Tutukhamen 2

The Professor slid the resumé back into the folder. “Goodo,” he said. “Ready on Monday?”

“Monday? Fine with me. How about you, Ramses?”

“Woof, woof.”

&ldquo He’s as ready as a cat on a hot tin roof.”

“Jolly good. I’ll collect you then in my, uh, ute.”

They walked out of the neat white building towards Bill’s borrowed car. His aunt had bought a Mazda. It was still mostly Mazda. But now, one door came from a Corolla, a wheel from a Mercedes and the bonnet from a Fiat.

“It’s been dinged,” Bill said.

“In Cairo traffic,” Blamey observed, “all cars become genetically modified.”

They shook hands. Bill entered the car and signalled to pull out. Immediately a hundred horns hooted. Bill jumped. But Ramses stuck out his head and barked, creating a gap into which Bill zipped. For the rest of the drive, he mostly kept his eyes closed.

Bill still had cold sweats about the traffic when, a few days later, the Professor knocked on his door. Bill trundled out his cases. Outside, however, he gaped. Blamey’s vehicle had wheels as tall as him.

“Mate,” he cried, “that’s not a ute! That’s a bloody farm tractor!”