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The Thing, whole no. 2, Summer 1946

Page 14

disused veins but finally she was able to move toes and fingers. Marsden and I carried her to the women's washroom and left her with Joan.
"Poe certainly did some good guessing," said Marsden.
I didn't get it and said so.
He went on: "Don't you remember that kidding yarn about a method of embalming which suspended animation, so that an Egyptian historian might return to life every couple of hundred years to check up on the records? Poe thought he was joking. Apparently he wasn't."
"You think this is genuine?"
"What else can it be? The girl speaks ancient Coptic." For the first time he grew really excited. "God! Think of the possibilities! Think of the possibilities! Think of how many gaps in our knowledge we're going to be able to fill!"
Joan came back from the washroom, as excited as Marsden.
"Listen," I said, still the doubter,"is that really Coptic, good Coptic?"
"It's a hell of a lot better than mine," said Joan.
"But how can you understand it at all? We've had to guess at so many pronunciations. Take Thothmos. For all we know, that was pronounced Thotmosis or Tutmosis."
"Some of it I don't get and have to ask her to repeat," said Joan. "It's like an Italian trying to understand a Spaniard. Some of it she wrote for me, and that was the most amazing part of all. She says she's been asleep for three thousand four hundred years--and is Makara."
"Makara!" exclaimed Marsden. "Makara? Cut it out, Joan. This is no time for nonsense."
"Nothing of the kind. That's what she claims. I believe her."
Makara was the birth-name of Queen Hatasu, who livedabout 1500 B.C. She was ruler or co-ruler in the reigns of Thotmes I, II and III, spending seventeen years on a throne, starting when she was just a kid. Although she was the greatest woman in Egyptian history until Cleopatra, she dropped completely out of sight and her tomb has never been discovered.
"Look," said Marsden. "Thotmes III erased her name from every monument he could find. Did she tell you why?"
"Yes, I asked her. It was because she never died and accordingly couldn't be treated with respect due the dead. She'd decided to go in for the new embalming method and wake up a couple of hundred years later."
"What happened after that?"
"You know more about it than she does. Apparently neglect or politics or something prevented her being brought to life again. She slept on and on until you stuck her with the syringe."
Marsden shrugged. "I don't blame them for letting her sleep." he said. "Suspended animation certainly didn't do anything for her beauty. She's a wreck."
Joan looked at him with a funny smile. Then she went to her locker, pulled out an armful of clothes and a box of cosmetics and disappeared down the hall.
"Clothes," mused Marsden. "That brings up the question. What do you do with a queen of ancient Egypt when she drops into your lap? Can she get a job from the United States Employment Service?"
"Maybe she can sell her reminiscences to some Sunday supplement," I said.
"'People I have tortured to death and how they died.' That would be a good one. Or, 'How I'd solve the American labor problem.'"
Nervously, not making much sense, we stood there talking. It was like waiting around while the workmen are breaking down the last door into the inner funerary chamber, the one which didn't get touched, by some miracle.
Then we heard steps in the hall and turned.
Makara came in first. Apparently she hadn't thought much of American fashions, for she was wearing only the skirt of Joan's outfit, with a broad red sash about her waist, below her breasts. Her hair had been cut in a long bob, with the ends turned in.

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disused veins but finally she was able to move toes and fingers. Marsden and I carried her to the women's washroom and left her with Joan. "Poe certainly did some good guessing," said Marsden. I didn't get it and said so. He went on: "Don't you remember that kidding yarn about a method of embalming which suspended animation, so that an Egyptian historian might return to life every couple of hundred years to check up on the records? Poe thought he was joking. Apparently he wasn't." "You think this is genuine?" "What else can it be? The girl speaks ancient Coptic." For the first time he grew really excited. "God! Think of the possibilities! Think of the possibilities! Think of how many gaps in our knowledge we're going to be able to fill!" Joan came back from the washroom, as excited as Marsden. "Listen," I said, still the doubter,"is that really Coptic, good Coptic?" "It's a hell of a lot better than mine," said Joan. "But how can you understand it at all? We've had to guess at so many pronunciations. Take Thothmos. For all we know, that was pronounced Thotmosis or Tutmosis." "Some of it I don't get and have to ask her to repeat," said Joan. "It's like an Italian trying to understand a Spaniard. Some of it she wrote for me, and that was the most amazing part of all. She says she's been asleep for three thousand four hundred years--and is Makara." "Makara!" exclaimed Marsden. "Makara? Cut it out, Joan. This is no time for nonsense." "Nothing of the kind. That's what she claims. I believe her." Makara was the birth-name of Queen Hatasu, who livedabout 1500 B.C. She was ruler or co-ruler in the reigns of Thotmes I, II and III, spending seventeen years on a throne, starting when she was just a kid. Although she was the greatest woman in Egyptian history until Cleopatra, she dropped completely out of sight and her tomb has never been discovered. "Look," said Marsden. "Thotmes III erased her name from every monument he could find. Did she tell you why?" "Yes, I asked her. It was because she never died and accordingly couldn't be treated with respect due the dead. She'd decided to go in for the new embalming method and wake up a couple of hundred years later." "What happened after that?" "You know more about it than she does. Apparently neglect or politics or something prevented her being brought to life again. She slept on and on until you stuck her with the syringe." Marsden shrugged. "I don't blame them for letting her sleep." he said. "Suspended animation certainly didn't do anything for her beauty. She's a wreck." Joan looked at him with a funny smile. Then she went to her locker, pulled out an armful of clothes and a box of cosmetics and disappeared down the hall. "Clothes," mused Marsden. "That brings up the question. What do you do with a queen of ancient Egypt when she drops into your lap? Can she get a job from the United States Employment Service?" "Maybe she can sell her reminiscences to some Sunday supplement," I said. "'People I have tortured to death and how they died.' That would be a good one. Or, 'How I'd solve the American labor problem.'" Nervously, not making much sense, we stood there talking. It was like waiting around while the workmen are breaking down the last door into the inner funerary chamber, the one which didn't get touched, by some miracle. Then we heard steps in the hall and turned. Makara came in first. Apparently she hadn't thought much of American fashions, for she was wearing only the skirt of Joan's outfit, with a broad red sash about her waist, below her breasts. Her hair had been cut in a long bob, with the ends turned in.