mentioned it, I think—Winckler or Schumacher.”
The name of his predecessor at Samaria brought a scowl to Reisner’s face. He had been horrified at Schumacher’s sloppy excavation methods, and his vehement criticism had led to Schumacher’s dismissal from the site.
“She did seem to be interested in the Hebrew ostraca,” Ramses offered.
“Maybe she’s a philologist,” Fisher said.
“Modesty prevents me from mentioning that if that were her field I would have recognized her name,” Ramses said.
“Forget the damned woman,” Reisner said irritably. “I couldn’t care less who or what she is; we’ll never set eyes on her again. Unless,” he added, with a sidelong look at Ramses, “she invited you to call on her?”
“Why should she?”
Reisner chuckled. “That little byplay, pretending not to recognize you? She knew, all right. She asked for you.”
“You’re joking.”
“Well, not by name. But she asked if my ‘youthful assistant’ could show her around. How would she know I had one if she didn’t know who it was?”
“Don’t distinguished archaeologists always have youthful assistants hanging about?” Ramses inquired.
“Hmm. Well, back to work. You can start the men on that next section.”
Ramses went back to the dig in a thoughtful mood. Reisner had enjoyed teasing him, but his syllogism made a certain amount of sense. And Madame had known who his parents were.
Later that afternoon, Ramses took a short stroll toward the stream. He didn’t venture close to the camp, but from what he could see from a distance there was no indication that a move next day was contemplated. There was no sign of the lady. The tent flap was still closed.
The sun was setting as he went back. Passing the mosque on his way to the village, he was moved by a sudden impulse. He stopped and looked into the courtyard. It was almost time for evening prayers, but the number of worshippers who were assembling was larger than the usual crowd. As far as he could remember, this was not a particular holy day; it wasn’t even Friday.
When he reached the dig house he found the others already there. He expected a reprimand—he’d been ordered not to wander off alone—but Reisner greeted him with a cheerful announcement. “The mail’s just come. Several for you.”
The arrival of mail was a cause for celebration, since its delivery was spasmodic at best. After arriving at Jaffa, the nearest port, it sat around until someone, for reasons known only to himself, decided to send it on. Ramses’s pleasure was muted by the recollection that he hadn’t responded to the last batch of letters. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what he had done with them. Anticipating a forcible rebuke, he was about to open the first of several from Nefret when Reisner let out a loud groan. The envelope he had just ripped open was directed in a hand with which Ramses was only too familiar.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, expecting the worst.
“He wants,” Reisner said in hollow tones. “He says…”
His voice faded out. Wordlessly he handed over the piece of paper.
As Ramses had expected, his father didn’t waste words. “Will arrive Sebaste shortly to take Ramses with me to assist my forthcoming excavations in Jerusalem. Regards, R. Emerson.”
“It can’t be true,” Ramses gasped. “What excavations, where? Are there any others letters from him?”
He began looking through his own accumulation. A few frenzied moments later they had managed to sort the letters into sequence. Finally Reisner let out a gusty sigh of relief. “This one from your mother seems to be the most recent. She says instead of coming here to collect you, they want you to meet them in Jaffa on…Good Lord, that’s less than a week away.”
“She’s written the same to me,” Ramses said. “At least she had the decency to apologize, and gave us more information than Father deigned to do. Have you ever heard of this fellow Morley?”
“No,
The name of his predecessor at Samaria brought a scowl to Reisner’s face. He had been horrified at Schumacher’s sloppy excavation methods, and his vehement criticism had led to Schumacher’s dismissal from the site.
“She did seem to be interested in the Hebrew ostraca,” Ramses offered.
“Maybe she’s a philologist,” Fisher said.
“Modesty prevents me from mentioning that if that were her field I would have recognized her name,” Ramses said.
“Forget the damned woman,” Reisner said irritably. “I couldn’t care less who or what she is; we’ll never set eyes on her again. Unless,” he added, with a sidelong look at Ramses, “she invited you to call on her?”
“Why should she?”
Reisner chuckled. “That little byplay, pretending not to recognize you? She knew, all right. She asked for you.”
“You’re joking.”
“Well, not by name. But she asked if my ‘youthful assistant’ could show her around. How would she know I had one if she didn’t know who it was?”
“Don’t distinguished archaeologists always have youthful assistants hanging about?” Ramses inquired.
“Hmm. Well, back to work. You can start the men on that next section.”
Ramses went back to the dig in a thoughtful mood. Reisner had enjoyed teasing him, but his syllogism made a certain amount of sense. And Madame had known who his parents were.
Later that afternoon, Ramses took a short stroll toward the stream. He didn’t venture close to the camp, but from what he could see from a distance there was no indication that a move next day was contemplated. There was no sign of the lady. The tent flap was still closed.
The sun was setting as he went back. Passing the mosque on his way to the village, he was moved by a sudden impulse. He stopped and looked into the courtyard. It was almost time for evening prayers, but the number of worshippers who were assembling was larger than the usual crowd. As far as he could remember, this was not a particular holy day; it wasn’t even Friday.
When he reached the dig house he found the others already there. He expected a reprimand—he’d been ordered not to wander off alone—but Reisner greeted him with a cheerful announcement. “The mail’s just come. Several for you.”
The arrival of mail was a cause for celebration, since its delivery was spasmodic at best. After arriving at Jaffa, the nearest port, it sat around until someone, for reasons known only to himself, decided to send it on. Ramses’s pleasure was muted by the recollection that he hadn’t responded to the last batch of letters. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what he had done with them. Anticipating a forcible rebuke, he was about to open the first of several from Nefret when Reisner let out a loud groan. The envelope he had just ripped open was directed in a hand with which Ramses was only too familiar.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, expecting the worst.
“He wants,” Reisner said in hollow tones. “He says…”
His voice faded out. Wordlessly he handed over the piece of paper.
As Ramses had expected, his father didn’t waste words. “Will arrive Sebaste shortly to take Ramses with me to assist my forthcoming excavations in Jerusalem. Regards, R. Emerson.”
“It can’t be true,” Ramses gasped. “What excavations, where? Are there any others letters from him?”
He began looking through his own accumulation. A few frenzied moments later they had managed to sort the letters into sequence. Finally Reisner let out a gusty sigh of relief. “This one from your mother seems to be the most recent. She says instead of coming here to collect you, they want you to meet them in Jaffa on…Good Lord, that’s less than a week away.”
“She’s written the same to me,” Ramses said. “At least she had the decency to apologize, and gave us more information than Father deigned to do. Have you ever heard of this fellow Morley?”
“No,
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