I was watching a National Geographic special the other day about Caucasian-looking mummies found in the Tarim Basin in China. I couldn't help chuckling as one man, someone in charge of some of the mummies kept at a museum, waxed poetic about one particularly well-preserved body. "If I lived in her day, or if she were alive today, I would marry this woman. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said.
"Wow, he needs to get out more," I thought to myself. True, she looked pretty good for someone who'd been dead for centuries. Most bodies don't look too great after a while in the ground. Anyway, that prompted me to write this silly, sappy short story. I posted it as a comment in my friend's blog, "Write Now Anyway," but had to do it anonymously, since I'm terrible with computers and couldn't get logged in. I decided to also post it here on my blog. Just a random bit of silliness for a random Tuesday. I like to call it:
Chen Loves His Mummy
Present Day
XinJiang Region,
China
“Good morning, my love,” he
whispered. She did not respond. He knew she would not; yet, he couldn’t help
it. His soft greeting must be the first
sound to reach her each day.
He felt it right away; what he
could only describe as a slight “shimmer” in the air. It wasn’t an audible sound, yet Chen had long
ago learned to recognize it. She was
letting him know that she heard him. And
she was pleased.
Chen Hai smiled to himself as
uncovered dusty glass cases. This room, her
room, was in a far corner of the building.
It was no more than a wooden addition tacked on when interest in the new
acquisitions first brought attention to Chen’s insignificant museum. Surely no one outside of China, no, perhaps
even no man outside his own province, had even heard of the town before. Then, Chen had found her. Now, his tiny town perched on the edge of the
brutal Takla Makan desert was known to many.
Scientists from the world over had come to visit. A crew
from National Geographic had just packed up and left the day before.
He was glad that the foreigners had
left. Signing in relief, Chen hit the
switch to turn on the overhead lights.
At first they buzzed like angry horseflies, but finally, the room was
bathed with a soft, though inadequate glow.
Now that they were gone, those lank Westerners with their cameras and
questions and sun burnt flesh, he relished the silence. He turned to her.
“Did you enjoy your moment in the
spotlight?” he asked, feeling a slight flush creep over his face. More than two years in her presence and he
was still so shy!
While he waited for a response,
Chen busied himself with his morning routine.
First, he replaced the flowers in the vase beside her bed. Then, he dusted every imaginable surface. Grit got everywhere in this harsh, brown land,
blowing in upon the interminable wind through the tiniest of cracks. Once Chen had gotten sick, and had not come
for several days. Upon his return, he
was shocked by the thick layers of dust.
He knew it had hurt her very badly that he had neglected her
comfort. She had not spoken to him for
weeks.
She spoke now. Chen felt as though a tiny bird were beating
its wings inside his chest.
“I am glad of it,” he said, hearing
the tremor in his voice. He put his
cloth away. “Now for your hair.”
She liked it plaited, with brightly
colored wool threads woven throughout the long braids. Chen made certain that her hair was perfect
each day.
She was pleased. The air crackled with electricity as she
spoke to Chen, sharing her secrets.
Telling him of her gratitude. Her
love.
He arranged her cloak, his hands
caressing the rough woven fibers. The
colors were so bright. They suited his
lady, with her flowing locks and her face like the carving of an ancient goddess. Her long, lean limbs. Chen sighed aloud.
“Will you permit me, my love?” he
murmured. The assent came
immediately. His heart would burst
inside him! He leaned down, his lips
searching for hers.
“Chen! What are you doing?”
Laughter burst from behind and
echoed through the small chamber. The
harsh sounds pummeled Chen all over his body; hard, painful jabs. Zhu Tan, the museum’s director, as well as
his assistant, Ping, and several other workers crowded into the narrow doorway
to stare, laughing so hard tears poured down their cheeks.
“He’s making out with the mummy
again,” one of the younger assistants said, gasping for air. “You win, guys! I never would have believed it! Guess I owe you all a drink tonight after
work!”
Chen shoved past them and
fled. Their laughter remained in his
head long after he reached his apartment.
She called out for him, desperation and loneliness clear in her voice. Her voice reached him even there, blocks
away. He would not leave her alone with
them.
It was a simple matter to puncture
a hole through the room’s thin wooden walls.
The next morning, the museum director found the hole, as well as the
empty bed. Nothing else had been
disturbed.
Twenty Years Later:
Li
Sheng stared at her newest find. She’d been
excavating the cache of Caucasian mummies in the Takla Makan desert for quite
some time. Now that China’s silly desire
to preserve its long-cherished cultural beliefs about existing in a vacuum with
no outside influence was finally waning somewhat, she and the others in her
international team had made fascinating discoveries.
The
cave held many surprises. But this one
took her breath away. She did not
understand.
The
first mummy was that of a woman. Tall,
with long braided hair and the distinctly Causcasian features of the other
mummies of the Tarim Basin, she wore a colorful cloak. She was very old. Two or three thousand years, at least. She lay in a semi-reclined position, her arms
folded upon her chest. Li Sheng
frowned. This mummy was what she’d
expected. But the other one was not.
The
other mummy, sitting beside the woman, was clearly the remains of a Chinese
man. Short of stature, his facial
features were frozen in a look of peaceful complacency. And instead of the coarsely woven wool
clothing of the other mummies, he wore a…cotton t-shirt! Li Sheng leaned closer and raised her
flashlight. A National Geographic logo
was on the front of the man’s shirt.
Jeans covered his legs and his feet were clad in a dusty pair of Nikes.
Swallowing
bile, Li Sheng backed away. She’d call
the police. Someone must have used this
cave to hide their murder victim.
As she
turned to go, a strange feeling shot through the air, almost like a spark of
electricity. Li Sheng’s hair stood on
end. Slowly, she turned.
The
Chinese man’s head now rested upon the shoulder of the tall woman, whose long,
brown arms were wrapped possessively about her companion. Li Sheng blinked. Then, she cursed, and turned to run. She needed a drink.
