| 6 “Sayeed, your face is wet. Are you ill? Open the window.” “It’s not permitted. Not at this hour.” But Dr. Rubin did not seem to care about the regulations of the museum and opened a window himself. “There! If only there would come a little breeze. That would be even better.” If only! thought Sayeed. Perhaps he really had taken sick. Perhaps a lingering malady had seized him since coming to the city, one that had caused him to imagine so many strange things. “Sit down in that chair and rest,” suggested the American. “Stay near the window. And leave the light on—it doesn’t matter just for one night.” Then, to Sayeed’s further astonishment, Dr. Rubin added “Your friend there—Tutankhamun—what do you suppose he’d give to smell the north wind again?” “Everything,” murmured Sayeed. There were many things Sayeed el Kashef longed to ask Dr. Rubin—but most of all he wanted to inquire about Room 52. Yet he was unable to muster the nerve to ask any questions at all that night. Still, from then on, whenever Dr. Rubin was there in the evening, he never failed to exchange a few words with the watchman. Once, in the learned man’s absence, Sayeed shone his torch into the keyhole of Room 52—but was not able to see anything in particular. The watchman, however, had a keen sense of smell. What Said smelled through the keyhole of the mysterious chamber was far from pleasant. It was the odor of mold and mustiness, of things shut away for a long time. It was the smell of death. Suddenly it happened that Said became engaged. He was informed of his betrothal by mail. The bride’s name was Farida, a girl from his area. Sayeed thought perhaps he had met Farida at a wedding back home, but he was unable to recall what she looked like. Fortunately, as Sayeed was told by his father in the letter—written by someone else as the father could not write—this Farida’s own father needed someone to help him farm his property and so Sayeed would be able to leave Cairo at last. For some reason, Sayeed found himself unable to summon much joy at this news. He still loved the land and he was willing to get married provided the girl was not too plain. Sayeed had never come to like the city in which he had made so few acquaintances and no real friends. His job at the museum hardly paid enough to make staying in Cairo worthwhile—and the place was starting to get to him, besides. Regardless, the thought of going back to the country filled Sayeed with a kind of panic. NEXT PAGE |