The Dig

Journal of Evan Marshall III
March 9th, 1926 - East of Cairo, Egypt

If it weren't for men like myself, and Carter before me, the mysteries of these ancient lands would be lost to the ages. Even though I'm just starting out, I feel that I'm destined for great things. My guide, Mahmud, assures me that we'll find something in this barren wasteland besides scorpions and sand fleas. Supposedly, it was his father that led Carter to Tut. We shall see.

March 16th, 1926
We've been digging at this site for days now, I'm getting a bit discouraged. The weather here is unbearable, the insects a plague, and not a single one of the men can make a decent cup of tea. It's not at all how I imagined it. Still, I won't give up yet. That's just what father expects me to do.

March 23, 1926
Mahmud brought me some pieces of pottery this morning. Despite his great excitement, I only date them a few hundred years old. Nothing interesting at all.

March 30, 1926
I can't wait to get home and out of this pervasive sand. I'm sure father will welcome me back with open arms now that I've been gone this long. Besides, I have some lovely bits of broken pottery to show for all my time here. Maybe I can buy something at the bazaar in Cairo.

March 31st, 1926
Mahmud rushed into my tent today claiming that he had found something. It's a crudely made goblet that clearly does not belong in Egypt. Parts of it are gold, and there's a large silver coin inset into the base. This is a great find... I'll be famous!

April 1st, 1926
Considering today's date, I am a fool indeed. Mahmud wants to turn the cup over to the museum. It'll sit there for decades untouched, and I'll come away with nothing. What can I do?

April 2nd, 1926
I've booked my passage for three days hence.

April 5th, 1926 - Cairo
At least I won't be leaving here empty handed. After Mahmud packed the goblet away, I snuck in and pried off the silver coin. It looks Roman in origin.
__________

Evan could feel the weight of the coin in his pocket. It was similar in size to the rest of his coins, and that was what he was counting on in his efforts to smuggle it out of the country. He waited nervously for the call to board the ship.

A commotion at the other end of the dock drew Evan's attention. He could see soldiers rushing his way and, blast it, Mahmud was leading them. He had to get rid of the coin! Reaching into his pocket he hastily scanned the cargo still left on the dock, and stuffed the coin into a crate that was about to be hoisted aboard the ship. Pleased with himself and confident that he'd be able to retrieve the coin later, he stepped forward and awaited the arrival of the soldiers.

An ominous creaking sound and shouting caused Evan to look up. He was just in time to witness the means of his own demise, as the rope hoisting the crate onto the barge snapped, sending it plummeting downwards.

As the dust settled, a tall, thin man approached the scene. To any casual observer, it would appear that he was standing in shadow, but in the unrelenting Egyptian sun, there was no shade to be had. A glint of silver caught the thin man's eye, and, cat fast, he scooped up the missing coin. He opened a small leather pouch on his hip and dropped it in, where it clinked against others of its kind.

With a voice like a freshly opened tomb, the thin man said, "Ten to go."

Goat Cheese and Rice

There once was an old, old man. How old, exactly, one cannot be sure, and in fact the old man himself couldn't quite remember. He was fairly sure that he was either four-hundred-ninety-eight or four-hundred-ninety-nine. In any case, he'd decided not to celebrate "the big five-oh-oh" on his birthday next July, nor the one following.

Julia Skipram had a question for the old man on the hill. Making sure she'd packed the necessary offering, and lacing her comfortable boots for the trek, she pondered her phrasing.

The old man wasn't tired of goat cheese and rice. More precisely, he was tired of the idea of goat cheese and rice. For ninety years now, people had retained a notion that these were his favourite foods, and while this had become true enough, it still irked him to no longer have a taste for much else.

He was thinking all this as he watched the pretty blonde girl from the corner of his eye. She was finishing her trek up the hill, and when she arrived at last he sat upright in his hammock to greet her.

Without haste, Julia laid out bowls and spoons on a reed mat, and joined him cross-legged on the lush groundcover beneath the elm. They ate together silently, and once they had finished she carefully packed the bowls and reed mat away again.

After a not-uncomfortable pause, the old man began. "To what do I owe this fine meal on this fair day?"
"To a fair-haired maiden and good walking boots," she smiled.
He returned the smile. "I'll be sure to direct any repayment to the former."

Julie had no doubt in the value of the old man's wisdom, and so did not hesitate:

"What effect do my thoughts have on others?"

The old man almost frowned. Almost. After a brief moment he responded, carefully:

"I like goat cheese."

It wasn't a request for more cheese; it was an answer. Nonetheless, Julia was frustrated. As she turned to leave, knowing his wisdom was often cryptic and unlikely to be explained, the old man's voice stopped her.

"I wish someone had asked me earlier." He almost looked sad. "I'd like to ask a favour of you, which perhaps will help you understand."

Julia frowned, but nodded. The old man continued, "when you go home, tell this to your family and friends: When I was younger, it was prophesied that I would die on the morning of my 500th birthday, which is tomorrow. I wish a burial, and nothing more."

Her frown stayed with her, but when Julia returned to her family and friends in the village at the base of the hill, she did as the old man had asked.

The villagers, quick to believe the words of a wise old man, made arrangements for a proper burial. When they arrived the next day, they did indeed find that the old man had died peacefully in his hammock.

Julia finally understood.


-Faiora
494 Words
August 28, 2007

Only the Lonely

In the two hundred and twenty years since his wife and daughter had died in a fire meant to take him, the march of time hadn’t touched Matthew Simpson. It was a gift with dark wrapping. He hadn’t thought it possible when his family had died, but now he was sure; he was lonelier now than he ever had been. What use this gift of eternal youth if all of your friends aged and died? He had stopped getting close to people after the first 50 years. For the most part he had also stopped asking why… Why him? Why did he get to live when his family, when everyone else, died?

In what was once a yearly pilgrimage but had now become once every decade, Matthew again found himself standing in front of the crumbling pile of rock that marked the grave of his family. As he had done before, he tried to recall everything he could about them. Just like previous times, he was able to remember less and less. He could no longer picture their faces, but recalled that they both had hair the color of wheat at harvest time.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in a robe that looked like a piece of pre-dawn sky. He turned and stood face to face with what could only be Death. A voice like boulders grinding together issued forth from the cowl covering its face. “Matthew... I’ve been waiting for you.”

Not caring about the consequences, he grabbed at Death’s robe and blurted out, “Take me. Give me peace.”

Death reached up its skeletal hands and lifted the hood off of its face. The transformation was instantaneous. Where the archetypal skeleton had been was now a young woman dressed in the same slate grey robe. “I am so terribly sorry, Matthew, but there’s nothing I can do. You missed your time to be taken all those years ago. It was my mistake taking your daughter, your wife and your unborn son.”

Matthew gasped and fell to his knees. Ruth had been pregnant? The hurt and emptiness welled up in him stronger than it had in over two centuries. Death reached down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, instantly reducing his pain with a small measure of her power. He looked up at Death and asked, “Why?”

“You are living all the potential life from your son and daughter and all of their descendants. That you haven’t aged since that day is proof that you would have had a strong, prolific line. Again, I can’t apologize enough.” Death stepped back from him, gathered up her scythe and adjusted her hood back up on her head. She was again the skeletal figure.

“This may sound unorthodox, but if you’re interested I sure could use an assistant.” She held out a hand to help him to his feet. “You are uniquely qualified and to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit lonely…”

-Babaluzer
499 words
August 19th, 2007