stitches in her right arm pulled and burned, and every time she looked at the long black coffin that stood in front of the ornate and gilded altar, the dreadful vision of Duraid's bald and scorched head rose before her eyes and she swayed'in her seat and had to catch herself before she fell.
At last it was over and she could escape into the open air and the desert sunlight. Even then her duties were not at an end. As principal mourner, her place was directly behind the coffin as they walked in procession to the cemetery amongst the palm groves, where Duraid's relatives awaited him in the family mausoleum.
Before he returned to Cairo, Atalan Abou Sin came to shake her hand and offer her a few words of condolence.
"What a terrible business, Royan. I have personally spoken to the Minister of the Interior. They will catch the animals responsible for this outrage, believe me. Please take as long as you need before you return to the museum," he told her.
"I will be in my office again on Monday," she replied, and he drew a pocket diary from inside the jacket of his dark double-breasted suit. He consulted it and made a note, before he looked up at her again.
"Then come to see me at the Ministry in the afternoon.
Four 'clock," he told her. He went to the waiting Mercedes, while Nahoot Guddabi came forward to shake hands. Though his skin was sallow and there were coffeecoloured stains beneath his dark eyes, he was tall and elegant with thick wavy hair and very white teeth. His suit was impeccably tailored and he smelt faintly of an expensive cologne. His expression was grave and sad.
"He was a good man. I held Duraid in the highest esteem," he told Royan, and she nodded without replying to this blatant untruth. There had been little affection between Duraid and his deputy. He had never allowed Nahoot to work on the Taita scrolls; in particular he had never given him access to the seventh scroll, and this had been a point of bitter antagonism between them.
"I hope you will be applying for the post of director, Royan," he told her.
"You are well qualified for the job."
"Thank you, Nahoot, you are very kind. I haven't had a chance to think about the future yet, but won't you be applying?"
"Of course," he nodded. "But that doesn't mean that no one else should. Perhaps you will take the job out from in front of my nose." His smile was complacent. She was a woman in an Arab world, and he was the nephew of the minister. Nahoot knew just how heavily the odds favoured him.
"Friendly rivals?"he asked.
Royan smiled sadly. "Friends, at least. I will need all of those I can find in the future."
"You know you have many friends. Everyone in the department likes you, Royan." That at least was true, she supposed. He went on smoothly, "May I offer you a lift back to Cairo? I am certain my uncle will not object."
"Thank you, Nahoot, but I have my own car here, and I must stay over at the oasis tonight to see to some of Duraid's affairs."This was not true. Royan planned to travel back to the flat in Giza that evening but, for reasons that she was not very sure of herself, she did not want Nahoot to know of her plans.
"Then we shall see you at the museum on Monday." Royan left the oasis as soon as she was able to escape from the relations and family friends and peasants, so many of whom had worked for Duraid's family most of their lives.
She felt numbed and isolated, so that all their condolences and exhortations were meaningless and Without comfort.
Even at this late hour the tarmac road back through the desert was busy, with files of vehicles moving steadily in both directions, for tomorrow was Friday and the sabbath. She slipped her injured right arm out of the sling, and it did not hamper her driving too much. She was able to make reasonably good time. Nevertheless, it was after five in the afternoon when she made out the green line against the tawny desolation of the desert that marked the start of the narrow strip of irrigated and
At last it was over and she could escape into the open air and the desert sunlight. Even then her duties were not at an end. As principal mourner, her place was directly behind the coffin as they walked in procession to the cemetery amongst the palm groves, where Duraid's relatives awaited him in the family mausoleum.
Before he returned to Cairo, Atalan Abou Sin came to shake her hand and offer her a few words of condolence.
"What a terrible business, Royan. I have personally spoken to the Minister of the Interior. They will catch the animals responsible for this outrage, believe me. Please take as long as you need before you return to the museum," he told her.
"I will be in my office again on Monday," she replied, and he drew a pocket diary from inside the jacket of his dark double-breasted suit. He consulted it and made a note, before he looked up at her again.
"Then come to see me at the Ministry in the afternoon.
Four 'clock," he told her. He went to the waiting Mercedes, while Nahoot Guddabi came forward to shake hands. Though his skin was sallow and there were coffeecoloured stains beneath his dark eyes, he was tall and elegant with thick wavy hair and very white teeth. His suit was impeccably tailored and he smelt faintly of an expensive cologne. His expression was grave and sad.
"He was a good man. I held Duraid in the highest esteem," he told Royan, and she nodded without replying to this blatant untruth. There had been little affection between Duraid and his deputy. He had never allowed Nahoot to work on the Taita scrolls; in particular he had never given him access to the seventh scroll, and this had been a point of bitter antagonism between them.
"I hope you will be applying for the post of director, Royan," he told her.
"You are well qualified for the job."
"Thank you, Nahoot, you are very kind. I haven't had a chance to think about the future yet, but won't you be applying?"
"Of course," he nodded. "But that doesn't mean that no one else should. Perhaps you will take the job out from in front of my nose." His smile was complacent. She was a woman in an Arab world, and he was the nephew of the minister. Nahoot knew just how heavily the odds favoured him.
"Friendly rivals?"he asked.
Royan smiled sadly. "Friends, at least. I will need all of those I can find in the future."
"You know you have many friends. Everyone in the department likes you, Royan." That at least was true, she supposed. He went on smoothly, "May I offer you a lift back to Cairo? I am certain my uncle will not object."
"Thank you, Nahoot, but I have my own car here, and I must stay over at the oasis tonight to see to some of Duraid's affairs."This was not true. Royan planned to travel back to the flat in Giza that evening but, for reasons that she was not very sure of herself, she did not want Nahoot to know of her plans.
"Then we shall see you at the museum on Monday." Royan left the oasis as soon as she was able to escape from the relations and family friends and peasants, so many of whom had worked for Duraid's family most of their lives.
She felt numbed and isolated, so that all their condolences and exhortations were meaningless and Without comfort.
Even at this late hour the tarmac road back through the desert was busy, with files of vehicles moving steadily in both directions, for tomorrow was Friday and the sabbath. She slipped her injured right arm out of the sling, and it did not hamper her driving too much. She was able to make reasonably good time. Nevertheless, it was after five in the afternoon when she made out the green line against the tawny desolation of the desert that marked the start of the narrow strip of irrigated and
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