The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within. Among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept with much rejoicing.
The sailors were dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water; and when she again stretched out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath.
The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And how handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air. It was very late; yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship, or from the beautiful prince.
The colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves: After a while, the sails were quickly unfurled, and the noble ship continued her passage; but soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance.
A dreadful storm was approaching; once more the sails were reefed, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountains high, as if they would have overtopped the mast; but the ship dived like a swan between them, and then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little mermaid this appeared pleasant sport; not so to the sailors.
At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea as it broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed; the ship lay over on her side; and the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she herself was obliged to be careful to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water.
But he must not die. So she swam about among the beams and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Then she dived deeply under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, till at length she managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power of swimming in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance.
She held his head above the water, and let the waves drift them where they would. In the morning the storm had ceased; but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; he seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, and she kissed him again, and wished that he might live.
Presently they came in sight of land; she saw lofty blue mountains, on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Near the coast were beautiful green forests, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was quite still, but very deep; so she swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine, white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body.
Then bells sounded in the large white building, and a number of young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and placed herself between some high rocks that rose out of the water; then she covered her head and neck with the foam of the sea so that her little face might not be seen, and watched to see what would become of the poor prince.
She did not wait long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where he lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she fetched a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again, and smiled upon those who stood round him. But to her he sent no smile; he knew not that she had saved him.
She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water; but she would tell them nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen till they were gathered, the snow on the tops of the mountains melt away; but she never saw the prince, and therefore she returned home, always more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden, and fling her arm round the beautiful marble statue which was like the prince; but she gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees, so that the whole place became dark and gloomy.
At length she could bear it no longer, and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to two mermaids whose intimate friend happened to know who the prince was. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from, and where his palace stood. It was built of bright yellow shining stone, with long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea.
Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood life-like statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry; while the walls were covered with beautiful paintings which were a pleasure to look at. In the centre of the largest saloon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water and upon the beautiful plants growing round the basin of the fountain.
Now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others ventured to do; indeed once she went quite up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. Here she would sit and watch the young prince, who thought himself quite alone in the bright moonlight.
She saw him many times of an evening sailing in a pleasant boat, with music playing and flags waving. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings. On many a night, too, when the fishermen, with their torches, were out at sea, she heard them relate so many good things about the doings of the young prince, that she was glad she had saved his life when he had been tossed about half-dead on the waves.
And she remembered that his head had rested on her bosom, and how heartily she had kissed him; but he knew nothing of all this, and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more fond of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships, and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know, and her sisters were unable to answer all her questions.
Then she applied to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she very rightly called the lands above the sea. We sometimes live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more.
Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?
He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. This evening we are going to have a court ball. It is one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ball-room were of thick, but transparent crystal. May hundreds of colossal shells, some of a deep red, others of a grass green, stood on each side in rows, with blue fire in them, which lighted up the whole saloon, and shone through the walls, so that the sea was also illuminated.
Innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliancy, and on others they shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing.
No one on earth has such a lovely voice as theirs.
- Killinois!;
- Thursday, July 12, 2018.
- EARTH, SEA & SKY: Grow green neighborhoods, and watch them blossom.
The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all. The whole court applauded her with hands and tails; and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of any on earth or in the sea. And then the little mermaid went out from her garden, and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never been that way before: Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass, to reach the dominions of the sea witch; and also for a long distance the only road lay right across a quantity of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turfmoor.
Beyond this stood her house, in the centre of a strange forest, in which all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants; they looked like serpents with a hundred heads growing out of the ground. The branches were long slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top.
All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon, and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw, that she stood still, and her heart beat with fear, and she was very nearly turning back; but she thought of the prince, and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She fastened her long flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi might not seize hold of it. She laid her hands together across her bosom, and then she darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her.
She saw that each held in its grasp something it had seized with its numerous little arms, as if they were iron bands. The white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea, and had sunk down into the deep waters, skeletons of land animals, oars, rudders, and chests of ships were lying tightly grasped by their clinging arms; even a little mermaid, whom they had caught and strangled; and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess.
She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water-snakes were rolling in the mire, and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built with the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth, just as people sometimes feed a canary with a piece of sugar. She called the ugly water-snakes her little chickens, and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
I will prepare a draught for you, with which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.
If you will bear all this, I will help you. The first morning after he marries another your heart will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the best thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My own blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught.
The steam that rose formed itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. Every moment the witch threw something else into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draught was ready, it looked like the clearest water. So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh, and between the rushing whirlpools.
She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower-beds of each of her sisters, kissed her hand a thousand times towards the palace, and then rose up through the dark blue waters. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draught, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: When the sun arose and shone over the sea, she recovered, and felt a sharp pain; but just before her stood the handsome young prince. The prince asked her who she was, and where she came from, and she looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes; but she could not speak.
She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin, and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb, and could neither speak nor sing. Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents: I have given away my voice forever, to be with him. The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance.
At each moment her beauty became more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives. The prince said she should remain with him always, and she received permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion.
They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops of high mountains; and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds beneath them looking like a flock of birds travelling to distant lands. Once during the night her sisters came up arm-in-arm, singing sorrowfully, as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and then they recognized her, and told her how she had grieved them.
After that, they came to the same place every night; and once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but they did not venture so near the land as her sisters did.
As the days passed, she loved the prince more fondly, and he loved her as he would love a little child, but it never came into his head to make her his wife; yet, unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul; and, on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore, and saved my life.
I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love; but you are like her, and you have almost driven her image out of my mind. She belongs to the holy temple, and my good fortune has sent you to me instead of her; and we will never part. I sat beneath the foam, and watched till the human beings came to help him. They will meet no more: I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake. Very soon it was said that the prince must marry, and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out.
Hanifa seemed nervous, the first I had ever seen her so, and she talked quickly of how this friend could help me to understand the reasons why my existence was opposed by so many. I was, to say the least, skeptical. I must admit that he was exceedingly articulate, and, after a time, I understood why Hanifa gazed at him with such fire in her eyes.
Yet, what I understood also, what became so very clear to me, was that it truly is all so very foolish, all these things that make one man hate another. I know you feel this way as well, sir. Perhaps that is because, indeed, we are somewhat different from others in that we trace our origins back to science, not an almighty or an act of procreation. All I know is that I wish to do something about it.
An ambitious goal, and one I whisper only to you, for I know that you will never mock my aspirations. I met a prince of England today, a boy named Edward. He is my age or thereabouts. Initially, I was quite excited by the prospect. Things, however, did not go exactly as I had anticipated. The prince did not talk much, and I attributed this to a natural shyness on his part. Though I do not suffer from this condition, I expect I am genetically predisposed towards extroversion??? I sympathized with Edward, and so I chatted a great deal to compensate for his silences.
Everyone seemed greatly pleased. I understand you have met him as well, and I am compelled to ask you, sir, how you found the boy, because, though I am loath to admit it, upon closer acquaintance, I must say I did not like him at all. To begin, I soon discovered that he was not in the least shy.
In fact, in private, the boy was outright rude. He mocked the shape of my head. And then he asked me a question for which I still do not have an answer. He asked me what I was famous for. What is one expected to reply to that? He said in his museum at home, they had Lord Nelson, and he was famous for winning a great battle. But what was I famous for? What great battle did I win? What did I do to deserve a second future? And though I have pondered this question the entire day, I must admit that I have yet to find a satisfactory answer. What did I do? What right do I have to be reborn when there are so many more deserving pharaohs resting within this very building?
Sweeney ever seemed so to me. In fact, when I told him of this incident, he became quite angry. And so, in the end, I find myself utterly dejected and confused. Tell me, sir, since you have a benefit of years that I do not, was this boy right? Am I out of my league? Am I treading in footsteps I have no right to follow? Thank you so much for your letter. I am quite gratified—relieved, even—to learn your impression of the boy meets my own, and I appreciate your kind words of support.
Yes, I have posed my questions to Dr. Fouad without relating the particulars of the incident, of course. Fouad says that I can point to with pride: And yes, when I think on it, I am proud of that. As for the other matter, yes indeed, you do speak quite a lot of good sense. And I agree that it is wrong to condemn a whole people on the actions of just one representative. I do not know why Hanifa suddenly dislikes the English so. She has never displayed such a prejudice before, and she has always treated Dr. Sweeney with seeming great affection.
It is a puzzlement, indeed. And no, sir, you need not worry that I dwell on this incident overmuch. A mere evening of melancholy prompted me to write the dolorous letter you received previously. I assure you that I am quite my old self once again. It is all quite stimulating. I have always loved learning, but no one has ever challenged me as much as Khaled does. He countered that, in the end, the acts of a martyr do indeed save lives, and that the martyr braves death for the greater glory of his brothers, thus transcending humanity.
A specious argument, I believe, yet even so, I do not think that I prevailed; Khaled is quite the talented debater. Khaled said that he was surprised by how truly human I was. He did not think I would be so, and when Hanifa proposed a meeting, initially, he had been opposed. I do not quite know what to make of this confession. Should I be flattered?
Perhaps I shall resolve to think neither one nor the other, the better to preserve the peace. I will admit that I was quite nervous for this outing, as it was the first since I learnt that there were factions who would see me dead. And indeed, the crowd did not seem as welcoming, the sun not as warm, the garlands not as bright.
A function of my nerves? From the moment I stepped foot inside the chariot, a knot formed in my belly the likes of which I have never felt before, and it did not desist, even after we began riding about the streets. But still I could not help it: The tourists, of course, all wore their sunglasses so I could not see their eyes, and this bothered me.
And then I laughed. And Khaled laughed, too. I did not ask to go back.
Hans Christian Andersen
A strange story to relate, and I am still unsure of its meaning. But this I know: Today I have faced down a demon, and I have triumphed. Are you not proud of me? I write to you of a dream I had last night, of which I have told no one, not Dr. In my dream, I lay upon the couch here in my bedchamber, a breeze blowing the linen hangings back into the room like white wings. The sun sprawled lazily on the western horizon, its orange light sparkling across the Nile below my terrace. I wore only a shendyt, the cool air from the river a million gentle fingers across my bare skin, the breath of crushed lotus an opiate to my senses.
Then Hanifa came, though it did not resemble her in the least. This person was more womanly than any I have ever known, more beautiful than I have ever seen, but I knew, the way one knows in a dream, that it was she, Hanifa. She said no words, yet brushed her lips against mine. I pressed myself to her, felt sensations I have no words for. I placed my arms about her, held her to me. I became dizzy, and the room spun. It became hard to breath. I was alone, awake in my own bed, the linen sheets clinging to my damp skin, my breath ragged in my throat.
I do not know what to make of such a dream, sir. I have never had one so strange before, and I must admit that I felt somewhat ashamed when I saw Hanifa the next day. It is all very odd. What do you make of it? Have you ever had such a dream? Thank you for your insight. I feel somewhat foolish, now, for not having guessed as much myself, and for bothering you with such frivolousness. Well, I suppose it only goes towards illustrating exactly how human we are.
If only I had the courage, I would send the evidence to those who would call us abominations. How did this come about? I will tell you. Last night Khaled and Hanifa visited, and we talked of history, Egyptian history, a subject about which I did not imagine there was anything else I could learn, and yet, Khaled surprised me. Did you know, Mr. Lincoln, of the servitude my people suffered under foreign rule? Of how we were made second-class citizens in our own lands, in our own culture? How much of my ancient history has been pillaged to grace the museums of London or Paris or New York?
Stashes, they should be called, their museums merely elegant buildings made to house their plunder, their archaeologists nothing more than crooks and swindlers and tomb robbers. At least the men who stripped the pyramids in antiquity were honest thieves. They did not lay grand claims to preservation; they did not call themselves saviors of culture.
And I looked and I looked and when I could take it no longer, we spoke of my own tomb. I have known for quite some time the story of its discovery: How could I not know it? But, oh, there was so much more. So much I was not told. So much deliberately kept from me. My body is housed in the Museum now, did you know this? And so they rest now, those kings, not in their silent, stone tombs, but in sliding glass trays, packed in cotton, under special lights, pulled out from time to time and poked like dead animals upon the road.
Down into these rooms we went, to the lonely, dark place where little-known kings and mummies too delicate to display sleep. To the room that also holds me. And there—there I was. He is smaller than I am.
- Andrea Camilleri: A Companion to the Mystery Fiction (McFarland Companions to Mystery Fiction).
- Going In And Out My Window.
- Sunday, June 4, 2017;
The mummification process, I know, but I was unprepared for how fragile, how desiccated he would be. I was also unprepared for his condition. This they never told me: The arms and legs were detached, the torso cut in half. The head was severed; hot knives were used to remove it from the golden mask to which it was cemented by resin.
I have never been so angry, and, truly, I do not know how I will go on with my duties when everything I have been told is a lie, when everything I have ever believed is suspect. And how may I look Dr. Sweeney in the eye, now, when all I see is the avatar of so much misery and destruction?
Indeed, I begin to suspect that Khaled has been in the right all along, that his path is the true one. No doubt you will chastise me for this polemic, try to reason with me, enjoin me to make some kind of peace. But I cannot listen. No, I cannot do it. Much though I regret the sentiment, your brand of prudence, sir, would not be welcome at this moment. As you wrote, sir: Beware of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance, go forward.
Sir, allow me to apologize unreservedly for the ungracious words and splenetic tone expressed in my letter dated 28 th February. I cannot begin to articulate my chagrin when, in a calmer frame of mind, I recalled what I had written. I hope I have not given any lasting offense; I pray you will chalk it up to the hot blood of youth, and not to any kind of true or permanent enmity.
I assure you, Mr. Lincoln, that I am dedicated to, as you so succinctly and elegantly voiced, do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations. I cannot begin to thank you, sir, for your charity. Yes, it is said that forgiveness is a divine trait, but not many men who had been so sorely abused would deign to forgive so readily and so generously. I believe I said that I would not trouble you with the frivolities of my dreams again, but this one bears discussion. In this dream, just as before, I lay upon the couch in my bedchamber whilst the wind blew back the curtains.
It was evening, and the Nile was alive with silver light. Again I inhaled the scent of the crushed lotus. The restlessness grew upon me even before she had crossed the room into my arms. The sweetness in the air was overwhelming. Her lips were as soft as petals, her arms about me like iron bands. Drums beat upon the water again, stirring me, urging me on. Then, like a crack of lightning to my skull, a blow from behind. It is foolish to be frightened by dreams; it is childish to wake crying.
And yet I did, and now, hours later, I still cannot shake the feeling of melancholy which has descended upon me. Do you know what such a vision means? Do you suffer much from your dreams, sir? Thank you, sir, for your concern. No, I did not tell Dr. I never spoke of the other dream, nor do I wish to, and it seems foolish to speak of one without mentioning the other.
However, I believe, now, that it was all a great deal of nothing, and I am, I assure you, quite recovered from its frightful effects. It was only a dream after all, only a stray thought woven inside a nonsensical story. I shall bother you no more with it. I am so chock full of secrets that one day I imagine I will simply burst apart, and all the confidences I keep will come spilling out from me like silvery fish upon a wooden dock.
Fouad called me to his office last evening. Fouad rarely receives me in his office. In fact, he rarely receives anyone there at all, preferring to preserve his privacy, or as Hanifa calls it, his secrecy. Something was amiss, I knew, and not only because of the unusual summons. Troubled is how I would describe it, though I do not believe that I have ever really seen him so in the past.
To my knowledge, were there or had there ever been any others in the palace or the Museum at night? I do not know what expression I wore at first. I think my mouth opened once or twice but nothing came of it. Finally, I cleared my throat. I have lied to him, Mr. I have never outright lied to my mentor before. Yes, this letter is, in effect, a lie. But a lie of omission, not commission.
I know, I know you shall say that I should not have done. I know you shall say I must tell all, make a clean breast of it, wash my hands of the whole affair. It is a conundrum I cannot untangle, and I am left quite at odds. She said no, of course, whispered that she still had facts to root out for him, argued that her position was crucial to the cause, whatever that may mean.
And though Khaled disputed her many points, still she remained steadfast in her resolve to abide. But it was, to my discerning eye, a reluctant no. And the way she looked at him—I had assumed before that it was merely admiration for his erudition, for his oratory style that made her eyes so bright when he speaks. I tell you, I cannot like it. I cannot like how readily he believed she would leave her family at his word. I cannot like his over-familiarity.
Should I tell Dr. Fouad, then, that he has been here? I suspect Hanifa would never forgive me. I could do it under a cloak of anonymity, I suppose, but to be so underhanded. Best to do it honestly or not at all. My apologies for being so long absent. I am perfectly fine. I was not injured in any way. And I am sorry that so many of your urgent letters went unanswered and for the worry that caused you.
I only wished to be undisturbed for a time. I cannot truly explain it, but I hope you can understand, nonetheless. We were on another chariot procession through the city in a place where the streets grow quite narrow. They were jammed that day with people three or four deep. We had just reached the Midan Hussein, a more open plaza where the sun could shine down on us and the air could circulate. I looked about me, at the startling blue sky, the silver domes of the Mohamed Ali Mosque shimmering in the distance, at the sea of faces, waving fronds and cheering, and the tourists, so conspicuous in their dress and their paraphernalia.
And I smiled, as I do, because indeed I love these trips. And there on the edge of the crowd, where I have seen Khaled stand and smile and wave like the rest, I saw another man, a man darker of aspect, who was not smiling, who was not waving a frond or cheering. I caught his gaze and a cold frisson gripped me, the kind of cold that is not felt here in the desert. The man pressed forward into the sea of people, and he clenched his fist, and as he did, the crowd surged, and I lost the sight of him. Then there came a loud concussion. I was thrown back, down to the ground, and I lay there for several heartbeats staring at the blue, blue sky above.
My ears did not seem to work right, as if I were floating just beneath the surface of water. So I shook my head, and after a moment, I could hear again, though I soon wished that I could not. The screaming of the horses was an horrific sound. Then I saw them, rolling on their sides, broken and bleeding and tangled in the traces. People were screaming as well, and I saw them running with blood upon their hands. I saw tourists lying in the street, missing limbs and faces and gods know what else.
I saw blood fill the cracks in the pavement like rainwater. And then my guards carried me from the carnage, and I saw nothing more. A month passed before Hanifa brought Khaled to me. I did not want to see him. Hanifa pleaded, but no, I would not do it, I would not face him. I turned to look at the wall. So he sat upon the edge of the room, talking into the air.
I did not care. I wanted only to be alone. He spoke, then, of the civil war that left Egypt a wounded battleground, of the dictator that replaced a dictator that replaced a dictator and called it democracy. He spoke of the struggle of the poor against the powers of money and corruption. He spoke of victims and of symbols. He spoke of me, of my life and my existence. I am a victim, he said, and a symbol, as well, of money and of power and of the oppression of the true people of Egypt.
And then, in his best sideways fashion, he said I had the power to change all of it. As if this would convince me to be part of his cause! As if I wanted his sort of glory! As if I could do such evil as this! I could listen no more and put my hands over my ears, and so he left, and I have not seen him since, though Hanifa asks and asks. Thank you for listening. It lightens my burden to speak of these things.
Two nights past, I dreamt I stood upon the west bank of the river, the soil beneath my feet black from the flooding, and in the distance women sang a lament in the old tongue, though I could not pick out the words. And then I hunted wild bull in the waving grasslands beyond the delta. The animal came at me, snorting, the ground trembling beneath its heavy tread, and though I tried, I could not heft my spear.
My arm was leaden, stuck to my side. The animal came nearer, and I strained against my invisible bonds, but to no avail, and it gored me where I stood. I lay upon the ground bleeding from the wound, crying for help, but none came. And the women only sang and sang. And I woke thus, crying like a child. I have told no one of these dreams, Mr. No one but yourself, knowing that you will keep my secrets. Knowing that you are my loyal friend. Sir, I assure you there is no need for you to be so troubled as all that. In fact, I believe that you are more unsettled on my account than I am. Knowing your caring disposition, I realize now that I should never have burdened you with my nonsense.
And, of course, it is just that: We traveled to Abu Simbel today. The Nile was placid, our voyage down smooth. My guards no longer wear their costumes. There is no need for this trip other than to prove they can do it, that I am not a prisoner of fear. They have cameras staged along the banks of the river to capture our journey, to make sure the world knows it is safe for tourists here. But despite their efforts, the crowds are gone now, and with them the cheers, the adulation, the palm fronds waved for the visiting deity.
No one is allowed near me any longer except those I already know: But in Hanifa, there is no comfort, there is only the question in her eyes, and I cannot answer. I felt small at the feet of the colossi. So massive, those stone giants, proclaiming the greatness of Ramesses loud enough so even the gods could hear. There are no such statues for me. I was the king lost so thoroughly even the thieves could not find me.
Such a noble story!
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No, Ramesses was a real pharaoh, a man who deserved to be made again, though instinct tells me that he would not have stood for remaining this impotent puppet they have made of me. Perhaps that is why I was chosen; perhaps they thought I would be satisfied with less. Or perhaps they designed me to be placid and accepting, designed us all to be so.
Who is ever to know? All I do know for certain is this: When we returned to the Museum, Hanifa insisted on speaking to me of Khaled, said she wished for me to see him, to speak with him again. I refused, and I said to her things I should not have, things I will not repeat. And then I told her that I hoped she would leave with him, because I wanted never to see her again.
But I could not. It is time for sleep. I ventured down to the Royal Mummy Room last night and stood amongst my ancient ancestors, my brother kings. All with their pictures displaying how they appeared in life. I was reminded of that prince—so long ago it seems now—the one who asked me what I was famous for. I did not know how to answer him then. I still do not. Have you finally tired of your little friend, Mr. I have received no letters from you in some time. I miss them, truly. It has been months since your last letter.
Have I offended you? Do you wish me to stop writing? I hope that is not the case. Please, sir, send a note so that I know that we are still friends. I did not know how much until I was deprived of them. I write now in the slim hope that I may have the opportunity to post this at some future time.
Fouad summoned me to his office, early, just after I had risen. Hanifa had decamped, he told me. She had chosen a man over her family.
She had chosen shame, and I was not to mention her name again. When I returned to my rooms, I found that all my guards had been replaced with men I did not know.
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How could Hanifa abandon me? How could she leave without even saying goodbye? How could she choose Khaled when I need her so? I did not mean it when I said I wished her gone. I do not know now if I will ever see her again, and it is a thought I can hardly bear.
I understand now, sir, why I have not heard from you. You, I would guess, do not have a similar knowledge. Allow me to shed light upon the situation. Last night I was awakened from a restless sleep by Hanifa, and I was so happy to see her, I simply held her for a full five minutes. But no, she said, only to see me and even that could be but a brief visit. They had intercepted our correspondence, she said, and that is how Dr.
My fault, though Hanifa says no, because when her father came to confront her with the evidence, he discovered her reading his personal files, the ones he locks away and lets no one else see, and that alone would have meant her exile. So she does not blame me. They did not know everything, obviously, or else she would not have been able to get in through her back door, but they knew enough, which is why I am no longer receiving your letters.
And then she began to speak in strange and ominous hints, of things she says she cannot tell me, things she says I must discover for myself. She gave me the combination. She did not tell me to go there. She did not say must or have to. She said only this: And with tears in her eyes, she kissed me, and she left. I do not know if I shall ever see her again. I have kept the paper with the key code close to my heart.