The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  I took a long drink. I was thirsty after the long walk to the upper settlement.

  “I’m Amenia,” she said cheerfully.

  Yesterday’s shyness was not evident. Apparently crowds made her that way. Or the presence of Nekhen’s rulers.

  “I know. We’ve met before.”

  She seemed surprised. “You remembered? That was four years ago.”

  Amenia was about my age, I guessed, taller than any girl in the lower settlement, thin, obviously undernourished, very plain–looking, particularly in comparison to Abar or Wenher. Her eyes were nearly as black as the malachite that outlined them. They seemed like deep mysterious pools, the only feature that set her apart even remotely from other girls. Her skin was sun–browned and smooth, skirt very dirty, hands and fingers and forearms and knees filthy with clay, some of it still wet, the rest dried to a light white film. There was even some smeared on her cheeks and chin. She wore a small flint amulet attached to a bit of twine around her neck – an image of our protective goddess Bat – and another of the falcon god. Her light brown hair, laced with golden highlights, was pulled up above her rather elegant neck and fastened in back with several bone hairpins, each decorated with an ostrich, no doubt to keep her hair out of the clay as she worked. She reached behind her and extracted the hairpins and tossed her head several times and shook her hair out, then pulled the long tresses forward over her right shoulder. The gentle curls reached halfway to her waist.

  I realized I was staring. I wasn’t sure why. I colored. “I’m Nykara.”

  “I know. As you said, we’ve met before.” Amenia smiled more broadly. Her teeth were white, lips soft and full. “I saw you at the ceremony yesterday, when Great–grandmother gave you the falcon god’s blessing. I’ve seen you wrestling and running and competing in other events at festivals these past years too. Beating everyone.”

  “Impressed you, did I?” I immediately regretted saying it. Sounded like I was bragging. I never bragged.

  “You did,” Amenia said frankly. “Not just me, either. We girls have been talking about you for as long as I can remember. We like to gossip when we go to the river to bathe or fetch water or wash clothes or weave mats – mostly about boys.” She laughed, a liquid, lilting sound. “Though the boatmen’s girls have staked a claim to you and warned the rest of us off.” She suddenly blushed. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”

  My face unaccountably turned red too. It was no secret as many women in Nekhen were pursuing me as men were Abar, and just as vigorously. I suppose I had to add Wenher to my list after this morning, though in her case pursuit wasn’t exactly the right term. For all intents and purposes, she was mine if I wanted her. I had absolutely no idea if I did. At any rate, I had no interest in any of the others. They were all content with their lives, their only aspiration to have and raise babies. I wasn’t going to settle for a woman like that, or give one the impression I would, especially not after becoming so close to Abar, being involved with a woman with drive and ambition and vision.

  “What else do the girls say?” I blurted. Why had I asked that? I was feeling very awkward.

  “Some say Abar has her eye on you,” Amenia replied. “They say the two of you spend lots of time alone together.”

  “I didn’t know the gossips wasted their time on us,” I said. Did Abar know we were a topic of conversation? Why did it bother me Amenia might believe rumors about me? Because it did. I’d never worried what a woman thought about me before. “Anyway, that’s ridiculous,” I told Amenia. “Abar and I coordinate boats and donkeys. That’s all. Besides, I’m a commoner and she’s going to be a ruler’s woman – Rawer’s.” Unless Pipi gets his way.

  “I know,” Amenia assured me. “She’s told me about him – and you.”

  “She has? You’re acquainted with Abar?” I knew she’d seen Amenia’s pottery when Ibetina had given birth, but I wasn’t aware they’d actually conversed, especially about me. I wondered what Abar had told her.

  “We spent time together when her half–sisters were born. Occasionally I run into her while I’m making mats at the river. We talk when Aboo summons Great–grandmother to the audience hall and I go along to help.”

  “Like at the conclave yesterday?”

  Amenia nodded. “Ruined a perfectly good skirt, too. It’s hard for Great–grandmother to get around by herself these days.”

  “If it’s not too rude of me to ask, what happened to her forearms?” I was glad to not be talking about myself anymore.

  “She broke them when she was about my age,” Amenia replied. “A man who was obsessed with her attacked her on top of the outcrop beside the wadi path. He either pushed her or she fell. She doesn’t remember. She apparently hit her head really hard. Gehes, our ruler at the time, crushed her attacker’s skull with a mace and then cut his head off before he tossed the rest of his body into his grave. Great–grandmother’s bones fused badly and so her hands are twisted outward at odd angles. I have to help her get ready every morning and assist her throughout the day. There are things she just can’t do for herself.”

  “It’s lucky she has you, then,” I said.

  Amenia lowered her voice. “Yesterday was so scary,” she said confidentially. “I’ve only been that close to Aboo a handful of times since he became our ruler. I’d never been in front of such a monstrous crowd. When I was standing next to Aboo and Great–grandmother on the dais I was absolutely petrified.” She sank to the ground at my side, cross–legged. Her eyes met mine. They were frank, open. “You don’t mind if I stay and talk, do you? I so hate kneading clay when it’s this hot. You’re a good excuse not to.”

  “No. Yes. I’m glad to be an excuse. I mean, stay. Please,” I stammered. Amenia was having a strange effect on me. She’d already embarrassed me twice, something no one ever did. She seemed quite different from the boatmen’s girls – unprepossessing, direct, unafraid to speak her mind. She wasn’t fawning all over me either, which was quite nice. I couldn’t help comparing her to Abar, who knew herself to be better than everyone and practically demanded to be worshiped. Amenia seemed exactly the opposite.

  “Do you always pick up pottery?” Amenia asked.

  “I’m no delivery boy,” I said a bit more huffily than I intended. I didn’t want Amenia to think me a common laborer. “I’m a boat builder and I oversee Dedi’s fleet.”

  She eyed the donkeys. “If you say so.”

  “You must realize how important the trip is – you heard Aboo order it. I leave in three days, perhaps sooner.”

  “You’re really leading the expedition?”

  “I’ve been going on expeditions with Dedi since I was fifteen. The fleet’s his, and most of the craftsmen who line the oval court.”

  “I’ve heard Uncle talk about him. Great–grandmother too, of course. And Abar.”

  “Hemaka’s not your father?”

  “No. Uncle and Auntie took me in a few months ago when my grandfather died. That’s when his works were split between Uncle Hemaka and Uncle Sanakht. Grandfather had watched over me since I was an infant, when my parents died. Uncle’s my mother’s brother. His daughters are my cousins – one older, two younger.”

  “My mother was Dedi’s woman for several years after my father died. She’s dead now too. So he’s my only family.”

  “It’s hard sometimes, isn’t it, being beholden to others?” Amenia asked somewhat sadly.

  “You don’t feel like you’re really part of Hemaka’s family?”

  “Truthfully? No.”

  “That’s how Rawer makes me feel – like an outsider.”

  Amenia sighed. “Is it true Dedi is the best boat builder ever? That’s what Great–grandmother claims.”

  “Yes,” I concurred. “Except some day I’ll be even better.”

  “You have an awfully high opinion of yourself,” Amenia chided.

  “Only because I’ve worked hard to become an expert with every tool a boat builder uses,” I said proudly. “I can
assemble a reed boat faster than any other workman in the boatyard.”

  “And if I asked one of them… he’d agree?” she challenged.

  “He would. I’m the best steersman in the fleet too. And I’ve done what none of them has – I’ve helped Dedi design a boat, and then designed one all on my own, and overseen its construction. It’s the one I’m taking to Badari.”

  She took her long hair in both hands, lifted it to cool her neck. “Where’s Badari?” she asked. “Is it close by?”

  I laughed.

  “Don’t make fun of me,” Amenia snapped, letting her hair fall. “How would I know? You think Uncle tells me anything about the world?”

  I liked that Amenia was standing up for herself, and that she was interested in the valley beyond Nekhen. She was like Abar in that regard, and unlike every other girl I knew. “I’m sorry, Amenia,” I apologized. “All boatmen know about the settlements and hamlets along the river. I assumed everyone at Nekhen did.”

  She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “Well, girls don’t. Men don’t see the need to tell us that sort of thing. I’m only aware Abu and Tjeni and Nubt even exist because Abar told me about them. I know about Badari because my ancestress Tiaa once lived there. It’s mentioned in my family’s stories. But I don’t know anything about it except its name.”

  “Frankly, that’s all anyone knows,” I said contritely. “Badari’s extraordinarily far – at least three weeks journey there, supposedly, a month or more back, depending on the speed of the current and the strength of the winds. It’s somewhere in the middle of the valley. Your ancestress Tiaa and Dedi’s ancestor Ankhmare may have been the last two people from Nekhen to have seen Badari. They fled it in fear for their lives and never went back. Tjeni is the farthest north I’ve gone.”

  “I’ve never been more than a mile from Nekhen,” Amenia said wistfully.

  I smoothed the dust at our feet and traced a map of the valley with my finger. “This is Nekhen. Way to the south is Abu. The river’s blocked by a massive cataract there, so that’s as far as we travel by boat. Here in the north are Tjeni and Nubt – Tjeni’s a loose collection of hamlets, not a single settlement like Nekhen. The huts in the southern part of Nubt are surrounded by a wall – its people mine the deserts for gold and precious stones and the wall guards them from desert raiders. A number of hamlets are beholden to both settlements, much like those around here are to Nekhen. Up in the North, somewhere, is Badari. What lies along the river between Tjeni and Badari, and how far it is between them, and how or whether the river twists or turns or whether there are one or more cataracts no one knows for sure. And, of course, Badari’s size and importance may well be exaggerated. It may have disappeared entirely in the last half millennium. Or it may be even larger than Nekhen. I won’t know until I get there.”

  “Oh, I wish I could go!” Amenia exclaimed fervently.

  Her reaction was refreshing, so different from that I always got from Pabasa and Rawer when I told them I was going somewhere. Exactly like Abar’s, however.

  “Tell me about all the places you’ve visited,” Amenia insisted.

  So I told her in detail about Abu and Nubt and Tjeni and Inerty and Hiw and Abdju, about the settlements themselves, their style of houses, their customs, their industries, how their people lived, the hamlets that owed allegiance to them. I told her about their cemeteries, none of which were like ours at Nekhen, their burial customs, their festivals, their local gods and goddesses. I told her about the stretches of the river I’d traveled, the wildlife, the plants, the landscapes. I even sketched for her in the dust an image of the boat I’d built.

  Amenia unconsciously leaned towards me the whole time, eager. I sensed she hungered for knowledge, even as I did. Her eyes held mine, dark and shining. They were magnetic, drawing me into her. I seemed to be impressing her with my knowledge and accomplishments. That made me very glad. I wanted to impress her, though I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t help wonder if Amenia was simply the first interesting woman I’d encountered besides Abar and I was overreacting to her reaction to me. Though I hadn’t reacted this way to Wenher earlier, and she’d been extraordinarily willing for her father to join her to me.

  Amenia sighed. “I wish I could travel like you do, Nykara. But I’ve never even been on a boat.”

  “I’ve been on them my whole life,” I said. “Trade expeditions are exciting, for sure, but most days I just make deliveries to farms within a few miles of Nekhen – taking beer and milk and blood and pottery and other supplies, returning with fresh foodstuffs, picking up massive loads of emmer and barley at harvest time. When I’m not captaining my boat I’m directing the other boatmen and arranging schedules and constructing vessels and such.” I glanced towards the kilns. “Tell me about your uncle’s pottery works. I’ve never seen one up close before.”

  “It actually belongs to both of my uncles,” Amenia corrected. “Uncle Sanakht is Uncle Hemaka’s older brother. As I said, they inherited it from their father, my grandfather Khaemtir.”

  “The other house is Sanakht’s?” I asked.

  “Yes. It was Grandfather’s, and his grandfather’s before him. Sanakht took it after Grandfather’s death. To tell the truth, my uncles don’t get along. Uncle Sanakht controls three of the five kilns, and since he’s older he makes all the decisions about what pottery gets made and in what quantities. But the food for our workers is supplied from a farm run by Yuny – Uncle Hemaka’s oldest daughter, Peseshet, is joined to him – so he thinks he should have a greater say in things.”

  “I can relate,” I said. “I constantly clash with Rawer.”

  “The girls talk about him when we gather, too. He’s chased after enough of them. No one truly likes him – not even those who do whatever he wants because they expect he’ll succeed Aboo and become our ruler and grant them future favors. Or so I’ve heard.”

  “So have I.” I sighed. “Enough about Rawer. Tell me about the works.”

  “We use three types of clay,” Amenia began. “The first comes from the foot of those cliffs over there.” She pointed to the face of the plateau. “It’s yellow, very dense, mostly shale. Over there, at the edge of the terrace, we collect a dark brown type, silty and sandy. Down at the edge of cultivation we dig up a pale brown silty–sand type. Each comes out a different color when it’s fired. We usually temper the clay with straw.”

  “What’s temper?”

  “Any substance that makes the clay stick together better.”

  “You said your uncles operate five kilns?”

  “Platform kilns. When we fire, we start with a bed of fuel – wood or dung or both – and top it with a layer of broken pottery sherds that acts as an insulator and keeps the pottery from burning. We stack jars three layers high, cover the top layer with more sherds, slather clay thickly over everything. The clay holds the heat in. We fire the pottery, break the clay, remove the jars and bowls and whatever from the kiln, let them cool.” Amenia pointed at the donkeys. “You’re only taking five loads of jars to Badari? That seems a long way to go with so little.”

  “Not the cheap mass–produced ones. The decorated.”

  “Truly? Those are mine!” Pure joy suddenly transformed Amenia’s face. It was as if a light hidden within her had burst forth. Her eyes filled with pride and passion. I couldn’t imagine why I’d thought her plain before. She looked like a totally different girl. She was no classic beauty like Abar or Wenher, but she was extraordinarily compelling at this moment.

  “I know. Abar suggested I bring them along. I remembered Ipu telling us about you still making the old styles that day in Dedi’s hut.”

  “So I have the two of you to thank for this?”

  “Abar mostly.”

  “Do you remember what you whispered to me all those years ago?” she asked.

  “Sorry, no.”

  “You said you admired me for keeping alive the old traditions.” Unconsciously, she put her hand on my arm and leaned towards me. �
��A year after that meeting I invented a new cream–colored style.”

  “A girl?” I asked skeptically.

  Now it was Amenia’s turn to answer huffily. “Yes, a girl. How do you think anything useful has spread throughout this valley – pottery, weaving, basket making, you name it? By women joining with men from different settlements and taking their skill with them to their new homes. My ancestress Tiaa invented a way of firing red jars twice so their tops would turn black. She brought that style from the desert to this valley and taught others.”

  “She’s in some of Dedi’s stories,” I said.

  “She invented the polished–red ware decorated with white images right here in Nekhen. She was the first woman to illustrate our world in pictures on pottery. I do the same on mine. I combine images of plateau and desert and river and animals and people on the same object – try to tell a story.” Amenia indicated the rows of coarse pots and jars and other objects lined up near the kilns. “Uncle Sanakht says decorating pottery is a waste of time. He’s following Teti’s example, from the lower settlement. He wants to be as wealthy as him and become an elite. Teti’s and Uncle Sanakht’s and Uncle Hemaka’s workers can all make dozens of rough pots in the same amount of time it takes me to make a single decorated pot. If their cheap ones break, so what? They’re not even worth mending. They throw them away and make another. Uncle Sanakht says technology is changing throughout the valley in almost everything and we have to keep up with it. Uncle Hemaka agrees. But I don’t – at all. I think decorating pottery in the ancient styles is still worthwhile.”

  “I never gave pottery any thought,” I said apologetically.

  “I think about it all the time,” Amenia said. “My Great–grandmother taught me, and her grandmother before her, and her grandmother before her. When I’m shaping one of my jars I feel connected to all my ancestors and a time beyond memory. I take as much pride in my pottery as you obviously do in your boats.”

  That too was refreshing. My acquaintances all had aspirations – Rawer to live luxuriously without working, Abar to wield power to expand Nekhen’s influence, Pabasa and Dagi to become outstanding traders, Wenher apparently to be my woman. But Amenia and I dreamed of making things and keeping alive traditions of quality handed down from parent to child for generations. What good was being a craftsman anyway if your product was inferior? I’d never had a conversation before with someone who truly took pride in making something with their hands, as I did. Amenia was turning out to be quite fascinating.