*****
Nothing you can possess
2001 Angelia Sparrow
*****
He tumbled to a stop, covered in cobwebs, the idol
heavy in his grasp. The boulder smashed into the opening of
the temple sealing it forever.
There was no time to be elated at being alive, Jones realized, taking
in the arrows of the Hovitos aimed at him. The immaculate bush
suit of his rival was almost a reproach to his own filth. Then
he remembered he'd risked his life half a dozen times this morning,
while Belloq had not.
"Once again, Dr. Jones, we see there is nothing you can possess
that I cannot take away." The hated words made his face flame
and his heart pound in his ears. He was grateful for the dirt
that obscured most of the flush. He handed the idol over,
choking once more on impotent rage.
The burst of anger gave him the speed
he needed to escape the Hovitos and make his plane.
During the long flight back to the States, he
steamed. Belloq had bested him frequently
since graduate school, and that taunt--it
rankled, dredging the worst memory of the lot
up from its unquiet grave.
The year had been 1925. The Great War was over,
and jazz was just reaching the midwest. Motorcars were
becoming more common and the ink was just barely
dry on a sheepskin that declared Henry Jones Jr.
a Ph.D. in Archeology.
He considered himself very fortunate to have landed a
teaching position that allowed for frequent field-work.
The fact the museum curator, Marcus, was an old friend of
his father's had nothing to do with the post, it
was just an added perk.
He had no classes for the summer session, but was
instead accompanying a dig to the Valley of the Kings.
He already had several paper topics in mind, and hoped
to collect enough background evidence to publish.
His pleasure at being in the field again diminished greatly
when he saw who was leading his team. The heads of the
dig, Drs. Parker and Granville, had several teams working for them,
and he had been assigned to one headed by Rene Belloq.
Knowing the Frenchman, he suspected it was not an accident.
The ugly incident with Alice Graydon two years before still
lay bitter in Indy's mind. Had it been a century earlier,
he'd have called the Frenchman out, and one of them would have died.
But the 20th century was upon them, and duels were mere romantic
legend.
The paper two years before that, the one his advisor had insisted be
a
collaboration, where he had done the work and the junior professor
had taken the credit, would not lie quietly either.
Always, Belloq had worn the same smirk, and anounced, with
casual disdain, "There is nothing you can possess that I
cannot take away."
This time, Indy had decided it would be different.
He would claim anything he found in front of
half a dozen witnesses. He wouldn't say word one
about his paper ideas, lest they be plagarized. He'd
even developed a habit of writing his notes in code.
Paranoid, certainly, but this time, the credit would
accrue to him.
The dig was hard work, even with native help.
The Sahara was especially inhospitible this year,
tossing out sand-lice the size of his smallest fingernail and
and scorpions as large as rats. He slept in his boots
and took care to shave more often than usual. For the
first time, he cursed the hair on his chest and legs.
The days were hot and the nights cold. It
was all the usual hardships, magnified by the presence
of Rene Belloq and mitigated only by the excitement
of discovery.
"Think of it, Indiana," Dr. Parker had said one
evening near the supper fire. "We are the first
to walk these halls since the time of the Exodus!
The first to see these treasures since they were
buried, four thousand years ago. And someday,
four thousand years from now, archeologists
will dig us up, with the same excitement."
Indy had chuckled, thinking about the future
archeologists digging him up, with fedora and
leather jacket, and speculating about the
religious, ceremonial and cultural significance
of them.
The next day Indy himself had broken through to the
burial chamber.
Now, as with any find, there were artifacts to
catalogue, locations to note, and value to speculate
about. Belloq had been utterly furious
when he learned that Jones had made the find,
and in front of witnesses. Deciphering
the hieroglyphics in the hall had distracted him,
and so, he was not at the vangard of discovery.
The Frenchman went about his work with bad grace,
but made no attempt to take any of the glory.
He watched, and waited, biding his time as the
dig progressed into the chamber.
"Three alabaster canopic jars, check. Six mummified cats,
check. One set surgeon's tools, including brainhook,
check. All right, nail 'er down." Indiana turned
away from the crate, now ready to be shipped to the
British Museum, and wiped his face. He took a drink
from his canteen and supervised the Egyptians as they
closed the crate.
"That's the last of it, Doctor," he told Nicholas Granville
as expedition leader arrived.
"Very good, Doctor. Won't you join us for dinner
at our shade? I'd like to discuss the discovery
with you, as would Dr. Parker."
His excitement at discussing the find was barely
dimmed by the Frenchman's presence. They ate the hummus
and flat bread, the savory rice with bits of lamb and mint.
As they sipped strong coffee and watched the first desert stars
appear, Belloq ventured, "I must congratulate you, Dr. Jones, on
making such an important find so early in your career. Your
excitement and delight are nearly tangible."
Indy, surprised by the graciousness, but still on his guard,
said, "Thanks, Rene. What did your hieroglyphics tell you
about this tomb? Knowing who's in there is pretty important."
The Frenchman tugged a notebook from his breast pocket.
"I haven't a name yet, but it seems to be a fairly young man,
late twenties, the son of Ramses the Great. Ah, here we are.
'Taken from us by the wrath of the unknown god.' Hmph!
Someone said something earlier about being the first in this
tomb since the Exodus. He may not be far wrong."
They discussed the contents of the find until Dr. Granville
excused himself, yawning. "Gentlemen, it is fascinating,
but I am an old man, and talk of mummification puts
me in mind of my own sarcophagus. Until morning." He ducked
into his tent.
Dr. Parker removed a bottle of good whiskey from where he had stored
it.
"I think this calls for a bit of celebration. One drink each,
men, we don't want big heads for the digging tomorrow." he
handed round the small glasses. "To the dig, and the Pharoh's
son."
The three archaeologists drank the toast and Indiana excused himself.
Dr. Parker watched Belloq watching him leave.
"You hate him very much, don't you?"
"Jones is an arrogant looter, hiding behind scruples. He
deludes himself into thinking he serves the higher good
of historical research, when it is obvious he is merely
in it for excitement and money. He needs to be reduced,
given a lesson." Belloq stood. "If you will excuse me.
The meal was palatable, but the company left much to be
desired." He bowed shortly and stalked to his tent.
Indiana came awake to an aching head, and the smell of
opium. He reached to rub his eyes, but his wrists were
tied securely to the metal frame of his cot. He found
his ankles were likewise secured. Somewhere, in the
poppy-induced sleep, he had been bound and, he
suddenly realized, stripped.
A weight sat on his back. "Ah, you have decided to
rejoin the living, eh, Dr. Jones?"
"Belloq. When I get loose..."
"Spare me your threats. You will tell no one,
and there is no way you could wreck havoc upon
me without an explanation."
"Blackmail? I thought that was beneath even you."
"Hardly blackmail. I am merely saying you will
not wish to speak of it."
"What--"
"Don't tell me you haven't guessed at it, Jones."
Soft lips and sharp teeth descended to nip at the nape
of his neck. "I will take you, and I will mark you as
mine. And if you breathe a hint of it, I will point to
the lovebites on your throat and shoulders as evidence
that I did not force you."
"You bastard."
"If you insist on raging at me, I will gag you.
In fact, that may be the wisest course."
A handkerchief tied into a large knot and smelling
heavily of the Frenchman's cologne forced its way between
Indiana's teeth and lodged against his palate. He gagged.
"I do not suggest vomiting, Dr. Jones. The effects could
be deadly. Count backward from a hundred if you feel the
necessity. I would not want you to die on me."
Indy's reply was necessarily muffled but decidedly
insulting.
He tensed as the man's hands ran along his back and between
his spread legs. When the inquisitive fingers began exploring
the cleft of his buttocks, he tensed and pulled away as much as
the ropes allowed. It availed him nothing, as Belloq's fingers
entered him, first one, and then a second. Their passage eased
with
an oil, he still cringed away, snarling through the gag.
"You require a lesson. You are not necessarily on the
side of the angels, Dr. Jones. You pride yourself on
only working for universities and museums. You disdain me
for taking a profit." Two fingers became three, and Indy bit
down hard on the gag.
"I have tried teaching you this many times, but you
are a most stubborn pupil. There is nothing," he
shoved the fingers in as hard and deeply as he could,
"you can possess, that I cannot take away. I cannot
claim this tomb find, but I can take your joy in it."
To Indy's great relief, Belloq removed the offending hand.
It was quickly replaced with something even more
offensive. Indiana's eyes widened, and he nearly bit
through the gag at the burning pain as Belloq entered him.
"Nothing," the Frenchman whispered, biting low
on his throat, leaving a mark that would be covered by
his shirt, but a mark none the less. "Nothing." Belloq
marked him again, on the shoulder this time. "Nothing."
He pulled out, and thrust back in. "Not your research."
Another thrust. "Not your artifacts." A third. "Not
your women." A fourth. "Not even your own body."
"Nothing, nothing, nothing!" he spat, pounding into
the resisting body beneath him. After several minutes,
he could feel a change in Indiana's movements. The younger
man had weakened, and was beginning to submit.
"Nothing you can posess," he hissed in Indiana's
ear as he climaxed. He made another mark, near the
collarbone, "that I cannot take away."
Mercifully, his weight vanished, and Indy heard the
sounds of clothing being fastened and adjusted.
"Cross me again, Dr. Jones, and I will see to it you
receive another lesson. It would be a pleasure to
tutor such a slow learner." The elegant hands loosened
the gag, and untied a single knot of the ones binding
his hands. "I suggest you free yourself before dawn,
and wash as well. I cannot imagine what the
Doctors Parker and Granville would say if you were
to arrive at breakfast smelling of sex and my cologne."
The smirk was audible.
Steps toward the tent flap, then "Remember, Dr. Jones,
there is nothing you can possess that I cannot take away.
I will repeat this truth as often as necessary until you
fully grasp it."
Indiana worked dilligently to untie himself, and succeded
within an hour. His face was chafed, his wrists were bleeding,
his ankles rubbed raw, and a tenative hand found blood from
the most abused part of his body. He located a clean cloth,
folded it and tucked it into the back of his underwear as
he dressed. He wrapped gauze around his ankles before
putting on his socks and did the same for his wrists
under the long-sleeved shirt. He buttoned all the buttons,
covering the marks on his shoulders and neck, thankful the tomb
was cool inside. He would have to hope his mild sunburn would
cover the chafing on his face.
Belloq was right. The joy of the dig was gone. He finished
the expedition mechanically, and went back to the college
in August with great relief, still half a stranger in his own
body. He later learned his lack of enthusiasm had delayed his
full professorship by a few years, and he had never returned
to the Valley of the Kings.
The past humiliation faded into present anger at being bested
again, which turned to fury as Jock's pet nosed back into his
seat. "Get that damned thing back in your turret or I'll
pitch him into the propellor."
"Sorry boss." The boa reeled back into the rear cockpit.
There would be a next time, Indiana knew. And this time,
he swore, he'd have the upper hand, and keep what
he posessed. There would be no more taunts, and
no more unquiet memories dragged from their sandy tomb
to lurch out like a horror-movie mummy.
Resolved, he tipped his battered hat down over his
face and let the drone of the engines quiet the restless
ghosts.
*end*