The Adventure - By Sreekar Charan

It would have been a normal day for Sam if, of course, his friend George hadn’t come knocking — no — pounding on his door. Sam was sitting in the armchair with his legs stretched out towards the fire, which had dwindled down to gleeds. He was sort of mumbling to himself, thinking about his article on the new theories of the end of the reign of Ramses when he heard the loud thumps from the door. He ran toward it, thinking it must have been the postman or the cobbler back with his boots. But it was George.

“Hello, Sam,” said George, adjusting his peaked hat until it sat straight on his head. His voice boomed like a drum in its staccato. He stood tall yet gaunt, which made him seem far taller than he was in actuality. His hooked nose jutted out like that of a bird's beak. 

Sam took a step back, his mouth momentarily hanging wide open. “George?! It can’t be… they said you were dead in Afghanistan!”

“I have a weird talent of not dying,” he said with a sardonic smile. “But enough with that… Could I briefly stay here, as I used to?”

“Yes, of course,” Sam responded. “You must tell me, though, how did you survive? It seemed impossible…”

“It was rather simple, and in time, I will tell all,” George said, adjusting his ulster-cloak.

George walked in and sat cross-legged on Sam's armchair, rather to Sam’s annoyance. With his hat on his lap, he took out a brown pipe and some tobacco. He leaned back, eyes half-open, waving off Sam’s questions and saying nothing more for a while. Sam sat down on the sofa and presently realized it was a lost cause and pulled out a copy of Metaphysical Man by John Harmatuck and tried to get lost in the book but he was unable to stop the racing questions: ‘How did George survive? Why was he here?’ 

He eventually could not take it; he put the book down and turned his mind to his article, mulling the different theories and the perspective he would take.

It was about midnight when George spoke. “I believe you’re learning some French,” he asked, raising his eyebrows and blowing out a smoke ring.

“Yes, I am,” Sam replied. “How did you come to know that?!”

“Why, that was the essence of simplicity; the French textbook is visible on your writing desk,” he said, chuckling at Sam’s astonishment.

Sam glanced at the textbook. Suddenly, he felt very foolish indeed. Sam changed the subject quickly. “How did you survive Afghanistan? I was told the circumstances and it seemed utterly impossible.”

“That’s because you weren’t looking with the objective eye. I will tell you that later if, of course…” He trailed off, his eyes going vacant and faraway before becoming lucid again. “I suppose you don’t get much action here?” 

“No, I don’t, unless you call signing papers action.”

“Well, as your friend, I shall say some adventure would be good for you. In fact, I have been looking for someone with your knowledge of Egyptian artifacts.” His eyes gleamed. His long calloused fingers tapped upon his knee. “Would you be interested?” he asked, leaning forward and steepling his fingers.

“No–” Sam began. ‘No, I am perfectly happy,’ he thought, but hesitation crept up his sides — his life had become quite mundane and unbearable. Egyptology had become boring, and there hadn’t been any new developments for years. Adventure might be exciting and fun. Perhaps some adventure was just what he needed to impress Julie. She had said that she wanted someone brave, who went places and did things, when he had approached her two weeks ago. 

All of these were reasons that led to his racing heart and voice barely whispering, “Yes.”

Granted, it was not the booming yes of a confident man, yet it was a yes nonetheless. George silently looked at him for a while, expression unreadable. 

Then, he dropped to a whisper. “This journey is quite dangerous, more than I have let on — I hope I can trust you as I have trusted you before. Anyway, now that you are a co-conspirator, I shall introduce some others to you.”

‘Co-conspirator,’ Sam thought. ‘I hope I haven’t gotten myself into bad business. Ma always said George was going the wrong way — but I know she was just overly fearful.’

George whistled a high note. Three knocks came upon the door.

“That should be them,” exclaimed George, flinging the door open to reveal three tanned men wearing hoods. George grasped arms with each of them and smiled at pleasantries. He stopped suddenly, turned jerkily around as if he realized he had forgotten to introduce Sam. “This is Etter,” he said, pointing at a frowning man.

“Is this your Egyptologist, George?” Etter said. “Are you really sure he can keep up?”

“You know as well as I that trust is most important here,” George replied. “And I know I can trust him far more than any man. I have known him for many years, and he even saved my life once back when we were kids in Bridgewater.”

“So you say,” Etter sneered as if spitting the words out.

“This is John,” George continued, pointing at a portly man who swelled out his belt. “You can call him Fattie if you like.” 

The man shot George a withering glance before turning to Sam, breaking out in a slight smile. “Nice to meet ya,” said John.

“And this is Sigald — a weird name, I know, but a stout fellow nonetheless,” he said, pointing at a man who was short and wiry and who simply nodded at Sam without saying anything.

“Everyone, this is Sam, a gentleman who will be joining us on our adventure. As promised, I have found someone with excellent knowledge of Egyptian artifacts.” They hung their hoods upon pegs meant for hats, and then George commandingly said, “All right, everyone, take a seat.”

“Do you have anything to eat? I’m positively famished,” John asked, turning to Sam. “Have ye any cake or jam-tarts or pies?”

“All I have is some bread and a little bit of butter,” Sam replied, suddenly feeling very conscious of the small fare he had to provide and becoming a little red.

“Some wine too if you please. And no need to be modest in it,” John added as Sam scurried to the kitchen.

“Of course,” Sam said, gritting his teeth when he looked away—he only had a little bit of red wine that he was hoping to savor the next night when Julie was set to come. At the same time, he did not want to disappoint his guests.

When Sam came back, the four figures were hunched over a map, debating routes, financing, and other things—Sam didn’t understand much, sitting on his chair. The room was dimly lit from a few flickering candles and the embers of the hearth. A haze of pungent tobacco smoke hung in the air. Sam laid out four of his fine plates and four glasses of wine upon the table. They started eating immediately, paying him little mind. He stood in front of them, shifting from one foot to another. Sam had a mind to ask George what the adventure was, but he was too nervous to ask.

At last, George stood up and exclaimed, “My dear friend Sam, you look quite confused. I am afraid  I shall have to make all clear on the way. We must start at once!” He opened Sam’s wooden door slowly peered to both sides and ran to a waiting hackney coach and jumped in. Etter and Sigald followed him. 

John waited for Sam, but his confusion was evident. “Come on then,” John said with an exhausting sigh. He picked Sam up like a suitcase and carried him to the carriage.

“What about my clothes? Or handkerchiefs? Or some tea before we go?” Sam protested.

“No time for that, you can have some of ours. No time for tea either,” George said, putting him back down inside the coach.

The coachman finished rolling up his sleeves and whipped the horses into a frenzy. They began to gallop at great speed and take turn upon turn until Sam no longer knew where they were. John gave him a spare hood, which was far too large. John removed a pair of crinkled brown boots from his pack, looked at them thoughtfully for a while, then gave them to Sam.

“You’ll need these. These are me first pairs o’ boots so mind yourself and mind them well. I am only giving them to you because I like you.” He patted Sam upon the head and smiled. 

It was quite an uncomfortable ride. John’s mass squished him against the door, and the carriage began to get unbearably hot. 

George soon began talking. “We can talk safely. I know the driver well– He won’t betray us. Sam, I suppose you are wondering what this is all about.” 

He manipulated an ornate snuff-box in his long fingers with great dexterity. 

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About The Author

Sreekar has recently moved to the United States. He is in tenth grade.

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Edited by Ma. Tricia Ocho

Cover Page by Jiaying Chen