Khufu's Revenge, part I

          

          The secret is out: I live vicariously through Indiana Jones. Adventures that involve beating booby traps, discovering long-lost treasure, fighting bad guys, and saving the day (not to mention surviving to tell the tale) sounds like my kind of school break.  Thus, fantasy and reality kind of ran parallel last spring when I visited the great pyramid of Giza, the last remaining wonder of the ancient world. 

Part of the story is what I actually saw and the other is how it was playing out in my mind. I imagine it will be pretty obvious which is which.

I entered the pyramid through the Thieves’ Tunnel (so named because it was made by people burrowing into the pyramid to steal what was inside) and, despite the crowds of photo-snapping tourists outside, I was alone. The rough tunnel ended when it intersected an original passageway planned by the architects themselves. I stepped inside.

As opposed to the Thieves’ Tunnel, the walls here were smooth and straight. The ceiling was high, maybe twenty feet, and the passage was wide enough for three people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Arrow-straight grooves, about two inches deep and three tall, ran the length of the wall, parallel to the ascending floor. The grooves were spaced evenly, about three feet apart, from the floor to the ceiling.

It was a very simple passageway, with steps and handrails bolted into the smooth stone to help the tourists walk up the ramp, but my imagination made it much more…

I held a torch in one hand and eyed the grooves with suspicion as I ascended the tunnel. Who knew what dangers they held? Boiling mud to cook me alive? Razor-sharp blades waiting to cut me into pieces? I watched my step, careful to avoid any stones that looked different from the others--they could set the trap in motion.

I made my way upwards, using the steps. The tunnel narrowed and I got stuck behind a family with small children. The little ones tired quickly and needed a rest, so they let me pass. I reached the top of the ramp and stood inside the Antechamber. The horizontal grooves were gone, replaced by vertical ones.

I stepped carefully into the Antechamber, ever mindful of the grooves on the walls and the immense blocks of sandstone above my head. Another step. Click. The stone depressed no more than an inch, but the sound gave it away. Half a moment later, the massive block fell and I dove forward, escaping certain death by a hair. I was in the King’s Chamber.

I had to get on my hands and knees to make my way from the Antechamber to the King’s Chamber. Overhead was a stone block the size of a car. On the other side of the block I stood up. The first thing that surprised me was the heat. When I think of stone rooms, I always think cool air. This wasn’t so in the King’s Chamber. The constant sun beating down on the rocks brought the temperature of the room up to about eighty degrees. The room was also surprisingly bare. From a king’s chamber I had expected elaborate stone carvings and colorful hieroglyphs. The reality of the room was much less extravagant. The walls were pink granite, smooth and bare, with just two exceptions: one hole on each the north and south walls, both about four inches around and four feet up.

The light of the torch burnt through the darkness and I saw the room in its stark plainness. There were two fist-sized holes in the walls, one just next to me and the other across the room. They looked ominously like the ends of gun barrels. I walked in with careful steps, seeing no other entrance. I was trapped. Regardless, I had to get what I came for. The exit could wait.

I began to sweat right away from the heat. Besides being bare of all extravagances, the King’s Chamber was also unimpressive in construction, depending on how you think of it. On one hand, it was like a plain box: thirty foot by fifteen foot room with fifteen foot ceilings and all the lines meeting at right angles. On the other hand, it’s a thirty foot by fifteen foot room with fifteen foot ceilings built out of pink granite blocks the size of cars, all meeting at exact right angles in the middle of a massive pyramid. The ceiling also supports the four hundred tons of stone that rest upon it.

The Pharaoh's sarcophagus sat at the end of the room opposite from the little door I had crawled through, about two feet out from the wall. It seemed to have been made from the same stone as the walls, but did not have the same smooth finish. It was rough, as well as damaged. A large chunk was missing from a top corner. The cover was nowhere to be seen. I walked up to the big stone box and leaned over to look inside.

Right away I saw it: the stone coffin of Khufu, pharaoh of Egypt thousands of years ago. At about three feet wide, four tall and seven long, it cast an imposing figure in the bare room. What I came for, the object of my search, lay inside. I put my shoulder into the stone cover, braced myself against the wall and pushed. For a moment nothing happened. Then it moved. No more than an inch, but it moved. I stopped, took a breath, and pushed again, as hard as I could. The stone block slid further. I could see inside. I pushed again with all my strength and a moment later the top to Khufu’s coffin fell to the floor with a crash, splitting down the middle and taking a corner of the sarcophagus off with it. I brought my torch overhead so I could see inside. If the legends were true, I was about to become a very famous man. 

Too be continued...