The Mummy

"You weren't yourself?" said Marcus. Then, his voice rising: "You weren't yourself?" And he began to laugh hysterically again. Sharon's face burned. She stood, turning her back to him, collecting her clothes. She dressed in silence while he laughed. She wanted to hit him again. Instead she took several deep breaths and sorted out what to say next.

"Marcus—" she said.

He interrupted "That wasn't at all what I expected," he said.

She stopped, took another deep breath, and began again: "Marcus, what just happened was a mistake. In fact, a lot of things that happened tonight were mistakes."

He leaned against the tomb wall, eyes half closed. It was hard to say if he was listening. She plowed on.

"Since it's at least partly my fault, I won't cause any trouble for you, but I don't think it's appropriate that we work together anymore. I'll have you moved to someone else's project tomorrow. For tonight, let's just get all of this mess sorted out."

She crossed her arms and waited. He didn't say anything. Eventually she said:

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Where is the mummy? How did you move it?"

He grinned. "I told you, it went for a walk all on its own."

She sighed. "We don't have time for this."

He shrugged. "If you don't believe me, just turn around."

"Marcus, this is not funny."

"No," he said, "it's not." And he turned her around. It standing at the tomb entrance, staring with empty eyes, reluctant to cross the threshold. There was a sound like dry leaves rustling and old timbers creaking as the mummy swayed, obviously pained to hold itself up. But it stood. And it moved.

"There we are," said Marcus. His voice sounded strange again, as though he were faking some kind of accent. "Satisfied? No, don't faint again, we don't have time. You," he pointed at the mummy, "go back out to the gallery please, and wait for us. Sharon and I have a few things to discuss."

The dead thing moved slowly but eventually it teetered out toward the gallery proper. The rustling of its dried flesh was audible the entire time.

Sharon swooned and Marcus caught her. She buried her face against his chest and sobbed once or twice."There now, it's okay," he said.

"It's — it's alive!" she said.

"Not really," said Marcus.

Sharon shuddered all over. "But it moved! It got up and, and—" she fumbled for words.

"It's animated by what they call the akh, something like a ghost. A ritually preserved body is a vessel that the akh can hide in. That's how the old priests used to explain it, anyway.

"Of course, the akh can leave too. The akh hidden in a mummy can, for example, enter the body of a living person instead. Yes, it can do that, if it's had thousands of years to plan such things."

His voice became brittle. Sharon froze in place, her heart beating faster and faster. "What are you talking about?" she said.

"Just some fascinating tidbits for your research," he said, holding her tighter, constricting her so that she couldn't move.

"Marcus," she said, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Marcus?" he said, eyes lighting up. "No. I have rather enjoyed being Marcus for a few hours though. I suspect I got more out of it than he ever dd."

Sharon pulled away, but Marcus (not Marcus, she realized, panicking) had too firm a grip. She was stronger than him, she knew, but he had leverage, height, and surprise in his favor. She tried to slap him again but her arms were pinned.

"Now, now," he said, talking as though to a child, "there's no point in trying to hurt me. This isn't even my body, so I don't care what happens to it, but Marcus probably does. If you want to help him, then the first thing you'll have to do is behave." He raised an eyebrow. She stopped struggling. "If I let you go," he said, "do you promise not to run?"

Sharon gritted her teeth, but nodded. He let go. She backed away. He took two steps forward, arms out, but she held up a finger. "Stay right there," she said. "Don't come near me."

"Well, it's a little late for that; I've been very near you already. But as you will." He sat on the plaster sarcophagus. Minutes passed in silence. Sharon wrestled panic. Every time she was about to say something she looked at him and felt sick. He remained silent, and waited.

Sharon took a deep breath and, without looking directly at him, said, "Who are you?"

"My name is Ta'Awa. It's a pleasure to meet you." He actually went as if to shake her hand.

She hesitated before the next question. "Are you...the mummy?"

He shrugged. "Well, that's not strictly accurate; a mummy is not a person, it's just a vessel for a soul. But yes, the mummy was made from my body, and I was in it for a long time. And now I'm out." He put his hands out to the side. "Ta-da."

Sharon shook her head. "How do you speak English?"

"The last owner of that mummy was an Englishman; I've listened to the language for decades. In fact, I know a lot of languages. You pick up on things, listening to people."

"But what about Marcus? What did you do to Marcus?" Her voice went up an octave.

"Oh, not much, just traded places with him. Until I let him out. Which I will, shortly. I'm sorry about the pretense of hiding in this room, by the way; I thought a scare would help put you in the mood."

"In the mood? Wait a minute!" said Sharon, standing up straighter. "If you're not Marcus, then why did you—I mean we—we—!" She bit her lip.

"Ah, yes," said Ta'Awa, looking sheepish for a moment. "I can explain that."

Sharon waited. Ta'Awa said nothing. "So?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"Explain!"

Ta'Awa shrugged. "Look, it's been thousands of years and I saw an opportunity, what did you want me to do?" He examined his nails. "Besides, I thought this might be my only chance to see what it was like...as a man."

He looked up. Sharon frowned, and then his meaning dawned on her. She gaped.

"Do you mean—?"

"Surely you realized that 'Ta'Awa' is a feminine name?" he said.

"Oh. My. God." Sharon had to sit down.

"God? Yes, you have a strange notion of gods these days. I was a priestess of Sekhmet for most of my life."

"This can't be happening."

"I'll admit the circumstances are a bit odd," said Ta'Awa, "but there's really nothing wrong with—"

Sharon turned and walked away. She heard Ta'Awa calling after her, but she ignored it, focusing on the entry to the gallery as though it were the only thing in the world. She was almost there when the skeletal figure blocked her path. At first she panicked but after thinking for a moment she stopped and said, "Marcus! Marcus, are you okay?"

The mummy's leathery face was blank, incapable of expression. She wanted to touch him but was afraid of how fragile the body must be.

"Marcus?" she said. "Can you hear me? Marcus!"

"He can hear you," said Ta'Awa, emerging from the tomb behind them. "But he probably has no idea what's going on."

Sharon backed away. Ta'Awa pointed to the mummy and said, "Go. Rest." The mummy turned and walked back to the sarcophagus, lying down inside and becoming still. Ta'Awa stood over the case, looking at the shrunken, skeletal thing. "Strange," she said, "to look at it and think that it was once me."

"Look, are you going to help him or not?" said Sharon.

"Of course," said Ta'Awa. "It was fun to try, but I have no desire to remain in Marcus' body forever."

"What then? What do you want?" said Sharon.

"Can't you guess?" said Ta'Awa. "I don't want Marcus' body, Sharon. I want yours."

Sharon was stunned. Half a minute passed before she managed to gasp out, "What?"

Now Ta'Awa looked surprised. "You mean you didn't realize? There are only two bodies here, after all, and I don't want this one."

"But why do you need any body at all? You're dead; you're ancient for crying out loud, why are you doing this?" They stood on opposite sides of the display now, the mummy stretched between them.

"Because I'm awake, in a way that I haven't been for centuries," said Ta'Awa. "I've been asleep for so long. I'm tired of eternal life; I just want to live." Her voice became thick. "You understand, don't you? You can't deny me that? You wouldn't be that cruel?"

"But what will happen to me?" said Sharon.

Ta'Awa smiled, and leaned in. "Something wonderful will happen to you," she said. "You'll sleep for ages, but you'll have the most divine dreams, and in your dreams you'll learn everything that goes on around you. You'll awaken some day, maybe in a hundred years, maybe in five hundred, maybe in thousands, and find a new world waiting for you. Doesn't that sound incredible?"

Sharon said nothing. Ta'Awa leaned in a little more.

"Don't you want the promise of eternity? You can have it; I don't want it anymore. It's yours now, Sharon, so take it. And what are you even giving up? How happy are you here? How happy have you ever been?"

Sharon's head was spinning. She was certain that she was not in any condition to be making a decision like this. But then, when was she ever going to really be ready for a decision like this? And a chance like this, she knew, was never going to come again...

Ta'Awa slid around to the other side of the display. "I know all about you," she said. "I know all of Marcus' thoughts. You're just like me, in a way; I spent my entire life tending to these same artifacts, to the bodies of the priests, to the images of the gods. It's emptying, isn't it? I never believed in the next world or the power of the spirits any more than you do. We just live for icons, you and I, placeholders of things that never existed."

Sharon was afraid that if she talked she might cry, so she said nothing. Ta'Awa took her hand.

"So you have a choice, now. You can take my offer, and live the life of a goddess reborn. Or you can decide to stay here, in your office, with your dead people, with no one but naïve little Marcus to keep you —"

Marcus!

"No," Sharon said, backing away. Ta'Awa frowned.

"Sharon—"

"I don't trust you," Sharon said. "And I don't want what you're offering me. Forget it. I just want you to...go away. However it is you do that. Bring Marcus back, and then go away. Now."

Ta'Awa stepped forward, silhouetted under the dim late-night lights. "Then I'll just take your body by force, the way I did Marcus."

"But then what will you do about him?" said Sharon. "He'll know what happened and he won't give you any peace. You'll have to kill him to shut him up, and so much for a clean slate in a new world if you start out as a murderer."

"I—" said Ta'Awa, but then stopped, perplexed.

"Didn't think this through very well, did you?" Sharon said.

Ta'Awa glared at her. Then, moving so fast that Sharon didn't have time to react, she hit her, the back of Ta'Awa's hand grazing Sharon's jaw. Sharon lost her balance and fell, and before she could stand Ta'Awa was on her, leaning all of the weight of Marcus' body on top of her. Sharon felt something press to the side of her neck and realized that it was Marcus' box cutter. She became very still. Ta'Awa leaned on her even more, and she struggled to breathe.

"Are you going to think your way out of this?" said Ta'Awa. Sharon spit in her face. Ta'Awa pushed the blade a little closer. "You're right, I don't know enough about the world yet to get away with murder, but I don't have to kill you. I can just make you wish I had. I know how to do things that won't even leave a mark but will have you screaming until you forget your own name. You think you're so—"

Sharon waited until Ta'Awa moved her leg just a little, and then she brought her knee right up into (Marcus') crotch. Ta'Awa's eyes bulged, and Sharon grabbed her by the shoulders, rolling them both until Ta'Awa was on the bottom, pinned. The box cutter slipped out of Ta'Awa's hand and Sharon grabbed it. She pushed the point against Ta'Awa's throat. Ta'Awa exhaled hard and groaned. "Wow," she said, "that really does hurt..."

She looked at the blade pointed at her. "What are you planning to do with that? You know you can't hurt me; just Marcus."

Sharon gritted her teeth and cut the side of Ta'Awa's neck. Ta'Awa flinched and gasped. "What the hell are you doing?" she said. "If you kill me, Marcus will be trapped forever!"

"Won't he be anyway? Or me instead? You're not going to let us both walk out of here, so what difference does it make? You might as well be dead if one of us is going to end up stuck no matter what." Sharon pushed the blade in again; the wound was shallow, but it bled heavily. Ta'Awa tried to push her off, but this invited another cut, so she stopped.

"But you can't kill anyone; you won't get away with it!"

"I'll take my chances. I think I can get people to sympathize a lot with how I fought off my attacker after he cornered me at work, late at night, alone, when everyone knows how many times I've fended off his advances. I think my odds are at least fair. What about yours?"

They froze, glaring at each other, Sharon holding her body taut, waiting for Ta'Awa to retaliate. "You wouldn't," said Ta'Awa. "You're bluffing."

"Maybe."

"You're not this insane."

"Hard to say. I'm willing to take my chances; are you?"

They stayed that way for a long time. Finally, the features of Marcus' face settled into a smirk, and Ta'Awa said, "Fine. Then I'll just put things back as they were."

Sharon blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. I'll put everything back the way it was and let you both go."

Sharon tried to talk, but she was panting hard all of a sudden, and it took a moment for her to calm down. "That's it?" she said. "You're just giving up?"

"What choice do I have?" said Ta'Awa.

Sharon shook her head. "I don't believe you."

Ta'Awa shrugged again. "Why not? What difference does it make? That's the problem with you, Sharon: For someone who spent her whole life studying history and eternity, you don't have much perspective. I can go back because I can afford to wait. I'll still be waiting when you and lover boy are dust in the ground. I don't want to wait another century, but I can. Maybe two. Maybe three. Some day I'll find a way out. But you? You'll be trapped here until you die, and unlike me you really will die. Don't feel too sorry for me, Sharon. I'll be dreaming about you while I sleep."

And then she left. Nothing spectacular happened to mark the change; there was not even any alteration in Marcus' posture or demeanor, but rather just the barest flickering of expression, from Ta'Awa's resigned anger to Marcus' pained bewilderment. He looked up with glazed eyes and Sharon realized, with embarrassment, that she was still straddling his body. She rolled off and he sat up, wincing, wiping the blood from his neck. "What the hell?" he said.

Sharon put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him. "Marcus," she said, "is it you?"

He blinked. "Yes?"

"But is it really you, is it really, really you?" She shook him again.

"Yes, Sharon, it's me, it's really me;" he said, untangling himself from her. "Want me to prove it? You drink six cups of coffee a day; you always wear your red pumps on Tuesdays; you read cheesy romance novels on your break and think no one notices when you tear up over them; we first met on a bus coming from Daly City without realizing we worked together; your middle name is Ginsburg because your father wanted to be a Beat; your favorite song is 867—"

She put her hand over his mouth. "Shut up," she said. They stared at each other for a while. Then she added: "I do not tear up reading those books."

Marcus was about to laugh, but at all at once he seemed to notice the mummy again. Looking panicked, he grabbed the heavy flashlight, raising it up and preparing to dash the mummy's skull into fragments, but Sharon stopped him. "Wait," she said.

"Why?" said Marcus. "She's dangerous."

"Yes. But what if what you're about to do doesn't kill her?"

Marcus frowned, then put the flashlight down. "Do you think?"

"She said that a mummy is just a vessel for a soul. I don't want her soul out wandering around on its own. I don't even know what she'd do then."

Marcus frowned. "So what are we doing to do about her?"

Sharon looked at the mummy, considering. Then she said, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" said Marcus. "But what are we going to tell everyone about what happened tonight?"

"What happened tonight?" said Sharon. "Why, tonight we both took off early to have a drink at your friend's bar in San Francisco. We just made the after-party."

Marcus blinked dumbly. "That party was over hours ago," he said.

"Really?" said Sharon. "I don't even remember. I guess we had a really good time."

She shut the coffin lid and turned the lights off, and she and Marcus left, hand-in-hand. In the gallery, in the dark, something stirred inside the sarcophagus, just a little, and then went silent. Everything was dark and still again. Still as the grave.

***

The Usermontu mummy (as it was dubbed for lack any more definite identification) still resides at the Rosicrucian museum. Sharon Hiller and Marcus Greene abruptly resigned their positions shortly after its arrival. They had one meeting with the museum owners, but no one except those present knows what was said there.

When the sarcophagus' previous owner was contacted he said that he knew all about the mummy, and in fact he'd put it in there on purpose. He said that it should be considered a gift, and that he was "Tired of dealing with it." He would elaborate no further.

It is perhaps not surprising, given its mysterious arrival, that the mummy became the focus of various superstitions, some facetious and some not, on the part of museum staff. Many employees and patrons profess a marked fascination with it, and more than one person has been caught staring at it, rapt, for minutes on end, unmoving and unresponsive. More than one staff member has quit the museum following such an episode, though few volunteer any explanation as to why.

Those who have seen the mummy comment that it is so remarkably well-preserved, and its face so expressive, that at times it seems not to be dead at all, but only sleeping. Most are unnerved by this thought, since it stands to reason that anything that is sleeping will some day awaken. But if the mummy knows how long the sleep of the dead may last, it keeps the knowledge to itself; it is silent as the grave, always. If it knows secrets, then they are its own to keep, for eternity, or for longer.