The Memory Painter

Claudette answered, “Pyramidologist is a bit of a dirty word in our field, but oui, when we’re allowed…” She trailed off, muttering to herself, “Sometimes people can be pigs.”

Bryan looked questioningly to Martin, who grimaced. “Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities has denied our latest research request.”

Claudette called out. “Let’s not discuss it. It will ruin my dinner.”

“You brought it up, chéri.”

Bryan studied a picture of Claudette and Martin at the Great Pyramid in Egypt. Its scale and grandeur took his breath away. The photo had been taken with the sun low on the horizon and the light hit the stones in a particular way, creating a prism-like affect.

As Bryan sipped his wine, he was overcome by a sudden feeling of déjà-vu. He knew this pyramid. “How do you think it was built?” he asked Martin.

Martin shook his head with a slight smile. “We don’t know. Many of the stones weigh over two hundred tons each. Few cranes could pick up that much limestone.”

Claudette joined in, “There has been fierce debate over studies that show some of the rocks are not natural and are made of nanoscale spheres of silicon dioxide.” She shrugged. “Je ne sais pas. Maybe some were cast with cement—and the Egyptians did create concrete thousands of years before the Romans.”

“Even if some were cast,” Martin added, “there are still thousands of chiseled stones that would have had to have been lifted, and those are perfectly positioned. You can’t even fit a hair between the cracks.” He turned back to the photograph. “And, just as important—why was it built? Again, we don’t know. Traditionalists maintain the tomb theory, but there are over eighty pyramids there and not a single one houses an original burial. All the bodies that have been found were placed there years after the structures had been built—not to mention that the tools that supposedly built these structures have never been found.”

Somehow, Bryan knew all these facts on some level, and he found himself weighing in. “The three pyramids at Giza were also built to perfectly mirror the three stars from Orion’s belt. And the Sphinx was positioned to face Leo on the eastern horizon. Those stars would have been visible in the statue’s eyeline in 10,500 BC.…” He trailed off. Where in the world had that come from?

Colette and Martin looked surprised and impressed. “You have an interest in archaeoastronomical theory?” She brought grilled steaks and salad out to the table. “It’s a small field, but it’s gaining momentum.”

Bryan had no idea what she was talking about. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say interest. I think I remember reading about it somewhere.”

“It’s a fascinating idea … a little outside the box.” Colette winked. “But that’s the best place to be, I’ve found.”

Bryan and Martin joined her at the table, and they all ate in companionable silence. Martin put away not one but two steaks. “How much longer are you here?”

“I fly back tomorrow,” Bryan answered. “I’d planned on touring around a bit and then finding a hotel in town.”

Claudette attacked her salad. “You must stay the night. We have a spare room.”

Bryan opened his mouth to decline the offer—he didn’t want to impose. But Claudette held up her hand. “No, you stay.”

Martin chuckled and refilled Bryan’s wineglass. Dinner lasted well into the night. Bryan couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so freely.

Sometime after midnight they declared the meal over. Bryan barely managed to climb the stairs and close the door to the guestroom. Stripping off his clothes, he crawled beneath the goose-down comforter and fell into a bottomless sleep.

*

The fine mist stayed constant, muting the world around him. Bryan took a deep breath of air, smelling its lushness as he stood on a plateau. A green valley stretched before him.

He knew he was dreaming. The immense pressure in his head made him feel as if he had pushed against the tide of time to have this vision. He looked out at the Great Pyramid of Giza, and he could see no cars, no buildings, no pollution or trace of modern man, just endless green meadows. Whatever memories lived here felt as elusive as the air—all around him and yet untouchable.

The sun glinted off the pyramid, blinding him. When Bryan regained his sight, he saw the Egyptian goddess sitting beside him.

Her whole body radiated power. She pointed a graceful finger encased by a golden spiral ring to the ground and, calling on an invisible force, drew a symbol in the sand.

Bryan felt suspended as he watched. I know this symbol. He looked at her and demanded, “Who are you?”