hammered on the door
again. Still nothing. She walked back out onto the
track, stood looking to left and right for a few
moments, then returned to the terrace and sat
down on one of the concrete benches.
She was worried now. Her father had let her
down on numerous occasions – too many to
remember – but she sensed that this time it was
different. Perhaps he had been taken ill or had had
some sort of accident? Scenarios flicked through
her head, each more upsetting than the one before.
She stood up and banged on the shutters again,
more out of frustration than hope.
'Where are you, Dad?' she muttered to herself.
'Where the fuck are you?'
She waited at the house for almost two hours,
wandering around, peering through the shutters,
occasionally hammering on the door, beads of
sweat bubbling across her forehead, eyes heavy
with exhaustion. A group of children playing in
the village beneath spotted her and came
65
scrabbling up the dusty slope at the back of the
building, shouting, 'School pen! School pen!' She
took some pens out of her bag and handed them
round, asking if any of them had seen a tall man
with white hair. They didn't seem to understand
and once they had their pens they disappeared
down the escarpment again, leaving her alone
with the flies and the heat and the silent, shuttered
house.
Eventually, when the sun was at its zenith and
she was so tired she could barely keep awake, she
decided to go and look for Hassan, the man she'd
met earlier. She knew if her father had just been
delayed somewhere he would be angry at her for
making a fuss, but by now she was too concerned
to care. With her one remaining pen she scribbled
a note explaining what she was doing and wedged
it in the front door. She then set out back along the
dusty track towards the distant serrated bulk of
the step pyramid, the sun burning down on her,
the world silent apart from the crunch of her foot-
fall and the occasional whirr of a passing fly.
She had been walking for about five minutes,
head bowed, when something caught her eye away
to the right, a momentary glint. She stopped and
looked in that direction, shielding her eyes. There
was someone standing over there, about two
hundred metres out into the desert, on top of a
sandy hillock. They were too far away, and the
sun too bright, to make out much about them,
except that they seemed to be extremely tall and
dressed in white. There was another brief glint
and she realized they must be looking through
binoculars, the sun reflecting off the lenses.
66
She turned away, assuming it was just a tourist
exploring the ruins. Then the thought struck her
that perhaps it was an archaeologist who might
know her father. She swung back again, intending
to call out, but whoever it was had disappeared.
She scanned the undulating mounds of sand and
rubble but there was no-one there and, after a
moment, she continued on her way, uncertain
whether it wasn't just something she had
hallucinated in her exhaustion and worry. Her
head had started to swim and her temples were
throbbing. She wished she had some water with
her.
It took her another twenty minutes to reach the
teftish, by which point her shirt was damp with
sweat and her limbs ached. She found Hassan and
explained what was going on.
'I sure everything OK,' he said, ushering her to
a chair in his office. 'Perhaps your father go out
walking. Or to excavation.'
'Without leaving a note?'
'Perhaps waiting in Cairo?'
'I've called his flat and there's no reply.'
'He knew you come today?'
'Of course he knew I was coming today,' she
snapped. There was a moment's silence. 'I'm
sorry,' she said. 'I'm tired and worried.'
'I am understanding, Miss Mullray. Please, be
very calm. We find him.'
He picked up the walkie-talkie lying on his
desk, pressed a button on the side and spoke into
it, carefully enunciating the words 'Doktora
Mullray'. There was a crackle of static and
again. Still nothing. She walked back out onto the
track, stood looking to left and right for a few
moments, then returned to the terrace and sat
down on one of the concrete benches.
She was worried now. Her father had let her
down on numerous occasions – too many to
remember – but she sensed that this time it was
different. Perhaps he had been taken ill or had had
some sort of accident? Scenarios flicked through
her head, each more upsetting than the one before.
She stood up and banged on the shutters again,
more out of frustration than hope.
'Where are you, Dad?' she muttered to herself.
'Where the fuck are you?'
She waited at the house for almost two hours,
wandering around, peering through the shutters,
occasionally hammering on the door, beads of
sweat bubbling across her forehead, eyes heavy
with exhaustion. A group of children playing in
the village beneath spotted her and came
65
scrabbling up the dusty slope at the back of the
building, shouting, 'School pen! School pen!' She
took some pens out of her bag and handed them
round, asking if any of them had seen a tall man
with white hair. They didn't seem to understand
and once they had their pens they disappeared
down the escarpment again, leaving her alone
with the flies and the heat and the silent, shuttered
house.
Eventually, when the sun was at its zenith and
she was so tired she could barely keep awake, she
decided to go and look for Hassan, the man she'd
met earlier. She knew if her father had just been
delayed somewhere he would be angry at her for
making a fuss, but by now she was too concerned
to care. With her one remaining pen she scribbled
a note explaining what she was doing and wedged
it in the front door. She then set out back along the
dusty track towards the distant serrated bulk of
the step pyramid, the sun burning down on her,
the world silent apart from the crunch of her foot-
fall and the occasional whirr of a passing fly.
She had been walking for about five minutes,
head bowed, when something caught her eye away
to the right, a momentary glint. She stopped and
looked in that direction, shielding her eyes. There
was someone standing over there, about two
hundred metres out into the desert, on top of a
sandy hillock. They were too far away, and the
sun too bright, to make out much about them,
except that they seemed to be extremely tall and
dressed in white. There was another brief glint
and she realized they must be looking through
binoculars, the sun reflecting off the lenses.
66
She turned away, assuming it was just a tourist
exploring the ruins. Then the thought struck her
that perhaps it was an archaeologist who might
know her father. She swung back again, intending
to call out, but whoever it was had disappeared.
She scanned the undulating mounds of sand and
rubble but there was no-one there and, after a
moment, she continued on her way, uncertain
whether it wasn't just something she had
hallucinated in her exhaustion and worry. Her
head had started to swim and her temples were
throbbing. She wished she had some water with
her.
It took her another twenty minutes to reach the
teftish, by which point her shirt was damp with
sweat and her limbs ached. She found Hassan and
explained what was going on.
'I sure everything OK,' he said, ushering her to
a chair in his office. 'Perhaps your father go out
walking. Or to excavation.'
'Without leaving a note?'
'Perhaps waiting in Cairo?'
'I've called his flat and there's no reply.'
'He knew you come today?'
'Of course he knew I was coming today,' she
snapped. There was a moment's silence. 'I'm
sorry,' she said. 'I'm tired and worried.'
'I am understanding, Miss Mullray. Please, be
very calm. We find him.'
He picked up the walkie-talkie lying on his
desk, pressed a button on the side and spoke into
it, carefully enunciating the words 'Doktora
Mullray'. There was a crackle of static and
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