the ‘Most Perfect of Places.’ ”
“Really?”
“Wait and see, Miss Mattie. Wait and see.”
They rounded a corner and walked past statues of men and animals. “How many statues are here?” Mattie asked, taking her father’s hand.
Rashidi turned around, squinting, his white eyebrows long and disheveled. “How many statues? you ask. I do not know, Miss Mattie. Maybe ten thousand? The pharaohs loved their statues. They made them of their favorite gods, of themselves.” Rashidi twisted into a narrow roofless passageway full of hieroglyphics that showed armies at war. On the other side of the passageway was an obelisk that had toppled to its side. “I am sure, Miss Mattie, that you will like this.”
Mattie looked at the obelisk, which was mostly undamaged, despite its great fall. “What does it mean?”
“More than three thousand years ago, Egypt was ruled by Queen Hatshepsut, who built this obelisk, and the other, which still stands. She ruled for more than twenty years and was one of our strongest pharaohs. She built many temples, planted forests of trees, and made Egypt rich from trade.”
Ian watched Mattie nod. “I reckon, luv,” he said, “that you should sketch her obelisk.”
“Which one?”
“Which one do you think?”
“The standing one.”
“Well, then we’ll sit beneath it, in the shade, and you can work your magic.”
Rashidi stepped closer. “You could draw this?”
“She’s quite good,” Ian replied. “Queen Hatshepsut would have found a heap of work for her.”
The Egyptian smiled. “Queen Hatshepsut would have made a statue of her, to celebrate her gifts to the world.”
Mattie looked over the obelisk, and saw something blue. “What’s that?”
“You see the Sacred Lake,” Rashidi replied, grunting as he moved forward, his walking stick stirring up dust. “Come, let me show you.”
The lake, Mattie soon saw, was rectangular and lined with sandstone. At several places, stairs descended into the water, which was indigo and home to a flock of geese. Near a corner of the lake, a group of squat palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze.
“Tuthmosis the Third built this lake,” Rashidi said, his eyebrows moving as much as his mouth and dark eyes. “Priests used its water for rituals and would dress as gods and travel across it on golden boats. Also, Miss Mattie, every morning the priests would set a goose free on the lake at sunrise. They did this to please the god Amun. As you can see, the geese are still here.”
Mattie stepped closer to the water. “Do they ever leave?”
“No. They were here when I was a boy and will be here long after I am sand.”
“How . . . deep is the water?”
“Only Tuthmosis and his slaves know that. But it is deep. Very deep. Some people believe that the dead rise from its waters, late at night, and journey from side to side in their golden boats.”
Mattie took a step closer to her father. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Rashidi?”
“Ask whatever you wish, Miss Mattie. My ears wait for your voice.”
“Do you want to be buried on the west side of the Nile?”
Rashidi scratched his chin, his fingers unsteady. “When I can no longer work, when I am tired, I will walk west, from the river. I will walk into the desert, far into the desert. And at night, I will light a small fire and look at the same stars that the pharaohs saw. And then, the next day, the heat will carry me away.”
“But . . . but what about your children? Won’t you want to say good-bye?”
“I do not have children, Miss Mattie. So I will say good-bye to Karnak, and then I will try to find my god. No one will need to remember me. No tears will be shed.”
Mattie studied the old man in front of her. Though he was smiling, she felt sorry for him. “I’ll remember you,” she said, nodding, looking into his dark eyes. “I’ll remember what you told me about the queen and the geese.”
“You are most kind, Miss Mattie.”
“I’ll think about you . . . when you’re in the desert.”
Rashidi’s smile broadened. He bent lower, his robe scraping the dusty ground. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a stone beetle and offered it to Mattie. “The scarab beetle is precious in Egypt,” he said, almost kneeling before her. “The beetle comes from the earth, from a pile of dung. It is born, and it walks the desert. It comes from nothing, and it dies, but it always returns, like the sun.”
When he gestured that she should hold the beetle,