The hand, which was extremely warm and not covered in ancient mummy wrappings, let go the instant I screamed. I dashed through the plastic curtain and around the wall to grab the can of pepper spray I kept in my bag. I stood there, can aimed, finger on the trigger, as the bare feet that were poking out beneath the curtain retreated into the darkness.
The sound of rummaging soon became obvious as the mysterious person began cracking open boxes. Something, most likely a box, crashed to the floor, and a metallic ringing indicated that a precious object of some kind had also been heedlessly dropped.
“I’m warning you. I’m armed,” I threatened.
Whoever was in there paused and said a few words I didn’t understand before they went back to whatever it was they were doing.
“What was that? What did you say?” I asked. When they didn’t respond, I tried another tack. “Qui êtes-vous? ?Quién es usted?” The only response was a grunt of frustration and the unmistakable sound of a crate being tossed aside.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing in this exhibit,” I said, switching back to English while I knelt and threw my papers into my bag, “but you really shouldn’t be in there.”
Hoisting my bag over my shoulder without taking the time to zip it, I kept my eyes trained on the sheets of plastic ahead while inching toward the entrance. I hid behind the displays until I reached the main walkway, still holding up the pepper spray in case the stranger jumped out at me. When the plastic sheet came into view, I scanned the area for a sinister shape, but nothing emerged from the closed-off section.
Was the person hiding? Was I being stalked? “Please come out and explain yourself,” I called bravely. Keeping my back to the wall, I waited for an answer.
What I should have done was leave and report what was happening to the security guards, but as I stood there, curiosity overwhelmed me and I couldn’t. If the person had wanted to attack me, they already had had ample opportunity.
Perhaps he or she was lost. What if it was a transient who had wandered into the exhibit and was trying to catch a nap? Maybe it was an employee. Maybe they were hurt. I lowered my aching arm and slowly walked back toward the plastic curtain.
“Hello? Do you need help?” I ventured. I didn’t sound as confident as I had hoped.
I heard a sigh as someone came toward me. Even though I was no longer pointing the can of pepper spray, I was still clutching it, nervously running my forefinger in little circles over the trigger.
“Who are you?” I asked again quietly, more to express the thought out loud than because I expected an answer.
A hand grasped the curtain, pushing it aside as the object of both my fear and curiosity stepped through, mumbling an assortment of words that sounded very much like expletives in another language. Stopping just outside the curtain, he—it was most definitely a he—let the plastic fall and faced me with an irritated expression.
Though we were in the darkest part of the exhibit, I could clearly make out the pleated white skirt that ended just at his knees and the wide expanse of a tanned and very bare chest. His bare feet were covered with sawdust. He seemed young, maybe just a few years older than me, yet his head was bald.
Crossing muscular arms over his wide chest, he boldly looked me up and down and I got the feeling that he found me both surprising and disappointing. “Stay back,” I said, raising the can of pepper spray and feeling like an idiot for getting into this situation. He just raised an eyebrow and smirked, seeming to taunt me.
Jabbing a finger toward me, he uttered something that sounded like a command.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” I answered.
Noticeably frustrated, he repeated himself, more slowly this time, as if he were talking to an imbecile.
I answered back just as slowly, first gesturing to myself, “I,” then shaking my head, “don’t understand,” and finally pointing at him, “you.”