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The Mummy Buyer Nayland Jones wondered, as he picked his way through the
Cairo streets, if he was wearing the proper clothes for purchasing a mummy. He
felt certain that he looked like an escapee from one of those sweat-and-gin
movies that Sidney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre and Humphrey Bogart had appeared in
so often. He was even wearing a pith helmet, the crowning touch to his uniform. Through the muski he strolled,
long legs carrying him over streets mercilessly baked and cracked by the sun.
Past peddlers, beggars and merchants. One beggar squatted at the edge of the street, his back
against a crumbly clay wall. As Nayland passed, the beggar plucked his milky
dead eyeball from its socket, let it descend on well-worn tendons and dangle on
his cheek. It looked like some sort of long-tentacled jellyfish reaching out
and groping for the edge of a small, dark cavern, preparing to pull itself up
into the black interior. The beggar held out a hard, dirty palm. More out of disgust than charity, Nayland put a coin in the
beggar's palm. The beggar put the coin in his pouch, and his eye in its socket. Nayland thought: "Disgusting country." He
remembered what he had been told about such beggars. From birth the man had
probably been prepared for his "profession." He had been taught to
massage the eyeball daily, until the sight died and it became nothing more than
a rubbery pulp that could be pulled from its socket and dangled on the cheek at
will. Nayland shivered. The whole country was full of crazies.
Civilization had touched the place, but just barely. It was still a country of
backward savages as far as he was concerned. But he hadn't come to Cairo to study the people. He had come
to purchase items for his unusual collection. Already he had compiled such rare
things as a supposed Yeti's scalp from Tibet; shrunken heads from the wilds of
New Guinea; spears and shields from Africa; and a number of
other rare articles. He kept all of these locked away in his private museum for
his own personal pleasure. No one was allowed to see his goodies. They were his
and his alone. And at night, he gloated over them. But one thing of importance was missing from his collection:
a mummy. Well, he intended to remedy that. He had obtained a very substantial
lead concerning a man who would sell him a mummy—a mummy from a Pharaoh's tomb. The address he was seeking was off the main street—what was
main about the street, Nayland failed to see—and down a dark alley bordered by
leaning buildings that cast shadows on the cobbles below. Nayland didn't like the idea of the dark doorways that
bordered the alley on either side like hungry mouths, but he was determined to
get his mummy. He walked along the alleyway counting doors. He was looking
for the fifteenth on the right. On either side of him, partially hidden by
shadow, were rows of beggars, cripples, eye-pluckers,
and a few (Nayland couldn't honestly tell if they were male or female) so
infested and pocked with sores they churned his breakfast, which he nearly
lost. But he came to the fifteenth door and his repulsion faded to
enthusiasm as he entered the dark, foul smelling shop. It contained all manner
of jarred and bagged items; a sort of apothecary shop.
But from the looks of things, Nayland doubted if he'd buy anything for a
headache here. A little man who seemed very much a part of the place
shuffled forward from a corner, hands clasped together, head tilted to one
side. The man's face was very aged, or perhaps ravaged by some exotic disease.
The flesh looked leathery. No, actually it looked
wooden. The little man seemed to move with great difficulty, as if the old legs
were too stiff or the bones too dry. "Might I help you," the man said in perfect
English, recognizing Nayland for an American immediately. The little man's
voice was very deep, as if brought up from the insides of a hollow log. "Why ... why, yes ... I was told by a man named Jauhur that I could find someone here who would sell me...
" His voice got very low as the purchasing of such an item was illegal,
"... a mummy." "That is correct," the little man said. "For a
price," he smiled his blackened stubs, "we can get you almost
anything." "A mummy for my collection, that will do." "Yes. Shall we talk money ... American dollars?" "I'm willing to pay a proper price, but not be cheated,
mind you." "Of course, but a mummy is ... shall we say, a rarity.
They are scarce. Most of the tombs have long since been robbed...." "But you have one for sale?" The little man nodded his head. "I would like to see it first, before we discuss
price." "Very well." The little man turned, shuffled toward
the back of the shop, stopped and beckoned Nayland to follow. They went through a dark, curtained doorway and into a large
room where half a dozen sarcophagi rested against the wall. Nayland licked his lips. The little man clutched the corner
of one sarcophagus and opened it. "Inspect, but do not touch too
much," the little man said. "They are fragile, very fragile." Nayland nodded, unable to speak. He walked carefully to the
case and inspected the wrapped figure inside. The cloth that bound the mummy
was yellowed with age, even black in places. "If it were unwrapped," the little man warned,
"the air would soon crumble it. It would be advisable to put it in a glass
case of some sort, and never move it or touch it." "Yes," Nayland said absently. He looked the mummy
up and down, greedily. A mummy for his collection; for him to feast his eyes on
alone. No one would ever know…. Hello! Nayland
thought. What's this? On the left hand of the mummy, where the arms were pulled
across its chest, was a break in the cloth, a slight bulge on the left ring
finger. Nayland looked over his shoulder at the little man who was
watching him with patient, black, bird eyes. "Perhaps you would rather be alone," the little man
offered, sensing Nayland's nervousness. "Yes ... yes, if you don't mind." "No problem." The little man turned and shuffled
away. When Nayland was alone with the mummy, he returned his
attention to the bulge on the mummy's finger. Perhaps he had found something of
importance, like a ring; a ring of priceless gold and jewels; a ring that had
resided on a dead man's finger for centuries. If the proprietor became aware of
it, he might drive the price up; if not, Nayland felt certain he could make a
nice purchase. He'd have the mummy for his collection, and the ring to sell for
no telling how much. Carefully, he reached up and touched the bulge. It was very
hard. He saw through the break in the wrappings that something glinted. Yes, by
golly, he'd found a mummy equipped with a ring. Of course, it could be bone,
nothing more. Nayland leaned forward and peered at the rent in the
wrapping. Still uncertain, he carefully reached up and began to peel back the
wrappings from a finger, and then he saw it. Yes, a ring ... a ... He looked closely. God! No! But there
was no denying it. It was a ring all right, and on it he read: SENIOR, '69, GLADEWATER HIGH SCHOOL. Nayland, suddenly aware that someone was behind him, turned. Too late. Nayland saw the little man's arm and the hatchet descend in a
blur, and then he saw no more. The hunchback brought Nayland's nude body out of the steaming
vat of chemicals with a long-handled hook, pulled the corpse onto the wrapping
slab with expert ease. He was about to begin the wrapping when the little man came
into the smoky chamber. The hunchback hoped he wasn't still angry. The little man said, "I hope you inspected this one,
Kuda. No rings or watches ... and remember the one you wrapped still wearing
his glasses? What am I to do with you? We have to sell
these mummies to stay in business. We can't keep making them out of potential
customers just because of your idiot mistakes." "Yes, master." "Remember the bulge those glasses made beneath the
wrappings? And if I hadn't looked in on the American, I might not have seen him
or the ring you forgot. Had I not caught him in time it might have led to the
police. Robbing graves is a nice neat method of
supply, but making our own corpses first could get us in trouble, Kuda. You
understand?" "Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master. I understand." The little man shook his head. "The help these
days." He turned and shuffled back to the front of the shop. A man was
coming soon to buy a mummy. "The Mummy Buyer" was originally published in March 1981 in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine. It later appeared in A Fist Full of Stories (and Articles), a collection of Lansdale's short stories (and articles) published by CD Publications. "The Mummy Buyer" © 1981 By Bizarre Hands, LLC. Roll on back this way on Thursday, November 13, and you'll
get another freebie, courtesy of the Mojo man hisownself,
Joe R. Lansdale. Just jump in your car and come as you are! |
