It was a dismal
Wednesday, the date more specifically being April 15, 1885. We had been
venturing far, far into the erg, heading west together with that wild and
potentially insane Bedouin, Jefet, who had insisted that he had something
really good, something unique, to show us. We had been digging up around Luxor
for quite some time. Well, at least a couple of weeks, and after ditching any
notion of advancing science and preserving culture, we were simply in it for
the loot. Clyde Walker really knew several collectors in the States, France and
Britain that were interested in anything Egyptian, or even Egyptian-looking. We
had been peddling off some samples of Egyptian art over the course of the last
year, and we felt pretty cocky about ourselves: just one dig or heist away from
a sizeable amount of dollars and lives in luxury, or at least comfort. It was
hard work, though. The wretched Egyptians are both unreliable and at times
dangerous, and the desert is a harsh and unforgiving workplace. Yet, both Nate
Schwartz and Gordon Grissom vacillated between stoicism and enthusiasm while
Clyde Walker and myself egged us on.
We met Jefet
al-Bakr in a Cairo coffee house, and he was regarded as an Egyptian maverick
and a teller of tall tales. It was perhaps the name-dropping of Clyde around
his menagerie of collectors that made Jefet approach us, and although he was
polite, his weird manners and strange dress made us a bit uncertain or even
concerned. We could see why some of the more traditional and culturally motivated
archaeologists shun Jefet. Yet, when he claimed that he had some goods to sell,
we were of course genuinely interested, and we finally got rid of Jefet after
agreeing to meet him next day close to the souk. We were prepared for
everything from an armed robbery to a no-show, and we were marginally
disappointed when we actually met Jefet and only Jefet. We all sat down over
cups of sweet mint tea, and Jefet looked at us, all of us, with a smug smile on
his rather plump features. He pushed his fez forward onto his forehead and
leaned forward in an almost theatrical way before reaching into his robe and
producing a small item, no more than an inch by two and a half, and wrapped in filthy
waxed cloth and string. He beckoned us to unwrap the small package, and Nate
Schwarz started fumbling with the string. A glint of gold caught our eyes as
the cloth was removed, and a delicate plaque of what seemed to be a Horus with
a strange long-beaked bird’s head adored by worshippers was revealed. I myself
had never heard of such a thing, but by God, it was magnificent. The details
were exquisite, and the bright gold inlays and brightly painted worshippers
made the plaque seem like it was made yesterday. The plaque itself seemed to
have been part of a presentation, perhaps on a small shrine or a piece of furniture,
and it was made of what seemed to be clay with remnants of some form of resin
on the back. We had difficulties hiding our excitement, but eventually Clyde
sipped his tea, looked at Jefet, shrugged, and said that “it’s nice, real nice,
but I’ve seen better”. Clyde knew what he was doing, and the haggling was most
intense. You could even notice Jefet’s frustration with Clyde, but at the end a
price was agreed upon, and Jefet assured us that there was more to be had, if
we had the means.
We all went back
to the house that Nate Schwartz had rented for the season. It was nothing
spectacular, but it had a small atrium garden where we typically would sit
around between digs, drinking coffee in the morning, tea during the afternoon,
and some more powerful beverages after the sun set. Clyde Walker was still
holding the plaque, tracing his fingers over the hieroglyphs. Gordon lit his
trademark pipe, while Nate peeled a tangerine. I was eagerly waiting for Ali,
our man-servant, to carry out refreshments. Clyde eventually looked up, and being
the man with contacts, immediately stated that “We should go for it. One more
dig, and then back to the US, real food and decent weather”. There were objections,
as Nate pointed out that we didn’t know how much this would cost us, and how
could we really know that this would be the Big One, the Final Dig? However, in
this case Gordon Grissom didn’t side with Nate, as he otherwise tended to do.
He re-lit his pipe and simply told Nate that he was wrong: “We need to do this
now, while we have the edge. I am not interested in becoming one of those
people during the gold rush who would ruin their lives looking for that final
vein of gold”. I nodded emphatically, as did Clyde, his waxed moustache bobbing
with his head. Nate didn’t even offer a counter-argument, but simply pulled out
his notebook and said: “well then, what do we need for this final endeavor?”
Ali started pouring drinks as I went to get our collections of maps.
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