"Connie Willis - Death on the Nile" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

The people on the ship didnтАЩt remember dying, even when someone told them, but that was because the
ship was so much like a real one, the railings and the water and the deck. And because of the bomb.
People never remember being blown up. ItтАЩs the concussion or something, it knocks the memory out of
you. But I would surely have remembered murdering someone. Or being murdered.

I sit on the steps a long time, watching for the splash of ZoeтАЩs flashlight in the doorway. Outside it will
be dark, time for the Son et Lumiere show at the pyramids.

It seems darker in here, too. I have to squint to see Anubis and the yellow scales and the deceased
awaiting judgment. The papyrus he is holding is covered with long, bordered columns of hieroglyphics
and I hope they are magic spells to protect him and not a list of all the sins he has committed.

I have not murdered another, I think. I have not committed adultery. But there are other sins.

It will be dark soon, and I do not have a flashlight. I stand up. тАЬZoe!тАЭ I call, and go down the stairs and
between the pillars. They are carved with animalsтАФcobras and baboons and crocodiles.

тАЬItтАЩs getting dark,тАЭ I call, and my voice echoes hollowly among the pillars. тАЬTheyтАЩll be wondering what
happened to us.тАЭ

The last pair of pillars is carved with a bird, its sandstone wings outstretched. A bird of the gods. Or a

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 Death on the Nile

plane.

тАЬZoe?тАЭ I say, and stoop to go through the low door. тАЬAre you in here?тАЭ




CHAPTER EIGHT:

SPECIAL EVENTS


Zoe isnтАЩt in the burial chamber. It is much smaller than the anteroom, and there are no paintings on the
rough walls or above the door that leads to the Hall of Judgment. The ceiling is scarcely higher than the
door, and I have to hunch down to keep from scraping my head against it.

It is darker in here than in the anteroom, but even in the dimness I can see that Zoe isnтАЩt here. Neither is
TutankhamunтАЩs sarcophagus, carved with The Book of the Dead. There is nothing in the room at all,
except for a pile of suitcases in the corner by the door to the Hall of Judgment.

It is our luggage. I recognize my battered Samsonite and the carry-on bags of the Japanese tour group.
The flight attendantsтАЩ navy blue overnight cases are in front of the pile, strapped like victims to their
wheeled carriers.