for gardens and shade trees. Kamir’s house had both, surrounding an establishment of some size and, considering that he was one of Emerson’s old friends, remarkably clean and tidy.

We were seated in the main salon drinking tea when Emerson finally joined us. After hurrying through the formal greetings-and trying, unsuccessfully, to avoid another affectionate embrace from Kamir-he inquired, “Everything settled, then?”

“The first step has been taken,” I replied. “As you ought to know, Emerson, a number of other arrangements must be made before we can move in. I may be able to purchase some furniture in the mercantile establishments in the city, but I would prefer to deal with local carpenters who can construct simple bed frames, tables, and the like. No doubt Kamir can suggest likely persons.”

Kamir assured me that he could. I was not at all surprised. He went on to remark, “If you have settled on the place where you want to dig, Father of Curses, I will speak to the owner of the land. You can trust me to get the best price for you.”

“Damnation,” said Emerson. “I confess that particular issue had not occurred to me.”

It ought to have done. This was not Egypt, where we had usually worked in designated archaeological zones under the control of the Antiquities Department. All the land hereabouts was private property, and although the Ottoman government could probably seize anything they wanted, we could not. However, when Emerson is intent on a new excavation he loses sight of minor issues.

After stroking his chin and pondering, Emerson said, “I will do my own negotiating, Kamir. Have the own er here tomorrow.”

This pitiable effort won a kindly smile from Kamir. One way or another he would get his cut of every transaction, from the carpenter to the servants we would hire, to the food we would purchase.

“How many men and boys will you want for the dig, Father of Curses?” Kamir asked. “I will find them for you, I know the best workers.”

“And take your cut of their wages?” Emerson gave him a knowing smile. “None of that, Kamir. I will hire my own workers. Many of them have had experience, I expect.”

Recognizing this for the useless attempt it was, Kamir grinned back at him. “Oh, yes, and their fathers and grandfathers before them. The infidels have been digging here for many years, looking for sacred relics.”

“They are searching for knowledge,” Emerson corrected. “Knowledge of the history of your people and theirs.”

“What good is history to a man who cannot feed his children?” Kamir asked rhetorically.

Emerson grunted. “I refuse to enter into a philosophical discussion with you, you old wretch. And who are you calling an infidel?”

Daoud, who had been following the discussion with wrinkled brows, finally caught up. He let out a grumble of protest.

“I meant no offense,” Kamir said quickly. “I bear malice toward no man, Moslem, Jew, or Christian. Are we not all sons of Abraham?”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

No bedsheets, no rope, and no projection sturdy enough to hold a man’s weight even if they had a means of descending. Ramses’s sense of urgency was mounting. Ignoring David’s muttered remonstrance, he drove his fist into the section of screen next to the hole. Wood shattered and fell, some scraps inside, some out. A second blow and the opening was now large enough. He forced his head and shoulders through and looked down.

The cobblestones extended clear up to the base of the wall, with no convenient shrubs or flower beds or heaps of trash to break one’s fall. The wall itself was of dressed stone, without ornamentation or breaks, except for a few windows, each covered by a grillwork of curved iron bars set close together. One of them was directly below.

He reported this to David. “There’s a stone lintel about six inches deep, probably to keep rain out. I’ll lower you. From there it’s only a drop of ten or twelve feet.”

“How are you going to get down?”