Lights on the Nile

by Donna Jo Napoli

  “I don’t want to go home. I want to go with you.”

  “Really?” Menes dipped a bucket over the side of the boat and filled it with water. He set it in the bottom of his boat. “Why?”

  “I have something I have to do in Ineb Hedj.”

  “What?”

  “Talk to the pharaoh.”

  Menes dropped his head toward Kepi. Then he laughed. “You know, I half believe you. You’re something, all right. It just might be a good idea to take you. You could help with paddling. But you have to say sorry for insulting me.”

  “You’re the one who insults me,” said Kepi.

  Menes untied the rope that held the little boat to the dock post. He was really leaving. Without her. He sat in the middle of the boat and stuck his paddle in the water, maneuvering the boat backward, away from the dock.

  Kepi stood up in her boat. “I’m sorry. I won’t insult you anymore.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.” Kepi splayed her legs to keep from wobbling. “But you have to promise you won’t call Babu your baboon anymore.”

  Menes was already out in the river. “All right, little tempest. If you can catch this, you can come.” He threw the rope toward her.

  Kepi jumped for it. Both the rope and Kepi landed in the water. She came up spluttering.

  Menes paddled over and held out the wooden blade to her. She grabbed hold and he pulled her on board. “Are you too sick to paddle?”

  Kepi’s teeth chattered and she thought she was going to vomit. But she pushed her sopping hair out of her eyes and picked up the second paddle.

  “All right, then.” Menes moved more toward the rear.

  Kepi sat in front of him and dipped her paddle into the opposite side.

  “Do it this way,” said Menes. And he taught her to grip it firmly, dip it in straight down beside her, push it straight back as far as she could reach, then lift it out just enough to clear the surface of the water as she swung it back around to dip in beside her and start all over again.

  After a while, Kepi found the rhythm natural. It was hard work, but she could do it fine. “How did you manage to get this boat?”

  “I bought it. I kept a few nuggets of silver from the chest. Always keep a reserve. That’s my advice.”

  That was like Father, when he said to put by for a rainy day. Well, Kepi had done that—she’d taken that one silver piece from the trunk. But she’d been stupid to hide it on the boat. Menes was trickier than her. Everyone was so tricky. It made Kepi tired to think about it. “How long will it take us to get to Waset?”

  “We can be there by tonight.”

  Finally, good news. Tonight Kepi could hold Babu again.

  They paddled a long time. When the sun was directly overhead, Menes laid his paddle in the bottom of the boat. “We can let the current carry us awhile. Go on, put your paddle down.”

  Kepi laid her paddle on her side of the bottom. Then she turned around to face Menes, and she fell backward. She didn’t even try to push herself up again.

  “You really are sick.” Menes opened a cloth satchel. “Here.” He came over beside her and lifted her head and shoulders up. He held a jar to her mouth. “Drink this.”

  The beer was cool and delicious. Kepi wiped her mouth. “Thanks.”

  Menes eased her back down and handed her a hunk of bread. “Eat slowly.” He ate and drank himself and watched her. “You remind me of someone.”

  “Your sister Nanu?”

  Menes laughed. “I don’t have a sister Nanu. I just said that to make you trust me.”

  Kepi let out a little cry of dismay. “Do you ever tell the truth?”

  “When it suits me. I just figured out who you remind me of—myself. You’re my stubborn little tempest.”

  Kepi rolled onto her side with her back to him and gnawed on the bread. “I can’t wait to hold Babu tonight.”

  “You won’t see him tonight.”

  Kepi held on to the side of the boat and pulled herself up to sitting. “You said we’d be in Waset tonight—and I heard the men say they were going to Waset.”

  “Sure. That’s where they spent last night, I bet. But they traded away all the gold and silver. And they have a boat full of pottery already. They don’t need to stay in towns any longer than to sleep. By now, they’re halfway to Nubt—the next town. They’ll stay ahead of us the whole way to Ineb Hedj. Getting farther ahead all the time. If you paddle hard, you might see Babu in a month.”

  A month. Kepi curled into a ball with her head on her knees. A month without Babu. A month of Menes. A month of not seeing her family. And then all the time it would take to get home.

  A month was an eternity.

  Chapter 21

  The River

  Kepi didn’t know which day it happened, but one day she realized the paddle felt like an extension of her hands. Her neck and shoulders didn’t hurt anymore. Her knees had grown thick calluses. She felt strong and healthy. They traveled all day, every day, and she could do it without a problem.

  With health and strength, she could look around in delight again, for they passed so many wonderful things. Lots of different kinds of wading birds. Lazy crocs. And pods of hippos. None of them attacked, which Menes said was because they didn’t mind the intrusion of the smaller boats. But just to be sure, they banged their paddles on the wooden part of the boat often so any hippos around would pop their eyes up above the water to see what was happening; that way Kepi and Menes knew where they were and could steer around them.

  As they moved northward, the shores gradually grew greener, till they were thick with plants Kepi had never seen before. Still, the trees were familiar: mostly date palms and figs and sycamore figs. But they grew in clusters of many together, unlike in the south.

  At night they slept in towns or in villages built into the hillsides. Kepi and Menes would carry their little boat to some house on the very edge of town, where the owner had agreed to let them lean it against a side wall. Usually they caught fish to cook in the homeowner’s outdoor fireplace and share with his family. Both of them would do chores in exchange for bread and greens and sweet, thick, porridge-like beer. Then they’d sleep outdoors under their boat, with Kepi on the outside edge, so she could peek out at the lights in the sky and say a thank-you prayer to her goddess Hathor. In the morning, Kepi and Menes would go to separate spots in the river and strip, and she washed her dress and his shenti in the river, rubbing the worst spots with stones. Then they put them on wet and let them dry on their bodies as they paddled. The sun bleached them a nice white every day. It was chilly at first—but it was worth it to be clean again.

  When it was too far between towns, they slept onshore in the open. The shoreline was more and more clogged with papyrus reeds, so they had to search for open spots where they could drag the boat out onto the mud. Then Menes would pick a spot to camp, far enough from the water that the crocodiles wouldn’t bother them, but close enough that they could dash for the boat if they needed to escape a predator on land. They made huts out of palm fronds—something Kepi had been doing for years with Father, so she was adept at that. And they took turns keeping watch.

  On their first night out in the open together, Kepi found a little egg attached to the underside of a milkweed leaf. It was silvery white and shiny, with ribbed sides—so she knew exactly what was in it. She dug up the weed, carefully packing the dirt around the roots, and placed it in the bottom of the boat. She dripped water on the roots every day, and at night she placed the weed beside her as she slept. Sometimes she sang to it, sometimes she just whispered to it.

  On the tenth day the egg hatched, and a black-and-white caterpillar with thick yellow spots came out. It had three pairs of long black tentacles. Kepi watched with a proud smile as it proceeded to eat the milkweed plant. It grew fat and even shinier. On the ninth day of being a caterpillar, it changed again and formed a cocoon, all green at first, but it gradually turned to pink over the next week. It hung from the bottom of a l
eaf of the new milkweed plant Kepi had dug up for it and swung with the rhythm of their paddles. Kepi couldn’t wait for the butterfly to come out. It would be soon.

  Each day as night came, lions roared in the distance, hyenas made their whooping laughs, jackals howled. Kepi didn’t have to pinch herself to stay awake on her watch; she was on edge every second. But there was one thing she did love about sleeping in the open: The mornings were all misty green, as though someone had woven the finest cloth of fresh leaves and draped it over the world. Kepi thought of it as a goddess gown. So she chose early mornings as her time for special talks with the gods. Mostly about all the things she’d seen the day before. Sometimes about her hopes, too. And sometimes about her fears.

  A few times they camped at isolated lakes not far in from the river, like the one the pelicans had led them to that first day that Kepi spent on the big trade boat. Menes told her that most of those lakes were formed when the river would shift course, something the Nile did a lot. Others came about after the hot-weather floods, when the river would shrink again and water would get trapped in low spots. Kepi loved the nights at the lakes, because usually the water was too shallow to attract crocodiles, and they were the most peaceful places. Except for that one morning they woke surrounded by a herd of elephants that had come to drink and wallow. Menes had insisted they simply sit still until the beasts left. So Kepi got to watch the young ones’ antics.

  On the nights at the lakes they ate better, too. The birds were even more plentiful and varied there than on the river. Menes always managed to creep up on ducks or geese and snag one in a net he made himself from the tough fibers of palm fronds. And once they came upon a lone male ostrich. He was small, maybe only a little more than half the height of the ostriches Kepi knew down south, where she came from. He was busy pecking at the remains of a warthog carcass, left behind by lions or a leopard. Menes threw his knife and got the bird right in his skinny neck. He died instantly.

  Ostriches were alert birds; no one should have been able to creep up on them—so Kepi was amazed until she saw that this one was missing an eye. So it hadn’t been a fair fight, poor ostrich. And ostriches must be sacred to the god Osiris, because he always wore a crown with ox horns and ostrich feathers. Like this ostrich, Osiris was to be pitied. He had been slain by the god Set, and he had to live in the underworld, presiding over the dead, rather than among the living. He might be angry that one of his birds had been so poorly treated. Kepi plucked a glossy black feather from the ostrich and bowed respectfully to it, saying a little prayer of apology to Osiris inside her heart. Then she pushed the feather between two stitches into the hem of her dress. She would treat that one feather reverently till it fell apart.

  While Kepi prepared the fire, Menes took care of plucking the bird and cleaning the innards so the bile wouldn’t ruin the meat. Despite Kepi’s sympathy for the ostrich, she had to admit it was delicious. After that, Kepi stayed on the lookout for more ostriches. But she promised herself that the next time they saw an opportunity for ostrich meat, she’d urge Menes to make sure the bird was strong and healthy before he hunted it.

  The voyage was full of marvels. In the quiet times on the river Kepi often thought of Father’s words: “If you’re searching for a neter, a god—observe nature.” She had always known that her father was wise, but now she felt his wisdom deep inside her, as though it had entered her very bones.

  Thinking about Father like that would make her bottom lip quiver. Her family was so far away, they felt like a dream. And sometimes she had to fight off fears about what might be happening to Babu. And Nanny. But when that happened, she sang. She simply burst out in loud song. And pretty soon Menes joined her. He said she’d caught the spirit of adventure. Maybe he was right.

  For going to see the pharaoh was an adventure. He was the most powerful man in the world. This was huge, what she was doing. So huge, Kepi felt it in every stroke of the paddle. She felt it in the sun sparkle on the water and the dew on spiderwebs. She felt it in the call of the monkeys, in the bite of a wild onion’s juice, in the heady scent of jasmine. It was behind every prayer. In those moments—the pharaoh moments—she fell silent.

  That was when Menes would talk. He’d tell Kepi about places he’d been, things he’d seen, plans he had. It seemed he’d been everywhere and seen everything in all of Egypt. They were becoming friends, really good friends. The only thing they didn’t talk about was what was going to happen once they arrived at Ineb Hedj. They both knew their hopes clashed, so why talk about it? But it was good talking about everything else.

  Kepi was now deep into the best part of the trip. It had started many days ago, when they first caught a glimpse of the giant pyramid of Djed Snefru rising up out of its enclosing walls. It seemed like a single huge block of white stone, compared with the red mud brick of the homes and shops. They arrived in the town at sunset, and the white stone looked all rosy and warm. Menes took Kepi right up to the smaller pyramid that nestled at the southern base of the big one. They walked around the east side past the chapel, then looked in at the entrance to the pyramid on the north side. A passage descended down to the sunken burial chamber. Kepi’s breath caught in awe.

  They could still look back over their shoulders and see that pyramid two days later when they arrived at Tashur, where two more giant limestone pyramids dominated the landscape. One had graceful curved sides. It seemed marvelous to Kepi that three majestic tombs should be within sight of one another. The pharaohs entombed there must be happy. And that was as it should be, for all pharaohs were transformed into gods when they assumed the throne. Kepi understood now why Father spoke so proudly of the pyramids.

  From Tashur on they could see the great pyramid ahead, the one that Pharaoh Khufu had been building for years, since before Kepi was born, the one that had stolen Father’s foot. It was that high, and it wasn’t even finished yet.

  Kepi was glad she was Egyptian. She was glad she was learning about the Nile, the heartbeat of her country. She thanked the gods and goddesses every night for keeping her alive to see all these wonderful sights. She told herself every day that this voyage was a good thing for her. She told herself that someday she’d see Mother and Father and Nanu again. She would. But first she’d talk to the pharaoh, to a god on earth. And she’d save her family.

  All those thoughts made her happy. But somewhere deep inside her, a sadness was growing. A sense of doubt, as though she knew something but couldn’t quite grasp it.

  Chapter 22

  Sandstorm

  Kepi and Menes took their places in the little boat and paddled away from the dock of the village they’d slept in last night. It was barely dawn—Kepi’s favorite time. She looked straight ahead and up a little. If she was lucky, she would see it happen. There was this briefest moment, just a second really, when the sky changed from pale gray but it wasn’t yet blue—an instant of startling white. She had seen it several times since she’d been on this voyage, and it always made her feel that she was glimpsing something very special. She had decided it was the smile of a goddess. She didn’t know which goddess, but it was so luxurious, it had to be that. Kepi laughed out loud.

  “So? You’re in a good mood, huh?” said Menes from his spot behind her. “Let’s cross the river and stay as close as we can to the west bank.”

  “How come?”

  “I wouldn’t want to see you jump in and swim across the whole Nile.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re pretty wild, you know. More like a little animal than a little tempest sometimes. It’s impossible to predict what you’ll do at the first sight of the white walls.”

  Kepi pulled her paddle in and rested it across her thighs, so she could turn her head to Menes. He was clearly teasing her, but she had no idea why. “All right. What’s going on?”

  He grinned. “The west bank is where Ineb Hedj sits. We’ll arrive today.”

  Kepi let out a whoop of joy.

  “Not so loud. You�
��ll scare the crocs.”

  Kepi dug her paddle in deep and pushed it back with all her strength. Today. They were arriving today. This journey was finally over. She might do what she had to do and be on a boat going back home soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

  That talk about going over close to the west bank was just Menes’s joke. They paddled to the center and stayed there. That was where the current was strongest; that was where they could travel the fastest with the least effort.

  And in that moment, the pink cocoon that Kepi had taken such good care of split, and a wet butterfly struggled out.

  “Menes, watch.”

  They both put down their paddles.

  The body was black with white spots. The wings were lion colored.

  “See that little pouch on the hind wing?” said Kepi.

  “The thick spot, you mean?”

  “That shows it’s a male. My father taught me all about butterflies. This kind is the most common in all Egypt.”

  The butterfly stretched his wings out wide to dry them. Then he took off, flying straight and low over the water. Kepi watched, her throat tight with worry. But he made it to land and disappeared among the plants at the water’s edge. She clapped. So did Menes.

  “Kepi, listen. You’re smart. You know you can’t get your baboon back.”

  The words felt like a blow to the chest. “Don’t say that.”

  “The crew will have sold him to a temple, and you’ll never get him back from the priests. Besides, people can’t keep baboons in their homes. He’ll grow big, and if he isn’t trained properly, he’ll be vicious.”

  “Don’t! Don’t say such a thing about Babu!” But Menes was right. Kepi realized she’d reached the same conclusion at some point over this past month. That was the cause of the nugget of sadness inside her. Babu was gone for good. She hung her head.