6. A Trip to Egypt

JANIE COBWEB AGAIN Part 6

“Well,” said Peter’s mother with a twinkle in her eye as she and Peter stood by the open front door and looked up and down the street on the off chance that the postman might be on his way, “happy birthday, son. You’re now a man, at twenty-one. You can do whatever you please, though if it’s smutty don’t do it in this house!”

“Mum, as if I would,” laughed Peter, “and I don’t feel any different, being a year older than I was yesterday.”.

“And that lovely woman you had, that Janie what-was-her-name, when are you going up the aisle with her?

“Mum!” joshed Peter, “I’ve not seen her for ages, not since that time you said you’d dreamed of me marrying her!”

“A lovely girl,” sighed his mother, “I thought at the time it would do the family gene pool some good if you two got together and gave me some grand children!”

“Well, Ive not seen her since that day, so there,” sighed Peter, “though if she’s any good at anything she makes a darned fine kisser!”

“Don’t say you snogged her, Peter! A lovely girl like that. Of all the things for a lad to tell his ma! Now look: here’s the postman and there’s bound to be a card or two for you seeing as you’re twenty-one.”

“So it’s someone’s birthday, is it?” grinned the postman as he handed over a small pile of mail. “Mind you, some of it’s junk,” he added.

“He’s twenty-one today,” said Peter’s mother proudly.

“I guessed as much,” the postman said as her searched in his bag and withdrew a small package, “and I guess this is for you. Who’s it from? A favourite lass?”

Peter took the parcel and frowned.”I’ve no idea,” he said, “though it’s my name on it all right. But everyone who’s likely to give me a pressie for my birthday lives close enough to deliver it by hand.”

“Come on in and open it Peter,” urged his mother as the postman turned to continue his round.

Once in the living room and sitting in his favourite chair Peter carefully started opening the small parcel. It was wrapped very neatly amd the last thing he wanted to do was tear the paper, which was covered in what looked like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.

Inside was a box, the sort that jewellers put special rings in when they’ve been sold to celebrate something important, and a small card with the inscription of HAPPY BIRTHDAY and an etched image of a woman in truly ancient dress and wearing an enormous piece of headware.

“What a lovely card,” whispered his mother, “someone must really fancy you! Who sent it? And why haven’t you told me about this special woman in your life?”

Peter opened the card, and his heart nearly missed a beat.

“You do know all about her,” he said, “it’s the woman you dreamed of years ago, Janie Cobweb!”

“I knew she was around,” laughed his mother, “no matter how much you deny it, she’s in that mischievous old heart of yours!”

“No, mum, you’re wrong,” he said, “I haven’t heard a word about her for years, not since I was eighteen.”

“No matter, darling,” she said, “open the box! She might be proposing to you by sending a ring just for you.”

“How do you know it’s a ring?” he asked, “you haven’t been tricking me, have you mum, and it isn’t you who’s sent me this card and a ring box? What have you put in it? Itching powder?”

“Don’t be silly! Just open it! I’m as curious as you.”

Peter frowned and carefully opened the box.

Inside there was a ring, a golden shank with a three-dimensional gemstone in the image of a cat sitting proudly on it.

“Lovely,” whispered his mum, “but I’ve never seen a ring like that before! Does it mean anything special?”

“I’ve no idea, mum,” muttered Peter, “let’s see if she’s explained it.”

He looked inside the card and the message was ambiguous but somehow managed to excite him in spite of that.

Your ticket to understanding, it said, and it was signed J.C.

“J.C.,” he whispered, “So it really is from Janie Cobweb…”

“The woman who’ll marry you one day?” smiled his mother. “I know she will! It‘s written in the stars. It’s what I dreamed. Try the ring on, see if it fits you!”

“If this is from Janie then it might be more than just a ring,” murmured Peter thoughtfully, “but, yes, I suppose trying it on might not do much harm.”

He carefully slid the ring onto his finger and in the least of moments everything that was familiar vanished as though a light switch had been thrown and switched the today of the world off. Everything changed. And in the foreground, walking with extreme dignity and surrounded by what were obviously some kind of guards, was a man accompanied by an extremely beautiful woman, and behind her was a scene every person recognises from Geography lessons at school: the pyramids at Giza..

“So you came, then,” whispered a voice from just behind him, and he almost jumped out of his carpet slippers. But he knew that voice, all right. It was that of the lovely girl who had shown him some extraordinary places a few years earlier.

“Janie Cobweb!” he sighed, “I might have guessed.”

“So you like the ring I sent you?” smiled Janie, for he saw that it was her for sure when he turned to face her.

“What’s going on?” he stammered, his mind being so confused he actually wondered if he was going mad.

“The education of young Peter,” smiled Janie Cobweb, “behold the reality of a long time ago!”

“Who are those people then?” asked Peter, “I mean, is this some sort of enactment? Are they actors pretending to be someone famous from pre-history?”

Janie smiled at him. “No, darling,” she said, “they are the real thing. The man is the ruler or Pharaoh of Egypt around thirteen hundred years BC, Akhenaton. He was a truly powerful man, and he wouldn’t have thanked you for being called prehistoric. But it is the woman I really want you to see. This is Nefertiti, who has gone down in history as one of the most beautiful of women who ever lived.”

“You mean … this is all that time ago, what did you say, more than a thousand years BC?”

“Exactly.”

“That can’t be right,” protested Peter, “if it is what you say it is right then wouldn’t there be scaffolding round those pyramids and wouldn’t there be an army of semi-naked men building them? Carting blocks of stone about, that sort of thing?”

Janie giggled. “Afraid not,” she said, “when Akhenaton ruled over Egypt the pyramids were already a thousand years old.”

“Crikey!”

“What I brought you here is to show you how women could be treated. Nefertiti was sort of co-pharaoh, and some even say that she ruled as Pharaoh on her own when Akhenaton died, though nobody’s quite sure of that, it not being that simple finding clues in the sand, though we could hang around and find out if you like.”

“Why, is he already on his way out?” asked Peter.

“Not at all! He’s quite young here, as you can see, and has quite a few years of happy life with Nefertiti, who he actually loves with all his heart, in front of him, so it would be a long wait for us if we started hanging around waiting for him to die.”

“So why are we here, Janie? After all, today is my birthday and I’m supposed to be twenty one, not three thousand-odd and twenty one!”

“I wanted to show you one woman out of history. I could have chosen Queen Elizabeth the first or Queen Victoria or even the second Elizabeth monarch in order to show you not all women have been Anne Boleyns and had their heads lopped off if they strayed from what you men say they should be like.”

“Me? I don’t believe that at all!”

She giggled again. “I know you don’t, lover boy, you’re too sweet to be like that! But it has been interesting so far, hasn’t it? And when we’re married…”

“Married?” he stammered.

“Didn’t your mother tell you?” Then she produced another giggle before concluding, “I suppose I really ought to wait for you to propose to me, but, well, you do take your time, don’t you?”

© Peter Rogerson, 11.05.22

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