Page 9 of A Discovery: Love and Other Things
“Sanurameans ‘kitten,’ does it not?” His expression was flat.
“Oh, right.” For a second, I’d thought he was referring tosomething else, not the meaning of my name.
With a hike of his brow, Dr. Campbell hesitated a moment longer before stalking back toward the tent, leaving us to gawk at him through the dust left in his wake.
The group looked at each other, unsure of what to do next, until Isabella suddenly jutted forward, nearly breaking out into a run to catch up to Dr. Campbell. Without a better idea, we followed her lead.
Dr. Campbell didn’t hesitate to get down to business and began spewing out information at warp speed. The rest of the group fished out their notebooks from their backpacks and started scribbling notes furiously as he spoke. I was once again empty-handed and tried my hardest to commit everything to memory.
"This temple was built sometime after the death of Tutankhamen in 1324 BC. We deduced this from radio-carbon dating analysis performed on bones we believe belonged to animals that were most likely used as offerings for worship.”
“What kinds of animals?” Isabella asked as she jotted words furiously into her leather-bound notebook while walking.
“Cats,” he answered bluntly.
Cats had been considered sacred by the ancient Egyptians, so it was certainly fitting that the remains were feline.
A pet name for the kitten?
Goosebumps broke out along the back of my neck at the memory of his words. Shaking them off as quickly as they had appeared in my head, I listened more intently.
“Was it built in honor of Tutankhamen?” Sean asked.
“It would seem so, based on the cartouche inside and the drawings on the wall,” Dr. Campbell continued. A cartouche was an oval design with the name of a royal in hieroglyphs. “It would seem that it was built with the intention of worshipping Tutankhamen.”
“Didn’t he have other temples constructed during his life? What’s so special about this one?” Angela asked. Strangers might have mistaken her as superficial, but she was one smart cookie when it came to the field.
“That’s a great question,” Dr. Campbell added. “He did, especially his mortuary temple that would have been used to worship him after his death—which has yet to be discovered.”
“This is far too small to be a mortuary temple.” Isabella turned her nose up in the air as if she were the famed Egyptologist in the group and not Dr. Campbell.
He didn’t seem to take any offense at her tone. “It would seem so.”
“According to my research, there aren’t any temples recorded to have been constructed in this area. Is that true?” Felipe asked.
“That’s correct,” Dr. Campbell said. “None exist in this area for any other pharaohs, either.”
It was strange for a temple devoted to a pharaoh to be so humble and out in the middle of nowhere. “So, then who built it?” I asked.
Dr. Campbell stopped in his tracks, causing his tail of students to halt abruptly as well.
He turned around to face me. His eyes scanned my chest. “Why aren’t you taking notes?”
“My luggage was stolen on the flight.” My voice shook as I spoke. The man was intimidating, and I wasn’t used to being this meek in the presence of anyone. I was starting to annoy myself with how fragile I sounded.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he quipped impatiently. Everyone stared, waiting for my response.
“It’s just that all of my research material and notebooks were in my bag, too.”
“And your shoes?” He eyed my black ballet flats, a slightly amused smile hitching up one corner of his mouth.
I threw my hands in the air to lighten the mood. “Airlines! They’d lose passengers if they weren’t strapped to the seats.” The laugh that came out of my throat sounded about two octaves higher than my already high-pitched voice.
Felipe suppressed a chuckle from behind his hand, and Angela smacked his shoulder to remind him to stay in check. And all Dr. Campbell did was grumble something under his breath that I couldn’t make out, before marching toward the tent.
I trudged behind, Angela walking next to me. “He hates me. Five minutes into this internship, and my mentor thinks I’m dense as a doorstop.”
“Oh, stop! He doesn’t think that. You just got off to a bad start,” she said, squeezing my arm gently. “It’ll get better.”
