Crossing the road called the Valley of Death, the wagon arrived at the plateau. Zaya got out and walked toward the mass of men spread over the sprawling terrain like an enormous army milling about a square. On her way, she passed the Temple of Osiris, the Great Sphinx, and the mastaba tombs of the ancestors whose -worldly -works earned their repose -within this purified ground. She saw the long channel that the -workers had cut for waters from the Nile to reach the plateau. Huge boats were plying her -waters, filled -with massive rocks and stones, awaited by crowds of laborers -with -wagons crawling at the dockside. From a distance she saw the base of the pyramid that the limits of vision could not wholly take in, and the men scattered like stars on its surface. The sounds of the chanting blended with the shouts of the overseers, as well as those of the commanders of the Heavenly Guard, and the crackle of tools. Confused, Zaya stopped with the child in her arms, turning this way and that without knowing which direction to choose, and saw the futility of calling out over this depthless ocean of humanity. Her anxious, exhausted eyes rambled back and forth among all the faces.
One of the guards who passed her — thinking there was something strange about her - approached and asked her roughly, “What did you come to do here, madam?”
In all simplicity, she replied, “I'm looking for my husband, Karda, sir.”
“Karda? Is he an architect or a member of the guard?” the soldier asked her, knitting his brow as he tried to remember.
“He's a laborer, sir,” she said, timidly.
The man laughed sarcastically and said, pointing to a nearby building, “You can ask about him at the Inspector's Office.”
Zaya walked toward her goal, an elegant building of modest size, where a military guard stood by the door, blocking her way inside. But when she told him why she had come, he made way for her. She entered a wide room, its sides lined with desks, behind which sat the employees. The walls were filled with shelves stacked with papyrus scrolls. Within the room there was a door standing ajar, toward which the guard directed her with his staff. She passed through it to a smaller chamber, more beautiful and more expensively furnished than the other. In one corner, behind an enormous desk, there was a fat, squat man, distinguished by his outsized head, short, broad nose, full face, jutting jaw, and cheeks inflated like two small water skins. His eyes bulged under heavy lids as he sat with immense conceit, inflicting his supercilious bossiness upon -whoever came to him.
He sensed someone had entered - yet did not raise his eyes nor display any sign of interest until he finished what he had before him. Then he peered at Zaya with bold disdain, asking in an overbearing, vainglorious voice, “What do you want, woman?”
Embarrassed and afraid, Zaya answered weakly, “I have come to look for my husband, sir.”
Again in the same tone, he asked her, “And who is your husband?”
“A laborer, sir.”
He struck his desk with his fist, then said fiercely, his voice ringing out as though in a vault, “And what reason could there be for taking him from his work, and putting us to this trouble?”
Zaya grew more frightened. Confused, she did not even try to respond. The inspector continued to look at her. He noticed her round, bronze-colored face, her warm, honey-hued eyes, and her succulent youth. Hard it was for him to lay the weight of fear over a face as lovely as hers. His conspicuous power was only for show and vanity — his heart was good, his feelings refined. Taking pity on the woman, he said to her, in his usual pompous manner, but as gently as he could manage, “Why are you looking for your husband, madam?”
Sighing in relief, Zaya said calmly, “I have come from On, after I lost my means of livelihood there. I want him to know, sir, that I am now here.”
The inspector gazed at the child that she held in her arms, then asked her in the fashion of high-ranking persons, “Is that really why you came here — or was it to inform him of this child's birth?”
Zaya's cheeks flushed a deep red with shame. The man stared lustfully at her for an instant, before saying, “Fine … from what town is your husband?”
“From On, sir, but he was born in Thebes.”
“And what is his name, madam?”
“Karda son of An, sir.”
The inspector called for a scribe, dictating an order to him in the imperious style that he had earlier relinquished for the sake of Zaya's eyes.
“Karda son of An from On,” he told him.
The scribe -went to search in the record books, pulling out one and unrolling its pages, looking up the sign “k” and the name “Karda.” He then returned to his chief, leaning into his ear and -whispering in a low voice, before going back to his work.
The inspector regained his former demeanor and looked at the -woman's face for some time, before saying quietly, “Madam, I am sorry that I must offer you my condolences for your husband. He died on the field of work and duty.”
When the word “died” struck Zaya's ears, a scream of horror escaped her. Dazed, she paused for a moment, then asked the inspector in agonized entreaty, “Is my husband Karda really dead?”
“Yes, madam,” he answered -with concern. “In these situations, one can only try to endure it.”
“But… how did you know it, sir?”
“This is -what the scribe told me, after he searched through the names of the -workers from On.”
“Isn't it reasonable, sir, that his eyes could have deceived him?” she remonstrated. “Names can be similar.”
The inspector asked for the scroll to be brought to his desk. He looked through it himself, then shook his head regretfully. He glanced at the woman's face, which terror had tinged with the pallor of death. Noting a final glint of denial in the reluctant widow's eyes, he told her, “You must try to bear up, madam -and submit to the will of the gods.”
The faint light of hope was extinguished. Zaya burst into tears, and the inspector demanded a chair for her. “Have courage, my good woman, have courage,” he kept telling her. “This is what the gods have decreed.”
Still, hope loomed before Zaya like a mirage to someone thirsting in the desert.
“Is it not possible, sir, that the deceased was a stranger who bore the same name as my husband?”
“Karda son of An -was the only one to be martyred among the workmen from On,” he said -with certainty.
The -woman moaned meekly and -with pain.
“How awful my luck is, sir — can't the Fates find another target for their arrows other than my poor breast?” she said.
“Don't take it too hard,” he urged.
“I have no other man but him, sir.”
The good-hearted inspector wanted to reassure her when he said, “Pharaoh does not forget his faithful servants. His mercy covers the victims and the martyrs alike. Listen to me: our lord the king has ordered that houses be built for the families of laborers who meet their fate in the course of their work. They were built on the slope of the plateau, and many women and children dwell within them, whom the monarch provides with a monthly stipend. His will has decreed the selection of men from among their relatives to serve in the guards. Do you have a male relation that you would like to have appointed to watch over the workmen?”
“There is no one for me in the world but this child,” replied Zaya, tearfully.
“You two will live in a clean room,” he said, “and you will not know the humiliation of being questioned about it.”
And so Zaya left the office of the pyramid's inspector a wretched widow, weeping for her husband's misfortune — and her own.
8
THE HOUSES that Pharaoh ordered built for the families of the martyred workmen were located outside the White Walls of Memphis, east of the Sacred Plateau. They were of modest size, with two stories, four spacious rooms on each level. Zaya and her child dwelt in one of these chambers. She grew accustomed to living among these widows and bereaved mothers and children, some of whom went on mourning their dead without ceasing. Others’ wounds had healed, time h
aving treated their sorrows. As a group, they were busy. Everyone had something to do: the young boys fetched water for the workmen, while the women sold them cooked food and beer. The wretched quarter was transformed into a burgeoning, low-priced bazaar filled with the bustle of ceaseless construction that announced its future as a prosperous town.
Zaya had spent her first days in her new home in constant sorrow, weeping for her lost husband. Her grief did not lessen, no matter what material blessings or sympathy she received that Bisharu, inspector of the pyramid, gave her. What a pity! For if only those suffering from loss would remember that Death is a void that effaces memory, and that the sorrows of the living vanish at the same speed with which the dead themselves disappear, how much toil and torment they could avoid for themselves! Yet, she grew stronger as the hardships of life made her forget the bitterness of death. But because of all the grumbling in her new home, after a few months she became convinced that it was not the right place for her or her son. Seeing no way out, however, she endured it in silence.
During these months, Inspector Bisharu visited her a number of times, whenever he went to these residences to check on their conditions. In fact, he visited many widows, but showed Zaya a distinctive degree of warmth and compassion. Though it is doubtful that others were less unfortunate than Zaya, none had hot, honey-colored eyes like Zaya's, nor a lithe, slender form like hers. Reflecting on his interest, Zaya said to herself, “What a fine man! True, he's short and fat, with coarse features, and at least forty years old or more - but he's so good-hearted, and so deeply loving as well!” With her secret eye she saw that when he looked at her supple figure his heavy eyelids fluttered and his thick lips shook. He became humble in place of his old arrogance, and when she traded pleasantries with him, he would be nailed where he stood like a boar impaled on a pike.
Her ambitions awakened, she unsheathed her secret weapon to conquer the great inspector. This happened when she took the opportunity of his presence to bewail her loneliness and gloom in her unhappy home.
“Perhaps I would be more useful, sir, in some other place, for I served a long time in the mansion of one of the good families of On,” she told him. “I have great experience in the work of female servants.”
The inspector's eyelids ceased trembling. “I understand, Zaya,” he said, looking greedily at the gorgeous widow. “You don't complain out of indolence, yet - since you're used to the luxury of grander houses - your existence here must be dreadful.”
The sly one essayed a coquettish smile, as she exposed the beautiful face of Djedef. “Will this place do for so lovely a child?”
“No,” said the inspector. “Nor for you, Zaya.”
Blushing, she let her eyelids drop until their lashes touched the hollows of her cheeks.
“I have the palace that you desire,” the man said, “and -just perhaps - the palace desires you, too.”
“I await but a sign, sire.”
“My wife has died, leaving me two sons. I have four slave girls - would you, Zaya, be the fifth?”
On that very day, Zaya and Djedef moved from their squalid room to the women's quarters of the dazzling palace of Bisharu, inspector of the pyramid, whose garden went all the way out to the channel connecting to the Nile. She moved to his palace like a true slave girl - but with a status like no other. The atmosphere there was susceptible to her tricks and magical spells, for the house was without an effective mistress. Because the inspector's two sons were such little darlings, she used them to work on the sweet side of her master's character. Her campaign succeeded so well that she seduced him into marrying her. Soon the inspector's new wife took charge of the palace, and of raising his two boys, Nafa and Kheny. With no further need of deceit, once she rose to her high position, she swore to herself that she would give his two youngsters a proper upbringing, and to be for them a truly upstanding mother.
This is how Destiny smiled upon Zaya after a great reversal of fortune, and the world offered her a new life entirely, after her disaster.
9
HERE WAS the palace that the Fates had determined would be the childhood home of Djedefra. For the first three years — as was the custom in Egypt in those days - he did not leave his mother's embrace unless it was time to sleep. During those three years, he touched Zaya's heart in a way that would not be erased for the rest of her life. Mothering and nurturing him filled her with fondness and compassion, yet we can do no more than scratch the surface when we discuss Djedef ‘s early upbringing. After all, it was - like all childhoods - a locked-away secret, a kind of ecstasy in a bottle — -whose essence is known only to the gods, and which they guard. The most that one could say is that he shot up quickly, like the trees of Egypt under the rays of her resplendent sun. His personality blossomed to reveal its goodness, like the rose when the warmth of life pierces its stalk, breathing into it the soul of beauty. He was Zaya's happiness, the light of her eyes, and it was the favorite game for Nafa and Kheny to snatch him away from one another and kiss him, and to teach him names, how to speak, and how to walk. But he finished his early childhood with knowledge that should not be dismissed lightly, for he knew how to call to Zaya, “Mama!” and she taught him to call Bisharu “Papa!” The man heard him say this with joy. He took as a good omen the boy-child's beauty, blessed with the splendor of the lotus. His mother also incessantly taught him to love the name of Ra. She demanded that he say it before going to bed, and when he awoke, in order to make the Lord's feelings flow for His dear son.
At three years of age, Djedef abandoned Zaya's embrace and began to crawl around his mother's room, and to walk, leaning on the chairs and couches, between the reception hall and the private chambers. An impulse to examine the pictures on the cushions, the decorations on the furniture legs, the paintings on the walls, the exquisite works of art strewn about, as well as the hanging lamps, guided him. His hand reached out for whatever it could grab, as he kept extending his grasp for the precious pleasure of it until, tiring of the effort, he would cry out, “Ra!” Or he would exhale a deep “Ah!” from his tiny chest, before resuming his mission of search and discovery. The inspector gave him a great wealth of toys: a wooden horse, a little war chariot, a crocodile with a gaping mouth. He lived with them in a little world of his own, where he made life as he wished it, where he would say that something would be - and it would be. The wooden horse, the war chariot, the gaping-mouthed crocodile each had its own life and ambitions. He spoke to them - and they spoke to him. He gave them orders — and they would obey, all the while sharing with him the secrets of inanimate things normally hidden from grown-ups.
At that time, a puppy named Gamurka was born in the palace to pedigreed parents of the old, venerable breed from Armant. Djedefra loved him at first sight, and brought him into his own room to live. The bond between them became indissoluble in that early age. Indeed, it was fated that Djedef would love Gamurka so much that he would actually grow up in his embrace, and that Djedef would watch over him in his sleep like his shadow. And that he would say his name, “Gamurka,” sweetly on his tongue, and that the puppy's first bark was in calling out to him, and the first time that he wagged his tail was in greeting him. But sadly, Gamurka's own infancy was not quite free of troubles — for the crocodile with the gaping mouth was lying in ambush for him. When Gamurka saw this monster, he would begin to bark, his eyes flashing, his body stiff with fright as he ran back and forth, not calming down until Djedef put his fearsome toy away.
The two hardly separated, for when Djedef went to bed, Gamurka would lay by his side. If Djedef sat quietly - which happened rarely - the puppy, legs akimbo, stretched out across from him. Or he would keep licking his companion's cheeks and hands, as his love required. He followed the boy about in his walks in the garden, or rode with him in the boat if Zaya carried him to it to tour about the palace pond. They would raise their heads over the boat's rim to gaze at their reflections in the water. As they stared, Gamurka would not stop yapping, while Djedef delighted at the b
eautiful little creature that looked so much like him, -who dwelt in the pond's depths.
When spring came, the heavens were filled with the hymns of the birds, cleaving the heavy mantle of winter that had cloaked the joyous sun. The universe donned the festive garb of youth — the trees in brocades of silk, the shrubs with colorful flowers and their fragrances. Love was in the air, and many couples amused themselves by boating, while children were left to run about all but naked. Kheny and Nafa leapt about in the water, swimming and throwing a ball back and forth to each other. Djedef would stand with Gamurka, watching them enviously - and would ask his mother if he could do what they were doing. Then she would lift him up from under his arms, setting him in the water up to his waist, and he would kick with his feet, shouting with glee and happiness.
When they had sated themselves with frolic and games, they would return all together to the summer garden. Zaya would sit on the couch and in front of her would be Djedef, Kheny, and Nafa, and before them would lie Gamurka, again with his legs akimbo.
She would tell them the story of the shipwrecked sailor who floated over the crashing waves on a plank of wood to a lost island. She told them how the giant serpent who ruled the island had appeared to him, and how it would have killed him - if it hadn't realized that he was a faithful believer of praiseworthy conduct, as well as one of Pharaoh's subjects. The serpent looked after him, giving him a ship filled with precious treasures, with which the sailor returned to his homeland safe and sound.
Djedef didn't really understand these tales, but he eagerly followed their telling with his two beautiful dark eyes. He was happy and well loved, for who could not adore Djedef for those two deep black orbs, his long, straight nose, and his light, laughing spirit? He was loved when he spoke and when he did not, when he played and when he sat still, when he was content and when he was restless. He lived like the immortals, never worried about tomorrow.
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom Page 9