Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Djedef started to move, but the woman strengthened her grip and implored him, “My son … my son … would you abandon your mother?”

  The youth froze where he was, casting a long look into her face. He saw the visage that had moved his heart from the very first glance. He saw in it this time even greater purity, beauty, and misery than he had noticed before. Giving himself over in sympathy to her, he leaned his head toward her unthinkingly until he felt her lips press on his cheek. The woman sighed in relief as her eyes drowned in tears — then she began weeping, and he set about trying to ease her distress. He sat her down on the divan, taking a seat next to her as she held back her sobs, while she remained in a state between confusion and happiness over this new love in her life.

  Looking at him, the woman said, “Say to me, ‘Mother!’ “

  “Mother…” he said, weakly.

  Then he said in bewilderment, “But I hardly understand anything.

  “You will learn everything, my son.”

  And so she recited to him all the long tale, telling him about his birth and the momentous prophecies surrounding it, and of the prodigious events that befell her - until the fortunate hour when her spirit returned to her breast at the sight of him - alive, happy, and full of glory.

  32

  THE FATES guided Bisharu to hear Ruddjedet's tale without his intending it. Wanting to welcome Djedef's guest himself, he went down to greet her, arriving by chance just as Zaya was leaving like one possessed by madness. Shocked and confused, he approached the room's door with caution, behind which he heard the voice of Ruddjedet - which she had forgotten to lower — erupting as she spoke in a state of high excitement. Secretly he listened, along with Djedef, to the woman's story -from its beginning through to its end.

  Afterward, he rushed from his hiding place straight to his bedroom, heedless of all things around him, his face furrowed by a seriousness reserved for the most grievous disasters. He couldn't bear to sit down, so he kept pacing back and forth, his consciousness scattered, his soul upset, his thoughts rash and reckless. He was considering what he had heard as its jumble kept running through his head, turning it up and down on its various sides, until the feverish contemplation burnt up his mind, making it like a piece of molten bronze.

  Aloud he said to himself, as though addressing a stranger, “Bisharu! Oh, you wretched old man! The gods have tested you with a difficult trial.”

  And what a trial!

  Dear, handsome Djedef, whom he had held as a suckling baby, rescued from hunger and want, and raised in the merciful eye of fatherhood - as a crawling infant, as a running boy, and as a wholesome young man. He to whom he gave the upbringing of a nobleman's son, and for whom he smoothed the road to success, until he became a man worth a nation full of men. He to whom he granted a father's affection, and his heart entire — and from whom he received the love of a son, and filial piety, as well. Dear, beautiful Djedef, the Fates have shown him the truth about himself- and suddenly his enemy is Pharaoh! Suddenly, he was the means that the Lord Ra had held in store to convulse the unshakeable throne by challenging its majestic sire, and to usurp the right of the noble heir apparent!

  The Inspector of Pharaoh's Pyramid cried out again as he spoke to himself, “Bisharu! You miserable old man! The deities have tested you with a difficult trial!” The man's anxiety escalated and weighed more heavily upon him, as he continued blabbering to himself in sorrow and pain.

  “O beloved Djedef, whether you're the son of the martyred worker, or the heir to the priest of Ra the Most Powerful, I truly love you the way I do Kheny and Nafa - and you have known no father but me.

  “Hence, I granted you my name, out of love and compassion. By God, you are a youth whose goodness and purity radiate from his nature like the rays of the sun. Yet, and more's the pity, the deities made you the trustee of the greatest treason that history has ever known — treason against the lord of the immutable throne. Betrayer of the trust of Khufu, our mighty sire; Khufu, whose name we teach our children to praise before they have learned how to write the sacred script. O you Fates! Why do you delight in our torment? Why do you throw us into tribulations and woes in the midst of our good fortune? How would it have harmed you if I ended my life as it began - happy, healthy, and content?”

  His state of mind deteriorated as he felt his end grow near, so he took small steps to the mirror and looked at his sad, miserable face. Lecturing his image, he said, “Bisharu! O man who has never harmed anyone in his life! Shall dear Djedef become the first victim whom you will reach out your hand to hurt? How bizarre! Why all this torture? Why not just keep your mouth shut as though you had heard nothing? My God! The reply is preordained - that your heart would not be at ease because it belongs to Bisharu, Inspector of the Pyramid, servant of the king. Bisharu, who adores his duty excessively; Bisharu, who worships his duty like a slave. Here is the malady: you believe in duty. Truly, you have done injury to no one, yet neither have you ever relinquished your duty. Now, which of the two do you think will be first to be sold? Duty, or the avoidance of doing harm? A pupil in the primary school at Memphis could answer this question immediately. Bisharu will not end his life -with an act of treachery. No, he will never sell out his sire: Pharaoh is first - Djedef comes second.” He sighed in agony and grief, his soul pierced with a poisoned dagger.

  He left the room with heavy steps and went down to the house's garden. On his way, as he passed the guest room, he saw Djedef standing at its door, looking deeply absorbed in thought. Bisharu's heart pounded queerly at the sight of him, and everything within and without him — his soul, breast, even his eyelids - quivered. He avoided his eyes, for fear that any conversation would reveal the tumult in his heart.

  The youth glanced peculiarly at his robes of office, asking him in a weak voice, “Where are you going now… Father?”

  Hurrying on his way, Bisharu replied, “To perform a duty that cannot be delayed, my son.”

  Then he mounted his wagon, telling the driver, “To Pharaoh's palace.”

  While the wagon was starting on its way, the armies of night were gathering on the horizon to sweep down upon the defenseless, dying day. Bisharu regarded the approaching sundown with dejected eyes, and a heart that had turned dark like the creep of evening.

  “I knew that duty was both a hardship and a delight,” he said to himself as he groaned with regret and chagrin. “Yet here I am swallowing only the bitter of it — not the sweet — like a fast-killing poison.”

  33

  WEEPING CONTINUOUSLY, Ruddjedet told her devastating story as Djedef sat listening to her quavering voice, feeling her warm breath on his face. He gazed for a long time into her dear, tearful eyes, ripped nearly to pieces by sorrow, pity, and pain.

  When her tragic tale was done, she asked him, “Who, my son, is the priest of Ra?”

  “Shudara!” he replied.

  “I'm so sorry that your father was made a victim — through no fault of his own.”

  “This surprise has me utterly confused…. Only yesterday I was Djedef son of Bisharu, while today I'm a new person, whose past is full of calamities. Born to a father who was killed at the time, and a wretched mother suffering the life of a prisoner for all of twenty years. How fantastic! My birth was accursed - I'm so sorry for that, Mother!”

  “Don't say that, my dear son, and burden your pure soul with the sin of the Accursed Satan.”

  “How horrible! My father was killed, and you endured torment for twenty long years!”

  “May the gods have mercy on my son,” she abjured. “Forget your sorrows and think about how things will end — my heart is not reassured.”

  “What do you mean, Mama?”

  “Danger still surrounds us, O my son. It menaces you today through him who provided for you yesterday.”

  “How incredible! Could I, Djedef, be an enemy of Pharaoh? And Pharaoh — who bestowed upon me all his blessings every day, and generously granted me his favors - is he the slayer of my father and th
e torturer of my mother?”

  “No one can keep silent who watches people and the world. So look toward the end, because I don't want to lose you on the very day that I found you, after the torment of the years.”

  “Where should we go, Mama?”

  “The Lord's land is wide.”

  “How can I flee like a felon -when I have committed no crime?”

  “Had your father done anything -wrong?”

  “My nature scorns flight,” he replied.

  “Take pity on my heart, -which is torn to bits by fear.”

  “Do not fear, Mother,” he consoled her. “My devotion and loyalty to the throne will serve on my behalf with Pharaoh.”

  “Nothing will serve on your behalf with him for anything,” she admonished, “when he discovers that you are his rival, whom the gods created to inherit his throne.”

  The youth's eyes widened in disbelief. “Inherit his throne?” he cried. “How misguided a prophecy is this!”

  “I beg you, my son, to put my heart at rest.”

  He took her in his arms, pressing against her with compassion. “I have lived twenty years, without anyone knowing my secret,” he said. “Forgetfulness has enfolded it - and it shall not arise again.”

  “I know not, Son, why I am frightened and apprehensive. Perhaps it is Zaya….”

  “Zaya!” he exclaimed. “For all of twenty long years I called her my mother. If motherhood were mercy, love, and personal devotion, then she was my mother, too, Mama. Zaya would never wish evil upon us. She is an ill-fated woman, like a virtuous queen who has lost her throne without warning.”

  But before Ruddjedet could open her mouth to respond, a male servant entered hurriedly, saying that Djedef's deputy Sennefer wanted to meet him immediately, without the slightest delay. The young man was taken aback, because Sennefer had been with him only a short time before. He reassured his fearful mother as he excused himself to go out to meet Sennefer in the garden. Djedef found the officer anxious, impatient, and upset. The moment Sennefer saw him he came up to him quickly, without any greetings or graces.

  “Commander, sir,” he burst out, “by chance I have learned of sinister facts that warn of an impending evil!”

  Djedef's heart raced, and he turned and looked unconsciously back at the guest room as he wondered to himself, “Do you see what new adversities the Fates have hidden from you?”

  Then he looked at his deputy. “What do you mean by that, Sennefer?”

  In bewildered accents, the officer told him: “Just before sunset today, I went into the wine cellar to pick out a good bottle. I was looking about waywardly - standing next to the skylight that looks out onto the garden - when I heard the voice of the crown prince's chief chamberlain talking in whispers with a strange person. Though I couldn't make out what they were saying clearly, I did hear him well when he finished by calling him, ‘Prince Khafra, who will be Pharaoh by dawn tomorrow!’ I was jolted by terror, as I was sure that His Majesty the King must have gone to be near Osiris. I forgot what I had been looking for and hurried outside to the soldiers’ barracks. I found the officers playing around and chatting as they usually do when off-duty, so I thought that the dreadful news had not yet reached them. I didn't want to be the bearer of evil tidings, so I slipped away outside, mounted my chariot and headed toward Pharaoh's palace, where I might establish the truth of the matter. I saw that the palace was quiet, its lights twinkling as always like brilliant stars, the guards going to and fro with no sign of anything wrong. Undoubtedly, it seemed, the lord of the palace was alive and well. I was stunned at what I'd heard in the cellar, and thought about it for a long time. I was worried and afraid. Then your person came to my mind, like a light leading a ship lost in the dark, at the mercy of the wind and waves in a violent storm, safely into shore. So I came to you urgently, hoping to take your wise direction.”

  Agitated, Djedef asked him - having forgotten his personal troubles, and all that had taken him so much by surprise that day, “Are you sure that your ears did not deceive you?”

  “My presence before you now is proof that I'm sure.”

  “You aren't drunk?”

  “I haven't tasted drink this day at all.”

  The young commander fixed him with a frozen stare, and asked in what he imagined was a strange voice indeed, “And what did you understand from this?”

  The officer fell fearfully silent, as though guarding his answer, leaving the commander to supply it himself. Djedef understood what lay behind his failure to speak, his heart pounding as he became lost in thought. At that moment, he remembered Prince Khafra's peculiar instructions: his order not to discharge his soldiers, and to await his commands at dawn - and to follow them, however unusual they might seem. These disquieting memories returned as he thought of what Sennefer, who stood before him now, had told him - on his first day as a guard to the prince - about the heir apparent's character, his short temper, and his severity. He recalled all of this quickly and with shock, as he wondered, “What else are you holding back, O World of the Invisible? Is Pharaoh in danger? Is there treason abroad in Egypt?”

  He heard Sennefer say with passion, “We are soldiers of Khafra, but we swore our oath of loyalty to the king. The army altogether is Pharaoh's men — except for the traitors.”

  He realized that Sennefer's suspicions matched his own. “I fear that the king is in peril!” he said, heatedly.

  “I've no doubt of that - we must do something, O Commander,” said Sennefer.

  “Most nights, the king spends inside his pyramid with his vizier Hemiunu, dictating his great book-in-progress,” said Djedef. “We must take our warning to the pyramid - I'm afraid that the treachery will be enacted against him while he's there in the burial chamber.”

  “That's not possible,” Sennefer replied. “Only three persons know the secret of how to open the pyramid's door — the king, Hemiunu, and Mirabu. And the plateau encircling the pyramid is full of guards, both day and night, plus priests of the god Osiris.”

  In an afterthought, Sennefer asked, “Does one of the king's guards ride with him in his chariot?”

  “No, the great monarch who has devoted his life to Egypt does not feel the need for protection among his subjects, in his own country. I believe, O Sennefer — if our suspicions are correct - that the danger is crouching, ready to pounce, in the Valley of Death. That is a long road, devoid of any people, whose solitude would tempt the traitor to ambush his prey.”

  Gasping, Sennefer asked, “What should we do?” “Our mission is twofold,” Djedef told him. “That we -warn the king of the danger, and that we arrest the traitors.” “What if there are princes among them?” “Even if the crown prince himself is among them!” “My dear commander, -we should not rely upon the heir apparent's guards.”

  “You have spoken wisely, Sennefer,” Djedef replied. “We've no need of them — for we have a courageous army, every soldier of which would not hesitate to sacrifice his life for the sake of our sire.”

  Sennefer's face lit up as he said, “So let's summon the army right away!”

  But the young commander placed his hand on his zealous deputy's shoulder. “The army should not be called upon except to fight another army like itself,” he said. “Our enemy — if our concerns are real - is a tiny band that seeks refuge in darkness, plotting their evil by night. Let's lie in wait for them and hit them the decisive blow before they aim their blow at us.” “But, Commander, sir, hadn't we better warn Pharaoh?” “That's bad counsel, Sennefer,” cautioned Djedef. “We have no proof of this appalling treason except our own doubts - and they could be mere illusions. Hence, we can't warn Pharaoh yet about our dangerous accusation against his own crown prince!” “So then, what should we do, Commander, sir?” “The wise thing would be for me to choose several tens of officers of those whose courage I am confident - and you'll be among them, Sennefer,” the youth said. “Then, one by one, we'll hide in the Valley of Death. We'll spread ourselves throughout all its sides, ale
rt, vigilant, and in wait. We'd better not waste time - we must beat our enemy to his ambush, so that we see him before he sees us.”

  To be sure, the young man did not waste a moment. Yet, despite the vital importance of what he had to do, he could not forget his mother. He took her to Nafa's wing of their house, putting her in care of Nafa's wife, Mana. Then he returned to Sennefer, riding with him in his chariot to the military encampment outside the walls of Memphis. Along the way, he spoke to himself.

  “Now I understand -why the prince commanded me to await his orders at dawn, for he has a gambit planned to kill his father,” he thought. “In the event that he accomplished this goal, he wanted me to stealthily march the army on the capital in order to finish off the Great House Guards, along with the king's faithful men such as Hemiunu, Mirabu, Arbu, and the others from Pharaoh's inner circle. Thus he would clear the field to announce his impatient self as king over Egypt. What despicable treachery!

  “No doubt, the prince feels he can wait no longer,” he went on addressing himself. “But his own ambitions will condemn his hopes when they are only two bow lengths or less from reaching fruition. But will our suspicions turn out to be true -or are we beating our heads against mere errors and delusions?”

  34

  DAWN APPEARED, and life began yet again on the sacred pyramid plateau, as the shouts of the guards, the blasts of the horns, and the chanting of the priests echoed in the sky overhead. Amidst all this, the pyramid's door opened and two specters emerged from within, before it was closed and sealed once again. Each of these figures was wrapped in a thick cloak resembling those worn by priests during the feasts of sacrifice. The shorter of the two said to the other, “My lord, you're exerting your sublime self quite unsparingly.”