I know that I could not live the afterlife without my belly-dance belt. I would
be buried with it still faintly jingling round my now still waist. I would
want to take its music with me: “She shall have music wherever she goes.”
It’s the way I live my life now, why should I not have heavenly grace
notes with me hereafter? The Future Century People opening my tomb would see rows of coins carved with faces on a chain of silver, with crystal droplet beads hanging from each coin in the current Cairo style, just like
the ones laid out in the bazaars off Tahrir Square.

In the future, as now, they would often be worn for the pleasure of a
modern-day Pharaoh. Must I not please my father? Must I not paint
blue kohl slantedly round each of my eyes with a long lapis-lazuli flick at
the corners? Must I not wear my turquoise-glazed amulet in deep curving
halls with golden ceilings, to give good fortune, beauty and poise to my
snaking movements as I dance? Each hip-circle I do now is a ripple upon
ripple into future waters. My attendants would dance round me much as
they do now, my girls. I have many servants even though I am young and
cannot yet command the ministers and advisors my father has around
him. I expect the People of the Future Kingdom also have great court gatherings and councils as we do. I expect they have even greater palaces
and give bountiful offerings of grain and pomegranates to the gods.
After my travels through the afterlife, when I am discovered, when they unearth me, the first sound they will hear will be the coins ever so
slightly moving as the sarcophagus is lifted.

And my belt will sing future music to them in my name.

Inspired by the case displays in the Egyptian rooms

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