Date: 17th March 1966
Location: Cairo, Egypt
So often in life, we seem to take one step forward, only to then be forced to take two steps back, when in reality, Nigel was beginning to realize, it was most likely the opposite. ‘It seems,’ he suspected, ‘it is almost a prerequisite of achievement to first fail’ and he was beginning to see how his recent misfortunes could now be evaluated by the half-empty half-full syndrome. What he had assumed were negative results had suddenly become positive. He also suspected this was probably another reality versus ‘lifetime of conditioning’ thing that humans contended with on a daily basis. It always seemed like the downside was the more overwhelming and yet it was the upside that was in most cases the eventuality.
‘And yet,’ he pondered, ‘we so often fail to profit from our experiences and learn that there is a balance to all our earthly endeavours. If we accept our tidings as presented to us with grace, we will, without doubt, end up exactly where we rightfully belong. Unfortunately,’ he reflected, nodding his head and staring out the car window, ‘we cause ourselves so much grief in the meantime.’
Nigel had a habit of philosophically analyzing every detail of his life; most of his friends considered it an irritation. They assumed that was why he had become an anthropologist.
He was in fact normally a half-full person and yet, prior to this recent turn of events, he been suffering a serious bout of self-induced depression brought about by the rejection of his commission with the British Museum. Just when he thought his young life was over; out of the blue he receives an invitation attached to a first-class air ticket to Cairo. Now only two days later, here he is sitting in the back of a limousine on his way to a meeting with the head curator of all Egypt’s archaeological treasures and once again, in his opinion, with the world at his feet.
Nigel at thirty-three was already a noted and very promising anthropologist, one year out of a professoriate in sociology. His thesis on the origins of early European civilizations had already been greeted with global acclaim. ‘And yet,’ he remembered in disgust, ‘the British Museum had chosen to give my rightful commission, to some upstart studying human DNA.’
‘All part of the journey,’ he philosophically added, smiling out the window as he watched the city of Cairo materialize in the distance out of a red haze that was no doubt typical for this time of the morning. ‘After all, I’m here, in the birthplace of modern civilization. Here I’ll be among people who will understand, appreciate and welcome my abilities.’
The drive to the museum was about thirty minutes, and the hustle and bustle of the streets outside the car added to his excitement. Though Cairo was now a modern twentieth-century city, its roadways still buzzed with an ancient rhythm that he could sense, even from the confines of the luxury sedan. As Nigel looked out of the car window at the timeless chaos of human activity, the driver lifted a handheld walkie-talkie to his ear and listened intently before answering with just one word. He then looked at Nigel through the rear vision mirror and said in broken English.
“Sir, I sorry, but I be told to take you to Aswan instead of museum as Mr Shamir delayed. He most regretful for inconvenience sir.”
“Okay, so how long will that take,” asked Nigel, not really caring much how long it would take?
“It is about one hundred kilometres sir, but will take maybe two hours.”
Nigel slumped back in his seat.
‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘may as well relax and enjoy the scenery.’
“Thank you, driver,” he added as a matter of necessary courtesy.
Cairo itself seemed to pass relatively quickly, and once out into the countryside, it was mostly sand, desert bush and the occasional glimpse of the Nile. For constant amusement there was what seemed like a never-ending stream of camels, mules, cars and the occasional open-air wartime relic of a jeep, mostly heading in the direction of Cairo. They also passed through several small towns along the way, all of which reminded him of villages he had seen in documentaries about the early archaeological digs of Egypt.
There was one especially magical moment for him when he caught sight of the top of a massive pyramid in the distance. For that moment, through the haze of red dust, time itself stood still, and nothing else existed except the mystical realm of the Egyptian Pharaohs.
When they finally reached Aswan, Nigel was instantly struck by its raw beauty and understood immediately why his driver had referred to it as the ‘jewel of the Nile’.
‘This truly was a timeless land,’ he thought to himself, ‘this is the birthplace of intelligence and culture, I can’t believe I am really here.’
The car made a few sudden turns once they were well into the city, winding through the maze of sun-bleached stone walls that lined just about every side street. Soon, they came to an opening where the east bank of the Nile lay stretched before them. Here, the Nile was an incredible vision of deep blue hues that matched the cloudless sky above. Her banks were complemented by lush green palms that angled out over the water. Out in the middle of the broadest part of the river, Nigel could see what seemed like two islands surrounded by a denizen of small Feluccas, with their large oblong triangular sails.
As they approached a small landing jutting out onto the river, he noticed three men standing next to a very regal looking black sedan. Two of them were dressed in brilliant white suits and the third in a safari-like beige jacket and shorts.
“Out their sir is Elephantine Island, where is one of the museums in care by Mr Shamir sir,” the driver said while looking into his rear vision at Nigel, “that is Mr Shamir over there sir, with the two other gentlemen.”
The driver pulled the car in at an angle and alighted quickly. He left the engine running and walked spritely, the short distance to where the three men stood. One of the men in white turned to look at the approaching driver, who was bowing his head profusely as he came up to them. The same man looked up and pointed in Nigel’s general direction, to which the driver turned quickly and ran back towards the car. He came straight to Nigel’s door and opened it.
“Sir, please come, Mr Shamir would like to meet you very much and very soon.”
Nigel smiled at the driver’s terminology and got out of the car, stretching for the first time in two hours. Fortunately, he was reasonably athletic and young enough to loosen up quickly, so continued walking immediately towards the three men that now we’re all looking in his direction.
The man, who had directed the driver, took a step towards Nigel with his hand outstretched.
“Mr Nigel Stansen, welcome to Egypt, I hope you had a pleasant journey, I am Mehmet Shamir and I am the Director of the Museum of Cairo, among other things.”
Shamir had a warm smiling face, tanned dark by a lifetime of ravaging desert suns. His teeth were pearly white and his hands well-manicured. Nigel noticed he spoke extremely well pronounced English, suggesting to him the possibility of western education.
“I most certainly did,” replied the young anthropologist, with an equally warm smile, “I am most pleased and excited to be in your country for the first time.”
Shamir turned towards the other two gentlemen that were only a matter of a step away and guided Nigel’s arm in their direction.
“Nigel, I would like to introduce you to Mr Summat of the Egyptian Government and Mr Kinsley of your own British Government.”
Both men held their hands out in turn and Nigel shook them both, smiling graciously. He automatically fostered a strong notion of camaraderie with the British representative, ‘as you do if you’re a true Englishman,’ thought Nigel.
“It is an honour to meet you both,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee as well.”
“In fact,” Shamir said, “these gentlemen are here to see you as well, but first, I want to steal you away and discuss the reason why I asked you to come here at such short notice.”
Shamir turned again, facing the entrance of a stone building behind them and guided Nigel by the arm.
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse us for a while, my driver will fix you some refreshments in the tea house, while Mr Stansen and I deal with this business,” the curator said, as he guided Nigel away. The two gentlemen in suits just nodded but made no attempt to move.
At that, Shamir and Nigel continued towards the building and entered through a large wooden door positioned under a canvas shade. Inside it was much cooler, a breeze emanating from a large slowly spinning roof fan.
“Mr Stansen, please have a seat,” Shamir beckoned, indicating seats by a large table in the centre of the room, “would you perhaps like some refreshment?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I would Mr Shamir if you have English tea that is?”
“Of course Mr Stansen, tea was introduced to me during my education in England and I am now also addicted to its wonderful effects.”
At that, a girl entered with a teapot and two cups on a tray. She gently put down one cup on a saucer in front of Nigel, offering him a small milk jug and silver receptacle, he assumed would be sugar.
“My apologies Mr Stansen that the only milk we have is goats’ milk but I don’t think you will taste the difference,” Shamir added politely.
Both men made tea for themselves and the girl left the room.
“Now Mr Stansen, I owe you an explanation.”
Nigel listened intently as Shamir began.
“In Egypt, my museum is responsible for the care of our ancient heritage. I do know that you are conversant with our glorious history from your writings on ancient civilizations. By the way, congratulations on your publications, they were most refreshing.”
Nigel just smiled and thanked him, trying not to let too much of his pride show.
“I, however, do not know how aware you are of our present-day politics,” Shamir continued,” so let me fill you in on what is relevant to you being here today.”
Shamir took a long sip of his tea as if to prepare himself for a long speech.
“Egypt, Mr Stansen, has long had a water problem. Most of the year we do not have enough for our countries requirements and for the other part of the year, the Nile floods and we have too much. This is not all bad, as it keeps our soil fertile but more recently, with the spread of our increasing population, it has become much more of a problem. At the beginning of this century, we built the Aswan dam, which is just a few kilometres from here. This solved the problem of flooding, as we were now able to regulate the flow of the Nile but now our government has decided that this dam is not enough to cater for the needs of our people and are planning to build another dam above the Aswan.”
Shamir paused only momentarily to catch his breath and Nigel listened intently, wondering how the building of a dam had anything to do with him.
“This dam they are planning to build is much bigger than the first and will cover an enormous area of land known as Lower Nubia, where there are many ancient monuments and archaeological sites. It is the responsibility of my department to organize the documenting and removal of as many of these sites as possible before they are lost forever.”
Now Nigel was beginning to see a purpose for his talents.
“What a travesty,” he exclaimed, genuinely shocked by the implications of the imminent destruction of history thousands of years old, dating back to man’s first intelligent roots, “I will of course help in any way…”
“I appreciate your concern Mr Stansen, believe me, I do,” Shamir interrupted,” but something else has brought you here, something much more astonishing and possibly even more important.”
Nigel looked at him once again, puzzled completely.
“One of the immense challenges we undertook,” Shamir continued again,” was to remove from the path of the rising waters the temples of Abu Simbel which we began to shift in 1964 and now we have about half completed. The temples are being shifted two hundred feet higher where they will eventually look out over the vast waters of the upper dam.”
After a short pause, Shamir continued.
“In case you are not aware, Mr Stansen, Abu Simbel is two giant temples built by the Pharaoh Ramesses II. The larger of the two temples were built to honour Ramesses II and until now, we had believed that the other smaller temple had been built to honour both Hathor, as the goddess of love and music, and the most favoured wife of Ramesses, Nefertari. That belief was without question, until about a month ago.”
As he said these last words, it was as if a cloud had entered the small room and darkened Shamir’s rustic features. He stared into Nigel’s eyes and moved even closer as if looking for some answers in the young Englishman’s mystified expression.
”It was at the beginning of last month, when we began to move this smaller temple stone by stone, that we discovered a previously unknown passageway under the main floor. This passageway tunnelled down one hundred feet below the temple and opened into a chamber; a burial chamber Mr Stansen.”
As if to emphasize the mystery of the find and build on the excitement of his next words, Shamir paused and continued to stare fixedly into Nigel’s totally attentive and unblinking eyes.
“It became obvious to us that this chamber could never have been discovered, unless, the temple above was in fact moved. For that reason, we at first believed that this burial chamber had been built specifically so it could never be found. That was until, Mr Stansen; we carefully examined what was in this burial chamber.”
Shamir breathed out and slowly drew away from Nigel’s face.
“It is to this burial chamber I wish to take you now Mr Stansen, as it is there that we have found something most remarkable. A find that has the potential to shake the very foundations of all our beliefs and may very well change our world forever, Mr Stansen.”
Nigel was stunned into silence; even to breathe at this moment seemed inappropriate.
‘What discovery could possibly be so great and so important,’ he wondered?
It also occurred to him that he had no clue as to why they should be so keen as to involve him in this amazing discovery. He thought back to all his work.
‘Did it have anything to do with any of his publications, or was he just coincidentally the luckiest man alive,’ he thought, as he contemplated Shamir’s words. Deep down in the very core of Nigel Stansen’s intellect, he knew it had nothing to do with luck and lived by the belief that destiny was the very lifeblood of existence.
He exhaled slowly and smiled, ‘At last I am where I belong!’
Chapter nine
The Pharaoh
Christopher Golde
The walls will be shifted both brick and marble
Seven and fifty pacified years
Joy to humanity at aqua ducts built
Health, abundance of fruits and prosperous times.
Century X Quatrain 89 -Nostradamus