Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  A week passed, and then a second.

  Midway through the second day of the third week, Pairy, raised an arm and pointed to a wide smudge of green on the horizon.

  We had reached the delta.

  I Visit Gods

  I left Pairy, Turo, and Ahset at the army barracks at the edge of Men-Nefer.

  Taking a clean kilt from the barracks storeroom, I ran to the canal that flowed past the barracks. I waded into the water and rinsed the road from my skin. Then I stalked the canal bank, waving my arms and shaking my legs to dry my skin enough to allow me to tie the kilt around my waist.

  Bathed and dress, I walked to Hut-ka-Ptah.

  Many find comfort in the fragrance of incense, the beauty of murals, the power of towering pillars, and the serene faces of the statues. They are soothed by the unhurried footsteps of servants and the floating movement of priests. They take solace in the plucked notes of the harps, in the dry rattle of sistra, in the chants of the wbt-priests and in the prayers of those who speak to and for the gods.

  I do not.

  In my youth, I spent nights sitting atop the palace roof in Waset with Nakht, patiently plotting the positions of the million stars of Nut’s belly. Some nights we would hear frogs calling to one another in the garden pond, but their conversations were short-lived. Usually the night was quiet, as if the air — exhausted by the sounds of the markets and the shouts of the fishermen and the songs of the farmers and the snorts of horses and the barks of dogs and calls of cats — was too weary to transmit even the whispered flap of the wings of an owl.

  And so, although many find temples quiet and restful, my imagination grows excited by the storm of sounds and aromas and colors. Approaching the tall pylon and the six guardian statues of the god, my footsteps grew hesitant, and I grew uneasy.

  ***

  Fortunately, my master was well known in the temple, and so I was quickly led through the hallways to the cluster of rooms of my master’s friend Lord Useramen, who was keeper of Ptah’s many-roomed mansion.

  Standing at the entrance to his office, waiting for Lord Useramen’s servant to speak my name aloud, I realized that Lord Useramen — whom I had never met — looked like a very thin owl.

  He had hunched shoulders that gathered about his neck like folded wings. When he looked up at the sound of our entrance, his huge, wet eyes stared at me a moment and then blinked ever so slowly. Then he turned his head, looking left and right, before returning to stare at me.

  Bes had shown himself in Ahset’s body, and now Lord Useramen took the form of an owl. Bes aids birthing mothers. Owls accompany the ka as it journeys to the Field of Reeds.

  I understood that the gods were speaking to me, but my young mind did not understand their message.

  “Welcome,” Lord Useramen said, rousing me from my thoughts.

  Having shed his owl appearance, Lord Useramen stared at me from behind his desk.

  “Lord Useramen,” I said, stepping into the room and bowing slightly, “I bring greetings from Lord Amenhotep. He has spoken of your friendship often.”

  Lord Useramen smiled, but the expression brought no friendliness to his brown eyes.

  “You have a message for me?” he asked, pushing his chair back as he stood.

  “Yes, Lord Useramen,” I said twisting to reach into the modified quiver that I continued to use as a satchel. I extracted the sealed papyrus Lord Amenhotep had given me.

  Lord Useramen waved me forward and took the papyrus from my hand.

  I wanted to ask about Queen Menwi, yet I remained silent.

  (There was a disquieting silence in the temple that reminded me of the calm that filled Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple in the hours before dawn when the workers had yet to arrive. The incense and the sentinel pillars and the cold stones beneath my feet made me feel as if I were standing in a tomb. I believed that if Queen Menwi were here the temple would radiate with life rather than lie silent as a shrouded body. And so my fear stilled my tongue and I could not bring myself to ask about her.)

  Lord Useramen lifted a narrow, black blade from his desk and cut the wax-sealed ties from the papyrus.

  As he unrolled the letter and flattened it on his desk, I leaned forward to read the message. Sensing my presence, Lord Useramen looked up at me with narrow eyes.

  Stepping away from the desk, I said, “We defeated the King of Kadesh.”

  Ignoring me, Lord Useramen read the letter.

  When he finished reading, he rolled the papyrus, gripped it in his left hand and looked up. He blinked, as if surprised to see me standing before him. Before I could speak, he walked from behind his desk, took my arm, and began to lead me toward the doorway.

  “I am sure that First Prophet Puimre will be eager to hear all about the defeat of the King of Kadesh. I’ll have you escorted to him,” he said as we walked.

  At the doorway, Lord Useramen stopped and waved for a guard to come to us. Then he leaned toward me. I lowered my eyes, waiting to hear the secret of the letter my master had sent to him.

  “It is very likely,” Lord Useramen said, “that First Prophet Puimre will insist on discussing cheetahs. If he does, advise him that they are a danger to his geese.”

  ***

  As the guard led me through the temple, I wondered if words carried a different meaning within the temple of Ptah.

  Temples are guarded with thick walls; the gods themselves are hidden in dark sanctuaries deep within. Incense is burned to purify the air so that the gods can breathe it. The ceilings are painted; the pillars — forming stone forests — are painted, as are the walls.

  The walls, the air, the sounds, the statues, the paintings together create a world that is separate from the Two Lands.

  Such a difference must be necessary for the god’s comfort, I thought, as the guard escorted me into a wide hallway that had no roof. Pharaoh Thutmose is a man, yet he is a god. The gods take human form, yet they can also be beasts: crocodiles, hawks, bulls, serpents, lions — there is no end to the shapes that their divine ba’s can fashion. Their homes must be different from the Two Lands.

  While my mind was consumed by the wonder of the gods, the guard led me through a wide opening to a bright garden pond where I saw a flock of white-robed priests standing in stillness. They looked to me like storks — the embodiment of the body’s spirit. Standing with legs half hidden by the sacred pond, the priests were gathered around the floating head and fleshy shoulders of Ipy — protective hippopotamus goddess, nursemaid to Osiris, god of the afterworld.

  I came to a stop, my mouth agape. I was certain that if I turned to peer into the shadows, I would see Father Ptah himself seated in the colonnaded shadows, his potter’s wheel spinning as he shaped some unborn ka.

  Ipy raised a hand to swat an insect.

  The movement created ripples.

  As the watery undulations spread across the pond, the image of the godly gathering wavered, shaking the illusion from my eyes. When the water settled, I saw that Ipy had transformed into First Priest Puimre, who sat on a wide wooden chair that his servants had placed far enough from the pond’s stone edge that the priest’s massive head and his round shoulders were all that remained above the still water.

  I laughed softly and clapped my hands, marveling at the apparition the gods had placed before me.

  Hearing the retreating footsteps of my escort, I turned to see if an attendant had arrived to announce my arrival. Seeing none, I turned back to First Priest Puimre, who was drinking from a golden cup. His eyes — just visible over the brim of the cup — were watching me.

  I bowed and announced myself. “I am Suti, Keeper of the Words of Lord Amenhotep, Overseer of the Double House of Pharaoh Thutmose, third of the name.”

  The white-robed priests chanted, “Long life!”

  The golden cup moved, revealing First Priest Puimre’s mouth. It opened wide, stretching the skin tight and revealing a thick tongue stained purple from wine. The eyes above the gaping mouth squeezed shut
as the yawn grew larger.

  Suddenly a cascade of belches erupted from the open throat, ending in a long-drawn-out groan. One of the attending priests leaned forward to wipe First Priest Puimre’s mouth. Another refilled his cup.

  “You’re just a child,” First Priest Puimre said.

  “I am a scribe, First Priest Puimre.”

  “From Lord Amenhotep?”

  “Yes, First Priest,” I said.

  “And Lord Amenhotep is off in Sinai with Pharaoh Thutmose,” First Priest Puimre said, as the half-circle of priests quickly murmured, “Long life!”

  I nodded. “Pharaoh Thutmose…”

  “Long life!” the priests murmured again.

  First Priest Puimre raised a hand to silence them. “Let the boy talk,” he said.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose,” I repeated, pausing to watch the chorus of priests struggle to keep their lips still, “has won a great victory.”

  First Priest Puimre nodded as if I had told him that the sun was bright and hot.

  He turned to the priest on his left and said, “Bring the boy a chair. Place it right there.” He pointed to the water beside him. As the attendant sloshed through the water to retrieve a chair, First Priest Puimre turned to another priest. “Go to the kitchen and bring more food and wine.”

  Turning back to look at me, he said, “We have the very best wine, even better than you would find at Waset.”

  Not waiting for a response, First Priest Puimre called after the second priest: “And a table. We’ll have a banquet here in the pond. And servant girls with fans. And a harpist, the young one.”

  He turned his eyes to me, “The older one’s fingers have slowed.”

  Looking back at the retreating priest, he shouted, “And some dancers. Bring dancers!” He took a long drink from his cup, belched once more, and then smiled at me.

  “So, young scribe, have you ever seen a cheetah?”

  ***

  Mottled flames flared and faded at the edge of the western sky as Re sank into Duat. Night-traveling Khonsu rose over the garden wall. Attendants lit the standing torches that lined the pond. The harpist continued to pluck thin sounds from the string, repeating songs that I was sure I had heard earlier. New dancers arrived to relieve the first set of dancers, who had tired.

  And still First Priest Puimre ate.

  “Pharaoh Thutmose was at the front of the chariot charge, one hand on the reins, the other raised to bring down the wrath of Amun on the cowardly King of Kadesh,” I said, searching for new details to add to the story to hold First Priest Puimre’s attention.

  “A hawk flew overhead…,” he said.

  “Horus,” the attending priests suggested, nodding their heads.

  Although I doubted that a hawk would have been so foolish as to enter the arrow-filled sky, I was reluctant to take issue with my host.

  “Its wings spread wider than the stretch of my arms. Its shadow was larger than a chariot. Its curved beak was aimed at the King of Kadesh, its yellow eyes threatened his very ka,” I said.

  I was still in the first telling of the battle.

  First Priest Puimre was an intent listener, quiet when his mouth was full — which was often — but his attention was distracted by the food and wine. And so I was frequently asked to repeat myself. I told of the journey through Sinai. I described the army’s week in Gaza as they prepared for battle. I told of the final march and the wise decision of Pharaoh Thutmose to lead the army through the narrow Pass of Aruna. I told him of the empty plain that greeted us when we left the mountains.

  “Tell me again, young scribe, how the army filed through the narrow pass. What was it called?” First Priest Puimre said.

  “The Aruna Pass,” I said.

  “Yes,” First Priest Puimre said, his attention following his eyes from the platters of food to my face. “It was dangerous, I expect.”

  “Very,” I said, searching my memory and imagination for new details. “There were snakes and scorpions beneath every rock. Yet the men of the Two Lands advanced without hesitation. Some led horses, some carried extra bows and spears allowing others to lift the chariots and carry them through the pass.”

  “What of Lord Imhotep and Queen Menwi?” First Priest Puimre asked, licking grease from his fingers. “How did they manage the passage? Surely he would have been unable to walk across rocky terrain. He walked with a staff. I remember it clacking when he walked the halls here. Clacking and clacking. You always knew when Imhotep was near.

  “And the queen couldn’t be asked to walk such a treacherous path, especially in her condition.”

  It was the most he had spoken. As I gathered my thoughts, the coterie of priests surrounding us grew still. I sensed that their eyes and ears were trained on me.

  “You are correct, First Priest,” I said, “Seeing that Queen Menwi’s birthing time was near, Pharaoh Thutmose ordered Lord Imhotep to take the queen to Gaza.”

  First Priest Puimre nodded. “So she left Pharaoh Thutmose’s camp. Very wise. And what of Neferhotep?” First Priest Puimre asked, leaning on his chair arm and turning his wide head toward me.

  “Neferhotep? Commander of the maryannu?” I said, puzzled by the sudden question.

  “Yes, Neferhotep,” First Priest Puimre said. “He was Queen Menwi’s bodyguard here. I grew very fond of him.” Although he spoke the words without emotion, I saw that First Priest Puimre was watching me closely. As were the accompanying priests.

  “Commander Neferhotep led the maryannu with the fierceness of Sekhmet,” I said, wondering about the sudden shift in the conversation.

  First Priest Puimre leaned even closer, his mouth gaping open as if he would devour my words.

  “I am sure that he did, but did Neferhotep survive the battle?” First Priest Puimre asked.

  “No,” I answered, wondering how he had known. “He chased the cowardly king of Kadesh to the walls of the city where he was mortally wounded.”

  “He was killed by the enemy?” First Priest Puimre asked, as the priests gasped in surprise. Then First Priest Puimre waved a hand to chase away the words. “I mean, how was he wounded, how did he die?”

  “I was not at the wall, First Priest Puimre,” I answered, my curiosity growing.

  “But you must have heard. There must be a story,” First Priest Puimre insisted.

  “When the enemy fled to Megiddo, the city’s gates were closed,” I said, saying words while my thoughts swirled around First Priest Puimre’s questions. I was sure that his interest in Neferhotep’s death revealed something.

  “While our army fell to plundering, Neferhotep continued to fight. He chased the enemy to the walls of the city. As he fought there, the residents of Megiddo threw rocks and heavy jars over the wall. Neferhotep was struck by them,” I said.

  “And Pharaoh Thutmose was where?” First Priest Puimre asked.

  “He was with the charioteers, trying to rally them, to drag them from the plunder, to make them chase and kill the enemy soldiers,” I said, my curiosity growing with each of the priest’s questions.

  First Priest Puimre raised his eyebrows and then leaned back into his chair, his attention turned inward.

  Suddenly First Priest Puimre raised a hand and fluttered his fingers. The attending priests closed on him and extended their hands to grab First Priest Puimre and help him to stand.

  “Killed in battle,” First Priest Puimre said between grunts as he got to his feet and began to waddle to land, “I didn’t expect that.”

  ***

  First Priest Puimre and his flock of priests left me standing alone and confused in the sacred pond.

  I had expected to find Kebu, Lord Imhotep, Akila, Queen Menwi. and her new child in Men-Nefer, safely sheltered in the temple of Ptah.

  Instead I had found questions and silence.

  Lord Useramen had shown no interest in news of the battle. Instead, it was my master’s letter that had captured his attention.

  First Priest Puimre had turned from the figs
and wine and bread only to ask about Neferhotep. He had expected Neferhotep to die, but not at the enemy’s hands.

  It made no sense.

  The water of the sacred pond had been warmed by Re. But now, as darkness crept over the garden walls, the air began to cool. Air and water joined hands, and, with my eyes closed I couldn’t tell how far up my legs the water rose and where the air began to touch my skin.

  I breathed slowly and deeply, inhaling not just the scent of water, but the moisture itself.

  The ka of the sacred pond entered me, and I gave myself to the spirit of the water, to the breath of Shu, to the gentle light of Khonsu.

  I was seeking answers.

  Opening my eyes to see what the gods offered, I saw that the wake from Puimre’s departure had exhausted itself, leaving the sacred pond as smooth as the stone-scraped surface of a knife blade. Careful not to disturb the water, I turned my head and looked at the dark garden.

  Tall trees lined the stone walls that enclosed the pond. Beyond them the million stars of night filled Nut’s black belly. Looking down, I saw the same stars sparkle in the sacred pond. Reaching down, I tapped the water with a single finger.

  Undulating ripples rode the water, making the reflected stars shimmer with life.

  I bent to look at the water’s surface from a low angle. I saw the stars collide and the trees shrink from view. Standing, I looked at the temple. Its stone mass shrouded the stars that I knew clung to the horizon.

  I thought: This temple hides what is. The pond distorts the trees and the stars.

  How can I find truth here?

  As I walked through the water, I felt eyes on me.

  I turned, expecting to see one of the priests or perhaps an owl. My eyes had grown accustomed to the night. Looking toward the source of my unease, I saw, not some creature of the darkness, but a darker dark — a window, its blackness eating into the grey stone walls that surrounded it.