After such a grueling day at work, cataloging countless antiquities at the Museum of Archaeology, the only thing I needed was a good glass of Scotch whisky with cold ice sliding down my throat. Today had been a day of office work—something I detest tremendously, yet find so necessary. Scanning, cataloging, creating files, saving; in short, desk work. Usually, this was handled by assistants or aides, but I liked to verify every detail of the work myself.
I had studied archaeology because of the Indiana Jones movies. When I was little, I imagined myself embarking on a thousand adventures across the sea, in other mysterious lands discovered by me. It always amused my father to think his daughter would be an archaeologist; he never imagined I wouldn’t follow in the family’s footsteps—which were none other than Medicine. No, I wanted to be an archaeologist, a graduate in Art History and a prehistorian, with a Doctorate.
I never looked at Indy’s girl or partner—oh, no, I wanted and desired to be Doctor Jones! I even asked my father for a whip; my mother was horrified by such a request: “But… what is this girl saying!” My father laughed for a good while, while I glared at him crossly, unable to understand what he was laughing at or why my mother wore an expression of bewilderment.
“—I want to be like Indiana Jones: ride horses, discover treasures, travel, find new worlds full of mysterious paths and great treasures.”
I didn’t give up on myself; I kept studying. My knowledge progressed, and I began to admire renowned archaeologists as well as, of course, Lara Croft, my cinematic and video game heroine.
Thus, I oriented my steps like Doctor Dame Kathleen Kenyon, who sought to prove through her studies that some of the biblical accounts were true.
And that was where I found myself, in my home sweet home.
The last trip had turned out to be quite interesting and fruitful. I had to go to Egypt for one of the many excavations being carried out; they needed my expertise. How agonizingly hot it was there! That dry, arid, and suffocating heat that you could only half-quench with tea; in fact, I had grown accustomed to drinking that beverage there. Since I had to spend several days in Cairo, I took the opportunity to visit several souks; sometimes you could find very curious things, some even of great value. There was a whole black market for smuggled relics. Of course… I must admit, there were also very good fakes. And under that sun, I found myself looking at fabrics, decorative statues, spices, bread, sweets; they made no distinction in the merchandise—everything was sold in the same place.
In one of those little shops, clustered one next to the other to use every last millimeter of space, I stumbled upon a gold tiara, formed by a coiled serpent, with a large red stone emerging from its mouth. It caught my attention and piqued my curiosity. However, I couldn’t express my excitement to the merchant, who—as was their custom—was going to haggle, but we had to start with a low price. I couldn’t afford to lose that piece, just as I couldn’t afford to pay too much: the usual dilemma. On the other hand, my interest was purely personal, not at all scientific or professional.
After haggling, I got a good price. They think that being a foreign woman makes you easier to deceive. Deluded! Although I let myself be tricked a bit and yielded on a few rupees, I admit it, as I always tend to think of the economic situation of those people. Besides, I saw what seemed to be his wife; surrounded by flies, covered up, with a baby in her arms and another on the way, and I told myself I was lucky to live in Spain.
Returning from my memories to the daily reality of my work at the Museum, I entered what was my home at that moment. The first thing I did was take off my shoes, pour myself that 15-year-old whisky, and head to the living room, half-undressing in the hallway, to finally settle onto the sofa. Today I felt like watching some mystery on Television. I searched and put on Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. I picked up the tiara bought in Cairo and was left perplexed and dumbfounded: the snake had disappeared, or the whisky was affecting me from minute one! There was only the frame and the stone beside it. I examined it minutely; it didn’t seem like anyone had forced it. At that moment, I realized someone must have been in my home, since I had left it on the dresser and it was still there, yes, but moved from its usual spot—which was exactly in the center of the furniture—and without the snake.
I made sure there was no one else there, checking every corner with the whip I had bought online. No, there was no one; I breathed a sigh of relief. I pulled the dresser away from the wall in case the piece had slipped behind, having come loose, though it had seemed well-cast to me—but perhaps with the change in climate or during the trip, the piece had suffered some damage. Curiosity overwhelmed me; I had to know what had happened—a shame, the whisky would have to wait. I searched and searched in every corner of the house; if there had been a space-time fold in my living room, I would have searched that too with dedication… but the snake did not appear. I was starting to get tired; after all, it was just a trinket that caught my eye on a boring Cairo afternoon—I told myself—so, after an hour and a half of tireless searching, I gave it up for lost. Tomorrow would be a better day and I would see more clearly.
Finally, I sat down. I didn’t feel like having dinner; I decided to snack a bit, a bowl of pre-cooked Chinese noodles, and went to bed. Ah… my dear bed! With pristine white sheets smelling of clean; it gave me true peace. I was very tired; I closed my eyes, my eyelids heavy, my breathing rhythmic. I was beginning to enter the dream world when I felt the sensation of a caress on my leg. At first, I incorporated it into my dream—a lick from my dog, perhaps—but that warm dream began to turn into a nightmare; the jaws became much larger and an enormous cold, slimy tongue emerged. I woke up horrified, quickly uncovering myself to see my legs, and found that a snake was among my sheets. But how on earth had it gotten there? I recalled the afternoon I bought the tiara and remembered the words of that woman covering her face with a burqa: “Get to work and become a scribe, for thus you will be a guide of men.” At that moment, truth be told, I understood nothing; however, now I was beginning to understand everything. I got up quickly, took the tiara, carried it to the bed, placing it upon the sheets, and the snake coiled around it, opening its mouth and taking the red stone between its jaws, revealing its fine, long fangs at the front of that beautiful gem.
Fearfully, I began to investigate a bit. I took images from various angles, compared the possible antiquity of that tiara which now seemed so magnificent to me; I dated it roughly and concluded it could be from Ancient Egypt. And what if it turned out to belong to Cleopatra Philopator Nea Thea? Oh, Good God! “Could it be hers?”—the question echoed in my mind. I had always admired that historical figure: the last ruler, diplomat, naval commander of Egypt, besides being a linguist and writer of medical treatises. Tears streamed down my face; I dared to put on the tiara—I wanted to feel, if only for an instant, like her.
Suddenly, images began to emerge; the plane of my consciousness shifted radically. Visions of another era, scenes of war, of the construction of sumptuous buildings, of battles, of palaces, baths in milk… and an immense power took hold of me. What was happening to me!?
As I looked in the mirror, a female face that was not mine looked back and spoke with a deep, serene voice:
“—My tomb must be discovered by you. It is not where some locate it, in the lost region of Taposiris Magna. No. Seek it yourself, woman, and find it. Light the path of your life.”
Absolutely stunned, I took off the tiara and placed it on the bed. I decided my search should center on her, on that great woman, on a true Queen. My dream of going on adventures and making a great discovery was about to begin. Yes, today would be the day marked for my dreamed future; I would be a great archaeologist, just as I promised myself. Just as I have just promised Queen Cleopatra.
My heart throbbed with happiness. —Thank you, Cleopatra.
Signed: Harrison Ford