Despite everything, despite what one might think in these riotous times, I assure you that being a museum keeper is the best job in the world. And I can well say that I entered the Saltless Civic Museum as a young man, working there continuously for half a century and six months, without ever leaving. A peaceful job in the midst of relics transported from the past, in contact with the dead who keep quiet and good and the living who pay the ticket to take a stroll along the corridors of History and Art.
Not even a day off I took, always in my place, in the midst of an antiquity that doesn't disturb and a knowledge that doesn't annoy. Well, not even a day if we avoid counting the most unfortunate week that fell immediately after the October XNUMX crime… when I lay in bed between life and death. Inexplicably, and without warning. A damned horse fever, caused by what the doctor still insists on calling ethyl hallucinations.
But I know very well what these "hallucinations" actually were, and the rest is all gossip put around by naive people. Although even the two noblemen of venerable age, if they wanted to, could confirm to you in detail what happened in the basement of our museum on that cold October evening.
It all happened, like every year, during the preparation of the archaeological exhibition for the county schools. Professor Gliddon had been allowed to stay inside the museum after hours, which would have allowed him to finish the latest research on the material contained in the three basement rooms, before moving them upstairs.
The finds that the scholar had been analyzing for some time came from certain excavations carried out by talented archaeologists around the world on behalf of the prestigious Moremoneythanculture Foundation, to which our private museum also belongs. So, that evening, I was preparing to make, as usual, the last round of inspection of the premises, before retiring to my room. I went down to the still lighted underground cellars where Gliddon had been trafficking for a few days next to some mummies and the funerary goods found in their tombs.
"Dear professor," I said to him that very morning, as I made him a cup of my strong Italian coffee, "if these corpses of yours could talk, I think your work would be much, much easier, is that right? And you wouldn't waste so much time, work and sleep, studying, verifying, checking."
"No, I doubt they would upset what we already know, my friend," he replied, dipping three immaculate sugar cubes into the dark liquid, and drowning them one by one with the teaspoon, so that they would never float up again. "Thank God the science is so advanced, our knowledge so deep that we are able to reconstruct everything as it was, even by analyzing a small fragment, an insignificant trace, a marginal piece of evidence."
Gliddon downed his coffee, then walked over to the two open wooden cabinets facing each other.
"Take these two mummies, for example."
I knew them well, those two dusty bundles that we were strictly forbidden to go near.
“The first is from an Egyptian nobleman. Do you see the ruddy complexion, the firm skin smooth and shiny?”
I nodded.
“The coroner who analyzed him says he had an enlarged liver and circulatory disturbances. I, after having studied the hieroglyphs found on its inner sarcophagus, add that it was called Allamistakeo, who had a title more or less similar to ours of count, and was married four times, but had no children.
This impressed me somewhat. "And the other?" I asked, intrigued by the disquisition of that detective from the past.
“The second mummy, curled up in a fetal position, is younger. I'm almost done with him, as tonight I plan to complete her ID."
"Do you come from another country?"
“He was an Inca priest, he died of pneumonia shortly before the Spanish conquest of Peru. As you see, even if he has covered them with the patina, his age cannot prevent us expert posterity from revealing their most intimate secrets. All you need is a nose and the right instruments» was his conclusion.
It seemed truly marvelous to me to penetrate the mysteries of time and to discover, after thousands of years as if it were yesterday, the matrimonial adventures of a lord of the Nile or the ailments of a South American priest. And even now that I was walking into the deserted and silent halls, thinking back on it, those little demonstrations of ancient knowledge and modern investigation had aroused in me an unlimited sense of admiration for science and its apostles.
Pondering these thoughts, I had reached the room of the mummies; but the professor, absorbed in I don't know what, hadn't noticed my arrival. I saw him there, in front of me, fumbling hunched over a table, placed right in the center of the room, between the two authoritative corpses, placed in display cases, backs to the wall, facing each other.
Gliddon was there, only physically, for it was clear that mentally he was on one of his investigative journeys into the past. From time to time the professor sighed, or let out a smug laugh, and made notes in a notebook. He thought aloud, abstracting himself from his surroundings, let alone if he could pay attention to me as I proceeded with the soft step of an overseer hunting.
What a wonderful opportunity I had to spy on his work, and perhaps to embark clandestinely on his nocturnal expedition! I decided to reach the first marble column on the left, without being noticed, and to hide behind it, remaining there if necessary. The inspection tour of the other floors could wait, as the alarm system would continue to do its usual nocturnal duty for the moment.
From that position I kept the professor under control, being able to easily distinguish his movements and the objects arranged on the table.
"Six and nine, nine and six," he snapped suddenly, emerging from the depths of his reasoning. "In these two issues your whole story is told, my dear reverend."
So saying the professor had turned to the crouched mummy, that of the Inca priest, whose soul, now, who knows what celestial Eldorado wandered serene, oblivious of bearded conquistadors and eager missionaries. And he showed her, lifting it, a braid of wool that I had already noticed earlier, and that the tag placed on the bulletin board, to inform visitors, named quipu.
Now, seeing it well lit up in the professor's hands, I remembered this horizontal rope, from which hung six smaller intertwined and colored cords, each marked by one or more underlying knots, for a total of nine. And the director's explanations also came to mind, that the quipu helped the distracted: «More or less like us when we tie a knot in our handkerchief, to remind us of an appointment or a commitment» he said simply, to make himself understood, to a school group visiting. And seeing that in that mysterious land, before they were destroyed by the Spaniards, there were so many Quipu, I immediately deduced that the Incas must have been a people of very distracted people. And without moccichini, to boot.
“Do you really think we needed all those memos?” the sudden voice caught me off guard. Evidently the professor must have noticed my presence behind him. But how could he have listened to my thoughts? And then, why did he speak to me in a plural? We who?
"Or do you think we had no brains?" she added with a veil of annoyance, taking a long puff of smoke from her inseparable pipe. As I listened to his new question, he stood sideways to me. And seeing his face clearly – unless Gliddon possessed ventriloque skills – I understood that it must have been someone else speaking. I looked around but didn't see anyone else. There were two of us in the room, and then I asked myself: if the professor hadn't opened his mouth, or noticed me, could it be that my wife was right, who is of the opinion that I have been unable to bear my daily routine for some time now? three bottles of stout?
"Bubaste's cats, it's business as usual!" exclaimed another voice, rusty with time, in the purest Egyptian I believe, and which somehow I managed to understand. «Is it possible that, after five centuries, you still haven't learned to care less about the judgments of posterity? They're just opinions."
"You're wrong," grunted the other.
«But opinions, human moreover, therefore approximate. You should take it a little more philosophically, dear friend. If I had done it myself, I wouldn't have ruined my liver.'
«Philosophy is a subject that in my part, in my day, was not used.»
«Then relax with poetry» sighed the son of Africa. “What did that poet say? Bow your forehead in front of Massimo Fattor who wanted in us, of his creator, the spirit of him, the vastest footprint to print! »
"O sunny providence of Peru, it is as easy for you to speak as a hieroglyphic papyrus," the first singsong voice replied irritably, which I at first took for Gliddon's, but which I now heard more clearly coming from the Inca cabinet. «Now you have been undergoing their studies for thousands of years, and you will have had the opportunity to get used to it. Well, I don't, my dear resigned Allamistakeo. I'm younger than you and still have a personal, principled impatience with these modern scholars."
“Scholars are all the same, since the world began. There's always been some who overestimate themselves in their ranks, haven't they?”
«In my empire» said the South American «there were schools run by teachers of caste, yes; but today in these communities of schools, open to all classes - which should be an indication of progress - some professors believe they are omniscient, without a point of wisdom.
"Yes, it seems to me too," added the other. "How many pupils could in good conscience jurate in verba magistri?"
"Ah, I don't know!"
«It is the example that is missing, distinguished colleague, and the category of teachers is disqualified. They sue or steal from each other, they catch each other and all in homage to the rule of "your death, my life".
"O what nobles minds are here o'erthrowns!" exclaimed the Inca, to show that, to learned Latin quotation, she knew how to reply in an equally universal language.
"So goes the world, son of the condor, what are you going to do with it?" finally replied the count, with Nilotic phlegm. "Although, I repeat, this planet, which safely crosses the skies torn by the sun and softened by the moon, hasn't changed all that much."
"Oh no?"
«With us, during the eleventh dynasty of the Middle Kingdom, just to give you an example, many stories of the predynastic periods were mixed up. The academics, having lost so many ideas of our past, mixed antiquities in the light of their interpretations of posterity, but also of their prejudices, convictions or blunders.
"Give me an example, please."
«Did the first archaeologist dig and find a jar? This convinced him that he had discovered a wine cellar. However, the second, studying the colors of the vase, considered it an amphora for perfumes. Then a third arrived to argue that the container served as an ointment holder, not excluding the possibility that it was used for daily ablutions.»
"You're convincing me that men are always the same as themselves."
«Yeah, however I noticed an execrable custom in operation in the current academies: today's teachers exploit the intelligence of the students, enticing them with promises of employment and future prebends.»
"It seems to me in the order of things."
«If the agreements were respected, yes. But once their energy is sucked, like nocturnal vampires, they throw away the debased carcasses. And then they accuse us of making human sacrifices!”
"Here too it was a matter of pride for a teacher to recognize the merits of his disciples," added the Andean.
"Hodie multi enim magistri nomen habent, pauci vero magistri sunt" concluded the other, showing off his very elegant Latin.
By now it was clear to me: the mummies, I don't know how, spoke. Now you, no doubt, believe that hearing such a speech, under such circumstances, I rushed to the door, or perhaps fell into hysterics, or perhaps fainted. None of this happened that evening (the tension and fear, in thinking about it, only struck me the following day), since the exceptional nature of this event temporarily transformed terror into curiosity, inducing me to listen with growing interest to that duet beyond of time and space.
For his part Gliddon, completely unaware, continued undaunted to collect notes, examining his Peruvian finds; he seemed at all disturbed by that exceptional dialogue, so much so as to convince me that – for some fortuitous event or telepathic mystery or supernatural event – only I was able to perceive those voices coming from History.
The mummies having been silenced, I was now wondering if I should have revealed myself to the professor, when: "Of course!" Gliddon jumped suddenly, as if bitten by a rosy tarantula from the Atacama Desert. "Why didn't I get there sooner?"
"Now we have fun," sneered the Egyptian. "Here is that futurist humanity has rediscovered the key to your tangled Andean skein."
The Peruvian shrugged: "What do you want it to be? He will finally have deciphered that quipu that he has been measuring and checking for several weeks, the strings of which contain nothing but my full name: Allapacamasca, which means animated earth.'
"Very poetic, indeed," commented the Nilotic count, who for his part bore with uncorrupted dignity the name imposed on him by the bizarre wit of his parent.
Gliddon jotted quickly, speaking aloud.
“As far as I understand, this woolen quipu is quite different from the so-called computation ones. That is, it does not contain numbers but letters. How do other experts confuse one with the other?”
"That's what I'm wondering too, bravo!" appreciated the inca.
“My colleagues say these six strings, strung through his grave goods, and denoting gold and silver, provisions, animals, blankets, and more, list the debts left alive by this pagan priest.”
"Pachacamac is my witness: I've never been in debt in my life!" the mummy protested. "And anyway, 'pay' to whom?"
"It's business as usual, don't worry about it," the Egyptian muttered. «As if it weren't already clear to you that, in their opinion, all of us - born before Christ (like us) or far from Christ (like you) - are collectively considered as a bunch of diehard polytheists, stupid followers of cruel monsters, natural phenomena, powerful stars and anthropomorphic beasts.
Yes, now I remembered too, sheltered by my pillar. I had already heard of colossal festivals in honor of the sun and moon in both Egypt and Peru, of their superstitious and polytheistic cults, of childish venerations of male, female and animal divinities. All an indication of backwardness and paganism that... However, I hadn't even finished completely formulating that thought inside of me when the Inca, turning to the other mummy opposite, reacted indignantly: «But you too can hear what that other fool is thinking, who crouches and hides like a miserable grave-robber?”
Once again caught in the act of thinking, I jumped.
"Hey you, guardian, by Huascar's golden rope!" resumed the South American. "Is it possible that in this time you are still so retrograde and so full of prejudices that you believe the gossip of the first missionaries who invaded us with ill grace?"
Summoned by the angry mummy, I swallowed empty.
"How do you penetrate your pumpkins and explain to you that we were not inferior at all, rather that - at the bottom of religion - we recognized above all a single Almighty?"
"Ah yes, they are very primitive people," agreed the relative of pharaohs. «They challenge our faith in a multitude of divinities, they who venerate thousands of saints, angels and madonnas with impunity! As they said in the market of Luxor, it is the ox that calls the ass cuckold.
"Well, when they do that, sometimes I really feel like my arms drop," the Peruvian admitted disconsolately.
«Rather, this must all be the fault of your rather poor mummification procedure» sneered the count with Nubian irony under the offended gaze of the other. "Don't get mad, but that's why, at the end, we always keep our cool, and all the whole pieces in their place."
Involuntary and providential, a clap of hands from Gliddon interrupted the rising of the new controversy. «What a bizarre idea» he exclaimed emphatically «to believe that this dead man had been buried together with a list of debts and IOUs... Some of my colleagues really are donkeys dressed as scholars, but don't worry: I will prove them all wrong in my next essay, this one it's safe!"
The two mummies were now silent, and I was able to hear the professor's conclusions, busy talking to an imaginary interlocutor.
"What did I understand instead? I interpret the signs that have been handed down to us on these strings. So this snake symbol has an underlying knot..."
"Good boy!" the Inca exclaimed. “It's a syllabic quipu, this. It means that you have to take the first syllable of the word amaru.»
«Then follows a braid of mixed colors, the llautu worn on the head by the king as a symbol of authority, also with a lower knot…»
"I am delighted, professor," gloated the son of the Andes. “Capture the syllable and you get the root of my full name. A + lla = Alla… but let's not waste time complimenting each other, and go ahead.»
"A wretched man, this Peruvian!" Gliddon went on.
"In what sense?" asked the interested party, frowning, however the question remained unresolved in the air.
"But yes," the researcher went on, summarizing to himself. “The story is this. The emperor, here symbolized by his command band, is bitten by a snake one bad day. The four-color square symbol indicates the Inca empire - divided into four large provinces - which was turned upside down in search of who could heal the Lord from poison.
The Egyptian's laughter bubbled like the flood of the Nile. "Old Peruvian, the professor has just invented Scheherazade's thousand and second nocturnal tale on the spot!"
"Our man arrived in the ancient capital and was called to the bedside of the sick august, but these other knots tell us that all his efforts were in vain."
"Nevertheless, an incompetent doctor!" gurgled the subject of pharaohs.
«He had guessed one… And now what do I do?» Allapacamasca asked disconsolately.
Gliddon was looking at the South American mummy now, staring into her empty eye sockets with the intimate satisfaction of one who has unmasked a stubborn secret. "Thanks to my ability to interpret and read your old knotted ropes, could your true identity ever escape me?"
"Behold your biographer," sneered the Egyptian count.
«Other than aiming at it! I wish I could move to take a bite out of that scientist's nose that scatches nonsense.”
"Come on, be patient. After all, what harm will all this negligible inaccuracy do to humanity?”
"But it's my life!"
“It was, so what? Put it down together with the other lies that deform man's past, which drink from the lying history written by the victors at the expense of the vanquished, and it will be one more blunder; a deception like that of those who continue, for example, to repeat that you Incas were a cultured people but without writing.»
"I ought to listen to you, after all, because you're certainly older and you've seen worse, right?" the Peruvian mused, with evident discouraged resignation.
«It is useless to get poisoned in this other part, where we are, where we are given to know the true truth about life and death. Live your days as a mummy peacefully, my young friend. Smile patiently at the chatter of the guides, parrot it down; ignore theories and essays, copied rewritten writings… Forgive them, because very often they don't know what they are saying. And perhaps the same treatment of incomprehension will one day happen to them too, after they have reached eternal bliss.
The Inca was silent for a long time and finally blurted out, with that temper of his that he found himself: «You know what I'm telling you? That if this is the only way to enter history, it is better to get out of it immediately then ».
And neither of them said anything else.
I fear you will find it much more difficult to convince you of this matter than I experienced that day and the days that followed, consumed by a malignant fever which made me swoon and delirious. However, the facts happened exactly as I have told you and, after so many years, I have no interest in lying to you. Certainly, when the rumors died down, I came out of my hiding place and approached Gliddon, who was smoking his pipe and rereading over and over his precious notes.
“Dear good Leaveofwriter]he said jovially, raising his head from his papers, "this evening has been really profitable."
"Did you have a good hunt, Professor?"
«I have finally discovered the identity and history of the old South American gentleman you see in this corner, overturning the theory now considered convincing. Starting tomorrow, the academic world will have to acknowledge it, and I will be recognized for my work. Quite a big undertaking, don't you think?”
I couldn't find. Yet it was exactly at that point that the "old Peruvian gentleman" smiled at me in agreement. Or at least he seemed to me. Because, as far as I know, I still can't rule out that his face was about to unwrap itself. After all, the gutsy Egyptian count, who knew about these things, had also said it: poor mummification.
