"Oh, I love it! Looks like something from an Agatha Christie movie. Is this the place where people meet Inspector Poirot, that French detective?"

"Belgian. He was Belgian." Valerie rolled her eyes.

They tted themselves into the line of men on the benches and chairs along the wall. An aproned waiter approached and stood silently.

Valerie knew he waited for the foreigners to speak so as to decide which of his half dozen languages to use with them.

"Coffee with cardamom, please," Valerie ordered in Arabic, and he smiled. "For both of us," she added. "And sheesha for one."

* 39 *

Derek studied the walls of the street cafe and the ornate covered windows that ran along the upper stories of the buildings on both sides.

"Wow, this place looks medieval."

"It is medieval. All but the electricity." She pointed to the rows of cables strung loosely along the tops of the wall on all sides. "It's a wonder there aren't more res."

In a moment an old man, with the tilted gait of some lifelong disability, set the tall sheesha pipe down on the ground between them.

From his pocket he drew out a plug of something brous and laid it on the clay stopper before turning away. A boy followed behind him with a small cauldron on a chain. Derek watched, clearly intrigued, as the boy picked up one of the glowing coals with a pincer and dropped it onto the wad of sheesha.

Valerie took a long pull on the mouthpiece and heard the satisfying gurgle of water. She leaned back on the cushioned bench and blew out a stream of sweet blue smoke. "All right, now tell me about this Auset person."

Derek crossed his legs, watching the bubbles percolate in the glass vessel. "Uh, well, there's not much to tell. I know her from New York, where she studied at Columbia. She's Jewish but her father is Arab, believe it or not. In the export business. She took me everywhere in January. We became...close." He lowered his eyes coquettishly.

A battered metal tray appeared on the table, crowded with cups and a badly chipped enameled pot. Valerie poured the spicy coffee into both their cups. "You and an Egyptian woman? In all the years I've known you, you've never looked at a woman."

"Oh, I never do. For sure. But it didn't seem to matter. She was really persistent, and...I don't know. It just happened." He picked up his cup and sipped delicately.

"Well, I can hardly wait to meet this woman who had the power to turn your head." She puffed again, tasting the honey-sweetened tobacco, visualizing him in the arms of some Egyptian siren. Somewhere overhead the recorded voice of Umme Koulsoum still sang of love.

"Don't worry, my sweet. You'll always be my signi cant other.

Lord knows, we both are 'other,' aren't we? Do you think we'll ever settle down and have a real life?"

At that moment, a woman walked up behind him and laid her hands on his shoulders. Her loose, uncovered hair contrasted with the somber green abaya she wore which, for all its volume, could not * 40 *

conceal the fact that she was pregnant.

Obviously startled, he twisted around suddenly. "Auset! How are..." As he stood up to offer her his chair, his eyes traveled downward from her face and gradually widened in alarm. "...you?"

"Sorry I'm late." She kissed him lightly on his cheek and sat down in his place.

His eyes xed on the woman's midsection, Derek drew over another chair and dropped down wordlessly next to her. Shock and a hint of fear played over his face.

"Yes, Habibi, it's yours." Auset made herself comfortable on the narrow seat. "One of life's little ironies." Turning her attention away from him, she offered her hand across the table. "And you must be Valerie. He's told me all about you! Ooh! I love your desert hat. Very Indiana Jones! He didn't mention the bandage, though."

"Uh, thank you." Valerie found herself smiling. Auset's cheer was infectious. Her speech was almost masculine in its straightforwardness, but her face and voluptuous body were all woman. Large Semitic eyes were outlined with sable lashes that needed no kohl, and her lips were full and sensual. Valerie glanced with sympathy at her old friend. The poor man was lucky to merely be seduced and not devoured alive.

Auset turned back to the still-speechless Derek, who stared at the bulge of his descendant the way a man stares at a small, dangerous animal. She laid her hand on his. "Relax, dear. It's all right! My father won't have you killed. Or me. It took a while, but he and mother have gotten used to it nally."

He grasped her ngers. "Auset. Why didn't you write and tell me?

You must have known I would care."

She slid her hand out of his gentle grip. "Whatever for? You wouldn't have run back here to marry me, would you?"

"I might have. I don't know. Well, maybe not. But I'd have...

well...sent money or something. A single mother alone in Egypt? Don't they stone women for that?"

She leaned back, crossing her legs with dif culty under the swelling of new life. "Well, there are a few people in Egypt nowadays who would still do that. Fortunately, that does not include my family.

My father was horri ed, of course, and refused to talk to me for a few weeks, but my mother defended me. When I got my own apartment in Zamalek and was careful not to embarrass them in front of their neighbors and customers, things settled down. Here, let me give you * 41 *

the address and phone number."

"Yes, of course. We have to talk." His eyes darted around, as if trying to pick one of the questions that hovered in the air. "What religion will you raise him in?" he blurted suddenly.

"You mean will I tell him God is called Allah or Jehovah or Lord Jesus? So that he can ght for one of them against the others?" She looked heavenward in feigned despair. "Everyone has got a story. Well, don't worry, my songbird, he will hear all of them. Just like I did."

"Uh...speaking of songbird, Derek, don't you have a performance soon?" Valerie looked at her watch.

"Oh, hell! Right!" He jumped from his chair as if jolted by electricity. "I'm sorry. There's just so much going on. I have to get made up, costumed, warm up my voice. You know." He pressed ngertips to the side of his head. "Can we discuss this some more tomorrow, Auset?

I can't think just now." He kissed them both lightly on their cheeks and hurried away just short of running.

Auset laughed. "If I didn't know him better, I would have called that a panicky escape."

Valerie took a long drag on her sheesha. The slight light-headedness she felt nally dispelled the nervousness that had driven her all day. She leaned back and allowed herself to be studied by the other woman.

"So, you are an Egyptologist," Auset said. "You can read the stories on the walls in our tombs and temples."

"Yes, I can, when there's something to read." She blew out smoke in a long, slow stream. "A lot of them are damaged, though. By vandals, religious rivals, time."

"I know. I was in the Valley of the Kings last year to see the royal tombs. The walls are covered now by glass panels."

"Yes, to keep people's hands off the paintings. The Antiquities people want to do it in the temples too for the same reason, to stop people defacing the inscriptions. So many of the old texts are ruined now."

Auset nodded sympathetically. "I guess it's because people see the inscriptions just as decoration. They forget the temple used to be holy.

Marking the walls is like defacing an ancient Torah or Koran. The glass is a good idea."

"You're the rst Egyptian I've met who has shown any appreciation of the old religion. I would love to show you-" Valerie looked past Auset's shoulder suddenly and stopped.

* 42 *

"Quelle extraordinaire coincidence!"

A voice smooth as silk came from the peculiar man who walked toward them. He had a long oval face with wide, almost Asiatic eyes.

An overlong nose dropped to full Negroid lips, conspicuous on the face of a white European. His slender upper body swelled at the hips like a woman's, although the distortion was artfully diminished by well-tailored white linen trousers. It was obvious that he dressed with attention and expense, and he had the quiet demeanor of one used to being accommodated.

Valerie stood up and pressed dry lips together. "Dr.

Vanderschmitt."

"Well, Miss Foret. A surprise to nd you here, of all places. I would have thought you would be at work." He inclined his head as he spoke in slightly Dutch-accented English. His voice, when he spoke, had neither volume nor emotion.

"I came in for a few days to purchase supplies." She indicated the pile of packages at the side of the table. "Excuse me. This is Auset, a friend of mine. Auset, this is Volker Vanderschmitt, a colleague in the Archaeology Department at Brussels University."

"Colleague? Perhaps you have not been informed. I have been appointed Chairman and Head of Excavations." He smiled and pursed his full lips at the same time.

"Uh, well, I never received an of cial announcement. As you know, I've been out at Ghard Abu Sennan, more or less out of touch."

While she spoke, he turned away and surveyed the clientele of the cafe, as if she did not deserve his full attention. He was beginning to get on her nerves.

He cleared his throat. "Were you not aware that eld operations must remain in weekly contact with the University Committee? Since you have omitted to do so I came, among other things, to nd out what exactly you are doing. You see, the committee is distressed that you are digging at a site other than the one proposed."

"I explained all that ages ago. There are unmistakable indications.

Besides-"

He went on, overriding her reply. "Therefore, the committee has decided it would be more advantageous to have a man-a senior scholar-directly oversee the project. That would be myself." He paused, letting her absorb the full weight of the announcement. "I will of course accompany you to the excavation site when you return. I * 43 *

assume that will be in the near future? Or do you plan to extend your shopping trip?"

Valerie fought against the urge to sit down, not wanting to have to look up at him. Her voice, when she replied, was tight. "Yes. Tomorrow night. At dusk. You can follow along then."

"Follow along? Ah, yes, of course. I will hire my own camel and be ready at that time. Since you speak Arabic, you can inform your team of the change in supervision."

Without looking at her superior, Valerie gathered up her packages.

"Uh, would you excuse us now? We still have errands to settle." She glanced at Auset, who stood up with her, pulling her own purse strap over her shoulder.

"Yes, of course. I too have obligations." He gave a hint of a military bow in Auset's direction. "Congratulations on the blessed event."

"Thank you, Mr. Vanderschmitt." Auset laid her arm protectively over her abdomen.

"Dr. Vanderschmitt," he corrected, his eyes half-closed.

"Sorry. Doctor Vanderschmitt." Auset was already away from the table.

"Until tomorrow evening, then." Valerie laid several ve-pound notes on the table and stepped past him without offering her hand. It was a slight no one could overlook.

v Vanderschmitt watched his junior colleague hurry away from him.

Infuriating creature, he thought. A young European woman wearing what amounted to men's clothing and smoking a nargileh in front of the whole street. Despicable behavior. And her suggestion that he "follow along," as if he were a servant rather than the of cial head of the excavation was...unforgivable. Did she not realize what trouble she was in?

He knew her type; every generation had them. Ambitious women, contemptuous of authority and of the whole institution. Emasculating, unnatural women like Mead, Goodall, Hawkes, Fossey, who invaded the eld sciences to plant their ags. Or like Monique, who thwarted men in other ways. They were a plague, exploiting men's natural desires.

Monique. He still remembered the sting of her hand on his face, the shock of looking down and seeing his white jacket ecked with his * 44 *

own blood.

He continued to stare at the street long after Valerie had disappeared into the crowd. No woman would ever humiliate him that way again. He was chairman of a department now; he was the authority, and she was his subordinate. If she did not yet know her place, he would certainly teach it to her.

* 45 *

* 46 *

CHAPTER VI:.

HALF IN MYTH; WHOLE IN NATURE.

Gluck's Orfeo. Such a beautiful opera with such a preposterous libretto, Valerie thought. Maybe it was just her unbandaged cheek that itched, irritating her. Her ngers crept obsessively to the spot near her ear to touch the wound. Orpheus's great aria "Che far senza Euridice" thrilled her brie y, but then she decided it was the Orpheus myth itself that annoyed her. She was a scientist and knew what love was. Hormones, nothing but hormones, and all the rest was loneliness.

Transcendent love was a myth, a cruel lie that kept the heart craving.

Certainly none of her lovers would go into the underworld to save her.

Jameela least of all.

Valerie thought suddenly of the woman of the souq who had promised to follow her. She looked around at the well-coiffed ladies and gentlemen who sat with her in the mezzanine. Well, it was clear no Arabian femme fatale had followed her there. Damn. She felt like a fool even thinking about it.

The chorus of "Trion Amore!" signaled the end of the opera, and she rose with the rest of the audience to applaud. When the curtain calls were over, she threaded her way back to the dressing rooms.

As always, the backstage corridor was crowded with admirers chirping their adulation of the singer. Derek was already out of his costume and in street clothes, but his stage makeup was still in place. A part of him remained in myth as he let himself be kissed and complimented. "Flowers? How lovely! Recorded? Yes, Deutsche Grammophon. So glad you could come. Roses, oooh, how sweeeeet!"

Valerie kissed him quickly and stepped past him to wait at his dressing table until he came in, still chattering and ush with excitement.

* 47 *

"My, how pretty you are tonight with that lovely hair all tucked up-just for me-and the teensy-weensiest bit of mascara around those heavenly eyes! No nasty bandage, I'm glad to see. And, dear Lord, she's wearing a dress! Now if only you didn't have those muscley arms, my sweet." He kissed her again.

"Muscles are what you get when you dig in the ground all day.

But that's not something you choirboys would know about, is it?" She play-punched his shoulder.

He sat down before the mirror and began to apply thick layers of cold cream to his cheeks and neck. "Oh, you are such a bully, my dear.

Ta chere Maman had no idea what you'd grow up to be! A pity I never met her. I'd have told her a few things!"