Ancient Evenings

by Norman Mailer

  Still, we were as tender as new-found friends, and She took my hand again and began to explain to me, now that we were near, a matter I had never understood before. Yet much which had been incomprehensible to me in the Gardens of the Secluded was now restored to its place, and it gave me much new knowledge of my Pharaoh. I saw why He came back from Kadesh as another man. For She told me how on the day of the great battle when the Hittites broke through, and Usermare prayed in His tent, He had asked Amon to give Him the strength to meet His foe, and the Hidden One had told Him that His wish would be granted. “You do not ask Me for a long life,” were the words of Amon, “and so You will gain much strength.”

  “He has lived,” said Nefertiri, “for twenty-nine years since that day, but He still waits for the hour when Amon will come to take Him.

  “That is why He is now with a woman of the Hittites,” said Nefertiri. “He hopes Amon will not dare to go to war with Hittite Gods.” I saw the anger in Her eyes. “He knows great fear when He sleeps with the Hittite Princess and tries to be close to Her Gods. For He still wants Me.” Her voice was as deep as the night, and as grave as the weight of the stone that She would lay upon His tomb. “I despise Sesusi,” She said, “for His fear.”

  ELEVEN

  Sometimes, sleeping alone in the House of the Companion of the Right Hand, I would awake in the middle of the night and feel Honey-Ball near to me. There was not a bat who passed through my window, nor a bird scattering the hush of the night who could not have been a visitor from her garden, and I felt the Gods rising like the inundation. Just as villages would soon become islands, so would my fortunes ride on a floodwater. I knew I must seize whatever was offered.

  I say this because the next offering was foul, and I was sick of such practices. Yet nothing that came my way offered more service to Nefertiri. Once, Honey-Ball, while mixing the dung of her cat with the ashes of a plant and the blood from her arm, said, as if to herself, “It is the leavings of Sesusi that I need the most,” and I felt a revulsion so large that the food in my stomach nearly came forth into the stew of her magic. Yet I never forgot her words. For I understood they were true. I brooded much on the nature of such stuff when I lived in the Gardens of the Secluded—how could I not? Sometimes it was as near to me as the earth to my feet. I even supposed that dung must be the center of all things, and that was its reason for departing from us by the center of the body—a true compact between Set and Geb! Certainly I came to the sad conclusion that excrement was as much a part of magic as blood or fire, an elixir of dying Gods and rotting spirits desperate to regain the life they were about to lose. Yet when I thought of all the transformation that dung contains (since it is not only good crops which sprout from it, but one has to take account of the dogs who eat it, and the flies who swarm over it) I began to think of all those Gods, small and mean as pestilence itself, Who dwell next to such great changes. “How dangerous is this excrement,” I said to myself, and knew one terrible thought, even if I could not explain it. To hold the leavings of another must be equal to owning great gold and wealth.

  Was it for such a reason that all who visited the Court would wear as much gold as they possessed? I still remember how in the Great Square between the Wide Palace and the Little Palace, the gold would glisten on their bodies like sunlight on the surface of the Lake of Maat. By its bank was a patio of white marble under a gold roof, and in that cool place all used to congregate, every nobleman and rich merchant in Thebes, and every man of consequence who had traveled up the river from the Delta or down from the nomes of Upper Egypt. Like cattle who come down to the river to drink, they were all there, and that would yet contribute to my offering.

  To enter the Wide Palace was not permitted without a papyrus from the Office of the Gates, and the Little Palace was forbidden to all but intimate servants of Usermare. So, on this patio between, by the Lake of Maat, the wealthy of Egypt would wait for Usermare to pass in His route from one Palace to another. He was always carried, and eight visitors would bear Him—eight chosen from the hundred and more who waited for word to issue from the doors of either Palace that the Good and Great God was coming forth. These visitors would then become a mob, jostling with one another like the first froth of the rising waters for the right to carry Usermare on the Golden Belly (which was what we called His palanquin) but then this was the only time when such fellows could serve Him. The other moves He might make from Court to Temple or to the streets of Thebes or down to the Royal Boat-House were carried out by officers assigned to His Guard who served at a particular position, indeed, there used to be a name for each of them—Third Bearer of the Right Limb of the Golden Belly was the kind of title. The Guard were, however, not used on the many trips He took between the Wide Palace and the Little Palace. For that, any merchant esteemed enough to enter through the Double-Gate by the river, could, if fortunate, obtain the privilege of carrying Him those few hundreds of steps around the Lake of Truth (that is, the Lake of Maat) into the doors of the other Palace. It was not a long trip, but one heard of men who waited through a hot afternoon by the doors of either Palace, there in all the most terrible hours of the heat, crushed against one another, stinking in the oven of the sun if they did not carry their perfumes—woe to the body who stank in the nostrils of Usermare!—but in that terrible press, some would prevail, some would seize the honor (and talk about it for the rest of their lives). No matter how exhausted from the hours of waiting, they were delighted to cheer in unison carrying Him and His Golden Belly with His Seat upon it. They would cheer even as they ran, and never seem to fear that any would drop dead from the pace at which they went, while another crowd of prominent men from far-off nomes would wait at the next doors in the hope He would soon come out again That was when I knew how high was my own station. I looked with contempt upon men who would make such fools of themselves. If, when General-of-all-the-Armies, I did not yet have entrance to the House of Adoration (which was our other name for the Little Palace) still I rode in my chariot behind His Chariot through the streets and out to the courses where we had our races in the deserts to the East, and when His route was not so long, and He chose to be borne on His Golden Belly, I had a place to His right, second on the bearing-pole behind His Vizier of Lower Egypt, a weak fellow whose load I used to help support. Then, in the Gardens, as Governor of the House of the Secluded, I had held His five fingers. Now, as Companion of the Right Hand, I had entrance to the Little Palace at any hour and by any door. How could it be otherwise if my King lived in fear of His Son and His Wife? He had told me to tell Him all I heard. Often He would summon me and ask many questions. Rarely, however, would I please Him since He did not hear what He was waiting for—a tale of Nefertiri’s disloyalty, or an intrigue by Her son. Instead, I used what skill I had to suggest that little could be learned until She came to trust me more. I made much, however, of small sighs from Her lips, and the cruel expression on the mouth of Amen-khep-shu-ef. By exaggerating such trifles, I succeeded on the one hand in convincing my King that I was loyal to Him—no easy matter—yet allowed Him to conclude that there was no sure evil to be found in His Wife or His Son. That also pleased Him. But then a Monarch with a Double-Crown must have Two-Lands to His mind: if Upper Egypt desired true tales of treachery, Lower Egypt was delighted with Her fidelity. All the same, after Nefertiri told me of His great and secret fear of Amon, I decided to let Him know what She had said, even if I hardly knew how I dared to confess so much. He had received me in His bed in the great room where He slept, and in His arms, Her golden hair covering His chest, was Rama-Nefru, yet I told it all, and with no pain that I was betraying Nefertiri. Indeed, I believe She knew I would tell it to Him, and wanted it so. Certainly, She grew greater in all our eyes as I repeated Her words, “I despise Him for His fear.”

  Usermare shouted in a voice to bring the walls of His temples down on my ears, and Rama-Nefru looked at me for the first time. Although I had been in His bedchamber twice before when She was there, I had seen no more of the H
ittite than the back of Her head. Neither time had They moved while I spoke, and when I had no more to say, I left, so, now, it was in pride, I think, at the boldness of my Queen’s words that I repeated them, and could have sworn I acted properly.

  Certainly, Rama-Nefru sat up in bed, and showed the wickedness of Her little breasts (which were wide apart) and cried aloud, “She is evil, Her eye is evil,” words I could barely understand, so strong was Her emotion, and strange words to come from a young face as open as a flower, but I knew by the pain of Her voice that She was wiser than Her own anger. She knew Usermare would not think of Her for the rest of the morning. By the fury of His desire to lay hands upon this insolence (but could not—They were not speaking!) so would He be living with Nefertiri this day rather than with His young bride.

  It was then He ordered me to take the Golden Bowl by His bed and empty it in His garden, and the command was uttered with such contempt that Rama-Nefru smiled at me as if to draw half of the insult back upon Herself, a kindness I would not have expected from a Queen. I bowed to Her, and to my King, picked up the Bowl, and stepped backward from the room to be met immediately by a priest who waited in the vestibule. He was the Overseer of the Golden Bowl, and offered this title before I could even turn around. My duties were concluded, he told me.

  I did not argue. The tips of my fingers still burned in shame from the manner in which I had been dismissed. Though no tears were in my eyes, I knew the terrible rage, so full of its own weakness, that children suffer, for I hated my Pharaoh, but such hatred was worthless since I wished to be able to love Him. Indeed, I knew I did love Him, and it was hopeless. He would only love me less. How I wished to destroy Him.

  I had such thoughts. Walking beside the priest while he carried the Golden Bowl, I wondered that the earth did not tremble from all that was awesome in my head, but the light of morning remained as golden as the surface of the Bowl even if my hands still shook from the intimate warmth of the metal where I had touched it. My palm burned like the sun.

  “There is,” said the priest, seeing I still accompanied him, “no lack of respect for your own high office, but it is His command to perform these duties in solitude.”

  “That is true for all other days,” I said, “but this morning, I was told to stay with you. Ask the One.”

  I knew he would not dare. Beneath his shaven head, was a weak and selfish face. He nodded as if his first pride was that few matters could surprise him. Still, I could see he was worried. Were his duties to be reduced?

  We went by a path through a garden. I may say that he walked with his arms thrust out like one who carries an offering to the altar. Wherever we passed a soldier or a maid or a gardener, so did they bow low before this Golden Bowl, and I noticed that the priest inclined his head like the Pharaoh Himself, just so stately was the gesture.

  Before a green wooden door on which I could see the outline of a wild pig painted in black, we stopped, and the priest drew forth a wooden key from his skirts, opened the door, and looked at me once more. He was still in doubt that the One had truly told me to come so far. But I inquired with confidence, “What is the name of this wild pig?”

  “Sha-ah,” said the priest, and proceeded to become most learned. “That is the name of Set when He fought with Horus and became a wild boar.”

  “Yes,” I said, “this is the same name of the door that the One told me to enter.” I did not know why I wished to go in, yet I did, and with all the certainty one knows when close to the orders of the Gods. Which is to say, close to those Gods Who are awake within you. Who can be so fortunate as to know Their names?

  We entered a modest garden in which many herbs were growing, and this priest knelt by one small furrow, set down the Bowl, removed the lid, and began to knead little pellets which he tamped into place around the base of each plant until the Bowl was empty. I also knelt beside him, and must have looked as if I would touch one of the leaves, for he said, “These are herbs of wisdom, and may be plucked only by me as His Overseer.” I nodded. This would agree, my manner said, with all I had been told, and I stood up. Of course, he had been looking so suspiciously at the hand close to the leaves that he had not watched the one near the roots. In my fingers I now held a pellet, and it was as warm as the blood of Usermare, but then it came from the seat of the Two-Lands. I bowed, and the priest knelt by a small altar and prayed. Then he washed his hands in holy water, and withdrew from this small garden, myself a pace in front of him, only to quit the fellow on the walks outside and proceed at my own quick gait from the grounds of the Little Palace, around the Lake of Maat to the Wide Palace, and from there I walked even faster through other gardens and by many a shrine and temple until I stood before the gates of the Chambers of the Royal Wife, and was welcomed into the Throne Room of Nefertiri, and from there, so soon as Her morning audience with Her Officials was complete, went into the bedchamber where we had sat last night by Her mirror, and all the while my hand throbbed as if I held the heart of Usermare in His leavings.

  When I showed it to my Queen, She was grave and quick, and more deft than Ma-Khrut. She did not wait for darkness, nor proceed through any invocation, but merely took the pellet in Her palm, closed Her eyes, spoke some words to Herself, and handed it back. “Go,” She said, “to the Lake of Maat and drop His gift in there.”

  I did as She said. Later that afternoon while the eight bearers of the Golden Belly were carrying the One from the Wide Palace to His Little Palace, so, by the right bearing-pole, even as they passed the Lake, not one man, but two, collapsed at the same instant, and the Golden Belly tipped over. Usermare fell out of His Seat from a height higher than the saddle of a horse, and His head struck the marble. He did not move, and some thought He was dead. All knew He was near to dead. Nothing stirred but the wind in His throat.

  He was carried to the House of Adoration by the Guard of the Adored who were nearer than the Guard of the Wide Palace. Once brought to His bed in the Chamber of the Blessed Fields, He was attended by four royal doctors, priests from the School of Sekhmet. Fomentations of dried herbs from the Garden of Sha-ah were put to boil, and their steam entered His nostrils. The half-chewed meat of Nubian lions was pulled from their jaws to be mixed with fourteen vegetables for His Ka, all Fourteen, and His head was anointed where He struck the ground. The priests sang prayers, and Rama-Nefru entered and began to wail in Her own language of the Hittites, after which, Nefertiri, so soon as the other was gone, paid a visit with Amen-khep-shu-ef and They sat in silence by His bed, myself behind Them in the second rank next to the doctors from the Goddess Sekhmet. Usermare never stirred.

  It was then, looking at His silent body, that I realized the Good and Great God might die, and I prayed as well. For if He did not live, I would have to kill Nefertiri, or meet His wrath in years to come when I went to Khert-Neter.

  Now, whenever I looked at Her, I would see myself with a dagger in my hand. She was there on Her golden seat, sitting in silence on the third morning. Outside, across all the patios and gardens, the King lay unmoving in the Little Palace, and the vigil of the doctors did not cease. No man moved across all of that paving of marble around the Lake of Maat, and beyond our walls, the city of Thebes was near to silent. So in the silence that lay upon Nefertiri, did I sit and stare at Her and wonder if I could obey the secret command of my King.

  While I thought of no orders but my own, I knew that throughout the Horizon-of-Ra, great nobles and Viziers were plotting with priests as to who should become the “well-beloved friend” of the next King. Amen-khep-shu-ef was with His Mother often, but rarely without His guard, and they, as I expected, were in the state of all good soldiers when a battle is near, and death, wounds, or treasure are close. They had the happiness of the best warriors and suffered that they had to walk about with unhappy faces. They were feeling, I knew, as cheerful as great beasts and wanted to smash each other’s heads on the marble floor for all the impatience of waiting.

  In these days, I never saw Amen-khep-shu-ef wh
en He did not show the wild eye of a falcon. He glared at me often, until at last I chose not to look away but let our glances meet. We stared at one another until all decorum was lost. My eyes could not have been more oppressed if His fingers had been squeezing them. But I was weary of humiliation. Besides, I had fought beside His Father in the greatest battle ever fought, and this Amen-khep-shu-ef had been in the wrong place that day. Yes, I stared back with all the power of the Gods Who passed through me at Kadesh, and dwelt in the invocations of Ma-Khrut, and so, when our eyes locked, mine may have been as fierce as His. The contest remained equal. I think we would have gone blind staring at one another if Nefertiri had not come between, and said quietly, “If Your Father dies, I will need both of you.”

  Amen-khep-shu-ef left the room. He could not bear to be cheated of a victory. Since He never believed He could lose, the interruption from His Mother had stolen a prize. So He saw it. But I do not know. If I had blinked my eyes before His, I think I would have drawn my short sword on the next breath, and if I killed Him, She would have been the next, then everybody who came at me until I was done. At that moment, I knew again all the happiness of the brave, and felt equal to Nefertiri. It was Her life She had protected by placing Her hands between us. It was then I believed again as I used to when I was young that I, too, was a true Son of Amon, and the Hidden One had come to my mother. How else had my eye proved equal to the eye of Amen-khep-shu-ef? There could be no other explanation. And I laughed that in His rage He had been such a fool as to leave me alone with Her.