The Year is Almost Over

What the Mummy Told Me

"'I am waited for in Egypt,' said the Swallow. 'My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves.'"

I had read The Happy Prince many times, captivated by the tale of the little bird who gave his life for the love of the Prince. The winds of Egypt had blown the sands of the hourglass of forever, to inspire the sad poet who had lived his own tragedy.

From Alexandria I had journeyed to Cairo, the city of the Pharaohs. I had felt so disturbed by my recent ordeals that I decided I would have to take deliberate steps to ensure that I had as non-threatening an experience as possible while still enjoying the sights of Cairo. To that end, I found a club close to my hotel so that I might meet fellow travellers. As it turned out, it was the worst thing I could have done.

The early prayer calls were echoing from the minarets, but the morning was already hot and uncomfortable. The club was called 'The Ibis'. It would have been too dirty to be allowed to trade in England, but it seemed de rigueur in Egypt. The furniture was shabby, the ceiling fans squeaked, and the stench of the streets pervaded in through the latticework screens. I settled in an armchair with a black coffee, a cigar and my Oscar Wilde omnibus.

The fellow in the armchair in front of me looked over his newspaper. He was a man like any other Egyptian, dressed in grubby, sweat stained clothes. He was small and slightly built - if not for his beard one might have mistaken him for a boy. He had a large nose, few teeth and he wore several large, ugly rings on his fingers. He nodded and said,

"Good day to you, sir."

"Good day."

He looked at me for a moment or two.

"You have the air of a man who is out of place."

"Do I, indeed."

"You look like a man who wants to learn something of the wonders of Egypt, but is afraid."

I said nothing. His paper fell to his lap.

"You must let go," he said. "You must go where fate leads you, without question. We are all bound by the will of Allah."

That this fellow had the insolence to tell a stranger what to do, and yet at the same time seem to read my innermost thoughts, was so unsettling that it took me some moments to think of a reply.

"Look here, a man cannot go blindly through life... there are always risks - one must prepare for them the best one can."

He nodded slowly, then spoke again.

"No matter how well we think we have our lives in hand, we must also have the courage to face the unexpected. Tell me, sir. Did you see the statue at the top of the stairs? That is King Djoser, Pharaoh of the Third Dynasty. Let me tell you a story of a man who thought he controlled the universe, but who ultimately was a prisoner of fate, like us all."

The Egyptian folded up his newspaper and set it aside. It seemed I could not escape the conversation without being colossally rude, and was, for the present, very much a prisoner of fate.

"Djoser lived almost fifty centuries ago. He grew up with all the glory and riches which were the birthright of the son of the Pharaoh. By the time he was eighteen, he commanded two thirds of his father's armies.

"Djoser saw the need to go to war against the people of Mafkat, for the mines of turquoise which lay beyond their homes. But his father did not agree, so Djoser poisoned his father's goblet with the venom of an adder, then took the throne. His mother fled the Kingdom with some of his father's bodyguard, but he sent his best warriors after her. They soon overtook her, and she was brought back to him tied to a bamboo frame. She was executed by divine fire within hours of her arrival in Memphis. The bodyguard that she had fled with were disembowelled and left in the desert to suffer forever the wrath of Set.