The Mummy or Ramses The Damned by Anne Rice

Author:Anne Rice
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-03-14T05:00:00+00:00

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Henry had been almost dead drunk since he'd come from Shepheard's the day before. The brief talk with Elliott had had a peculiar effect on him somehow; it had sapped his nerve.

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He tried to remind himself that he loathed Elliott Savarell and that he himself was pressing on to America, where he'd never see Elliott or anyone like him again.

Yet the meeting haunted him. Every time he sobered up just a little he saw Elliott again, staring at him with absolute contempt. He heard the cold hatred in Elliott's voice.

A lot of nerve Elliott had, turning on him like this. Years ago, after a brief and stupid affair, Henry had had it in his power to destroy Elliott, but he had not done so for no other reason than it would have been a cruel thing to do. He had always presumed that Elliott was grateful for that; that Elliott's patience and politeness signaled that gratitude. For Elliott had been unfailingly courteous to him over the years.

Not so yesterday. And the awful thing about it was that the hatred EHiott evinced had been a mirror image of the hatred Henry felt for everyone he knew. It had soured Henry and embittered him.

And it had also frightened him.

Have to get away from them, all of them, he reasoned. They do nothing but criticize me and misjudge me when they are not worth a tinker's damn themselves.

When they had left Cairo, he would clean himself up, stop drinking, go back to Shepheard's and sleep in peace for a few days. Then he'd strike the bargain with his father and head out to America with the considerable little fortune he'd saved.

But for the moment, he had no intention of curtailing the parry. There would be no card game today; he would take it easy, and enjoy the Scotch without distraction; merely dozing in his rattan chair, and eating the food Malenka prepared for him if and when he chose.

Malenka herself had become a bit of a nag. She had just cooked an English breakfast for him and wanted him to come to the table. He had slapped her with the back of his hand, and told her to leave him alone.

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Nevertheless she went on with her preparations. He could hear the kettle whistling. She had set china out on the small rattan table in the courtyard.

Well, to hell with her. He had three bottles of Scotch, which was plenty. Maybe he would lock her out later if there was a chance. He loved the idea of being all alone here. Of drinking and smoking and dreaming. And maybe listening to the gramophone. He was even getting used to that damned parrot.

As he dozed off now, the parrot was screeching and clucking and walking back and forth, upside down, on the ceiling of its cage. African grays liked to do things like that. In truth the thing looked like a giant bug to him. Maybe he should kill it when Malenka wasn't here.

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