The Anathema of Akhenaten

The year was 1966, a year after the marriage of Patrick Malone III and Julie Chaplin. A few months less than a year after the marriage, Julie gave birth to their son Patrick Malone IV, nicknamed “Patch.” With his father’s ruddy skin, the boy would have the red hair of his parents and the reddish-brown eyes of his mother once his hair had started to grow and his eyes changed from blue.

That day the three were in the Egyptology Office of the Royal Ontario Museum, workplace of Patrick who was assistant to his uncle Enrico Bulwer. Patrick was twenty-one, Julie nineteen and Enrico was fifty-eight. Patrick was as lean as Cassius, Julie regaining her athletic figure and Enrico was equally as lean as Patrick but taller by a foot. The couple were a pair of redheads but Enrico had been dark in his youth, his hair having greyed by the time he was twenty. Patrick had heterochromia with his left eye being blue and his right eye green, Julie’s eyes were a reddish-brown but Enrico’s was a nondescript black. When it came to skin Patrick was ruddy, Julie was light and Enrico was not exactly tanned but not exactly light. Patrick was cleanshaven while Enrico had a mustache that made a walrus’ mustache look not quite so mustache-y. Patrick wore read, Julie wore blue and Enrico wore grey.

“So how is my great-nephew?” Enrico asked, sitting behind his desk and looking over some papers while Patrick and Julie sat in a pair of nearby chairs, Patch in the arms of the latter.

“He is great, Uncle Enrico.” Patrick answered.

“I am a little concerned about how he doesn’t cry as much as other babies though.” Julie commented.

“Like father like—” Enrico did not get any further. The door to the office slammed open, causing Patch to start crying, and in stepped Doctor Norman Richmond Foster, a new and unlikable member of the department that had joined in January.

Foster was forty-six years old and taller than Patrick by three inches and taller by Julie by two. He had a muscular build, a completely shaved head and an unflinching gaze. His skin was brown and his eyes were light brown. Many believed that he resembled the actor Yul Brynner and when commented on it, Foster would reply that he placed third in a Yul Brynner lookalike contest back in Delaware and in contrast to Yul Brynner’s tall tales and exaggerations, Foster actually was part Mongolian. He was sharply dressed and looked nothing short of irritable.

“Bulwer!” Foster roared, his voice deep and authoritative not unlike Patrick’s but lacking the rich yet mellow characteristic. He completely ignored the crying baby and walked right over to Enrico’s desk, upon which he brought his fists slamming down. “What is this I hear about the KV55 mummy not being on loan to us?”

“Doctor Foster, please calm yourself.” Enrico said, putting his papers down and looking his colleague in the eye. “My great-nephew is here.”

“I don’t care who is here! Answer me!”

Remaining calm, Enrico said: “There was never any talk about the getting the KV55 mummy on loan to us so I do not know what this latest rage of yours is all about. Now please, calm yourself.”

“You did this to me, Bulwer!” Foster exclaimed, throwing himself over Enrico’s desk and proceeding to strangle him. Patrick was quick to come to the rescue, grabbing his uncle’s cane and bashing it against Foster’s head. Blood drawn, Foster let go of Enrico, put a hand to his head, back away and then departed completely. That was the end of his days at the Royal Ontario Museum.