by Jerry Dubs
Hapu laid the needle against Akila’s arm and taped over the point. Then she turned to Meryt. She cleaned the inside of Meryt’s elbow once more, felt again for the nearly empty vein and after releasing a few drops of blood to be sure no air remained in the tube, she slid the needle into Meryt’s arm.
For a moment, Akila imagined that she could feel the pulse of her blood as it flowed through the tube, across four millennia and into the veins of the fragile young woman who was the heart of Imhotep’s world.
***
Despite her worries, Akila soon felt a deep tiredness creep over her. She knew it was blood loss and she had expected it, still it was irresistible and frightening. To calm herself she focused on the numbers – her weight, the amount of blood she could give safely ... with a shock she realized that she had not verified the calibration of the flow meter.
Hapu might let too much blood flow and Akila would drift past unconsciousness and never awake. Or not enough blood would be transferred and Meryt would not awaken from her coma and the transfusion would have been in vain.
As she weighed the possibilities, Akila felt her concentration waver; the transfusion had already drained her energy. Turning her head to catch Hapu’s eye so that she could ask her what the flow meter showed, Akila felt her eyes grow heavy and sleep overpowered her.
Hapu, her attention on the flow meter, saw Akila’s movement in her peripheral vision. She turned her head to glance at Akila. Her mouth was open, the lips moving, but no sound came from her. Her tongue emerged, the small tip brushing against her upper lip, and then retreated. Akila’s mouth settled into a peaceful smile and Hapu turned her attention back to the flow meter.
Akila had written a list of symbols on a papyrus, numbers showing the progression the meter would show. She had circled the one she called “two point oh” and had drawn a firm line under the number she had called “two point two.” Hapu knew she must let the transfusion continue until the symbols on the flow meter matched the circled symbols but she could not let it pass the underlined number.
Hapu watched the symbols slowly changing on the meter. They followed the list Akila had drawn, but were still several lines from “two point oh.” Although Akila had been confident that she would remain awake throughout the procedure, she had warned Hapu that near the end she might sleep.
It is too soon, Hapu thought, looking from the meter to Akila’s peaceful face. She thought to call for Imhotep, but Akila had sent him away, telling Hapu that he could not be trusted to make a sound judgment.
Akila moaned in her sleep and seemed to try to raise her head.
Hapu glanced at Meryt. Imhotep’s wife was asleep, her eyes closed, her mouth was set in a contented smile. Hapu adored Meryt; everyone who knew her adored her. Hetephernebti was serene because she believed that Re watched over her every breath. King Djoser had been free of cares because he had believed that he was a god.
But Meryt was different.
She believed in the gods – she had been a wbt-priestess in the temple of Re when Imhotep had met her – but she never depended on them. She had amulets and statuettes, but she seemed to treat them as ornaments rather than sources of power. Instead of living with hope, she lived with acceptance, immersed in life, not in dreams.
She saw each person and each breath as unique and irreplaceable. Each moment in the flow of her life was lived and cherished. She seemed, Hapu thought, to be as much of the Two Lands as the great river, as the deserts that stretched beyond sight, as the eternal arch of Nut’s cerulean sky.
No, she is living, Hapu thought. She is the swirl of the river, the rustle of reeds, the flutter of an owl’s night wings, the warm air sweeping from the sand, the wavering heat from a cook fire. She is the Two Lands, she has no desire for the eternal Field of Reeds, but she will embody that world as well.
“Hapu?” Imhotep said from the doorway behind her, startling Hapu from her thoughts. She looked quickly back at the meter.
“There are two symbols to go,” she said.
“How long has Akila been unconscious?” he asked, speaking unknowingly in English.
“I don’t know that word,” Hapu said, irritated at his intrusion and frightened because Imhotep sounded worried.
“Asleep,” he said in the ancient tongue, walking quickly to her side and looking at the dial. He touched Akila’s forehead. She felt cold to him, but he told himself that his hands were warm, the blood rushing from anxiety.
“For three measures,” Hapu said.
“No,” Imhotep said. “She shouldn’t be unconscious, not that soon.” He leaned closer to the flow meter. He flicked it with his fingertip. “Is it moving regularly? Has it hesitated? Is it stuck?”
He looked back at Akila.
“Stop it,” he said firmly, taking in Akila’s pallor and the light bead of sweat that had formed along her upper lip.
“We are not at the right symbol,” Hapu said.
Imhotep breathed deeply and looked at Akila, then at Meryt, then once more at the meter. He imagined Akila’s life draining from her, passing in front his eyes as the blood drained her spirit away.
“Stop it, now!” he demanded, bending to Akila and putting his hand on the needle.
Hapu pushed him aside.
“Akila said the meter must reach the symbol called two-oh,” she said. “Otherwise Meryt will die.” She turned her back on Imhotep and watched the meter, silently praying to Re and to Horus and to Isis, always Isis. The image of jackal-headed Anubis seemed to lurk behind her thoughts and she squeezed her eyes shut to banish the image.
Opening her eyes, she looked again at the meter. The white lines on the face of the meter changed, the straight line becoming the curve that Akila called “two.” The circle with a straight line on the right side changed to a large circle — the symbol now matched the one Akila had drawn.
With sure, quick hands, Hapu turned the dial on the flow meter, stopping the flow. Then she moved to Meryt to extract the needle.
“Please ... ” she heard Imhotep whisper, and she wondered which of the gods he didn’t believe in he was praying to now.
In her own world now, Hapu moved with intense concentration, each movement steady and concise. She bandaged Meryt’s arm and then moved to Akila. Raising the transfusion tube high, she opened the flow valve and allowed Akila’s blood to retreat from the tube into Akila's arm. Hapu had been told to do the reverse, draining the tube into Meryt, but Imhotep’s anxiety persuaded her to return the blood instead to Akila.
As she knelt by Akila, she heard Imhotep sit beside Meryt, speaking to her in the language of his childhood. Hapu didn’t understand the words he said, but she heard the love in the sounds.