Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

by Naguib Mahfouz

  14

  An air of delight stirred — within Bisharu's palace that night. Signs of it were plain in the laughing faces of both Zaya and Nafa — and that of the inspector himself. Even Gamurka seemed to sense that something good was coming, feeling deep inside that he should rejoice, for he raced around barking, rushing back and forth in the garden like a reckless arrow in flight.

  They were all waiting expectantly, when suddenly they heard a clamor from without — as the loud voice of the servant cried out ecstatically, “My young lord!” At this, Zaya leaped to her feet and ran toward the staircase, flowing down the steps without looking left or right. And at the end of the entrance hall she saw Djedef in his white uniform and military headdress, shimmering like the rays of the sun. She threw wide her arms to embrace him — and found that Gamurka had beaten her to him. He assaulted his master excitedly, hugging him with his forepaws, yipping at him to complain of the agony of his yearning.

  She pulled the dog aside and grasped her dear boy to her heart, smothering him with kisses. “The Spirit answered me, my son,” she shouted. “Oh, how I have missed your eyes, and how upset I was with longing for the sight of your beautiful face. My darling, you've become so much thinner, and the sun has scorched your cheeks — you're worn out, dear Djedef!”

  Drawn to the noise, Nafa came, laughing as he greeted his brother, “Welcome, Mighty Soldier!”

  Djedef smiled, glancing between his mother and brother, while Gamurka danced enraptured in front of him, cutting ahead of his path on every side. Kissing his cheek, the inspector received him warmly. Bisharu looked at him for a long while with his bulging eyes that revealed his discernment.

  “You have changed in these two months,” he said. “You are now truly starting to show the marks of manhood. You missed the celebration for the great pyramid, but don't feel sorry for that, because I'll show it to you myself — for I am still, and will continue to be, the inspector for the area until I take my retirement. But — why are you so tired, my child?”

  Djedef laughed as he said, while playing about Gamurka's head, “Army life is cruel and harsh. During the — whole day in the academy — we are either running, swimming, or riding — now I'm an expert horseman!”

  “May the gods preserve you, my son,” said Zaya.

  “Do you also throw spears or practice shooting arrows?” asked Nafa.

  Djedef explained the school's regimen to his brother — with the effusive prolixity of the fascinated pupil.

  “No,” he said, “in the first year, we train with games, and in horseback riding. In the second year, we learn fencing with swords, daggers, and javelins. In the third year, we drill with spears, and theoretical studies are thrust upon us. Then in the fourth year, we have archery, and history lessons as well. In the fifth year, we take up the war chariot, and finally, in the sixth year, we review the military sciences and visit fortresses and citadels.”

  “My heart tells me that I'll see you as a great officer, O Djedef. Your face inspires enthusiasm — and there's no harm in that, for in my calling, we predict people's futures from the nature of their features.”

  Then Djedef, as if suddenly remembering something very important, inquired with interest, “Where is Kheny?”

  “Didn't you know that he has joined the ranks of the priests?” Bisharu answered for him. “They now keep him behind the walls of the Temple of Ptah. They are teaching him the religious sciences, along with ethics and philosophy, in total isolation — far from the din and distractions of the world. They are trained for a life that is the closest of all to that of the soldier — for they wash themselves twice by day, and twice by night. They also shave their heads and their bodies, wear garments of wool, and renounce the consumption offish, pork, onion, and garlic. They must pass the toughest examinations, and instruct other people in the sacred secrets of knowledge. Let us all pray that the gods steady his steps, to make him a sincere servant for them, and for their faithful believers.”

  To this, all of them then said, as though with one breath, “Amen.”

  “So when shall I have the good fortune to see him?” asked Djedef.

  “You won't see him for four years, the years of the greatest temptation,” said Nafa, regretfully.

  Djedef's face had darkened with sorrow and longing for his earliest mentor, when Zaya asked him, “How will we see you, from now on?”

  “On the first of every month,” the boy answered.

  At this, her brow furrowed, but Nafa laughed, “Don't stir up sadness, Mother,” he said. “Let's see how we can spend this day — what do you think of an outing on the Nile?”

  Zaya shouted, “In Kiyahk?”

  “Does our soldier dread the harshness of storms?” Nafa asked, sarcastically.

  “But I can't do it in this month's weather,” answered Zaya, instead. “Nor can I be separated from Djedef for even one minute of this day. So let's all stay in the house together. I have saved up a long talk with him that I cannot bear to keep to myself any longer.”

  Meanwhile, all of them had noticed that Djedef's formerly carefree spirit had disappeared, that he spoke but rarely, and that an unfamiliar stiffness and gravity now enfolded him. Nafa looked at him with surreptitious anxiety, and asked himself: “Will Djedef keep this new personality for very long? He's running away from seriousness and rigidity. Perhaps he didn't feel the loneliness in Kheny's absence when he was under the stress of his army discipline.” But he denied his fears to himself, saying, “Djedef is still new to his military life. He's not able to digest all of it in just a short time. He'll feel some alienation and pain until he becomes accustomed to it completely. At that time he will put aside his unhappiness, and his normally jolly and pleasant nature will return.” Then he thought that if Djedef accompanied him to look over his art, then perhaps his gaiety would revive. So he said to him, “Hey, Officer Big Shot, what do you think of going to see some of my pictures?”

  But Zaya was furious. “Stop trying to steal him away from me!” she shouted. “On the contrary — for he's not leaving this house today!”

  Nafa drew a deep breath and said nothing. Then a thought occurred to him. He produced a large sheet of papyrus and a reed pen, and said to his brother, “I will draw a portrait of you in this beautiful — white outfit. This — will help me keep the memory of this lovely occasion, so that I may look upon it fondly on the day your shoulders are adorned with a commander's insignia.”

  Thus the family spent a gorgeous day in entertaining chatter and other pleasures. Indeed, this visit became the model for each of Djedef's homecomings every month, that seemed to pass in the twinkle of an eye. Nafa's fears were dispelled, as the lad lost his stiffness, and his bold, playful self returned. His body reveled in its strength and manliness, as he progressed further and further on the road to developing his physical power and magnetism.

  The summer — when the academy closed its doors — was the happiest time for Zaya and Gamurka. During these days, they became reaccustomed to the uproar of life and the activities that they all shared before the brothers split up into their different walks of life. The family often traveled to the countryside or to the northern Delta in order to go hunting, using a skiff to plow through the waves of lakes shaded by papyrus groves and lotus trees. Bisharu would stand between his boys Nafa and Djedef, each one holding his curved hunting stick, until a duck — not suspecting what Fate had in store for it — flew overhead, and each took aim at the target, throwing all his strength and skill into it.

  An adroit hunter, Bisharu was twice as successful at it as his two sons combined. He would look sharply down at Djedef and say in his gruff voice, “Don't you see, soldier, how good your father is at hunting? Don't be so surprised — for your father was an officer in the army of King Sneferu, and was strong enough to capture a whole tribe of savages without fighting at all.”

  These sporting trips were a time of exercise and enjoyment unmatched on other occasions. Yet Bisharu's mind would not be at rest until he t
ook Djedef on a visit to the pyramid. His goal from the beginning — was to show off his influence and authority, and the kind of reception given him by the soldiers and employees there.

  Meanwhile, Nafa invited Djedef to visit his gallery to show him his pictures. The youth was still working hard, with hardly any funds, hoping that he would one day be invited to take part in a worthy artistic project in one of the palaces of the wealthy or prominent. Or that one of his visitors should buy something. Djedef loved Nafa, and he loved his works of art — especially the picture that he drew of him in his white war uniform — which captured the essence of his features and the expression in his eyes.

  At this time, Nafa was painting a portrait of the immortal architect Mirabu who had brought the greatest miracle of technical achievement into existence.

  As he sketched the underlying drawing for the painting, he said to Djedef, “I have never put half as much into any painting as I have invested in this one. That's because, to me, the figure in this portrait has a divine character.”

  'Are you painting it from memory?” Djedef queried.

  “Yes, Djedef,” he replied, “for I never see the great artist except during feast days and official celebrations in which Pharaoh's courtiers appear. Yet that is enough to have engraved his image in my heart and mind!”

  The year passed again, and Djedef went back to the academy once more. The wheel of time kept turning, as the life of Bisharu's family proceeded down its predestined path: the father into old age, the mother into maturity, Kheny into devotion to religion, Nafa into the perfection of his exquisite art. Meanwhile, Djedef made greater and greater strides toward an ingeniously superior mastery of the arts of war, gaining a reputation in the military academy never before attained by any pupil.

  15

  Djedef strolled down Sneferu Street as an unending stream of passersby stopped to gawk at his — white military uniform, his tall, slender body, and his clean good looks. He kept walking until he came to the entrance of the house of “Nafa son of Bisharu,” — with its license from Khufu's school of drawing and painting. He read the name plaque — with interest, as if he — were seeing it for the first time, and on his delightful face there — was a sweet, radiant smile. Then he passed through the doorway, and inside he saw his brother absorbed in his — work, completely unaware of what was around him — so he called out to him laughingly, “Peace be upon you, O Great Maker of Images!”

  Nafa swiveled toward him, a surprised look on his dreamy face. When he realized — who had come, he rose to greet him, saying, “Djedef! What good fortune! How are you, man? Have you been to the house?” The two brothers embraced for a — while, then Djedef said, as he sat on a chair that the artist had brought to him, “Yes, I — was there, then I came to see you here — for you know that your house is my chosen paradise!”

  Nafa laughed in his high-pitched — way, his face overflowing with pleasure. “How happy I am with you, Djedef! I was amazed at how an officer such as you could be so drawn to this calm, idyllic place for painting! Where is Djedef of the battlefield, and of the forts of Per-Usir and Piramesse?”

  “Don't be amazed, Nafa, for I truly am a soldier. But one who loves fine art, just as Kheny loves wisdom and knowledge.”

  Nafa's eyebrows shot upwards in shock, as he asked, “Imagine if you were heir apparent in the kingdom! Don't you see them grooming him for the throne, with education about wisdom, art, and war?” He continued, “A divine policy made Egypt's kings into gods — as it one day will make you a commander without peer.”

  The blood rose in Djedef's cheeks as he said, smiling, “You, Nafa, are like my mother — you don't see me even though you ascribe to me all of the best qualities combined!”

  At this, Nafa let out his high, piercing laugh, seeming to drown in it for a long — while, until he recovered his composure.

  Astonished, Djedef asked him, “What's wrong with you? What's so funny about that?”

  The young man, still giggling, replied, “I'm laughing, Djedef, because you compared me with your mother!”

  “Well, what's funny about that? I just meant that…”

  “Don't trouble to explain or excuse yourself, for I know what you meant by it,” Nafa interrupted. “But that's the third time today that someone has likened me to a female. First, this morning, Father told me that I was ‘as fickle as a girl.’ Then, just an hour ago, the priest Shelba said to me, while he was talking to me about my doing a portrait of him, ‘You, Nafa, are ruled by emotion, just as women are.’ And now you come along, and say I'm like your mother! Well, do you see me as a man, or as a woman?”

  Now it was Djedef's turn to laugh. “You are indeed a man, Nafa. But you are delicate of spirit, with a passionate sensitivity. Don't you remember Kheny once saying that ‘artists are a sex between female and male'?”

  “Kheny believed that art must borrow something from femininity — yet I feel that the emotionality of a woman is in absolute contradiction to that of the artist. For by her nature, a woman is utterly efficient in reaching her biological objectives using every means at her disposal. Whereas the artist has no objective but to express the essence of things, and that is Beauty. For Beauty is the sublime essence of that which creates harmony among all things.”

  Again, Djedef laughed. “Do you think that by your philosophizing you can convince me that you're a man?”

  Nafa fixed him with a sharp stare. “Do you still need proof?” he replied. “Well, then, you should know — I'm going to be married.”

  “Is what you say true?” Djedef asked, the incredulity plain on his face.

  Nafa was practically drowning in laughter — when he answered, “Has it reached the point where you would deny that I should get married?”

  “Certainly not, Nafa,” said Djedef, “but I remember how you made Father mad at you, by your abstention from marriage.”

  His face grown serious, Nafa placed his hand over his heart. “I fell in love, Djedef,” he said. “I fell in love — very suddenly.”

  Djedef- his feelings now gathered in concentrated awareness — asked in concern, “Suddenly?”

  “Yes, I was like the bird hovering safely in the sky until he feels an arrow dive into his heart — and he falls.”

  “When did this happen, and where?”

  “Djedef, when one talks about love, you don't ask about the time and the place!”

  “Who is she?”

  He said with reverence, as though intoning the name of Isis, “Mana, daughter of Kamadi in the Office of the Treasury.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I will marry her.”

  Djedef wondered, in a dreamy voice, “Is this how things change?”

  “And even faster than that,” said Nafa. ‘An arrow and its victim — and what is the bird to do?”

  Truly, love is an awesome thing. Djedef knew art, the teachings of the sages, and the sword. As for love, this was a new mystery indeed. And how could it not be a mystery, if it could do in one instant what Bisharu and he were unable to do in years! Meanwhile, he sensed his own passion flaring and his spirit wandering in far distant valleys.

  “A happy Fate has willed that I be successful in my life as an artist, and Lord Fani invited me to decorate his reception hall. Some of my pictures were valued at ten pieces of gold — though I refuse to sell them. Look at this little one!”

  Puzzled, Djedef turned toward where Nafa was pointing, and saw the miniature image of a peasant girl on the banks of the Nile, the horizons of evening tinged with the hues of sunset. As though awakened by the beauty of this picture that drew him from the valleys of his dreams, he approached it slowly, until he came to — within an arm's length of it. Nafa saw his amazement and could not have been more pleased.

  “Do you not see it as a picture rich in both color and shadow? Look at the Nile, and the horizons!” he exclaimed.

  Djedef answered in an otherworldly voice, “Just ask me to look at the peasant girl!”

  Contempl
ating her picture, Nafa said, “The brush has immortalized the flow of the Nile, which has such dignity.”

  But Djedef interjected, without paying any attention to what the artist was saying, “By the gods… such a soft, supple body, as slender and upright as a lance!”

  “Look at the fields, and at the bent-over crops, whose direction shows…” said Nafa.

  As though he didn't hear his brother at all, Djedef muttered: “How gorgeous this bronze face is, like the moon!”

  “… that the wind was blowing from the south!” continued Nafa.

  “How beautiful these two dark eyes — they have such a divine expression!”

  “Joy isn't all there is in this picture. Notice also the sunset — only the gods know how much effort I put into drawing and tinting it,” said Nafa.

  Djedef looked at him with a mad enthusiasm. “She's alive, O Nafa — I can almost hear her murmuring. How can you live with her under one roof?”

  Nafa rubbed his hands happily. “For her sake, I turned down ten pieces of pure gold,” he said.

  “This painting will never be sold.”

  “And why is that?” asked Nafa.

  “This picture is mine, even if I should pay for it with my life!”

  Nafa said, laughing, “O age seventeen! You're like a blazing fire, a leaping flame. You give life and womanly qualities to stones, colors, and water. You passionately adore illusions and imaginings, and turn dreams into actualities… and you've brought us all the tortures of hell!”

  The boy blushed, and fell silent. Nafa took pity on his exasperation, and said, “I am at your command, O Soldier.”