Imhotep (12 page)

“Our
duty is to Kemet, Djefi.  And, of course, to Thoth,” he said, nodding to
Waja-Hur who seemed to be holding his breath.

“And
to Sobek,” he said, nodding to Djefi.  “And to King Djoser.  Our
duty, Djefi, as you well know, is to think about what is best for the Two Lands
and to make that happen, no matter how difficult or unusual it might seem.”

Djefi
opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“We
are men of power and purpose, you and I and my old friend Waja-Hur,” Kanakht
said intently.  “Our words, Djefi, are the breath, the tjaw, from which
the Two Lands draws its life.  Our ideas and thoughts, First Prophet, are
the very soul, the ba, of Kemet.

“You
are First Prophet of Sobek, the Rager, whose sweat created the River Iteru, you
understand these things.  You know that when the Two Lands is threatened,
it is we who must defend it.  I can only imagine what the great Sobek
would do.

“Ah,
well, I go on and on, as always, eh, Waja-Hur?  And you, Djefi, you have a
festival to prepare.  I look forward to visiting you at To-She for The
Cutting Out of Sobek’s Tongue.  Unfortunately, King Djoser will not be
there.  He is preoccupied with the coming flood season.  I hope you
won’t take his absence as a slight against the great god Sobek.”

Djefi
marveled at how the man could so easily use words to mean what they did not.

“Thank
you for meeting with us, Djefi.  Your litter is waiting to take you back
to your boat.”

Djefi
realized that the meeting was abruptly over, that he had been dismissed. 
They weren’t even interested in his response.  Such arrogance!  But,
he thought, such power and confidence.  This is what it is like to live so
close to the throne, to be at the very center of power.

The
boy reappeared, empty-handed but followed by two sedan carriers.  They
approached Djefi and each offered him a hand to help him rise from the low
stool.

“Balance,
First Prophet, balance,” Waja-Hur whispered.

Djefi
grasped the hands of the carriers to pull himself up.

“I
like your ideas, Djefi,” Kanakht said.  “We will consider your plan
carefully.” 

Djefi
realized that although Kanakht’s words were said to him, they were intended for
the ears of the carriers.  With those few words, Kanakht had planted false
ideas in the carriers’ heads, ideas that could later incriminate Djefi and make
him the author of whatever plot Kanakht and Waja-Hur were scheming, if their
plans failed.

A cold
wave of fear passed through Djefi as he grunted himself to his feet, clenching
his ass cheeks to keep from breaking wind, or worse, in front of Kanakht and
Waja-Hur.

“Stay
the night, Djefi,” Kanakht said quietly as the priest reached the
doorway.  “I’ll visit you at your boat in the morning.  I need your
help at the tomb I am having built at Saqqara.  We’ll talk again
tomorrow.”

And
so, Djefi, thought, he had been summoned to Khmunu only to be entangled in
Kanakht’s plot to overthrow Djoser.  Well, it was done.  Waja-Hur
would side with Kanakht if the plot came to light and he, Djefi, would be
blamed.

Rousing
himself from his thoughts, Djefi looked at the passing canal bank to get his
bearings.  They were passing a sharp turn in the canal, where a crooked
tree leaned out over the water.  He recognized the spot.  They were
almost home, almost back at To-She.

“I
can’t believe I fell off twice and you didn’t
fall once,” Brian said as he and Diane followed Bakr up another dune.

“Don’t
even talk to me.”

“C’mon,
babe, how was I supposed to know we’d be riding camels for three days?” 

Diane
kept her eyes focused on the short hairy ears that bobbed up and down far in
front of her as she swayed sideways on the camel.  Three days, and she
hated the desert more each day, the stinking, plodding camel more every hour
and her former boyfriend more every minute.

In her
mind, he had become her ‘former’ boyfriend the first time he had challenged
Bakr to a race and the two of them had disappeared yelling and cheering over a
sand dune and she had found herself utterly alone in the middle of the desert.

When
they had left the tomb atop the camels, all her attention had been directed at
staying on top of the shifting animal.

She
had to admit that it had been sort of fun.

But
after she had settled into the swaying motion of the camel, she had started to
feel seasick.  She had gulped air and fought the queasiness by telling herself
they would soon be back at the Mena House bar where she would put any other
tourist’s story to shame with this adventure.

When
she had realized that the camel was going in a straight line and not circling
back to the tomb as she had expected it would, she had screamed hysterically at
Brian to make the driver turn around.

“I’m
not sure we didn’t turn around, babe,” Brian had said.  “No landmarks, and
the camels really don’t leave much in the way of footprints in the sand. 
That might be the hill over there that we went over when we left Boss Hogg.

“Anyhow,
you gotta admit, babe, this really is cool.  I feel like Lawrence of
Arabia.”

He had
taken to camel riding as quickly as he took to every other physical
activity.  And he and Bakr had already forged the kind of ‘jock’ bond she
had seen Brian make with everyone he met: man, woman or child.

He was
in love with action.  He didn’t care if someone was male or female, black
or white, straight or gay.  All he cared about was how they ‘worked.’ She
had been worried when she took him for the first time to meet her parents and
her grandfather, who was confined to a wheelchair after losing both legs to
diabetes.

But
Brian and her grandfather had quickly become best friends.  Instead of
shying away from the man’s disability, Brian wanted to know how he did
everything, if he felt phantom movement in his lost legs, how he exercised his
arms, if he preferred to be pushed or to move himself.

They
had talked about things that everyone in her family had been embarrassed to
ask, and her grandfather loved him for that acceptance.

But as
endearing as he was, it was tiring trying to keep up with him all day, every
day.  Especially when he was giving all his attention to Bakr and being
such a jerk.

“Look,
babe,” he was saying now, “I know you’re mad at me, and I understand that, but
I think we’re almost at this ‘Toasty’ place Bakr keeps mentioning.”

“He’s
saying To-She, not ‘Toasty’ and I went past being mad at you the first time I
had to go to the bathroom out in the middle of the desert.”

“To-She,
huh?  Well, whatever he’s saying, I think we’re getting close, ’cause the
last time I challenged him to a race, he shook his head and pointed over the
next hill  . . . ”

“Dune,
they’re freakin' sand DUNES!  We’re in the middle of the desert and we’re
going to die.”

“ …
next dune and said ‘Toasty.’  So I think we’re close.”

He
reined his camel lightly and using his foot, nudged the camel’s neck away from
Diane.

Bakr
was riding ahead of them, so Brian pushed his hips forward on the camel, and
said “hup,” as Bakr had taught him.  The camel broke into a light jog.

He
caught Bakr before they crested the dune.

“To-She
is just over this dune.  We’ll soon have cool, fresh water and hot
food.  I can smell the bread baking and the fish roasting, Brian, can’t
you?” he said.

Brian
understood ‘To-She,’ ‘water,’ and ‘food,’ but the rest was lost to him. 

When
they camped at night, he had tried to learn the language, just to make
conversation because Diane wasn’t talking to him anymore.  But it was hard. 
He had never been good with foreign languages, and the words of this one
sounded extra harsh to his ears, but Bakr had been patient and now some of the
words were starting to sound familiar.

Food
and water sounded good to him. 

So did
‘To-She,’ whatever it was. 

Although
he tried to keep a happy face in front of Diane to keep her spirits up, Brian
was worried.

He had
tried to check the Internet for baseball news the first evening they were out,
but his cell phone wasn’t picking up any signal.  Not even a roaming
signal.  That had never happened before.

He had
noticed that there had not been any airplanes flying overhead and when he was
riding with Bakr, he had tried out every famous name he thought Bakr might
know.  Not one brought even a glimmer of recognition from Bakr.  He
hadn’t recognized the names of Omar Sharif, or Yasser Arafat, or even Muhammad
Ali, which really worried Brian because he had read that everyone, actually
everyone on the planet knew Ali’s name.

They
reached the top of the dune and Brian reined his camel to a stop.

“We’re
there!” he shouted back at Diane.  “We’re at Toasty!”

A
fter three days of empty, endless blue
skies above him and continuous, identical waves of sand at his feet, Brian
thought the jagged green leaves and rough shaggy bark of the palm trees at the
oasis were unbelievably beautiful.

“They’d
better have a clean bathroom,” Diane said when she’d caught up with him at the
top of the dune and could see the oasis.

“Look,
babe, I’m sorry I got us into this.  But there’s bound to be someone here
who speaks English and we’ll get everything straightened out.  You’ll be
soaking in a hot tub with a cool drink tonight.”

Diane
looked directly into his face and Brian realized for the first time that she
was not just uncomfortable with the heat and the bouncing camel ride, but that
she was terrified.

“Brian,
look at me.  I’m sunburned; my lips are cracked and bleeding.  My ass
and back hurt from riding this damn camel for three days.  I haven’t had
any real food since we left the hotel three days ago and we have no idea, not
even a glimmer of a clue about what’s up there.  There are slave traders
in Africa, Brian.  Slave traders!  They kidnap women and sell them to
oil sheiks!”

“Babe,
no, no, that’s not going to happen.  Bakr here, he’s a good guy. 
He’s not some slave trader.”

“What
about the fat guy?  Did you see him, Brian?  Did he look like a happy
old tour guide to you?”

“It’ll
be all right, Diane.  I promise.”

“You
promise?  You have no idea either, Brian.  You can’t promise
anything.  Whatever happens up there is out of our control.” She glared at
Brian and then kicked her camel to make it trot.  “It’s every woman for
herself now, Brian.  You’re on your own.”

W
hen they reached the shade at the edge of
the oasis, Bakr slid off his camel without waiting for it to kneel. 
Released, the camel wandered off toward the water.  Then Bakr helped Diane
dismount and then led the couple into the grove of trees.

As
they got closer to the lake at the heart of To-She, they heard voices. 
Bakr motioned for them to wait and he jogged off toward a cluster of mud-brick
huts.  He returned a minute later with a jar of cool beer and a large
round loaf of bread, still warm from the oven.  He handed it to Brian and
told them to wait a little longer.  Then he turned and walked toward a
stone building with painted columns that stood away from the huts.

Brian
tore off some bread and ate it and then sniffed the beer before taking a deep
drink from the jar.

“Hey,
babe, this beer is really good.  And the bread is still warm.” He tore off
a chunk and ate it.  “Mmmmm, fantastic, come on, have some.”

Ignoring
him, Diane paced and complained: There was no bar, no hotel, no air
conditioning, no roads, no other Americans and no sign of a bathroom or
shower. 

Brian
finished the beer and bread then he stretched and worked out the kinks in his
back and legs.   He shared her worries, but there was little to be
gained by complaining, so he leaned back against a tree and tried to take in
everything he could, imagining himself in a baseball dugout studying an
opposing team as they warmed up before a game.

Children
played by the edge of the lake, splashing water and chasing each other while a
few women washed clothes in the water and others sat in the sand working at
something in stone bowls and talking.  No one seemed in danger or afraid;
everyone seemed relaxed and unhurried.

The
kids, except for being naked, were pretty much like kids anywhere, he
thought.  They chased and yelled at each other. 

Four
older boys were playing a game of catch.  Two of them stood apart from
each other, each carrying another boy piggyback.  The riders threw a ball
to each other, trying to toss it just out of reach.  Sometimes the
standing boys would stumble as they tried to get into position for their rider
to catch the ball.  Then they would fall laughing to the soft sand. 
Once in a while after a dropped catch, the riders would slide down and switch
partners.

Brian
was trying to work out the rules the kids were using, when he saw a woman leave
the stone building where Bakr had gone and walk in their direction.

She
wore a white linen skirt wrapped around her waist and a wide, beaded necklace
that draped over her chest, leaving her small breasts uncovered.  Her long
black hair was braided, held back with a narrow band decorated with dark red
and blue beads.  Instead of the heavy swipes of dark blue kohl that Bakr
wore under his eyes, she had a thin green line of eye shadow that outlined the
top and bottom of her eyes, meeting at the outer edge in a point and extending
to form a short line.

She
looked a little older than Brian and Diane, but not yet thirty.  As she
got closer, Brian saw that a long deep scar ran down her right cheek. 
Even with the scar, Brian thought she was stunningly attractive.  Sunlight
seemed to dance across her brown skin.

It
wasn’t until she stopped near them in the shade of the small grove of trees,
that Brian noticed the two girls who trailed behind her.  The girls were
naked except for a narrow belt that hung loosely around their boyish
hips.  They were as tall as the woman, but younger, their breasts were
just beginning to form and they hadn’t grown pubic hair.

As
soon as he saw them, Brian turned his eyes away, uncomfortable with their
nudity.  He didn’t mind seeing the little kids naked, but these two girls
were too close to being women.

“Greetings
great Netjrew, welcome to To-She, home of Netjer Sobek.  I am Yunet,
chantress of the temple of Sobek,” the woman said.

Brian
understood nothing except 'To-She' but he smiled at her and answered with the
welcoming phrase Bakr had taught him.  Then he pointed to himself and said
“Brian,” then at Diane and said her name.

The
woman turned to him and nodded as he spoke, but her attention was on
Diane.  She took a step toward her and slowly raised her hand, as if
calming a frightened horse.  Diane stood still, her arms crossed
protectively, as the woman’s hand touched her red hair cautiously.  Once
she was satisfied that Diane’s red hair was not truly on fire, she brushed her fingers
through it, almost as if she were petting Diane.

“Netjret
Diane,” she said softly.

She
stepped back slowly and without turning to the girls, she said, “Take these
gods to the temple and bathe and anoint them.  Bring them to me when they
are comforted.”

Then
she turned and walked back to the stone building.

One of
the girls approached Brian and reached for his hand.  The other took
Diane’s hand, and then they led them toward the building where Yunet had gone.

Inside
the building, Brian was led through a doorway to his right; Diane was taken to
a doorway on the other side.

“I
just want you to know, Brian,” she said as they parted, “whatever happens, I do
blame you.”

L
ight filtered softly through palm branches
that lay across the wooden beams that crossed the open ceiling of the room
where Abana stopped with Diane. 

The
walls were painted with scenes from the lake outside: on calm water, shallow
reed boats carried fishermen who used nets to catch fish that seemed to jump
from the water into their boats; flocks of brilliant, white birds flew across
the pale blue horizon; ducks swam near the shore where gazelles drank.