Mummy Issues - Part 3

Hope, that those people that don't care for novellas, will excuse me for posting those. They don't affect me posting the illustrations, so please just ignore them! Anyway, for those that DO want to read it, note that this is PART 3, and I shouldn't tell you, but you need to read PART1 and PART2 to get the whole "experience" :). Anyway... WHOEVER DOES READ THOSE, please give me some kind of sign, preferably a comment, about your thoughts on it. The story, the style, the mistakes and errors.... So, without further ado here is... Chapter 1 - Part 2So, I stayed alone in the house. I only went outside at night, very shortly, to water my mother’s plants. I did not want to leave the place and risk facing anyone! The house was reasonably well stocked with food, and to make it last even longer I started rationing it. So I wasn’t starving for food, but I was starving for company. Thankfully, I had my father’s books. They lay strewn about the place, on every conceivable surface in his study — desk, chairs, even his bed. Piles of books, a testament to his passion for history. Lot of the books were scholarly, filled with academic jargon and detailed analyses that sailed over my young head. Titles like 'Ancient Dynasties and Their Power Structures' or 'The Artistic Evolution in Egyptian Hieroglyphics’. I know them well today, but at the time I leafed through, finding little that could engage my curious but inexperienced mind. However, amidst these dense tomes, I stumbled upon one that caught my interest. It was a book titled 'Ancient Egypt: Gods, Glyphs and Pharaohs’. It was filled with enchanting stories and legends about Pharaohs, gods, and goddesses, and even had a hieroglyphs reference with their translations. It also had colorful illustrations and detailed maps that further drew me into its world. In the silence of the night, when the weight of my loneliness bore heavily upon me, on those nights I wasn't crying, I found myself dreaming. My dreams were filled with the stories I had read, the characters I had discovered. I was no longer a thirteen-year-old boy, alone in a small house in Cairo, but instead I was in the heart of grand battles, or standing next to mighty Pharaohs as they made important decisions, or deciphering mysterious hieroglyphs etched onto the walls of monumental pyramids. In the study there was also a calendar, and each evening I was marking the day off on it, counting how many days have been from my fathers arrest. After doing it, I would always beg and plead with God for my father to return. I loved him very much, and was troubled with fears that he might never be back, that I will be left all alone in the world - no mother, and no father. But instead, on the third day, God sent me some strangers. That morning, engrossed as I was in the book, I was brought back to reality by the sound of hushed voices drifting in from the open window. I looked up and saw a couple of unfamiliar faces across the street. Two men, both in sandy colored suits, speaking to Mr. Halabi, our neighbor. Their presence was disquieting, too sleek and out of place amidst the graying stones and ramshackle buildings of our poor neighborhood. Intrigued, I moved closer to the window, careful not to make my presence known. I hid behind the faded curtain, squinting as I attempted to figure out what they are talking about. I could see Mr. Halabi's eyebrows furrowing, his arms crossing in front of him as he responded to their questioning. Something about them made my skin crawl, their polished appearance clashing with the relaxed charm of our little community. As I watched, Mr. Halabi pointed towards our house, saying something I couldn’t hear. His gesture was followed by the men's gazes, their attention suddenly focused on our dwelling. Instinctively, I took a step back from the window, feeling exposed despite the distance between us. My thoughts began racing. Who were they? Where they asking about my father? And how was I to face them if they decided to knock on our door? I retreated further into the shadows, praying the strangers would leave. And this time my prayers were listened to, as five minutes later when I got the courage to look again through the window, the men were gone. I tell you, their presence had filled me with a tension I had never experienced before. My mind raced with questions, apprehension fueling my thoughts. However a day passed, then another, and there was no sign of the strangers, so I started to relax. The problem is, there was no sign of my father either, and now it has been almost a week that I was alone in the house, so it became clear to me that the food I had will last just for so long. If I had some money, I could risk getting in public and go outside to the stores to buy more food, but I had no idea where my father kept the money. So, I started searching for it through the house. His study, his bedroom, the kitchen, the living room. Under the sofa, inside the sofa, under the bed, under the mattress, inside the pillows, under the books, inside the books, went through all the kitchen cabinets. But I found nothing. But, to tell you the truth, I expected that, because I knew where my father kept his valuables - the things he was reselling, the real and false artifacts.” - Sami pointed his finger upwards. Ahmed followed his finger and looked at the cafe ceiling. “Why are you looking at the ceiling?” - Sami asked. “Why did you point there?” Rameez shook his head in disapproval at Ahmed. “He means in the attic.” - he offered the explanation. “Oh!” - Ahmed accepted, while Sami continued - “‘Don’t ever go up there, my son!’ my father would say when I would try to go there or ask what is there. ‘There is nothing in the attic for you, don’t ever even think about going in there!’ - he would say to me time and time again. And I learned, little by little, not to try to go there, or even bring up the topic of the attic. So, while I suspected he kept the money in the attic along with his items, I still felt reluctance to go there and disobey my father. “You should always obey your father.” - Ahmed agreed. “But I didn’t have much of a choice, did I? If I wanted not to die of hunger, I had to go there.”