Tutukhamen

The Nambour Institute of Egyptology was a grandiose name for a modest house in a relatively quiet suburb of Cairo.  It mostly held yellowed copies of parchments and scale models of pyramids.  It was a meeting place for retired diggers – not ex-servicemen but Archaeologists.  Professor Godfrey Blamey was one of them. Professor Blamey was a pear-shaped man with shiny pink cheeks that gave back to the sun as good as they got. Often choleric, Godfrey was not called God for short. He was very clever in the reading of any number of ancient languages but was totally barbaric in speaking them. But he liked living in Egypt with its Anglo ex-pats and he had gone from g’day to goodo in less than sixty seconds flat.

A mercurial man, currently the Professor was very excited. He had found an old map in the street market, the souq. The map had contained a mixture of writings. With increasing excitement, Professor Blamey had decoded them. Gradually, he realised that the map revealed the location of stolen antiques. For unknown reasons, probably occultish, the text suggested that he needed a dog. So Blamey had put an ad in The Cairo News.

Dog Wanted, also Archaeologist. Or owned by one.

Dr Bill Windchime was the only person to reply. He was a tall lean Aussie who’d left the surf into order to go down the mines. He was an Industrial Archaeologist.

Professor Blamey skimmed through Bill’s resumé. “So you know nothing about ancient Egypt?” he remarked.

“Neither ancient nor modern,” Bill answered cheerfully.

“So you, er, why...?”

“My aunt lives here. I was just on a bit of a visit,” he patted the German Shepherd at his side, “Ramses is her dog.”

“Ramses, eh? Goodo,” The Professor glanced up. “And what is your aunt doing here?”

Bill blushed, “I thought she was becoming a surfie. She said she said to become a Sufi."

“Sufi, eh? Splendid!" The Professor again squinted at Bill’s handwritten scrawl. “Graceful, him?” he said absent-mindedly.

“A graceful hymn?” Windchime looked at the Professor in surprise. “I know a disgraceful hymn," He opened his mouth like a cane toad about to catch words.

“All girls bright and lewdiful/In skirts both great and small…”

It was Professor Blamey’s turn to look at Bill. He goggled as if the other had gone completely mad. “I said…” He went over the words in his head, “graceful, him?”

“Oh, him! You mean Ramses. Well, he’s no bloody ballerina but he’s better than a pelican in a tutu."

Godfrey sighed, his blood pressure mounting. But he tapped the map in his pocket. He had a Secret. One he knew and that Windchime didn’t know. So he blinked, and blinked again, until his blood pressure came down. “It could be important,” he said. “Jolly good if I could see."

“Right, mate," Bill rose. “Ramses, walk."

Dog and man began to wobble around the room. Godfrey’s blood pressure did climb. Yet, with admirable restraint, he said, “Yes, goodo, very graceful. Very graceful for a dog with three legs."

“Three legs?” Windchime looked down. He waved a finger. “Ramses, bad dog. No tricks," and he pulled down the fourth leg.

“Oh yes, that’s better,” Professor Blamey said. “He does move well. Very sleek."

As if he understood, Ramses gave the Professor a big doggy grin.

The Professor slid the resumé back into the folder. “Goodo,” he said. “Ready on Monday?”

“Monday? Fine with me. How about you, Ramses?”

“Woof, woof."

“He’s as ready as a cat on a hot tin roof."

“Jolly good. I’ll collect you then in my, uh, ute."

They walked out of the neat white building towards Bill’s borrowed car. His aunt had bought a Mazda. It was still mostly Mazda. But now, one door came from a Corolla, a wheel from a Mercedes and the bonnet from a Fiat.

“It’s been dinged,” Bill said.

“In Cairo traffic,” Blamey observed, “all cars become genetically modified."

They shook hands. Bill entered the car and signalled to pull out. Immediately a hundred horns hooted. Bill jumped. But Ramses stuck out his head and barked, creating a gap into which Bill zipped. For the rest of the drive, he mostly kept his eyes closed.

Bill still had cold sweats about the traffic when, a few days later, the Professor knocked on his door. Bill trundled out his cases. Outside, however, he gaped. Blamey’s vehicle had wheels as tall as him.

“Mate,” he cried, “that’s not a ute! That’s a bloody farm tractor!”

“Jolly good, isn’t it? The locals seemed to know that I wasn’t one of them." Blamey’s pink cheeks glowed. “So they gave me a jolly hard time. Till I bought this." He fondly patted the tractor. “Haven’t had a ding since. Anyway, put your cases in the trailer then toot-toot and we’re away."


Bill stored his bags then sat in the front with Blamey. Ramses sat on the bench behind them. The Professor started the tractor. The engine roared and Bill was delighted to see the other cars immediately dart across the road. For the first time, Bill felt safe in Cairo traffic.

For a while, they navigated past mosques with elegant spires, domed white houses with their own courtyards, and long stretches of boring high-rise. On their way, a dark smudge on the horizon became first pyramidal and then the top of a Pyramid. The houses fell behind them and the red desert stretched out in front of them. Soon, their only companions were four-wheel drives and camels. 

“The Great Pyramid,” Blamey breathed. “Amazing, eh?” The huge pyramid was breathtaking in its immensity. “See the top, old boy? Flat. Legend has it that the capstone was pure gold. Legend, amazing eh?” The tractor with its huge wheels moved easily over the sand. Blamey waved a hand. “Lots of pies in the construction of that marvel."

“Pies?” Bill was startled. “They must be stale by now."

“Ha-ha. No, I mean the ratio of the circumference to the radius thingo and the Golden Mean and the Fibonacci Series. Jolly mystical, what?”

He glanced at a big camel was keeping pace with them. Its mouth and wide lips were busy chewing the cud. Very busy. Suddenly, Blamey really noticed him.
“No, no! Don’t you…! Don’t you dare!” he shouted.

The camel pursed its lips. Bill half turned. “Ramses, bark!” he shouted. The dog came alive, barking loudly. The camel gave one aloof look, turned aside and spat. A huge wet gob splattered the sand. “Good boy,” Bill said. He patted the Professor on the head. “Good boy. Oh!” He realised what he’d done. “Sorry, I’m used to Ramses sitting besides me."

“No harm done, old boy. No harm. Well done, that dog. Well done."

Once in the desert and unable to contain his Secret any longer, Blamey passed across the map. Bill turned it this way and that, upside down, and even looked at the back.

“This,” he declared, “is as clear as a crow in a cellar. It’s all Greek to me, mate."

Blamey pointed. “These hieroglyphics, old boy, are a lot older than Greek." He poked a podgy finger at the cursive Arabic. “But this writing here, these are the directions."

“Directions?” Bill looked around. Other than the Great Pyramid, all they could see was sand, sand, and more sand. “Directions to?”

“Ah ha, that’s the point. It’s directions from." Putting the tractor in neutral, the Professor awkwardly jumped down and extracted an instrument from the trailer. “This wotchamacallit,” he said, “will allow us to measure angles to the Pyramid’s peak." He adjusted the equipment. “Twenty degrees. Damn, still too close."

They clambered back into the tractor and continued further on. The sun was high and waves of dry heat blew beneath their canopy. Blamey turned on the air-conditioning.

“Diesel,” he said. “But I’ve had it modified to run on vegetable oil. Now our only emission is fish and chips. Ha-ha." Ramses began sniffing. “The combusted oil from fish and chips, anyway." Ramses stopped sniffing. “Clever dog, that, old boy."

Bill half-turned. “Oh, he understands food, all right."

They bumped further into the desert, every so often measuring the required angles.

“Bingo!” Blamey said eventually. “Spot on." He unrolled the map. “The hieroglyphics are a sort of picture writing. These here are obviously copied from the original."

“What do they say?” Bill asked.

Blamey hrumphed. “It’s a bit unclear. Something about Anubis, the dog-headed god." They both glanced at Ramses. “Then there’s a minor prince, Tutukhamen…”

“Tutankhamen?” Bill suggested.

“No, that’s the famous one. Tutukhamen is a minor figure who Ra…”

“Hurrah? Why did you say hurrah?”

“Hurrah? I said hurrah because…” The Professor reviewed his words. “No, I didn’t say hurrah. I said who Ra. R-A."

“Oh Ra, the sun god?”

“Yes, jolly good. And it was Ra who…”

“Not hurrah."

“… protects the gate of Khufu. That’s the Great Pyramid."

Bill rubbed his forehead. “So what’s all that mean?”

“Well, it’s a bit occultish, old boy. But I’d say the prince had his organs taken out and was mummified so that his spirit could protect the pyramid."

“You mean some dummy lost his tummy to become a mummy. Bloody hell! What else does that map say?”

“Well, the modern script, and by modern I mean just a few hundred years old, suggests that the looters ran away."

“Why?”

“Something about the mummy, old boy."

“I see." Bill gazed back. The Great Pyramid looked small now. The camels and four-wheel drives were just moving dots. “So it’s loot that we’re after?”

“Oh, we’ll declare it, old boy. But we get the honour of discovery."

“Right. So where’s this mummy now?”

“Roughly exactly here. Well, the mummy scared them, old boy, and then they ran away."

“They ran away." Bill felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Spooky."

“The looters returned, old boy, hence the map. But according to family tradition, they skedaddled home again in a raving fit. Their descendants believe in the curse of Ra. They were quite pleased really to offload the map for a few dollars."

Bill shivered, “More spooky."

Blamey snorted. “I agree. I just wasn’t going to let it put me off."

“Okay, you’re right. We’re modern. We’re scientists. We can handle it." Bill’s voice rose. “Can’t we?” He reached for the comforting feel of Ramses. But while they’d been talking, the dog had gone exploring. An interesting smell had caught his attention and he began to sniff around. Bill noticed. “Ramses, Ramses,” he called. “What’ve you found?”

As Bill ran to the dog, Blamey retrieved another gadget from the trailer. He ran it over the mound that Ramses had discovered.

“Good grief!” he cried. “It’s hollow. It’s just a box below the surface."

They looked at each other. “Dig?” Bill squeaked, his eyes popping out.

“By Jove, I can do better than that,” Blamey said. Wearing oven gloves, he attached a large hose to a small motor on the trailer. Switching on the engine, he ran the hose over the flat surface. Sand vacuumed off it, through the motor and quickly built into a mini-pyramid. “There you are,” the Professor cried, “a hundred and one uses for a farm tractor. In fact, if you know your Chaos Theory, you could say that this was a strange attractor. Ha-ha."

“Ha-ha,” Bill agreed, his knees knocking.

The sand was gone. The flat mound now revealed a wooden surface. But no ordinary surface. Gold inlay illuminated it and a strange script ran along the top. Professor Blamey bent.

“He who disturbs Ra,” he translated, “disturbs Anubis." He straightened up. “Hmm, that’s pretty clear. Goodo." He slapped his hands. “I did the washing up, old boy, your turn to do the drying."

“Drying? You mean me to open it?” Bill eyed the surface. It was highly ornate, just what you’d expect of the lid of an ancient coffin. “Me?” He was no hero. “Ramses,” he squeaked. “Here, boy."

The dog had run away when the vacuuming had begun. Now he returned, his hackles up. A low continuous growl came from his throat. His nose pushed Bill’s heels towards the coffin.

“You big souk!” Bill exclaimed.

But Ramses’ fear had given him courage and so Bill strode forward and grasped the lid. Taking the edge, he flung it open. As the lid settled into the sand, the two men gasped. A white mummified figure lay before them.

“By Jove!” Blamey whispered. “Here it is."

They stared at it, Bill’s courage returned. He was wondering how he could ever have been afraid when there was the slightest of movements. He looked up. Was that a breeze? No. All was still. Ramses growled. A bandage tweaked. The wrapping rippled. A finger rose. A hand clenched. Wide-eyed, the two men backed away. Suddenly, the mummy sat up. In one motion, two men and a dog bolted. Blamey dashed left around the tractor. Bill went right. They collided at the back and fell. They scrambled up but Ramses tried to hide beneath them and they both went down again. They all stayed prone and peered beneath the engine.

The mummy was lurching towards them!

Bill was frozen. Nothing like this ever happened down Aussie mines. Egyptology, however, created sterner stuff and Blamey recovered first.

“Quick, into the tractor!” he cried.

“B… b… b…”

Blamey grabbed Bill’s shirt and tried to lift him. The younger man got the message and jumped in. Ramses and Blamey made high jump records in following him. The Professor started the engine. Wrong one! The trailer motor started up. The tottering mummy was suddenly sucked towards them. This had never happened to it before. Millennia of people running away and now they pulled at him? Tutukhamen fought against the invisible force. He turned and began to totter in the other direction.

Blamey took that as an opportunity to turn off the trailer motor and turn on the tractor motor. Now they were ready to roll. But in which direction? Away from the mummy or towards it? The decision was taken away from them. As Tutukhamen receded across the sand, a small white bundle dropped from him. Immediately, Ramses darted off the tractor and dashed towards it. He picked it up in his jaws and began to shake his head from side to side.

Bill, emboldened by the dog, trotted after him. “Sit, Ramses!” he called. “Sit." The German Shepherd faced him, eyebrows raised in a quizzical expression. Bill reached him. “Open your mouth, Ramses. Drop it. Good boy. Drop it."

The white bundle fell onto the sand. As Bill bent to pick it up, Blamey caught up with him. He was puffing and his face was even redder than usual. “By Jove,” he cried, “What has Ramses found? Has he found a bone?”

“No." Bill wrinkled his nose. “It’s a toe. I think the mummy is coming to pieces."

“Oh dear, oh dear. Poor old Tutukhamen."

“At this rate, soon to become Two-toe-khamen."

Blamey straightened up. “Drat, he’s disappeared."

“Allow me." Bill put the toe to Ramses’ nose. The dog gave him a hungry look. “No, Ramses." Bill said. “No." He put on his authoritative voice. “Sniff, boy! Find! Good boy. Sniff, find!”

As the dog began to circle, Bill clutched Blamey’s arm. “Prof,” he said, “do you really think that a mummy can come alive?”

Blamey puffed out his cheeks. “It’s certainly not a prank. As to alive? No, not exactly, he doesn’t have his ka."

“His car?” Bill shook his head. “What, you mean Tutu wants the tractor?”

Blamey’s pink cheeks became as red as stuck traffic lights. “Ka, Bill, ka. K-a not c-a-r. The Egyptians were mummified because they believed that their spirit or ka would need some sort of body in the afterworld." Ramses was standing, one leg pulled up. “By Jove, he’s not doing his tricks now, is he?”

Bill took a look. “He’s thinking." He waved the toe vaguely. “Find, Ramses,” he said. “Find."

The German Shepherd began to sniff the sand. He growled. This orange stuff was hot. Why didn’t these two drongos put their noses in the sand? Fortunately, he picked up the scent. That direction! Ramses began to run. The two men ran after him.

“There, there!” Windchime flung out an arm.

The Professor stared. A figure was lurching on the horizon. It lurched left. It lurched right. It lurched down. It scrabbled up and lurched onwards in a trail of bandages.

“Stop! Mummy, stop!” Blamey shouted.

“Mummy, mummy, come back!” Windchime called. He paused. “Mate, did you hear what I just said?”

Blamey nodded but kept calling, the cries echoing from the walls of harsh desert light. The mummy lurched in a circle and waited. The bandages around his mouth opened. Blamey saw a line drawing of a bird pop out. It was followed by a drawing of a bowl, then one of a hand.

“Holy pyramids,” the Professor cried. “He’s speaking hieroglyphics."

“He is?” Bill said. “I can’t hear-o anything."

“Good grief fellow, can’t you see the writing?”

Bill looked cautiously at Blamey. “No. Can you?”

The Professor hrumped. “Yes, well I suppose that I have been here for a long time."

They were now just steps away from the mummy. “Get back,” Tutukhamen shouted, “foul demons of the underworld."

“We are not demons." The Professor’s jaw ached as he worked it around ancient Egyptian. His tortured hieroglyphics rose in the desert heat. “We are men. You are the demon."

“No I am not. I was a good daddy. Now I am a good mummy."

“Good? You have been dead for over 3000 years."

“So, what if I am a little life challenged?” Tutukhamen raised an arm. “Mummies ‘R Us!”

Fascinated, Bill unconsciously bit on an energy bar. Realising what he was doing, he held it out.

“Eat?” Blamey asked.

“No, thank you,” Tutukhamen said politely. “I just don’t have the stomach for it."

“No,” Blamey agreed. “Nor the intestines. Ha-ha."

Seeing the proffered bar, however, Ramses sat up and begged. Bill obligingly gave it to him. Thoughtfully, Tutukhamen cast an eye over the German Shepherd. More accurately, he cast a dry socket.

“Men? Men with a dog? Are you priests, by chance?” There was eagerness in the mummy’s voice.

Professor Blamey stretched to his full rotund, less-that-medium height. “We are scholars. Scholars who know the ancient texts."

“Do you know the prayers of Anubis, the dog-headed god?” At the hieroglyphic for ‘dog’, Ramses barked. The mummy glanced down. Again a thoughtful look passed across his bandages. “I have been in this state for over 3000 years." His tone was plaintive. “Surely, it is time for me to pass over." His hieroglyphics fluttered in the air like tired butterflies.

“Ah yes." Professor Blamey closed his eyes. “You want… you want the prayer for the ka to return to Ra."

“You know it?” The hieroglyphics butterflies perked up.

“I know it,” Blamey replied.

“Ah,” Tutukhamen said sadly “but it needs the dog-headed god to recite it."

There was a moment when the mummy eyed the Professor and the Professor tried to eye himself. He knew that he looked nothing like the flattened image of Anubis. On the other hand, Windchime… yes, Windchime, he had that long and flattened look.

“Prince Tutukhamen,” Blamey said, “the one who does not speak has split his nature into two. If you will but turn the other way for a few moments, I will beseech him to reunite his two halves. Then you will have Anubis."

“You can do this?” the mummy said excitedly. “You can invoke the god?”

The excited tone, and the looks in his direction, made Bill suspicious. “Hey mate, what’s going on?”

“Bill,” Professor Blamey said heavily, “we have a duty."

“Right. Which is?”

“You said Ramses was graceful?”

“Ye. . . s."

“Prince Tutukhamen, please turn around."

The mummy did so.

“Ramses." The dog trotted over. “He’s going to be your head."

Though surprised, Bill helped Blamey lift the weighty German Shepherd onto Bill’s shoulders. The Professor then draped Bill’s shirt over Ramses haunches and Bill’s head.

“Not bad,” Blamey said. “Now Bill, turn your feet sideways. Jolly good. Now you Ramses." He turned the dog’s head. “Excellent, excellent. You make a jolly good Anubis. In fact, for you Bill, it’s quite a facial improvement."

“What?” Bill barked. Though that might’ve been Ramses. “It’s hot under here, let’s begin."

“Goodo. Prince Tutukhamen, please."

The mummy turned. He threw out his arms in surprise then prostrated along the sand. Blamey began to recite. The hieroglyphics flowed out of him, around the dog-man and over the mummy. A strange light came from within the wrappings. Dust began to seep from under the bandages. Slowly, the mummy crumbled and its ashes merged into the sand. A soft wind sprang up, its breath a continuation of the incantation. Ashes to ashes, it said, and dust to sand.

After a long silence, Blamey said, “I think we did what we had to do."

Bill undid his shirt. “Mate, that’s cooler." He looked at the bandages. “Well, I guess he’s at rest now."

“Yes, jolly good."

“No mummy treasure for us, though."

“We still have his wooden box."

“Ah yes, mate, that’ll be worth something."

Ramses barked to be let down. In a moment of awareness, the Professor gazed around. In one direction stretched the golden sand. In the other direction was the strange shape of his modified tractor. Besides him was a man with a German Shepherd perched on his shoulders. He began to laugh, a genuinely humorous laugh.
“Bill!” he roared and, for once, he was pure Aussie. “Mate, you make a bloody good priest. A dog collar bloody suits you."

“Woof, woof,” Ramses barked, jumping down as Bill laughed.