anner.themummy-第57部分

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California。
　
　San　Francisco；　now　that　was　a　city　that　had　an　allure　for　him。　They'd　almost　pletely　rebuilt　it　since　the　earthquake。　And　he　had　a　feeling　he　might　do　well　out　there；　away　from　all　that　he　had　e　to　loathe　in　England。　If　he　could　take　Malenka　with　him；　mat　wouldn't　be　half…bad　either。　And　out　there　in　California；　who　would　give　a　damn　that　her　skin　was　darker　than　his？
　
　Her　skin。　He　loved　Malenka's　skin。　Smoky；　hot　Malenka。　A　few　times　he'd　ventured　out　of　this　cluttered　little　house　and　gone　to　see　her　dance　at　the　European　club。　He　liked　it。　Who　knows？　Maybe　she　might　be　a　celebrity　in　California；　with　him　managing　her；　of　course。　That　might　bring　in　a　little　money；　and　what　woman　wouldn't　want　to　leave　this　filthy　hellhole　of　a　city　for　America？　She　was　already　learning　English　from　the　gramophone；　playing　records　she　had　bought　in　the　British　sector　on　her　own。
　
　It　made　him　laugh　to　hear　her　repeating　the　inane　phrases：〃　May　I　offer　you　some　sugar？　May　I　offer　you　some　cream？〃　　She　spoke　well　enough　as　it　was。　And　she　was　clever　about　money；　that　was　obvious。　Or　she　wouldn't　have　managed　to　keep　this　house；　after　her　half…breed　brother　left　it　to　her。
　
　Trouble　was　his　father　had　to　be　handled　carefully。　That　was　why　he　hadn't　left　Cairo　already。　Because　his　father　had　to　believe　he　was　still　with　Julie；　and　looking　after　her；　and　all　that　utter　rot。　He'd　cabled　his　father　for　more　money　days　ago；　with　some　silly　message　that　Julie　was　quite　all　right。　But　surely　he　did　not　have　to　follow　her　back　to　London。　That　was　preposterous。　He　had　to　work　something　out。
　
　Of　course　there　was　no　rush　to　leave　here；　really。　The　game　was　going　splendidly　for　the　eleventh　day。
　
　And　it　had　been　some　time　since　he'd　set　foot　out　of　doors；　except　of　course　to　take　his　breakfast　in　the　courtyard。　He　liked　the　courtyard。　He　liked　the　world　being　pletely　shut　out。　He
　
　liked　the　little　pond；　and　the　tile；　and　even　that　screeching　parrot　of　Malenka's；　that　African　grey…the　ugliest　bird　he'd　ever　seen…　wasn't　entirely　uninteresting。
　
　The　whole　place　had　a　lush；　overblown　quality　that　appealed　to　him。　Late　at　night　he'd　wake　up　dying　of　thirst；　find　his　bottle　and　sit　in　the　front　room；　amid　all　the　tapestried　pillows；　listening　to　the　gramophone　play　the　records　of　Afda。　He'd　blur　his　eyes　and　all　the　colours　around　him　would　run　together。
　
　This　was　exactly　what　he　wanted　life　to　be。　The　game；　the　drink；　the　utter　seclusion。　And　a　warm；　voluptuous　woman　who'd　strip　off　her　clothes　when　he　snapped　his　fingers。
　
　He　made　her　dress　in　her　costumes　about　the　house。　He　liked　to　see　her　shining　flat　belly　and　her　mounded　breasts　over　the　gaudy　purple　satin。　He　liked　the　big　cheap　earrings　she　wore；　and　her　fine　hair；　oh；　very　fine；　he　liked　to　see　that　down　her　back　so　that　he　could　grab　a　handful　of　it；　and　tug　her　gently　towards　him。
　
　Ah；　she　was　the　perfect　woman　for　him。　She　had　his　shirts　done；　and　his　clothes　pressed；　and　saw　to　it　his　tobacco　never　ran　out。　She　brought　him　magazines　and　papers　when　he　asked　for　them。
　
　But　he　didn't　care　much　for　that　anymore。　The　outside　world　didn't　exist。　Except　for　dreams　of　San　Francisco。
　
　That's　why　he　was　so　annoyed　when　they　brought　a　telegram　to　the　door。　He　never　should　have　left　this　address　at　Shepheard's。　But　then　he　had　no　choice。　How　else　could　he　have　gotten　the　money　his　father　telegraphed？　Or　the　other　telegrams　his　father　had　sent？　Important　not　to　make　his　father　angry　until　some　sort　of　deal　had　been　struck。
　
　With　a　cold；　nasty　expression　the　Frenchman　waited　as　he　tore　open　the　yellow　envelope　and　saw　that　this　message　wasn't　from　his　father。　Rather；　it　had　e　from　Elliott。
　
　〃Damn；〃　　he　whispered。〃　They're　on　their　way　here。〃　　He　handed　it　to　Malenka。〃　Get　my　suit　pressed。　I　have　to　go　back　to　the　hotel。〃
　
　〃You　can't　quit　now；〃　　said　the　Frenchman。
　
　The　German　took　a　long　drag　on　his　smelly　cigar。　He　was　even　more　stupid　than　the　Frenchman。
　
　〃Who　said　I　was　going　to　quit？〃　　Henry　said。　He　upped　the　ante；　then　bluffed　them　out　one　by　one。
　
　He'd　go　to　Shepheard's　later　and　see　to　their　rooms。　But　he　wasn't　sleeping　there。　They　shouldn't　expect　that　of　him。
　
　〃That's　quite　enough　for　me；〃　　said　the　German；　flashing　his　yellowed　teeth。
　
　The　Frenchman　would　stay　there　until　ten　or　eleven　easily。
　
　Cairo。　This　had　been　desert　in　Ramses'　time；　though　somewhere　to　the　south　lay　Saqqara；　where　he　had　e　on　a　pilgrimage　once　to　worship　at　the　pyramid　of　Egypt's　first　King。　And　of　course　he　had　gone　on　to　visit　the　great　pyramids　of　the　great　ancestors。
　
　And　so　now　it　was　a　metropolis；　bigger　even　than　Alexandria。　And　this　the　British　sector　looked　for　all　the　world　like　a　part　of　London；　except　that　it　was　too　warm。　Paved　streets；　neatly　clipped　trees。　Motor　cars　in　profusion；　their　engines　and　horns　scaring　the　camels；　the　donkeys；　the　natives。　Shepheard's　Hotel…another〃　tropical〃　　palace　with　broad　porches；　replete　with　wicker；　slatted　blinds；　and　vague　Egyptian　artifacts　thrown　in　among　the　English　furnishings；　the　whole　crowded　with　the　same　rich　tourists　he'd　seen　everywhere。
　
　A　great　advertisement　for　the　opera　stood　in　front　of　the　two　ironwork　lifts。　Alda。　And　such　a　lurid；　vulgar　picture　of　ancient　Egyptians　entwined　in　each　other's　arms　amid　palms　and　pyramids。　And　in　the　foreground　in　an　oval　yet　another　sketch　of　a　modern　man　and　woman　dancing。
　
　OPERA　BALL…OPENING　NIGHT…SHEPHEARD'S　HOTEL
　
　Well；　if　this　was　what　Julie　wanted。　He　had　to　confess　he　wanted　to　see　a　large　theater；　and　hear　an　orchestra　of　great　power。　Oh；　so　many　things　to　see！　He　had　heard　talk　of　motion　pictures。
　
　But　he　must　endure　these　last　few　days　on　his　native　soil　without　plaint。　There　was　a　good　library　here；　Elliott　had　said。　He'd　load　up　with　science　textbooks　and　study；　and　then　slip　out　at　night　to　stand　before　the　Sphinx　and　speak　to　the　spirits　of　his　ancestors。
　
　Not　that　he　believed　they　were　really　there。　No。　He　did　not。　Even　in　ancient　times　he　had　not　really　believed　in　the　gods；　perhaps　because　men　called　him　a　god；　and　so　much　of　his　stamina　had　been　sapped　by　ritual。　He　had　known　he　was　no　god。
　
　Would　a　god　have　struck　down　the　priestess　with　one　great
　
　blow　of　his　bronze　sword；　after　drinking　the　elixir？　But　he　was　not　the　man　who　had　done　that　thing。　Oh；　no；　if　life　had　taught　him　nothing　else；　it　had　taught　him　the　meaning　of　cruelty。
　
　It　was　the　spirit　of　modern　science　that　he　worshipped　now。　He　dreamed　of　a　laboratory　in　some　safe　and　isolated　place；　where　he　could　break　down　the　chemical　ponents　of　the　elixir。　The　ingredients　he　knew；　of　course。　And　he　knew　as　well　that　he　could　find　them　today　as　easily　as　he　had　found　them　centuries　ago。　He　had　seen　the　very　fish　in　the　markets　at　Luxor。　He　had　seen　the　very　frogs　hopping　in　the　marshes　along　the　Nile。　The　plants　grew　wild　still　in　those　marshes。
　
　Ah；　to　think　that　such　a　chemical　action　came　from　such　simple　things。　But　who　would　have　bined　them　but　some　ancient　magician　throwing　things　in　a　pot　like　an　old　woman　making　a　stew？
　
　But　the　laboratory　would　have　to　wait。　He　and　Julie　must　travel　first。　And　before　this　could　begin；　she　must　say　her　painful　farewells。　And　when　he　thought　of　her　saying　farewell　to　her　rich　and　beautiful　world；　it　sent　a　coldness　through　him。　Yet　whatever　his　fears；　he　wanted　her　too　much　to　do　anything　about　them。
　
　And　then　there　was　Henry；　Henry　who　had　not　dared　to　show　his　face　since　their　return…Henry　who　had　made　a　gambling　den　in　old　Cairo　of　a　belly　dancer's　house。
　
　The　clerks　had　been　most　forthing　with　that　information。　Seems　that　young　Mr。　Stratford　had　paid　them　very　little　not　to　talk　of　his　excesses。
　
　But　what　was　Ramses　to　do　with　the　information；　if　Julie　would　not　let　him　act？　Surely　they　could　not　leave　the　man　alive　when　they　departed。　But　how　was　it　to　be　acplished　so　that　Julie　did　not　suffer　any　more　pain？
　
　Elliott　sat　on　his　bed；　his　back　to　the　ornate　wooden　headboard；　the　veils　of　mosquito　netting　pinned　back　on　either　side　of　him。　It　felt　good　to　be　settled　into　a　suite　at　Sheph