The Short, Labored Breath of Time 4 page

The feline shape coughed again. Louder, this time. Then it seemed to stretch, to expand, as if taking a deep breath. It shook furiously. Before his terrified eyes, desiccated, ancient linens snapped and crumbled. Chewing hard enough on the knuckles of his left hand to bring blood to the surface, Ali could only stare and pray.

In the full flush of vibrant, new life, the cheetah concluded its yawning stretch. When it turned toward him again, there was no mistaking what it was. When it started toward him, he closed his eyes. Mummy or magic, anything this old with teeth like that was bound to be hungry.

Shivering, Ali felt a powerful paw reach out to touch his thigh. He could smell the creature clearly now, much as Suhar had smelled it–and fled. He waited for the sharp caress of claw against his throat. It would all be over in an instant, he knew. His friends in the village would never know what had happened to him. Maybe someday someone would find his gnawed, whitened bones. At least, he reflected, he would no longer have to listen to Harima’s shrill, shrewish insults. There were some small good things to be said even for a premature death.

“Open your eyes, man. I’m not going to kill you.”

Somehow the idea of a talking cheetah struck him as even more absurd than that of a revivified mummy. But since there was no one else in the tomb with him, the words had to be coming from the revived cat. Opening his eyes, still shaking with fear, Ali found himself looking down at the creature. A truly magnificent specimen it was, too, he thought.

“Thank you,” the cheetah responded politely, which was when Ali realized that they were not speaking aloud, but speaking athink, as it were. Whether he was reading the cat’s mind or it his, he did not know. Nor did it seem to matter much.

“It doesn’t,” the cat thought at him. Slowly, deliberately, it looked around the chamber before its eyes settled on him once more. Some of his trembling having ceased, Ali could not keep from thinking half‑sensible thoughts.

“Who are you, peace be unto him?”

“I do not know who ‘him’ may be, but I am Unarhotep, Pharaoh of Egypt, son of Arenatem the Fourth, grandson of Arenatem the Third, Lord of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms, Ruler of the Nile. Who are you?”

“Just Ali. Ali Kedal. That’s all. I’m a guide. I show to visitors the wonders of this part of my country.” He took a chance. He had always been a bit of a gambler. “Our country.”

“I see. Then you are not a servant of Osiris, and this is not the Underworld.” The cheetah paced thoughtfully for a moment before looking up again. “What year is this, Ali Kedal?”

Ali considered. The modern calendar would mean nothing to someone from so ancient a time. Unarhotep would have no reference for it. “As near as I can tell, it has been some four thousand eight hundred years since your entombment, my lord.”

“So long! The mere thinking of it makes me tired. If this is the truth, then I cannot be your lord. You may call me Unar. My mother did. The kingdom of Egypt still exists, then?”

“As it ever has been, Egypt remains a wonder of the world. Its history and its monuments are still revered by all mankind.” He hesitated briefly. “Might I ask, oh lor–Unar, how you came to be in this…form?”

The Pharaonic feline began to pace restlessly; back and forth, back and forth. “I was Pharaoh only for a very short time. I contracted a wasting illness with which my court physicians were, sadly, unfamiliar. There was at that time a certain mystic working in Thebes. A sorcerer named, if I remember correctly, Horexx. A venerable man. Nubian, I believe. He claimed to be able to oversee the transfer of a soul from one body to another. But not to that of another human person. To do that would require chasing the soul from that other person’s body. This feat was beyond Horexx’s powers.

“But he felt certain that, if given the opportunity, he could shift a person’s soul into any other kind of body. As it rapidly became clear that the disease that was consuming my person would leave me with nothing in which to dwell in the other world, it was left to me to choose the vessel for my soul’s life after death. Following much discussion among my most learned advisers, it was decided to put me in this body, of my beloved pet Musat, and consecrate the result to the cat god Bastet.” Raising up on hind legs–a thing Ali had never before seen or heard of–the cheetah pawed gently at the air in the direction of the open sarcophagus.

“Though the procedure was both torturous and painful, in the end Musat’s body welcomed me. It is a powerful form, handsome, swift, and elegant. A fitting container for the soul of a Pharaoh. Unfortunately so shocking was the transfer that it resulted in the death of Musat’s body as well as mine.” The big cat dropped back down onto all fours. “It was declared by Horexx that the first person who should touch my preserved form would have the ability to think ‘with’ me, and that that person alone should be my guide through the Underworld for all eternity.” A paw gestured, taking in the modest chamber.

“I determined to be interred here, in this simple place, so that my person would not be disturbed by those low‑born ones who live by pillaging the tombs of better men who went before them.”

“I am sorry, Unar.” Ali was genuinely apologetic. “I have disturbed your sleep of thousands of years only to have to welcome you yet again to the real world, and not that of Osiris and Horus, of Bastet and Anubis.” Privately he knew that such imaginary beings did not exist, nor did the Underworld they were supposed to rule. But he could hardly venture that opinion to one who believed in them as deeply and personally as did Unarhotep. One man’s superstitious nonsense is another man’s true religion.

But the revived Pharaoh surprised him.

“Perhaps it is just as well. I was never so certain of the existence of Osiris’s realm myself. To the unending frustration of my scholars, I was always a freethinking sort of man. Such beliefs could be discussed freely only on rare, private occasions.” The cat’s head came up proudly. “A Pharaoh must be strong for his people.

“If I am to live again, perhaps this real world is not such a bad place or time in which to do so. Is Egypt still the ruler of the known world?”

Emboldened by both his knowledge and the continued friendliness of the most ancient one, Ali stepped a little bit away from the beautifully painted wall.

“The world has changed in ways you cannot imagine, Unar. There are many more countries and lands than when you reigned. Science has changed the way the world runs. There are great things about it that even I do not understand. Computers, atomic energy, the Internet…”

The cat raised a paw to forestall him. “Do men still lie with women, and thus make children?”

“Yes.” Ali could not keep from smiling. “That, at least, has not changed.”

“And what of riches, of the material wealth of men? Do they still value such things as gold and silver, and precious stones?” Once again, Ali nodded. “Then it may be,” the cheetah thought clearly, “that it is only the superficial things that have changed as much as you say, and that at heart and at base, men are still much the same. Do they still choose others to rule over them?”

“It is, indeed. If I may say so, Unar, you are handling this very well.”

“Though I did not rule long, I ruled well. To do so, one must learn to adapt to new things very quickly, be they an unexpected war, foreign alliances, or something as small as a new way of raising building stones. Even for a Pharaoh, a living god, life is a constant battle to learn and to retain mastery over others.” He looked down at himself. “Yet I confess that for all my experience and knowledge, I cannot see how I can make myself again even a little bit of what once I was: a lord over men, wealthy and admired, with a host of concubines at my side and great men trembling and waiting at my every utterance. Because for as long as I may live again, I will have to live in this form and no other.”

It was then that Ali had the idea. He was, after all, sophisticated from extensive contact with foreign tourists. And while his village was poor, it was not isolated. There were things about the world that Ali had learned and remembered. Things that anyone who lives in the real world learns very quickly.

“I think, my lo–Unar–that I may be able to help you to regain some of what you once had. Some of your stature, some of the effect you had on other people. Maybe even the company of beautiful concubines.”

“This is a true thing? You do not lie?” The cheetah grinned, which, unfortunately, had the opposite effect on Ali than what was intended. “If you can do such a thing, Ali, then you will truly be my friend for the remainder of my life in this world, as well as in the next.”

“We can but try,” Ali confessed. Turning, he looked up at the circle of moonlight overhead. “Hopefully someone will come along and find us before the desert overtakes us.” He gestured helplessly. “I found this place by accident, by falling in, and have no way out.”

“Is that all?” Unarlotep asked. And with a single bound, he leaped upward and through the opening.

It does not matter how Unarhotep helped Ali to get out of the tomb. It only matters that he did. Nor need it be dwelled upon how the two got themselves out of Egypt. Only that they did.

So it was that one day, camel guide and resurrected cat found themselves in another country far, far from the dehydrated delights of Thebes and that haranguing harridan Harima. A tall man was standing next to Ali. He wore a very fine shirt and pants along with sunglasses that themselves would have cost Ali six months’ earnings as a guide’s assistant. The tall man was nervous, and made no effort to hide it.

“You’re sure about your animal, now, Ali? We can’t take any chances here. I’m not using a double for Tiffany. She really wants to do this shot herself, and I want her to do it. But if anything goes wrong, the studio, the insurance company, and the ASPCA will have my ass in a grinder for it.”

Ali waved off the concerns. “I assure you, Carl, that my cat will do exactly as I instruct it. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever.”

The director still looked uncertain. “Yeah, well, you’d better be right. I mean, when the time came to do the animal casting for this picture, your name was at the top of the list. I’m told you’re the best big cat trainer in the business, even if you only work with the one animal.”

“I only need one,” Ali replied loftily. “Do your shot, Carl. I’ll be right here, watching in case I am needed.”

But he would not be needed, he knew, as he watched the final touches being put on the elaborate setup for the next sequence. He wouldn’t be needed because Unar, the wonder cheetah, the best‑trained and by far the most famous big cat in Hollywood, who was now known and admired all over the world, had demonstrated again and again an astonishing ability to carry out the most complex series of owner commands in response to hand and eye gestures even the most experienced animal trainers were unable to detect.

So it was that Ali was able to relax and watch the action unfold as the director called for action, the cameras rolled, and the snarling cheetah, guardian of the mysterious lost temple of Unak‑Pathon, approached the two nearly naked heroines. It proceeding to paw and lick them threateningly and thoroughly, but yet with the most astonishing self‑control…