Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  10

  Time, sadly, moves always onward — never turning back! And as it moves, it delivers the destiny decreed for each person, executing its will — whose alteration and exchange are the sole comic diversion easing the boredom of eternity. From it comes all that time decays, and all that is renewed; all that revels in youth, and all that moans with age unto its final demise.

  Time had done what it does to the family of Bisharu.

  The man himself was now fifty. His corpulent body had started to sag, white hair covering his head, as bit by bit, he began to lose his strength, his youth, and his energy. His nerves were on edge as he shouted and yelled, scolding the guards and rebuking the scribes more and more often. Yet he was like the Egyptian bull, which bellows loudly even when not in pain, for his nature had two qualities that it never relinquished, that would not submit to the rule of time. These were his sense of honor and the goodness of his heart. After all, he was the inspector for the construction of Khufu's pyramid: woe be to whoever dared talk to him directly, if he were not of similar title or rank. He talked about himself tirelessly, as much as he could — and nothing so pleased him as the chatter of sycophants and flatterers.

  And if he were summoned to appear before Pharaoh because of his position, his criers spread the news everywhere that his influence reached, so the people of his house, big and small, as well as his friends and subordinates would hear of it. Nor was that enough, for he would tell Nafa, Kheny, and Djedef, “Go broadcast the glorious news among your brothers, and let you little ones compete in telling of the honor that your father has attained by his loyal work and high talent.” Yet he remained the good-hearted man he had always been — loath to cause anyone harm, and whose anger never went beyond the tip of his tongue.

  Zaya had now turned forty, yet the years showed little upon her. She kept her beauty and her freshness, — while becoming a highly respected lady, thanks to her deep-rooted virtues. Indeed, — whoever saw her living in Bisharu's palace would not imagine that she could ever have been the wife of Karda the laborer, and servant of the Lady Ruddjedet. She not only wrapped the memories of the past in the shrouds of forgetfulness, she forbade her memory from ever approaching that history enfolded in time. She wanted only to savor the main reason for her happiness — her motherhood of Djedef. In truth, she loved him as though she had actually borne him for nine months within her, and it was her dearest hope to see him grow to be a noble, contented man.

  At that time, Kheny had passed through the longest phase of his advanced training; only three years remained for him to master his specialty. Since by nature he tended toward study and deep immersion in the secrets of the universe, he chose theology and the path that led to the priesthood. The matter was not entirely of his own choice — for the priesthood was a forbidding discipline whose doors are barred to all but those who merit it. He would first have to complete his final studies, then endure tests and trying duties for several years in one of the temples. But Kheny the student was received sympathetically when he showed both acute intelligence and noble ethics in his scholarly life, as though he inherited from his father only his gruff, raucous voice. Slender and sharp-featured, of a calm demeanor, his traits called more to mind his mother, who was marked with godliness and piety.

  In that, he was the exact opposite of his brother Nafa, who had his father's heavyset figure, full face, and his many-layered character. Gentle and easygoing, to his good fortune his features had emerged finer than Bisharu's thick and coarse ones. Finishing his studies, he was a certified master of painting and drawing, and — with his father's assistance — he rented a small house on the street named after King Sneferu, the most important commercial road in Memphis. This became his studio, where he made and displayed his artistic creations, and composed a sign in immaculate hieroglyphs that he hung outside, which read: “Nafa, son of Bisharu, Graduate of the Khufu School of Fine Arts.” He continued to work and dream, patiently awaiting the crowds of buyers and admirers.

  Nor — was Gamurka spared the effects of time, for as he grew large, his long black coat became short. His face looked tough and strong, and his fangs warned of cruelty and the infliction of pain. His voice turned rough and gravelly; when he barked it echoed so fiercely that it spread terror in the hearts of cats, foxes, and jackals alike, announcing to all that the protector of the inspector's house was on guard. But for all his size and raw vitality, he was gentler than the breeze with his dear companion Djedef, with whom the ties of affection grew closer and closer with each passing day. When the boy called him, he came; when he gave him a command, he obeyed; and if he scolded him, he cowered and quieted down. He and Djedef also exchanged confidential messages by means other than language — for Gamurka would know when Djedef was approaching the house through a hidden sense, and would rush up to meet him when he saw him. The dog grasped what was inside the boy with a rare, amazing power that sometimes even the people closest to him lacked. He knew when he was ready for fun: he would kiss him playfully, jumping up to lay both his forepaws on the youth's loincloth. He also knew his master's moments of fatigue or annoyance: then he would lie silently between Djedef's feet, and content himself with wagging his tail.

  Now the boy had attained the age of twelve. The time had come for him to choose that to which he would devote his life. In truth, just a little while before, he had not thought at all about this dangerous question. Until now, the young man had shown a praiseworthy interest in everything, even deceiving Kheny with his passion for philosophy until the older boy was sure the priesthood was his only possible future. But Nafa — whose love of art ruled his sight — would watch him as he swam, as he ran, and as he danced. He saw his burgeoning body and his trim form, saying to himself when he imagined him dressed in military clothes, “What a soldier he'd make!” Thanks to their mutual affection, Nafa had a great influence on Djedef. As a result, he pointed him in the direction that Zaya most wanted for him. From that day onward, nothing so attracted Zaya during the popular festivals as the sight of soldiers, horsemen, and detachments of the army.

  Bisharu did not concern himself — with — which art or science Djedef would choose to practice in life, for he had not meddled at all in Kheny or Nafa's choices for their own careers. But he was inclined to speculate, so he said, while all of them were sitting in the summer salon, and as he softly rubbed his massive belly, “Djedef- Djedef who only yesterday was still crawling instead of walking. Djedef has worked his little head very hard thinking about an appropriate choice for his career to pursue as a responsible adult. Time has come and gone, so please be compassionate, O Time, with Bisharu, and bear with him until the building of the pyramid is complete, for you will not find an effective replacement for him.”

  Declaring her own wish, Zaya said, “There is no need for a lot of questions. For whoever gazes upon Djedef's handsome face, his towering stature, and his upright bearing would have no doubt that he is looking at an officer of Pharaoh's charioteers.”

  Djedef smiled at his mother, whose speech had affirmed his own passion — recalling the squadron of chariots that he saw cutting through the streets of Memphis one day during the Feast of Ptah. They rode in tightly ordered parallel ranks, the charioteers in the vehicles standing erect, neither leaning to the side nor bobbing up and down, like imposing, immovable obelisks — drawing all eyes ineluctably toward them.

  But Kheny was not satisfied with Zaya's choice, saying in his viscous voice, which resembled that of his father, “No, Mother, Djedef is a priest by temperament.

  “I regret thwarting your desire this time, my brother,” he continued. “How often has he made clear to me his readiness to learn and his inclination toward science and knowledge? How often have I been pressed to answer his many clever and intelligent questions? His preferred place is Ptah's academy, not the college of war. What do you think, Djedef?”

  Djedef was brave and forthright on this occasion, not hesitating to express his opinion. “It upsets me that I must disappoint your
hope this time, my brother,” he said, “but the truth is that I wish to be a soldier.”

  Kheny was dumbfounded, but Nafa, laughing aloud, told Djedef, “You chose — well — you look like nothing if not a soldier. This satisfies my own imagination. If you had chosen another discipline in life, you would have been so bitterly disappointed that it would have shaken your trust in yourself.”

  Bisharu shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “It's all the same to me if you choose the army or the priesthood,” he averred. “In any case, you have several months ahead of you to reflect on the subject. Oh, come on then, my sons! I imagine that none of you will follow in your father's footsteps — that not one of you will take on such a momentous role as I have fulfilled in life.”

  The months went by without any change in Djedef's decision. But during this time, Bisharu faced a severe mental crisis, which his alleged fatherhood of Djedef had set in train. In confusion he asked himself, “Should I continue to claim this fatherhood, or has the time come to proclaim the truth and to sever its bonds? Kheny and Nafa know the facts of the matter, though they absolutely never refer to it, either in private or in public, out of love for the boy, and in order to spare him distress.”

  As Bisharu calculated the impact of this shock on the blameless spirit of the happy youth, his ample torso shuddered. When he recalled Zaya, and what he would endure of her anger and resentment, he flinched in apprehension. Yet he did not think of this out of ill will or indifference to Djedef, but because he believed that the reality would somehow announce itself, if he did not do so first himself. Indeed, the very best thing would be to reveal it now and be done with it, rather than to hold it back until Djedef grew up, thus doubling the torment it would cause him. The good man hesitated, leaving the matter unresolved — and when it was time to reach a decision before enrolling Djedef in the military academy, he confided his secret thoughts to his son Kheny.

  But the matter horrified the young man, who told his father in deep pain and sadness, “Djedef is our brother, and the affection that binds us is stronger even than that between brothers by blood. What harm would it do you, father, if you let things be as they will be, rather than take the dear boy by surprise with this unexpected blow of disgrace and humiliation?”

  The one thing that could cost Bisharu due to his adoptive fatherhood of Djedef was his inheritance. But of the vanities of this world, Bisharu possessed no more than a substantial salary and a grand palace, and his paternity — or lack thereof- of Djedef threatened neither of these. For this reason, he sympathized with Kheny's anger, saying in self-defense, “No, my son, I would never humiliate him; I have called him my son, and I will continue to do so. His name will be inscribed among the students of the military college, ‘Djedef son of Bisharu.’ “

  Then he laughed in his usual way, rubbing his hands as he said, “I've gained a son in the army.”

  Wiping away a tear that ran down his cheek, Kheny rejoined, “No — you've earned the Lord's pleasure, and His pardon.”

  11

  The month of Tut was nearly done, and — with it, only a few days remained for Djedef to stay in Bisharu's house before his departure to study the ways of war. These days were also the most nervous ones for Zaya. As she considered the two long months that he would be secluded within the academy — and then the long years that she would only be able to rest her eyes on him for a single day per month — fits of absentminded confusion overwhelmed her. The sight of his beautiful face and the sound of his beloved voice would be denied her, and with them the confidence and well-being that his nearness instilled in her. How brutal life can be! Sorrow enshrouded her long before the reasons for it would come to pass. Enfolding layers of pain oppressed her, like the waves of clouds driven by the winds amidst the fog of the dark and gloomy months of Hatur and Kiyahk.

  When the cock crowed at dawn on the first day of the month of Baba, Zaya awoke and sat on her bed, muddled with sadness. An impassioned sigh was her first greeting to this day from the world of sorrows. Then she abandoned her bed and walked lightly to Djedef's little room to wake him and to dote over him. She entered the chamber on the tips of her toes in order not to disturb him, and Gamurka greeted her while stretching. But her plan was dashed when she found the youth had already awoken without her assistance. Softly he was singing a hymn, “We are the children of Egypt; we are descended from the race of the gods.” The boy had risen by himself, obeying the first call of soldiery. From her heart, she cried out to him, “Djedef!” Slowly becoming aware of her, he then ran toward her like a bird greeting the morning's light, hanging from her neck and lifting his mouth toward her. She kissed him while he kissed her cheeks, and picked him up in her arms and kissed his legs, before carrying him outside saying, “Come and say goodbye to your father.”

  They found Bisharu still deeply asleep, sending up jarring snorts and grunts as he slumbered. She shook him — with her hand until he sat upright, moaning, “Who's there? Who's there? Zaya?”

  “Don't you want to say goodbye to Djedef?” she laughed as she shouted at him.

  He sat in his bed, rubbing his eyes, then peered at the youth in the weak light of the lamp. “Djedef, are you going?” he said. “Come here and let me kiss you. Go now, in the protection of Ptah!”

  He kissed him — with his great, coarse lips once more, then added, “You are a child now, Djedef, but you're going to grow into a skillful soldier. I predict this for you, and the predictions of Bisharu, servant of Pharaoh, are never wrong. Go then safely, and I'll pray for your sake in the Holy of Holies.”

  Djedef kissed his father's hands, then went out with his mother. In the outer parlor, he met Kheny and Nafa standing there ready. Nafa cackled as he scolded him, “Hey, fearless warrior, the wagon is waiting!”

  Zaya's face was transformed by yearning. Djedef lifted his face toward hers, filled with happiness and love. But alas, the months had passed fleetingly, and the time had come to say goodbye. Not embracing, nor kissing, nor weeping could lessen the tribulation. He descended the staircase between his two brothers and secured his place in the vehicle beside them. Then the wagon set off, carrying the dear one away as she gazed long after it through the mist of her tears — until it was swallowed by the blue light of dawn.

  12

  The wagon arrived at the military academy in Mereapis, the most beautiful suburb of mighty Memphis, — with the rising of the sun. Yet they found the square in front of the school already crammed — with boys hoping to enroll, all accompanied by one or more relatives. Each of them waited his turn to be called for scrutiny, after which he remained inside the academy — or was sent back whence he came.

  That morning, the square was like a fairground, filled with festively decorated horses and sumptuous vehicles — for only the sons of the officer caste, or of the wealthy, were admitted to the college of war. Djedef turned anxiously right and left as he looked around, yet the faces he saw weren't strange to him, for many of those present were his classmates from primary school. So, pleased and charged with courage, his sagging spirits revived.

  The voice of the school's crier called out continuously, while the torrent of students kept pouring into the building's monumental entrance. Some of them stayed within, while others emerged, their faces dejected, in obvious distress.

  Kheny was staring sternly into the crowd. “Are you mad at me?” Djedef asked, disturbed by his look.

  Kheny put his hands on the boy's shoulders. “May the Lord protect us, dear Djedef,” he said. “The military is a sacred profession so long as it is just a public duty to which one devotes its full due for a time, and then returns to normal life. The soldier would not neglect any god-given talent, and would guard his spirit against useless distraction. I am confident, Djedef, that you will not disappoint any of the hopes that inflamed your soul in my room. As for your military escapade, and your commitment to carry it out — this entails the renunciation of your human feelings, the destruction of your intellectual life, and a regression back to t
he ranks of the animals.”

  Nafa laughed, as usual. “The truth is, my brother, you are rhapsodizing the pure life of wisdom, that of the priests,” he said. “As for my own models, I sing the praises of beauty and pleasure. There are others — and these are the soldiers — who resent contemplation and — worship sheer force. Mother Isis be praised that she endowed me with a mind that can perceive beauty in each of the colors that cover all things. Yet, in the end, I am not able to look after anyone's life but my own. In truth, the capacity to choose between these lives comes only to those who know them both, who are not biased against either one of them. But it's impossible to find such an arbiter.”

  Djedef's wait was not long, for soon the school crier called out, “Djedef son of Bisharu,” and his heart pounded. Then he heard Nafa say to him, “Farewell, Djedef, for I don't think you'll be returning with us today.”

  The youth embraced his brothers and strode through the forbidding door. He went into a room to the right of the entrance, and was met by a soldier who ordered him to remove his clothes. The boy took off his robe and walked up to an elderly, white-bearded physician, who examined each limb and member, glancing appraisingly at his form. Then the doctor turned to the soldier and said, “Accepted.” Overcome with joy, the boy put his robe back on, as the soldier led him out into the academy's courtyard, leaving him to join those who had been accepted before him.

  The school's grounds were as vast as a large village, surrounded on three sides by a huge wall, adorned with warlike scenes of battlefields, soldiers, and captives. On the fourth side were barracks, storehouses for weapons and provisions, plus the headquarters for the officers and commanders, grain sheds, and sheds that housed the chariots and wagons, altogether resembling a formidable fortification.