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Erica. “These are not the most beautiful. Why do you prefer them to the others?”
    Erica looked at Abdul and hesitated. Then she said defiantly, “Because the others are fakes.”
    Abdul’s face was expressionless. Slowly a twinkle appeared in his eyes and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Finally he broke into laughter, bringing tears to his eyes. Erica found herself grinning.
    â€œTell me . . .” said Abdul with difficulty. He had to control his laughter before continuing. “Tell me how you know these are fakes.” He pointed toward the pots Erica had put aside.
    â€œThe easiest way possible. There is no stability to the pigment of the designs. The paint comes off on a wet finger. That never happens to an antique.”
    Wetting his finger, Abdul tested the pigment. His finger was smudged with burnt sienna. “You are absolutely right.” He repeated the test on the two antiques. “The fooler is made the fool. Such is life.”
    â€œHow much are these two real antique pots?” asked Erica.
    â€œThey are not for sale. Someday, perhaps, but not now.”
    Taped to the underside of the glass countertop was an official-looking document with government stamps from the Department of Antiquities. Antica Abdul was a fully licensed antique shop. Next to the license was a printed paper saying that written guarantees on antiquities wouldbe supplied on request. “What do you do when a customer wants a guarantee?” asked Erica.
    â€œI give it to them. For the tourist it makes no difference. They are happy with their souvenir. They never check.”
    â€œDoesn’t that bother you?”
    â€œNo, it does not bother me. Righteousness is a luxury of the wealthy. The merchant always tries to get the highest price for his wares, for himself and his family. The tourists who come in here want souvenirs. If they want authentic antiquities they know something about them. It is their responsibility. How is it that you know about pigment on ancient pottery?”
    â€œI am an Egyptologist.”
    â€œYou are an Egyptologist! Allah be praised! Why would a beautiful woman like yourself want to be an Egyptologist? Ah, the world has passed by Abdul Hamdi. I am indeed getting old. So you have been to Egypt before?”
    â€œNo, this is my first trip. I wanted to come before, but it was too expensive. It’s been a dream of mine for some time.”
    â€œWell, I pray that you will enjoy it. You are planning to go to Upper Egypt? To Luxor?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI will give you the address of my son’s antique shop.”
    â€œSo he can sell me some fake pottery?” said Erica with a smile.
    â€œNo, no, but he can show you some nice things. I too have some wonderful things. What do you think of this?” Abdul lifted a mummiform figure from the cabinet and set it on the counter. It was made of wood covered with plaster and exquisitely painted. A row of hieroglyphic writing ran down the front.
    â€œIt is a fake,” said Erica quickly.
    â€œNo,” said Abdul, alarmed.
    â€œThe hieroglyphics are not real. It says nothing. It is a meaningless row of signs.”
    â€œYou can read the mysterious writing as well?”
    â€œThat is my specialty, especially writing from the time of the New Kingdom.”
    Abdul turned the statue around, looking at the hieroglyphics. “I paid plenty for this piece. I’m certain it is real.”
    â€œPerhaps the statue is real, but the writing is not. Maybe the writing was added in an attempt to make the piece appear even more valuable.” Erica attempted to wipe off some of the black color on the statue. “The pigment seems stable.”
    â€œWell, let me show you something else.” Abdul reached within the glass-topped cabinet and extracted a small cardboard box. Removing the top of the box, he selected a number of scarabs and placed them in a row on the cabinet.