DOUG DONNANExecutive Editor/OM-GEN+
'Tits for Tut'
by
DOUG DONNAN
CAIRO EGYPT /// THE
EGYPTIAN MUSEUM OF ANTIQUITIES
“This is a big can of worms you’re
handing me Balthazar,”
Professor von Damme almost
sighed. “And I’m not sure I want
to open it. Cross Dressing, manicures… it’s all preposterous!”
Mr. Balthazar was more than just a rogue
opportunist. He
was a state of the art
anthropological salesman. Some called him
a con artist, a flim-flam
man. There were those who referred to
him as ‘Mummy’s Little Man’.
Ancient Egypt with all its mysteries
and mummies was of
particular interest to him.
“Now let’s be fair about this professor,”
he replied as he
grabbed high up on the
lapels of his sweat stained white cotton
suit. “The only thing
I’m asking you to open is your mind.”
The enormous wooden blades of the overhead
ceiling fan
turned a monotonous
whap-a-whap as the twosome continued their
stubborn debate over the
ways and means of the little pharaoh,
the boy king… Tutankhamun.
Balthazar was notoriously relentless
when it came to presenting
his particular versions of the archae-
ological truth. He finally
threw up his hammy seersucker arms in
frustration.
“I’m not saying that Tut was gay
professor. I’m merely sug-
gesting that he was, perhaps,
a bit…effeminate. Let’s be honest
here all the gold
bric-a-brac, the wild and provocative jewelry,
etc. I’m tellin’ you, with
all due respect, the little guy even
had some kind of ancient
breast implants from the pictures and
sculptures that I’ve seen of
him.”
The professor withdrew a fairly worn out
white handkerchief
from somewhere inside the
depths of his blowing rainbow colored
long sleeve gallibaya. He
wiped slowly over the craggy surface of
his dark face and perfectly
trimmed little Ali-Baba beard with a
dramatic perturbed dexterity.
Then he peeked out in mid swabbing.
“Let me give you a brief off the cuff, no
pun intended,” as he
stuffed the bandana back into
the depths of his oversized sleeve,
“refresher course and update
on the boy King Tutankhamun.”
Professor von Damme now began
a deliberate swishing circular
procession about the black
and white museum tile floor as if he had
just been cued in to some
grand theatrical production or stage play.
“Our young pharaoh, in his brief life and
reign, had his share
of problems that’s for sure.
I will not belabor all the particulars,
but he was pharaoh
approximately 3,300 years ago in the period of
the New Kingdom of
Egypt. He was only nine years old! The son of
Akhenaten, who was labeled
the ‘Heretic King’. It’s true that he had
some physical…peculiarities.
Fairly wide hips, a protruding pot belly
and yes, curiously, overly
developed pectorals. But, this particular
oddity can be explained by his
burden with gynecomastia. In short,
that is the development of
large mammary glands in men.”
“Gynecowhatsis?” Balthazar replied
in astonishment.
“Look,” von Damme said calmly not
bothering to interupt his
histrionic march around the
floor, “the poor kid had a club foot.
He had to walk with a cane…a
cane made of solid gold! Necrosis is a
drastic weakening of the
immune system. Tut had malaria. He died from
the disease! The Secretary
General of Egypt’s Supreme Council of
Antiquities has corroborated
all of this my good man. Now do you get
the picture? What are you up
to with all this poppycock?”
Balthazar was beginning to get aggravated
at the professor. He
pulled out a manila envelope
from the valise he was carrying. After,
unwinding the attachment
string he gingerly withdrew a thin sheaf of
color photographs. The
pictures were, what appeared to be, blown up
images of King Tut’s golden
sarcophagus. They were very unusual. He
handed them to the now halted
professor. “Speaking of pictures.”
“Where... in the—” van Damme stammered a
bit as he scanned over
the enlarged, glossy color
photos. “Where on Earth did you get these?”
Balthazar smiled broadly and retrieved the
pictures from the
astonished professor. “Well,
well professor,” he said with a great
deal of satisfaction. “Now
that I seem to have your full attention. Perhaps
now we can get down to
some serious negotia—”
Just then the light, muffled tune of 'Walk
like an Egyptian' chimed
from somewhere deep inside
Balthazar’s tent-like ice cream suit.
“Excuse me professor,” he
said with a little peeved nod of his head.
“I have a call.”
von Damme rolled his eyes in mock
disbelief. He strolled over
to one of the arching open
air windows and stared out. Down below,
in the dust and pothole
pavement of downtown Cairo a morass of carts,
bikes, motorcycles, cars and
every manner of struggling beast of bur-
den hurried or ambled by. A
rushing river of commerce and people, the
glorious mystery of the Nile
now just a muddy flow of something from
ancient Egyptian history. He
stared out at the chaotic scene almost
mesmerized by the insanity of
it all.
“Sorry about that professor,” Balthazar
said as he jarred the
little professor out of his
trance. He positioned his rotund self
to the side of the sighing
Van de Meer. He smiled somewhat as he
looked out the window
himself. He shook his head at the pandemonium.
“That was The Geographic
calling me,” he declared.
“The National Geographic… Magazine?”
von Damme blurted out
in shock.
“Yes indeed…the same,” Balthazar replied
with obvious pride.
It seems they are very
interested in these photos. I can make this
a very lucrative deal with
you or without you professor.”
“But, those pictures of yours,” von Damme
pleaded. “They’re
distorted. He has
immense…breasts! They’ve been airbrushed, touched
up in some way. Surely you
can’t believe that you’ll be able to get
away with all this. I repeat…
it’s simply preposter—”
Balthazar cut off the professor’s tirade
with a pudgy finger held up.
He withdrew the cell phone
again and rotated about like some small
white moon. Some mumbling and
nodding ensued and then he pocketed
the phone away again.
“Now what? Who was that? If you
don’t mind my asking,” von Damme
blew out as he threw up his
arms in surrender.
“That my dear professor,” Balthazar
proclaimed as he turned back
around with a rather fiendish
grin, “was Mr. Hugh Hefner of Playboy…
magazine. He seems to
be very interested also!”
THE
END
