The Return of the Pharaoh by Nicholas Meyer

The Return of the Pharaoh by Nicholas Meyer

Author:Nicholas Meyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group


* * *

“Dr. Watson, effendi! Dr. Watson?”

“What is it?” I squinted against the glare of the sunshine as the boy raised the blinds.

“It is nine o’clock,” he responded, misunderstanding my confusion. My head felt like a split melon, which I judged were the effects of last night’s intake of Arak. “Today you are taking your wife to the pyramids!”

I could swear he looked gleeful at my discomfort, whose origin he appeared to have no difficulty diagnosing, but in truth I could hardly open my eyes to make him out in the sudden access of sunlight.

“Have you forgotten? She is waiting.”

I might have drawn the bedclothes over my head, but he had thoughtfully arrived with black coffee, which I would have inhaled had that been possible. How could I have forgotten that today was Juliet’s big day, the long-promised trip to the pyramids? A calash, driver, and guide had been laid on.

I will omit the details of my painful ordeal. My powers were so much under a cloud that even Juliet, exhilarated like a child loosed from school for the holidays, noticed.

“John, are you ill?”

I explained I had merely awakened with a migraine which would doubtless pass.

“Poor you!” she moaned in sympathy. “Today of all days. Should we postpone our jaunt?”

“By no means,” I insisted, knowing that was the last thing she wanted. “May I borrow your parasol?”

“Of course. Are you certain? Poor you.”

The weather had begun to warm since our arrival in November, which was not to my advantage at present. I slept partway in the calash, only to be jostled awake when Juliet first caught sight of those stupendous mounds. The day, or certainly a good part of it, dragged on while I suffered her chirping exclamations of wonder. “Really, this is beyond anything!” Her inquisitive nature prompted an endless number of questions put to our guide, many of which he was unable to answer. “We do not know,” or, “No man can say,” was at least part of his threnody.

Pleading my ailment, I remained in the carriage while Juliet descended and, in what seems a visitor’s ritual, stood for some time in contemplation before the Sphinx, after which, while the driver helpfully raised the roof of the calash for my benefit, she reclaimed her parasol and marched to the edge of the Great Pyramid. It was only with difficulty that I finally succeeded in persuading her not to exhaust herself and to return.

“You’ve no idea what you’ve missed, John!” she said, adhering to Dr. Singh’s instructions and sitting across from me. Feebly I reminded her that I had in fact visited the place already, but her enthusiasm remained unchecked. The calash hood was folded down once more to ensure nothing interfered with the free circulation of air between us as we wound our way back to the city.

“I’ll go again another time,” was the best I could manage, heartsick at having disappointed her but simply unable to keep my eyes open or my head from throbbing.

“Poor John!” she suddenly wondered, a gloved hand to her mouth.



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