The Last Wish

4. The Desert

I was born poor. I know that's not something you can imagine, given how rich your lives have been – you've had money, possessions, vacations, houses, investments. You've never wanted for anything, and that was important to me: because I had nothing.

As you all know, your grandfather was a military man. But I never told you why. It wasn't for honour or glory, I'm afraid. My father racked up a significant amount of debt to a dangerous man and his cabal of thugs and thieves. He had no employment and no way to pay back the debt. The only escape was to join the army and be stationed abroad. The men caught up with us eventually, doing unspeakable things to my mother. Even now, as I confess all that I am about to confess, I will not speak aloud what happened to her, lest it poison the very air we breathe.

From then on, I moved with him, and he started paying back his debts. As such, we had no spare money for toys and trinkets – which was useful, as we had no room to take much with us whenever he was redeployed.

After some years – when I was seventeen and on the cusp of becoming my own man – we found ourselves living on the outskirts of Cairo. That city is where my life changed, and where all of this became possible. For my father, however, the city was his grave. The illegal gambling dens of Cairo did not welcome his kind there – those that don't pay their debts. By comparison, our pursuers back home in Michigan were small fry; at least they had given him time and chances before hurting somebody he loved. In Cairo, they took his hand first, and twenty-four hours later, they beat him to death down an alleyway as he stumbled from a bad game to the base. When they found him, he was only recognisable by the colour of his skin and the dog tag he wore around his neck. I overheard the officers talking about what had happened, packed my bag, and left the base – I wasn't prepared to go back home alone and into the foster system. I had come this far, and my ambitions were far greater than anything they might have had in mind for me.

That determination to survive saw me through many a rough night, finding somewhere to sleep and offering out my services at construction sites and bars. After a few weeks of itinerancy, I came across an Englishman who had moved to Cairo to feed his obsession with Ancient Egypt and its many treasures. He referred to himself as an 'Egyptologist', though I never saw evidence of any formal credentials. What he did have, however, was a vast collection of works and artefacts – golden ankhs, intact shabtis, a grand statue of Anubis in the atrium of his home. I was tasked with helping his hunters to unload their finds and to ensure they were paid correctly after evaluation. He taught me how to spot fakes and where to store them, so that when he was out of the country, I could carry on without him. We made an excellent team, and I was reminded of a dream I had once had where my father wasn't a failed gambling addict who had upended my life to flee his own.

Then one day, they brought it to the house. I knew as soon as I saw the item that I coveted it for myself, but I was reminded of the Egyptologist's generosity – the plush bed I was given to sleep in, the meals and the care, and of course the attention and love he provided.

Faithfully, I paid the hunters, checked the item's authenticity, and then dutifully put it on display in a cabinet on the upper landing that surrounded the main atrium. I chose the cabinet closest to my room so that I might sneak a look at it when everybody else was asleep. It was the best thing to having it for myself – to have it near me.

I wasn't the only one to covet it, however. That or she genuinely was just trying to help. A maid – her name escapes me as she was new at the time, which became obvious in the seconds that followed – took the item from its case, muttering about a blemish. She was unaware that I was watching through a crack in my door; she didn't know I'd seen her look around and check for prying eyes. Ignorant to my own, she rubbed the surface of the item with her cloth, and it began to shake and tremble and jolt in her hands. The smoke that poured out of it was a colour I've never seen before or since – and I doubt it is meant for the eyes of mere mortals. Imagine an iridescence mounted on clouds, moving dynamically in the air, fluidly as if the cloud itself was made of rainbow. It glittered with divinity.