The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  Dung cakes and small sticks of wood were stacked beside the hearth. To one side was a large ovoid grinding stone and many straw–tempered storage jars and mixing bowls and cooking pots. The latter were made of my shale–tempered cream–colored pottery; their hard wet–smoothed exteriors were less porous and more resistant to high temperatures than the rough straw–tempered variety. There were repair marks on many of our finer old polished–red ware vessels. They were too valuable to ever discard. On a mud–brick bench along a wall lay a variety of pottery jar stoppers and caps, as well as baskets made of woven reeds and rushes. I set my basket of bread on the end of the bench.

  I returned to my room to get ready for Nykara. I selected a fairly new pale yellow linen skirt from my storage chest and put it on. Then I knelt before a small wood table covered with containers of creams and sweetly–scented oils and minerals. I picked up my bone comb topped with two birds and combed my hair until it shone. Then I rubbed my face with sweetly–scented ointment smelling of flowers to soften it, then my neck, then my shoulders, then my hands. After that I put a small chunk of malachite on an oval shale palette and ground it with a pebble until it was completely powdered. I mixed it with a little water and grease, then applied the malachite around my eyes with the chewed end of a reed, by feel. As always, now, the talisman dangled around my neck. It was the only piece of jewelry I ever wore, except for the gold falcon circlet I donned for celebrations, so that nothing would detract from it.

  I hurried back into the main room for breakfast. Auntie was seated beside Uncle now. They and my cousins were arranged around a cluster of bowls and jars of black–topped or polished–red ware filled with chunks of melon and nebk and desert dates and tiger nuts and onions and emmer porridge, and a platter filled with cones of my bread, and jars of beer. Uncle was picking fruit from the nearest bowl with his fingers. My cousins were similarly occupied; they hadn’t waited for me.

  Some mornings as we ate Uncle Hemaka told Auntie about the various difficulties and issues and alliances and ongoing feuds between the potters and brewers and carpenters and hunters and herdsmen and fishermen and other groups in the upper and lower settlements, or made predictions about the inundation or harvest, or complained about something Aboo or one of the other elite men had or hadn’t done. I always listened attentively, for now that I was involved in a conspiracy with Abar and Nykara any bit of information might turn out to be important and worth passing on. Occasionally Uncle mentioned the return of one of Dedi’s expeditions from a settlement elsewhere in the valley. So far in the past year there had been two more to Maadi, led of course by Nykara in his wood boat, and each time Uncle had spoken of the increasing amount of wine my pottery had brought him, as if sending my wares had been something he’d initially encouraged. But Uncle had nothing out of the ordinary to say today, just the usual assignment of daily tasks to the other girls.

  I was almost done eating when Nekauba poked his head in the entrance. He spotted Uncle. “That boy’s come for pottery again,” he said disdainfully.

  Nekauba refused to refer to Nykara by his name or title, as if that would somehow diminish him in my sight, or Uncle’s.

  “Tell Nykara I’ll be right there,” Uncle said. He stood, looked at me meaningfully. “Amenia! Beer and honeyed cakes for Nykara. Quickly!”

  As usual, anger suffused Nekauba’s face. He hated it any time I was with Nykara. I immediately rose and headed towards the storage area at the back of the house to get the victuals. When I returned Kapes was holding a basin of water and Uncle was washing his hands. Nebet was standing beside him with a length of linen to dry his fingers. I approached Nekauba, hovering next to the entrance, waiting for me.

  “Good morning, Amenia.”

  “Morning,” I said politely.

  He looked me up and down with his normal wolfish gaze. “See you later in the preparation area?”

  “Afraid not. I’m going to the lower settlement on an errand for Uncle today,” I said brusquely. “I won’t be back until nightfall.” I exited the house. I couldn’t stand being anywhere near Nekauba and, thanks to Uncle’s machinations, I rarely had to.

  On a normal day, immediately after breakfast, Auntie and Nebet and Kapes would take up flax we’d processed earlier and spindle whorls I’d made of fired clay and turn the flax into thread we’d later weave into linen, from which we’d make skirts and kilts and other clothing. We could have traded for those items with Dedi’s craftswomen who made clothing beside the oval court, but Uncle believed in keeping his own women fully occupied. They’d replenish the firewood and dung cakes we used for cooking in the house from the great piles around the pottery kilns, then refill our water jars from large earthenware vats in the yard, then carry large empty jars to the local brewery and fill them, resting them on their shoulders as they hurried back and forth. They each normally made six trips to acquire the amount of beer we used on a daily basis for ourselves and our workmen. Occasionally I helped with some of the chores, when I wasn’t busy making my pottery or visiting someone who’d taken ill or was giving birth. Today I was excused from even doing that, for Nykara was waiting outside.

  He downed the beer and munched on the honeyed cakes gratefully. He’d set out from the boatyard before dawn to obtain donkeys from Abar’s herd and lead them to Uncle’s so early in the morning. I chatted with him casually, about business, as we did any time we were in Uncle’s yard and knew Nekauba was listening. Once Nekauba had loaded the donkeys, with many a muttered curse, I told Nykara to wait for a moment. I returned to my room and grabbed the leather pouch containing my healer’s supplies, hastily filled another with some of the food remaining in the breakfast bowls, then went back outside.

  “I’m coming with you today,” I chirped happily. I handed Nykara my pouches and he slung both over his broad shoulder. “I have an errand to run for Uncle at the workshops beside the oval court. After that I need to look in on a farmer not far from the boatyard. His woman is sick.” I gazed at him coyly. “You don’t mind?”

  “I’m thrilled! And as it turns out, I need to look in on the workshops too,” he replied. “I’m glad we’ll get to spend time together.”

  We set off towards the wadi path. I glanced at Uncle, who was standing under the verandah. He nodded pleasantly to both of us. He was doing everything he could to stay on Nykara’s good side these days. He knew his future aspirations depended on it. Nekauba was watching from under the preparation shelter where he’d gone to pout. I smiled at him. He picked up a lump of clay and slammed it as hard as he could to the ground. He was such a child.

  Nykara and I made our way north along the lanes of the upper settlement, past the meat processing facility, past a small brewery, then down the slope towards the path at the center of the wadi, our feet kicking up dust on the dry path with every step, my skirt swirling about my legs. Directly across from us, on the far side of the wadi, rose the partially–completed wood structures of Aboo’s tomb complex, their roofs visible over the mud–plastered reed fence decorated with painted images of boats and animals and dancers and various shapes surrounding the cemetery.

  “How’s the complex coming along?” I asked.

  “A few more inundations and it’ll be complete,” Nykara replied. “It’s magnificent. I have to admit Rawer’s done a decent job overseeing it. Luckily for me, I haven’t been involved since the erection of Aboo’s statue. But, personally, I think Dedi’s tomb makes just as powerful a statement as Aboo’s entire complex. Your wall painting is spectacular. It’s a mix of the traditional images we’re used to seeing portrayed on pottery and rock walls, plus brand–new arrangements and themes. Every time I pass by someone is down in the burial pit, looking at it. Every elite man in Nekhen wants one like it.”

  I blushed at Nykara’s praise. Once I’d completed my drawing to everyone’s satisfaction, especially Dedi’s, Nykara and I had experimented with various mixtures until we’d created a plaster that would both adhere to the mud–brick walls of the burial pit
and be smooth enough to paint. We’d applied the plaster a quarter–inch thick, then covered it with a yellow wash. Nykara and Abar and I had subsequently devoted a couple of days to painting images onto the wall, using the strip of leather we’d spent one momentous afternoon creating as a pattern. I’d painted the boats first, at roughly eye level, all scaled and sized and placed in careful relationship to the others. The others had then added animals and hunters and people randomly over the surface, colored red and black and white. As expected, the images I’d painted had been the most polished and sure in execution; Nykara’s and Abar’s had been more hesitant, yet I liked them all the more because of it.

  Dedi had watched us every day, and Aboo once. Many of the elite men and their sons had dropped by too. At those times I was glad for Nykara’s presence, for he’d shielded me from their unwanted advances. Abar wasn’t so lucky; when she was around she didn’t have a moment’s peace from the same set of men and boys. After I’d finished painting the wall Nykara had overseen erection of the superstructure that protected it. We’d then held a ceremony similar to Aboo’s to dedicate the tomb to the falcon god, though with far fewer participants – boatmen and craftsmen and their families, mostly. I’d led the ceremony.

  On the high ground just before the final descent to the path we paused for a moment to rest. It was among my favorite spots. I surveyed the valley, looking east. The wind was already blowing hot and strong and columns of dust were whirling across the uninhabited portion of the slope between the upper and lower settlements. The only signs of life were long strings of donkeys. Loads of branches and lengths of wood were piled high on the backs of one group being led towards the heights from the lower settlement, swaying as they walked, dust rolling behind them. Woodcutters had clearly been busy among the tangled swamps along the river. More donkeys were moving from the river towards the upper settlement bearing leather waterskins. The entire valley was spread out below Nykara and me in the clear morning light – the upper settlement to our right, the wadi cutting sharply through the heart of the slope directly ahead with the hard–packed path winding down its center, the outcrop of rock rising like a sentinel beside it, the sprawling lower settlement with countless columns of smoke curling from its industrial areas, red banners waving over the oval court and the sun glinting off the copper falcon atop its pole at one end – Heth had covered the wooden figure with a thin sheet of metal half a year ago and now it cast reflected sunlight for miles up and down the valley – the stubble–covered cultivated strip – the harvest had been recently concluded – the silver and blue river, the island across from the boatyard. Several boats were tied up on the riverbank, more, heavily loaded, were drifting north or being rowed south, delivering beer and blood and milk. One was just passing by my cousin’s farm, a mile north of the settlement. I raised my eyes and gazed at Nekheb on the river’s far side, the brown cultivated strip, then the sharp drab line of desert and the hills to its east. The valley disappeared in a haze of dust in both directions. The scene was incredibly beautiful.

  We resumed our walk towards the lower settlement, moving easily, for the path descended sharply towards the river this high up. We reached the outcrop of rock and the cluster of boulders at its base. I glanced at Nykara, so tall, his skin sun–browned, eyes piercing and missing nothing. Suddenly he stepped into a patch of shade, took me in his arms, told me he loved me beyond all else. I nearly melted from the longing in his eyes. He bent his head and kissed me for a very long time. I kissed him back, equally eager and passionate, my hands splayed over his broad back, pulling him close. I felt so safe, so wanted. I’d never dreamed I’d ever be this happy. I just wished Nykara already belonged to me, that I didn’t have to wait any longer to be with him in every way that mattered. I wished I could dispel the haunting fear something would happen to keep us apart – that he might be joined to Abar or Wenher against his will, that I might be joined to Nekauba or an elite. I wanted to tell him about my dream, that I’d seen us together with a child of our own, that the falcon god wanted us to be together. But I didn’t dare say anything and jinx my dream, or risk it being sabotaged. Besides, how could I tell Nykara I’d dreamed about us the very night of Great–grandmother’s death when I’d been lying to him and Abar about even having a dream for many months? True, I’d been careful to say I hadn’t dreamed about Nekhen’s next ruler, which I hadn’t, but the fact I’d dreamed about something else was important. It meant I was going to choose Nekhen’s next ruler. Despite Abar’s assurances she had no designs on Nykara, deep down I wasn’t sure I believed her. She was powerful, he was amazing – they were truly meant for each other. She’d do anything, I was certain, to become ruler, including taking Nykara away from me. What would happen if I named her – which by rights I should – and the elites asked if the choice had been mine or the falcon god’s? I couldn’t lie. Would they accept her then? Probably not. I was a potter. What qualified me to make a decision that affected everyone in Nekhen? If the elites resisted, would Abar convince Nykara to join with her so they could use their combined transportation network to force the elites to fall in line? I knew how important keeping Dedi’s quest alive was to both of them. If their joining was the only way to do it, would both sacrifice their respective love and friendship with me? I drew back from Nykara, feeling guilty. We’d probably be approaching the problem of Pipi and Teti and the rest differently if Abar and Nykara knew what I knew.

  We moved back onto the path, walking hand in hand towards the lower settlement, trailed by the donkeys. The path itself in the mile or so between the two settlements was hard–packed and deeply worn by the passage of countless people and donkeys over the generations. The land to either side beyond the outcrop was unmarked by hut or farm, the ground mostly sand or dirt, colored by tall clumps of wild grasses swaying in the wind, dotted with a few groves of small acacia trees, cut by gullies and the long narrow arms of the wadi, streaked with yellow clay washed off the plateaus and desert.

  We passed the mouth of a small side wadi.

  “Want to see some of the etchings that have inspired the decorations on my pottery?” I asked.

  Nykara secured the donkeys to some low shrubs, then followed me into what soon narrowed to little more than a ravine. At the base of a prominent rocky hill I pointed to a great boulder, higher than I was tall, split in two.

  “I think it rolled from the heights and broke apart,” I said, stepping between the halves. I pointed. “See, here are three sickle–shaped boats with elaborate animal–headed prows. This animal etched above them is clearly a wild bull. And here’s a giraffe.”

  “Do you think they were all carved at the same time?” Nykara asked.

  I shrugged. “Who can tell? The styles are similar. They’re quite different from the etchings over there.” I led Nykara to a nearby cleft. Several boats were visible on the rock face, almost as if they were in a procession, also decorated with animals. But, unlike the first images, they’d been pecked into the rock. “Maybe these are older,” I theorized. “At any rate, I think it’s safe to say people have lived on these slopes for thousands of years.”

  “Look at this elephant,” Nykara said, pointing to an image barely visible in the slanting light. “What are these patterns decorating its body and floppy ears, do you think?”

  “Chevrons,” I said. “Many animals on some of the earliest pottery were decorated that way too.”

  “Did you see this person carrying a yoke?” Nykara asked. “I wonder if this dates to before there were donkeys at Nekhen. Wouldn’t that have been a dreadful job – hauling water from the river to the upper settlement by hand?”

  I pointed. “Way up there are a series of smaller boulders, all decorated. Ibexes, hartebeest, even an aurochs.”

  “I wish we had time to see them all today,” Nykara said. “But we both have work to do.”

  “Someday we’ll wander the heights and I’ll show you every decorated rock,” I promised. “You’ll be amazed at how many there are.”

/>   We returned to the donkeys and continued down the path. As we neared the lower settlement we saw, off to the right, the fenced–in wadi arm where Salitis kept a portion of his cattle and sheep and goats and pigs. The last of the women who’d come to the wadi to fill their earthenware jars with milk were heading down the path some distance in front of us. We hurried on. A little beyond that wadi were the pens where Aboo kept his donkeys; it was nearly empty, for the beasts were at this time of day engaged in transporting goods between potters and brewers and woodcutters and water carriers and farmers and herdsmen and everyone else who labored in Nekhen. Quite a few were currently off somewhere in the western desert, on Aboo’s annual overland trading expedition to a distant oasis. Nykara expected them to return laden with exotic animal pelts and ostrich feathers and eggs and other rarities.

  A little closer to the river, in another arm of the wadi, to my left, I spied the menagerie where Aboo kept the wild animals he’d captured.

  “Let’s have a look,” Nykara suggested. “Rawer was bragging the other day he went hunting with Aboo and they slew a hippo and captured its baby. Maybe we can see it.”

  “Rawer hunts with our ruler?” I asked in surprise. I hadn’t known.

  “Since he was old enough to draw a bow,” Nykara said. “Rawer’s the third best hunter in Nekhen.”

  “You’re second best, I suppose?”

  “Only Aboo is better,” Nykara said. “It’s another reason Rawer hates me.”

  “How can you hunt? You’re not elite.”

  “Only elites can capture animals alive,” Nykara corrected. “As a practice, only the elites go after prey – excepting the hunters who supply Nekhen with game. I hunt only when I’m on an expedition – my crew has to eat, after all.”