A River in the Sky

Waiting for us in an adjoining room were three potential servants. All three were unveiled; they had expected to see only other females, but Daoud, who had not realized what we were about to do, had followed Nefret, still towing Plato. The women shrieked and readjusted their veils. Plato pulled away from Daoud and fled, and poor Daoud, horribly embarrassed at his breach of manners, backed out of the room mumbling apologies.

Once the men had left, two of the women were persuaded to lower their veils. Stout females of middle age, both pressed their cases vehemently, promising to work their fingers to the bone (the Arabic equivalent). One claimed to be an experienced cook, adding proudly, “I can make the English dishes too. Bistek, butter to-ast, egg.”

The other woman had retreated to a corner, where she stood with bowed head. “And you?” I said. “Do you also wish to work for us?”

She raised her head and I saw a smooth, fine-skinned brow and two big brown eyes, rimmed with kohl, under delicately curved brows. “I can, I wish to…” She faltered.

“Speak up,” I said, not unkindly. “Can you clean? Carry water from the pool?”

“No, Sitt. I wash clothes, I wash them very clean, I work at my house, I bring them all back next day, I cannot be here because I…because…”

“She has a child.” The self-proclaimed cook, who had told me her name was Yumna, spoke up loudly. “A child who has no father.”

There was no particular malice in her voice, she was simply stating a fact; but the girl shrank back and bowed her head. Nefret, her sympathy immediately engaged, said gently, “How old is the child, and who watches over it when you are not at home?”

We hired the girl, of course. Nefret told her she must bring the baby, which was a girl a little over a year old, with her when she came to us, since the old woman who looked after her did not sound reliable.

“I wish you had consulted me before you said that, Nefret,” I remarked in English. “What are we supposed to do with an infant underfoot?”

“It won’t be underfoot, or on the premises for long at a time, Aunt Amelia.”

Her protruding chin and firm mouth told me argument would be futile. She would probably take not only the baby but its youthful mother under her wing. I knew I could expect no support from Emerson. He is hopelessly sentimental about unprotected young women and infants. (He suffers from the delusion that no one knows this.) I am not wholly hard-hearted myself. I gave in with no more than a sigh.

After unpacking the supplies I had brought, I gave the two older women a lecture on cleaning methods, warning them in the strictest possible terms about the danger of inhaling or consuming ammonia, carbolic, Keating’s powder, and other dangerous materials. “If I find you have done so,” I said sternly, “I will dismiss you.”

In fact, doing what I had forbidden might well have “dismissed” them permanently; but I had made that point as firmly as I could, and felt an additional inducement to sensible behavior would do no harm. After I had demonstrated the proper method of scrubbing floors and walls, I decided I could leave them to it.

“Finished?” Emerson inquired when I joined him. “Finally! Women do make such a fuss about these things.”

He would be the one to make a fuss if he were made to sleep on the floor or do without his morning coffee. Remembering our comfortable, well-furnished house in Luxor and my excellent house keeper Fatima, I too had begun to regret agreeing to this expedition, if for no other reason (and there were other reasons) than that I would have to start all over again here. And, thanks to my son’s thoughtless behavior, I would not be present for the next few days in order to supervise the work.

“Have you come to an arrangement with the owner of the property where you intend to excavate?” I asked.

A grunt from Emerson and a pleased smile from Kamir acknowledged that arrangements had been made, to the satisfaction of the latter at least.

“Now for Mr. Morley,” I said.

“He will be at luncheon,” said Emerson scornfully.

A slight movement from Daoud indicated that he too wished he were, but Emerson was in no mood to brook delay. He led the way down the hill and off to the right, stopping at last at the base of a steep slope of rock. It was not very high, only about twenty feet, but it was almost sheer and devoid of vegetation except for thorny shrubs and an occasional cactus. How he found the right spot I do not know, for the place looked no different from the terrain on either side-stony and barren, strewn with stretches of what might once have been walls or terraces-or random heaps of stone.

Several men of the village had followed us, offering their services as diggers. Their importunities wrung a mild “Curse it” from Emerson. “I want this area roped off,” he said to Selim. “Ask Kamir for the necessary materials, I feel sure he can supply them-at a price.”

“What about him?” Selim asked, indicating Plato.

“Nefret will make sure he doesn’t wander off.”