the middle-aged man on the scanning bed was beyond any lifesaving measures—he had been dead for two thousand years.
Standing around the gurney were museum conservators wearing masks and gowns. The protective clothing was to prevent them from ingesting any toxic particles that would be released when they moved the mummy. It was a difficult maneuver they were attempting—trying to slide the human remains out of a wooden container and onto the bed of the CT machine.
“Everyone, get ready,” Holly instructed. “When I say ‘three’ . . .”
They usually didn’t have to lift the body out. The machine could penetrate anything organic, including a coffin, and most mummies could be scanned intact. But this mummy lay in a wooden crate that was too big to scan. Worse still, the body had been unwrapped and was now fully exposed, held together by strips of linen.
When the conservators at the Brooklyn Museum first saw the mummy’s condition, they were appalled. An unwrapped mummy was a throwback to the gruesome practices of the Victorian age. Back then, unraveling was a form of entertainment. Members of high society would sometimes host “unwrapping parties,” followed by champagne and a midnight supper!
On one ghoulish evening, Dr. Augustus Granville stood before the Royal Society of London in 1825 to “scientifically autopsy” an embalmed Egyptian woman. He added a theatrical touch—candlelight, with tapers made from the same kind of wax used to preserve the deceased. The British archaeologist Flinders Petrie set a new course in 1898 by using an X-ray machine.
Holly looked down at the desiccated cadaver before her.
Usually, lifting a mummy was like moving a person in a sleeping bag. Roman-era mummies often had wooden planks aligned along the spine under the wrappings to keep them rigid. But this one was no longer tightly bound.
Holly adjusted the surgical mask over her nose and took hold of her corner of the sling. They had improvised with a bed sheet, threading it under the bones to use like a hammock and swing the body up onto the table.
“Now it’s going to shift around a lot,” Holly warned. “You have to be ready.”
The three assistants picked up their ends of the sheet.
“One, two, three . . . Lift! ”
They gently cantilevered the sling and lowered it onto the scanning bed. After they were done, Holly bent over and reexamined the ancient figure.
The linen was degrading a bit, but there was no real damage to the bones. Almost like clockwork, a young assistant’s stomach began to heave. He started tearing at his surgical mask.
“Excuse me!” He coughed and rushed out.
As the door swung shut they could hear him retching loudly in the next room.
Opening up a mummy case always resulted in an utterly unique eye-watering aroma of ancient resin, embalming spices, and organic decomposition. Carter had once described the smell as “two-thousand-year-old potpourri mixed with the odor of a ripe garbage can.”
Holly looked down at the slim body. The phrase “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” popped into her head. Fragile wrappings clung to the rib cage—the torso was festooned with strips of linen the color of driedcoffee. The leg bones were all rickety knees and delicate shins. Only the feet were intact, with parchment-like skin stretched over them.
The cadaver still looked very human and appeared to be grimacing in pain, its teeth protruding. The head was tilted at an angle that, if it had been alive, could only have been interpreted as agony. The scalp was covered with patches of russet hair, and the skin on the mummy’s face was remarkably smooth, the texture of glove leather.
“OK, go on . . . all of you . . .” Holly sighed, pulling off her mask and making shooing motions to dismiss her assistants. They scrambled out gratefully.
After everyone left, the room was silent.
“This will take just a moment,” she quietly instructed the figure on the slab. “We need to know more about you.
Standing around the gurney were museum conservators wearing masks and gowns. The protective clothing was to prevent them from ingesting any toxic particles that would be released when they moved the mummy. It was a difficult maneuver they were attempting—trying to slide the human remains out of a wooden container and onto the bed of the CT machine.
“Everyone, get ready,” Holly instructed. “When I say ‘three’ . . .”
They usually didn’t have to lift the body out. The machine could penetrate anything organic, including a coffin, and most mummies could be scanned intact. But this mummy lay in a wooden crate that was too big to scan. Worse still, the body had been unwrapped and was now fully exposed, held together by strips of linen.
When the conservators at the Brooklyn Museum first saw the mummy’s condition, they were appalled. An unwrapped mummy was a throwback to the gruesome practices of the Victorian age. Back then, unraveling was a form of entertainment. Members of high society would sometimes host “unwrapping parties,” followed by champagne and a midnight supper!
On one ghoulish evening, Dr. Augustus Granville stood before the Royal Society of London in 1825 to “scientifically autopsy” an embalmed Egyptian woman. He added a theatrical touch—candlelight, with tapers made from the same kind of wax used to preserve the deceased. The British archaeologist Flinders Petrie set a new course in 1898 by using an X-ray machine.
Holly looked down at the desiccated cadaver before her.
Usually, lifting a mummy was like moving a person in a sleeping bag. Roman-era mummies often had wooden planks aligned along the spine under the wrappings to keep them rigid. But this one was no longer tightly bound.
Holly adjusted the surgical mask over her nose and took hold of her corner of the sling. They had improvised with a bed sheet, threading it under the bones to use like a hammock and swing the body up onto the table.
“Now it’s going to shift around a lot,” Holly warned. “You have to be ready.”
The three assistants picked up their ends of the sheet.
“One, two, three . . . Lift! ”
They gently cantilevered the sling and lowered it onto the scanning bed. After they were done, Holly bent over and reexamined the ancient figure.
The linen was degrading a bit, but there was no real damage to the bones. Almost like clockwork, a young assistant’s stomach began to heave. He started tearing at his surgical mask.
“Excuse me!” He coughed and rushed out.
As the door swung shut they could hear him retching loudly in the next room.
Opening up a mummy case always resulted in an utterly unique eye-watering aroma of ancient resin, embalming spices, and organic decomposition. Carter had once described the smell as “two-thousand-year-old potpourri mixed with the odor of a ripe garbage can.”
Holly looked down at the slim body. The phrase “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” popped into her head. Fragile wrappings clung to the rib cage—the torso was festooned with strips of linen the color of driedcoffee. The leg bones were all rickety knees and delicate shins. Only the feet were intact, with parchment-like skin stretched over them.
The cadaver still looked very human and appeared to be grimacing in pain, its teeth protruding. The head was tilted at an angle that, if it had been alive, could only have been interpreted as agony. The scalp was covered with patches of russet hair, and the skin on the mummy’s face was remarkably smooth, the texture of glove leather.
“OK, go on . . . all of you . . .” Holly sighed, pulling off her mask and making shooing motions to dismiss her assistants. They scrambled out gratefully.
After everyone left, the room was silent.
“This will take just a moment,” she quietly instructed the figure on the slab. “We need to know more about you.
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