Fade to black

‘Look to my left. Now my right. Up. Down.’

The optometrist turned off the bright pinpoint light and restored the softer overhead lighting. ‘There is nothing physically wrong with your eyes. The retina looks healthy, the lenses are clear. I didn’t see any vascular tissue changes,’ he paused to look at his notes, ‘and your pressure readings are normal.’

My frustration was evident. If my eyes were fine, why was I having trouble seeing? ‘But things seem darker. Like the lights have been dimmed a bit. If my eyes are fine, what is happening?’ I asked.

Something more severe. His face said it all.

‘The eye is just the first part of your vision. The information travels from the eye to the optic nerve and into your brain, where it is decoded into perceived images. There could be issues with the optic nerve or neurological pathologies…’

‘Like what? Could it be a brain tumor?’ I interrupted.

The optometrist patted my arm. ‘Please don’t jump to the worst thing you can imagine. Let’s get more information about the rest of your eye structure first. I am going to refer you to a specialist. An ophthalmological surgeon. She is the best there is. She can determine if you should also be referred to a neurologist.’

A neurologist. Great. He thought it was a tumor.

As I picked up the referral form at the front desk and walked to my car, all I could think was how rare a brain tumor in your early thirties was. I can’t have a brain tumor. My career was just taking off. I was the youngest faculty member in our department in fifty years. I just started a five-year grant. The sacrifices I had made to get to this point. Sacrifice yielded reward not punishment, right? This can’t be happening. It’s not a tumor.

The cause of my fading vision had to be the three months I spent in the desert, the bright, unrelenting sun beating down on me and being reflected back up from the sand. The optometrist originally suspected eye strain from the sun, that I should avoid computer screens for a few weeks and rest my eyes. All the data and artefacts I collected in the field were just waiting. I lost valuable research time resting my eyes. Yet my vision didn’t get better. At first, I couldn’t read in a poorly lit room. Then I found myself turning on lights, even in the day time. Now I was excluded from night driving and had trouble distinguishing shapes in shadows or subtle colour shades. There were no answers thus far.

My career depended on me being able to see. No one was going to award grant money to an archaeologist that couldn’t see excavation materials or read a topo map. Plus the reading. Reading journal articles and books was such a large part of my life. What would I do if that was taken away? The Journal of Antiquity didn’t have a braille edition. I could feel a headache coming on when I pulled into my space in the staff lot. Heading to my office, I waved to Donita, my research assistant.

‘How was your appointment, Dr. Fraser? Are you feeling better?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it Donita,’ I replied as I rummaged in my desk for some Advil. ‘Did you get the radiocarbon dating back on the bone samples?’

Donita plunked down in the chair opposite my desk and replied, ‘Yes, the results were in agreement with your initial estimate.’

She handed me a slim report in a plastic sleeve. I added it to the pile on my desk and said, ‘Give me a summary.’

‘Thirteenth century BC. End of the 18th dynasty. The museum director called twice already for confirmation of the dates. He wants to know if the museum can include a blurb on the find in their newsletter.’

Ugh. The newsletter. I’d completely forgotten about it. Director Newman wanted to announce the tomb find in the museum newsletter, to bring prestige to the university’s Egypt Uncovered exhibit. I had asked him to wait until the dates were confirmed by radiocarbon, so we were certain of the dating. A little caution now, less criticism of the find’s importance later.

‘Please call him back and give him the dates. He already has my quotes about the excavation and a summary of the find.’

Donita scribbled my instructions down on her perpetual list of things to do. My vision had darkened to the point I couldn’t even see what she had written on her list. The whole page seemed like a shadowy sheet of grey. Was my vision worse than yesterday? It seemed that way. Frustration with my condition was building. Donita fidgeted unnecessarily in her seat, drawing my ire.

‘Why are you still sitting there? Go!’

Her eyes flashed in fear, but she lingered. I felt bad for yelling at her, but was annoyed that she was still in my office. ‘I am sorry for snapping at you, Donita. Was there something else you needed?’

Donita scrunched up her face as she asked, ‘Do you think your vision problem has anything to do with the curse?’

In confusion I bit back, ‘What are you talking about?’

She took a slow breath and then rattled off, ‘Lewis finished translating the lintel hieroglyphs above the tomb and said it was a warning to anyone entering and disturbing the remains of Padihershef; that they would be cursed. Then it described the misery and destruction prescribed by each of the gods in the kingdom...’

I interrupted her, ‘Stop. You’re not making any sense. The lintel was already translated and it was the standard prayers over the dead and a list of the family assets.’

‘That was the lintel on the outer chamber and the false door. There was another on the inner chamber. It was missed during the initial excavation. Lewis said it was hidden. He thought they painted over it before they sealed the tomb.’

I sighed and asked, ‘Why am I only hearing about this now?’

Donita looked sheepish when she replied, ‘Lewis and I didn’t want to bother you while you were on medical leave.’

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, willing my headache to not worsen.

‘Never withhold data from me on my project.’ She nodded her head in understanding. I added, ‘Please go tell Lewis I would like a full transcript of the translation. Now.’

She bolted from my office in a flurry of notepaper and noise. I sat down at my desk and cupped my palms over my eyes. My fading eyesight was not the result of an ancient Egyptian curse. Curses only worked if the affected believed in them. I didn’t believe in that hocus pocus. I was a person of logic and science. My vision issues were stress related or an underlying condition aggravated by the desert conditions at the dig. I just had to relax and let my body heal.

‘Dr. Fraser? You wanted to see the translation?’

I looked up to see a scrawny, long-haired graduate student in Star Trek shirt standing in my doorway. ‘Yes, Lewis, can you tell me what the hidden lintel said?’

He stepped into my office and sat in the chair previously occupied by Donita. ‘The second lintel, the one behind the false door, looked rough, less stylized and refined than the one on the outer door. It appeared to be rushed, as if it was unplanned…and covered over, like they were hiding it.’

I waved my hand at him in a circular motion, indicating that he should get to the point. He smiled quickly and continued, ‘The translation was fairly straightforward. Not a lot of flourish or bravado about the deceased, like there usually is,’ He looked at his notes and continued phonetically, ‘hery im-aa-kha, which is a reference to the importance of the tomb’s sanctity. Padihershef, the mummy, za-her, to be venerated and undisturbed. Then it lists the importance of his life, his ka, or soul, and its journey to the afterlife. Here...’

He pointed to a string of hieroglyphs I normally would have recognized and followed along with, but now looked like smudgy blots to my failing eyes. Rather than feed the rumors of my vulnerability, I lied, sort of.

‘I have a headache, Lewis. Just summarize it for me, please.’

Lewis nodded, suspicion gliding across his face. ‘Ah, yeah, sure. Basically, it says that anyone that violates the tomb will lose the blessing of Ra and their world will grow dark. This is followed by the anger of Thoth, which will rob the violator of their wisdom, then Sekhmet, who will take back the power of healing, and so on and so forth. Each of the gods are listed, denying their primary gift to man, until, finally, Osiris withdraws the gift of life and sends the afflicted’s ka to Anubis to guide to the underworld for judgement.’

I was quiet for a moment, not sure how to respond. Nervously, filling the silence, Lewis babbled on.

‘It’s a fairly extreme curse. Most curses just pledge death or disease. This one slowly robs the person of every aspect of life. They must have really wanted to protect the tomb.’

Again, I wasn’t sure how to respond. I took a deep breath and smiled at him.

‘Thank you, Lewis, that was very interesting.’ He sat motionless in the chair, looking at me expectantly. I raised my eyebrows at him in question. What was he waiting for? I quickly realized that he thought he had solved my problem. Giving him a sympathetic smile, I responded, ‘I don’t believe in curses, Lewis. It’s a scare tactic to control the simple or faint of heart.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Disappointed, he gathered his translation notes and moved to leave the room.

Curses were bullshit. Every person with half a brain knew that. The lingering spectre of a brain tumour reminded me of the likely reason for my worsening sight. Still, the power of the mind over the body was undeniable. There were numerous anecdotes of people that were terminally ill that made a miraculous recovery, because they believed in a miracle cure or a diety. They had even done studies with Buddhist monks showing them lowering their blood pressure through prayer meditation. Maybe a little magic would make me feel better too, though I was pretty sure you had to really believe for it to work.

‘Just out of curiosity, did the lintel say how the curse could be countered?’

Lewis’ eyes lit up, like a man asked to tell another joke, because his first one was so funny. ‘Actually, yes, which is really unusual. Typically, the curse is a punishment for bad behaviour. Do the crime, do the time sort of retribution. But with this inscription, the curse is so severe, that they provide an out. It’s as extreme as the curse though.’

My brief dalliance with magical thinking evaporated. ‘And…’ I prompted him.

‘There has to be a sacrifice of one of the senses.’ He paused, as if that said it all.

I just shook my head, indicating that I didn’t understand.

‘Sacrifice eyes for sight, cut off ears for hearing, hands for touch, tongue for taste…’

‘I understand,’ I interrupted, holding up my hands to stop him before he added the severing of the nose. ‘Very interesting and fairly gruesome.’

I thanked Lewis and sent him back to the small office the graduate students shared, certain that he and Donita would chat away about which part of my face I would hack off to save my sight. There was no incentive for me to pull a Van Gough to end the curse though. Disfigurement on top of a likely brain tumor wasn’t really a good outcome.

Turning to the photographs of the site on my desk, I spent the next hour using a magnifying glass and a strong light to review the tomb finds. The task should have taken half the time, but my poor eyesight wore on me and made differentiating fine detail impossible. I was picking my way through the aerial photographs of the valley when the phone rang. The receptionist for the ophthalmological surgeon was calling. Could I come in tomorrow morning? I sorted through my calendar and suggested alternative days. She interrupted my list of potential dates and times with, ‘Dr. Chakabarti would prefer if you came as soon as possible. Can you come in tomorrow morning?’

***

The ophthalmologist’s office was cozy and pleasant with a large saltwater fish tank across from the reception desk. My horrible mood couldn’t be counteracted by the cheerfulness though. I had awoken to find that my vision had gotten appreciably worse over night and I was no longer comfortable driving, particularly early morning, when the sun wasn’t fully up. I had to take a cab to the appointment, which made me unbelievably irritable.

‘Dr. Chakabarti will see you now,’ the receptionist chirped, waving her hand toward a door on the other side reception.

The ophthalmologist was an intensely focused woman in her thirties. She wasted little time on pleasantries and got straight to the point, ‘Dr. Fraser, your optometrist sent you to me because of rapid and profound sight loss that couldn’t be explained by ocular changes. I called you in so quickly, because I was concerned that if we delayed, your condition would deteriorate beyond correction.’

Her point was sensible, but I was still ill-tempered at the inconvenience. I just wanted to get back to my research and her comments made it feel like that was going to be unlikely for a while. After going through another battery of the same tests and few others that seemed like an elementary school aptitude test, she sighed and grimly flipped through her notes and the test results. After a moment she said, ‘I can’t find anything obviously wrong with your optic nerve or your eyes. I feel that this may be neurological in origin. I am referring you to Dr. Sterling’s office. He is a neurologist that specializes in disorders that impact vision. I would like to see him tomorrow or the next day if possible.’

Defeated, I picked up my referral at the front desk and waited on the curb for my cab. By process of elimination, we had arrived at my initial fear; a brain tumor. It was already nearly midday. I briefly debated whether to just go home, but didn’t want to waste whatever vision I had remaining lying about the house feeling sorry for myself.

***

By the time I arrived at Archaeology building, Donita was eagerly waiting outside my office. She launched into her update as I keyed into my office, ‘I catalogued the rest of the artefacts from the site and notified the Director of the dates, like you asked. I placed a Skype call on your calendar for Thursday with Dr. Mustaf’s group; Cairo time eleven, you nine. Lewis sent a copy of the lintel translation to everyone on the call, for discussion. Dr. Mustaf emailed and said they are sending the mummy to the Cairo hospital in two weeks for an MRI. And your class this afternoon has been moved to the seminar room, because there is a weird leak in Lecture B.’

I smiled at Donita. She really was the best graduate student I’d ever had, despite her deficiencies in reading stratigraphy. As she rattled off a few other minor items, I still struggled to get the key in my office door. My vision had reached the point where everything was as dim as dusk in the winter. Heavy shadows and washed out color. Fine detail was imperceptible. How was I going to manage the class this afternoon? It would be a struggle to see my notes and set up the projection system.

‘Donita, would be kind enough to teach my class this afternoon? You’ve attended the same lecture numerous times and I will give you all my notes. You should be able to give this lecture in your sleep.’

The sheer rapture on her face told me her answer.

***

The next morning, I made an appointment with the neurologist from home. I didn’t want to struggle with seeing my calendar and the phone at work. No sense fueling rumors of failing health further. It would be necessary to call a cab to get to work, as well. My vision had become so impaired it now felt like I was looking through a heavy black veil; dark shapes with patches of light. It was increasingly difficult to see anything that wasn’t back lit, like a monitor. Taking notes on paper was useless. I could no longer see the letters. Maybe I would work from home today. Part of me felt relief at the idea of not struggling in and out of a cab, guiding my way along the corridors of the department with a hand on the wall, straining to see faces and to read. But being alone at home in my personal darkness was isolating at best, terrifying at worst. I called a cab.

Donita was waiting outside my office again. Glancing at her ever-present list of things to do, she began her rapid fire up date, ‘Dr. Fraser, glad you are here. The Director’s announcement about the site was picked up by the Associated Press. There have been several calls for interviews. I sent an evite for you to speak with NPR today at two. The book you requested from the Central Library is in your pigeon hole downstairs; I’ll bring it up and put it on your desk. And the report on the pottery content analysis is in. That large vessel in front of the sarcophagus contained human blood protein and wine residues. Weird, huh? I’ve never heard of anything like that being found in an Egyptian burial before. Do you think it was a ritual sacrifice...’

‘Great! All wonderful news, Donita,’ I interrupted. ‘Thank you for keeping an eye on things. I’ll catch up in my office. Can we meet this afternoon and discuss the contents report?’

It was difficult to see her facial expression, but I could tell from the eagerness in the way she said “Sure!” that she would be happy to continue this conversation later.

Once she’d left in the direction of the lab, I closed my office door and felt my way around my desk to sit down in front of my monitor. After the computer booted, I turned the brightness to its maximum level. I scanned through my email for the one containing the analysis report and opened the attachment. As the pdf populated my screen, I fretted over the appointment with the neurologist. What if the tumor was terminal? What if it left me permanently blind? How was I going to manage a long convalescence? My brother lived on the West Coast and I hardly spoke to my parents. Could I hire a care provider? Everything was moving so quickly. I had never imagined anything like this. I wasn’t prepared.

With the report finally open, I skipped to the summary. I read the results twice and still didn’t understand what it said. The sentences slid over my brain the way an unfamiliar foreign language does; the rhythm and tone were familiar, but the words were nonsensical. Maybe there was an explanation of the terminology in the methods section. I flipped back to the beginning of the paper. It was still incoherent. I looked around in my computer files for something familiar. The site description, I wrote the majority of that while in the field. This would sooth my panicked brain. I sat in stunned silence. None of the words on the page were familiar. I couldn’t understand a single sentence.

The tumor couldn’t be growing that fast, could it? In days it robbed me of my vision and now my reasoning? How was that even possible? Blind and dumb. My sight and…wisdom. Lewis said Thoth would take back his gift of wisdom. My heart dropped into my stomach. Not a brain tumor. A curse. I was being punished for being the first to enter the tomb. The wrath of Egypt’s deities coming down on my head. Sekhmet would revoke the gift of healing next. Would it really matter at that point? I would be blind and senseless by then. What did I need to do to appease Ra and Thoth? Lewis said a sacrifice would reverse the curse. The cold realization of what needed to be done to prevent my deterioration crept in. But did the sacrifice have to be mine? Could there be a substitute?

A knock at the door shook me out of my thoughts.

‘I brought that book you requested up from your pigeon hole.’

A slow smile crept across my face. ‘Donita, I am so glad you are here.’