THE GOD'S WIFE

by LYNN VOEDISCH

  She put down the physics treatise and pulled the Egyptian book toward her. The pages fell open at random to a description of the Ba and the Ka. She had studied this section on the Egyptian conception of the soul until she nearly committed the passage to memory. Sitting forward on the sofa, she drew a slow, imaginary line with her finger from the still-open physics book to the words in the other volume about the Ka. Somehow, they were connected, because she felt that familiar buzzing in her head when she traced and retraced the line. A bizarre idea popped up. Was there empty space somewhere between one universe and the other where a separated Ba lingered, pining to reunite with its Ka? The Egyptians would find the idea preposterous.

  But still ...

  She raised her gaze to the window and paced to the balcony door. Although wind still whipped about outside, she pried the sliding glass aside. Up in the sky, the myriad lights made up constellations of their own. She knew the real stars lay far away, hidden by the light pollution of downtown Chicago. However, the artificial lights worked some kind of magic. She stared at one beam and wondered if it held the Ka. Could she squeeze through a portal to an alternate place where her Ka waited? Would that make her whole? She stared out into space and half-asked, half-prayed. Who was she really? Why did she always feel half a person, even when she stood embraced by Jonas, whom she loved? Was her purpose to find the Ka, her twin soul?

  She stepped through the doors onto the balcony, half-dreaming of what it would be like to step off the earth and fly to another space and time. Isn’t that what she did every night at rehearsal, spring from the ground to the ultimate bliss of fine art? Wasn’t this the same?

  The bars of the balcony pressed cold against her exposed flesh as she began to lean into the sparkling light. What lay out there between earth and Professor Phillips’ universes beyond? She inclined farther over the edge.

  She saw the familiar pair of eyes, dark and lined with kohl, hovering in the darkness. This time she called to them. She babbled, unaware of what she was saying, but she felt the presence of her Egyptian double linger by the balcony and then, just for a second, slip inside her body. It was bliss. She understood everything now: who she was, what purpose she served, how she should use her talent. It seemed to last hours, yet slipped away when she heard a voice in the distance. Go to him, a voice said from the dark.

  “Rebecca!” Then there was nothing but Jonas: his strong arms pulling her back, shutting the door, plopping her on the couch and holding her until she returned fully to the world.

  He kissed her on the neck and asked what she attempted in the middle of the night?

  “The stars,” she said, still looking at that spot high in the firmament.

  “But you know they are only lights. Like this.” He flipped the reading lamp on and off.

  “There’s so much more.”

  “No, there’s not. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  Rebecca turned to look him full in the face. Her savior, yet he didn’t understand anything. “How did you know ... about me on the balcony?” she asked, her voice failing.

  “I always hear those balcony doors open. I could be deep asleep, but they wake me every time. When I noticed you were out of bed, I flew out here.”

  “So smart,” she said, tracing a line along his chin around to his forehead. “I thought you might have known what I was thinking.”

  Jonas put his hand to his forehead like a doctor with a bad prognosis, then grabbed her hand and held it with a firm grip.

  “No one knows what you’re thinking. That’s the whole problem.”

  She let out a sigh, and they curled up together on the couch and drifted into a strange and restless sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “The Ba!”

  Neferet sat up in bed, jolted out of sleep with a sudden need to consult Nebhotep and the holy books of the temple. Darkness still filled the room, and Ra had not even peeked over the horizon, but she grabbed a robe and some linens and made her way to the sacred pool to cleanse herself for the day.

  She dreamed that her Ba, the part of her being that her religion considered part of the soul, flew about lost, like a trapped bird flitting about in a space with no windows or doors. It tried to get back to her Ka, or her physical self. It isn’t supposed to happen. The Ba only separates at death. However, the dream pecked at her consciousness. Not only would it not fade away, it grew more troubling over the hour.

  She dried herself and fitted a long sheath over her slender form, put on a pair of simple sandals and dumped her laundry in a basket for the servants. Today, I look like a temple student. Maybe that’s my role for the day. She avoided the main pylons at the huge entrance to Karnak, with its brilliant flags and banners tossing in the windy gusts. She held an arm before her face to ward off the omnipresent sand and slid into a side door on the north side of the vast temple complex where she’d be less likely to be seen. She dashed between the myriad columns, all fashioned in the shape of budding lotus blossoms, and headed for the library.

  The room for sacred papyri looked a mess, piled high with scrolls of every possible state of preservation. The newer, greener scrolls sat on the bottom shelves, while dusty old things that looked as if they might crumble like stale bread perched up high. Other types of manuscripts rose all about her, from clay tablets in Akkadian, the language of international diplomacy, to pay ledgers written in hieratic script. Some documents even were incised on pottery shards.

  At first, Neferet jumped back in surprise to see someone other than Nebhotep at the central desk. A lean, young baldheaded man looked up, a vacant expression in his eyes, as if he were beholding a mere servant girl. She realized that without her regalia and kohl makeup, she probably looked like any seventeen-year-old commoner. Soon enough, the man’s face showed gradual recognition. He stood and welcomed the God’s Wife. Neferet bade him to sit and return to his studies but not before she requested several scrolls dealing with the Ba, the Ka and the constituency of the soul.

  The readings, deep and philosophical, got her nowhere at first. She discovered nothing about the Ba that did not have to do with death. Could the Ba have no role in life? Neferet noticed that trapped bird tapping at her sternum again and she clutched at her heart.

  Halting footsteps echoed down the hall, accompanied by the staccato percussion of a cane. The sounds announced Nebhotep before he appeared at the library’s door.

  “My lady,” he said, walking directly up to Neferet. “Your duties await. Where have you been?”

  She realized she had forsaken the morning ministrations for Amun. Hours must have hurried by. How could she forget? She rolled up her scroll and started to stand.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. “But please, Nebhotep, there’s something I must know. I’ve been in the library all this time searching.” She grasped the old man’s gnarled knuckles with her smooth hands and peered into his weak eyes. “It’s the Ba.”

  Nebhotep tossed his head back and moved away to take a scroll, an ancient one by the looks of the yellowed piece of papyrus, from a high shelf.

  “This is by Ptah-Hotep, vizier to the Pharaoh Isesi. From before the time the pyramids stood gleaming on Giza’s plateau.”

  Neferet gaped, for one could hardly imagine the immense age of the ancient pyramids. Yet, here Nebhotep cradled a papyrus, or a copy anyway, of words from that long-ago era.

  “Tell me,” Neferet said, pulling up a chair next to the old man, full of interest.

  The chief priest unrolled the papyrus, careful to preserve the brittle material from breaking, until he found the section he knew by heart. He read in a strong but cracking voice.

  “The one who knows takes care of his Ba — his capacity for sublimation. He makes certain it will survive and be long lasting. Thanks to his Ba, he is happy on earth.”

  He rolled the papyrus shut. His next words were his own, explaining the text.

  “That is the Ba in the living. It is that which seeks the vital energy of light in life.
You cannot lose your Ba in life, but you can be unable to recognize it.”

  Neferet chewed on her lower lip. Had she ignored the light in her life? She didn’t feel certain. She tugged on Nebhotep’s old linen robe.

  “I had a dream that the Ba, maybe my Ba, was lost somewhere and couldn’t return. It kept flying around and losing itself in the high sky. I was so worried because I couldn’t help. I just raced around unable to grab it.” She realized a tear slid along her nose and turned to wipe it away.

  “A lost Ba is a bad sign,” Nebhotep agreed. “Yet I see no sign in you that you have lost contact with this most important part of your soul.” He smiled, something unusual for him, and it looked as if his face would crack into millions of pieces. “Follow the law of Ma’at: truth, honesty, justice. Your Ba will find its way home.”

  Neferet hugged him, then wondered if his withered bones were able to take the stress. She thanked him and ran off to prepare for a late morning ritual for Amun. He would not mind the wait.

  #

  Deep inside the Holy of Holies, Neferet went through her routine, with the impassive mask of Amun looking through stone eyes at the opposite wall. She wondered if she were lost in the dark here, where only incense braziers and candlelight provided illumination. There was something missing, and she could feel the hollow in her heart. She enjoyed her role at the temple and believed her dances for Amun kept the world on an even keel, whether or not the god was watching. She followed the laws of Ma’at. Still, she lacked the sense that comes from a deep knowing of self. Could it be her role existed merely to dance, appease a stone god and be appropriate bait for the next Pharaoh? Her life must be worth more than that.

  The dance ended, and she placed food near the idol. Food from which the god extracted energy (or so the priests said), leaving the outward, physical manifestation for the priests and priestesses to gobble up. She bowed and recited an impromptu prayer for the reunion of her Ka with her Ba.

  As she turned to leave, she thought she saw a glint in those glassy eyes. On closer inspection, it existed as a trick of the candlelight. She remembered Nebhotep’s words as she left the chamber, “Thanks to his Ba, a person is happy on earth.” She closed the doors with a tentative touch, full of doubt and conflicted feelings about her religion, wondering just how happy she really felt right now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cuddled in a chair in her apartment, Rebecca immersed herself in tales of the cosmos and super-string theory. Allison called out to her. She put the physics book aside, realizing it was almost time to start helping with dinner. Not wanting to budge, she slid off the bed inch by inch and stood, stretching her aching muscles.

  “It’s the phone,” Allison said. Rebecca realized she had disabled her telephone so she wouldn’t be disturbed. As she plugged it back in, she felt a little bit of relief that K.P. duty was still a while away. Cooking never thrilled her, ever since Mom threw her out of the kitchen and declared her a blight on any decent meal. She picked up the receiver expecting to hear from someone at the dance company, since opening night dangled in front of them only two days away.

  Instead, the unmistakable accented voice of Sharif snaked over the wire. He wanted her to accompany him on that moonlight sail on his private boat. She’d blown him off on his offer a couple nights ago, but here he was again imploring. The man was indefatigable. A car would pull up at her door in fifteen minutes, he said with silken vowels. She felt herself go rigid with indecision. The lure of Sharif, alone with her on a fully rigged sailboat, was almost impossible to resist. She could just see the lake breeze ruffling his hair and sense his strong arms lifting her onto the deck. She felt a bit dizzy. Yet, at the same time, Sharif ’s impertinence bothered her. He always acted as if his needs were paramount. The request had sexuality twisted all through it. What would she tell Jonas?

  “What nerve you have,” she whispered into the phone. “How do you know I’m not —?”

  “You’re not,” he interrupted. “Not doing anything. I said I’d tell you everything. No more secrets. Tonight.”

  Rebecca stared at the photograph on her wall of strong-minded ballerina Gelsey Kirkland, one of her heroes, and tried to formulate an answer. The absolute gall of this man astonished her, while the thrill of a moonlight sail hovered like a tantalizing mirage. He often left her backed into a corner with no emotional way out. The air changed around her and even though he didn’t stand next to her, she still felt the attraction. The air almost became smoky with Sharif ’s sorcery. It always slowed down her thought process like a drugged drink

  Outraged or not, she wanted those secrets he withheld, she wanted time alone with him, and the boat sweetened the deal. There wouldn’t be any other way to get those answers out of him, so conversation of some kind was necessary. That meant succumbing to Sharif ’s rude, but effective, invitation. She couldn’t resist, and she almost hated herself for it.

  “Okay. Fifteen minutes,” she said and slammed the receiver down, exhilarated and defeated at the same time. The subtle sexual subtext of a moonlight sail bothered her, but she promised herself to stick to steering clear of any of Sharif ’s advances. Well, he was the artistic advisor for “Aïda.” Why not regard this as a business event?

  She shouted down the hall to Allison that she had to go out for a work conference and then rummaged through things in her drawers until she found a shipshape outfit: jeans, long-sleeve shirt, windbreaker and shoes with soles that wouldn’t slip. She skipped the makeup; she’d be seeing only Sharif, after all. Minutes later, she raced to the door, mumbling apologies for not washing and cutting string beans and slipped out the door.

  A sleek, black Volvo waited for her at the front stoop. In the back seat reclined Sharif, who jumped out to open her door. He was dressed in quintessential American outdoors-man clothes. A replete sailboat skipper from head to toe, in designer apparel. What designer Rebecca didn’t know, but the quality showed. Sharif returned, settled in next to her, and the driver shot off toward Montrose Harbor.

  “So, you aren’t just here on a visit,” she said, as Sharif smiled in his plush seat. “You live here or you wouldn’t have a boat.”

  “Well deduced,” he said, nodding his head in satisfaction.

  She sat burning with irritation, realizing the “Until Tuesday” garbage on his business card had just been a ruse to get her to call him right away. He played the game, and she jumped through all his hoops. He laughed and tossed his head.

  God, that profile. He’s made for the screen. She checked her bodily responses – all going haywire. Why does he make me feel this way?

  As the car pulled up to the harbor, Sharif leaned, looking out the window until he found the boat’s slip. He told the driver to stop, then, as they exited, he mumbled something about returning in an hour and a half.

  “Don’t I even get a choice about how long we stay out there?” Rebecca said. She thought she was used to Sharif ’s Old World, male-dominant attitude by now, but he never failed to dismay her.

  “It’s my boat,” Sharif said with a smug smile. “Plus, the winds are variable. But trust me, you’ll love it.” He pulled on an immaculate white windbreaker and began undoing a knot tethered to an elegant blue craft with a shiny mainsail and jib. Rebecca fought back the urge to gasp when she took in the size of the sailboat. The craft alone had to put him back several thousand dollars. Add on the slip rental fees and he was paying like a noble for this maritime toy.

  They undid the ropes around the dock cleats, and Sharif handed Rebecca into the boat, while he started the small engine and began to cast off. He saw her regarding the engine with suspicious eyes.

  “The engine only gets us in and out of the harbor,” he said, still gathering rope. “When we are out on the water, I switch to wind power only. Or if the wind dies, the engine gets us home. Or we hope so.” He smiled with a hint of apology.

  Rebecca sat in a corner while Sharif tugged on the mainsail line. Before she knew it, he put her to work straightening th
e sheet as it ascended the mast. She felt a bit of a thrill doing the work of a real sailor and pouted when Sharif commanded her to sit back down. He turned off the engine, raised the jib, tacked out toward Navy Pier, then leaned back and engaged the auto-tiller, which left his hands free. He opened a bottle of fine wine that he kept in a box nearby and, with her help, poured out two glasses. He placed his on a small table near the rudder. He leaned back ready to talk.

  “Where do I start, Rebecca?” he asked, holding out a hand to the side, as if he had nothing to hide.

  She sniffed, sat up with her back ramrod straight and sampled the wine to buy time. Preoccupied, she really didn’t taste anything.

  “Okay,” she said, running through her endless list of things to interrogate him about. “First, let’s start with why you came to Riverfront Dance Company.” The wind picked up and sprayed her face with droplets of fresh water.

  He chuckled and refilled his glass. One word escaped his lips: “Lenore.”

  “Le-NORE?” Disgust filled her belly. “What is she to you?” Sharif rolled the wine in his mouth before swallowing, stretching out the answer as long as could.

  “She’s my wife.”

  A variety of emotions played across Rebecca’s mind: anger, incredulity, disbelief, even fear. She found herself laughing instead. She let out such a nervous whoop that passengers of a passing sailboat turned to look her way. She got a hold of herself, realizing they weren’t out far enough for privacy, and stared with a sarcastic tilt of the head into Sharif ’s eyes.

  “Your wife.” How did they hide this relationship? You’d think Lenore would be crowing about it.