by Jerry Dubs
Tama waited motionlessly in the path, her arms hanging at her side. “I’m sorry,” she said softly to the boy as he passed.
He turned his head away from her and led the donkey to the older man. As the darkness fell, they disappeared into the trees.
“There were others in the trees,” Brian said to Tama as he joined her on the path.
She nodded. “I saw them.”
“I would have fought them. All of them.”
Tama studied him for a moment. “You would have won,” she said. Then she added, “Do you know who they were?”
Brian was puzzled by the question. He didn’t know anybody here in ancient Egypt. “No,” he answered.
“I think they were the rest of his family. They must be very needy.”
“How can you know that?”
“If they had been other bandits they would have come out into the open. A show of force would be more effective. If the people hiding in the trees were not other bandits, then they were either friends or family of the bandits or else they were strangers. If they were strangers, then they would have helped us, or at least come out to see what was going on. And it would be very unusual for all of these people to just happen to be at the same place at the same time.
“So,” she continued, “the people in the trees had to know the two who were on the road, but they couldn’t have been accomplices. They must have been children, wives and perhaps a grandparent or two. I’m sure you would have defeated them.”
Brian looked down at the road, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t figure that out. I wouldn’t hit children or women.”
Caught up in understanding the encounter, Tama spoke without thinking of Brian’s feelings. She heard the hurt in his voice and saw his shoulders slump. She didn’t understand why Brian depended so much on her approval, but she knew that he did. He was so strong, so physically imposing and secure in his strength and his movements, yet he seemed fragile at times.
She touched his shoulder with her fingertips and felt the muscles twitch as he looked up at her suddenly.
“I know you wouldn’t hurt them, Brian. I was just stating a fact. I know you would defend me. I thank you. Your bravery gives me strength. And we will need your bravery yet tonight.”
He looked up at her, questioning. He felt her hand still on his shoulder and hoped that she was leaving it there because she enjoyed the feel of his skin as much as he enjoyed her touch.
“When I saw the man’s crude club and the boy’s little knife I knew we weren’t in danger. You could easily have subdued them. Then I saw the fear in the boy’s face and the desperation in the man’s. So I decided to offer them our goods. They must be facing hard times to attempt to rob us. True, I am only a woman, but you are a most imposing man.
“But then he got arrogant and greedy. Instead of accepting a gift, he decided to take everything, including our water skins, even after I asked if we could keep one. So now we must find them and get everything back.”
“How?” he asked.
“Turn around,” she answered.
There was a three-quarter moon and Tama wanted them to be less visible, so instead of wearing the linen robe she had hidden in Brian’s waistband, she carried it. He had removed his white kilt and was carrying it coiled in a tight roll.
They had walked along the road, listening for sounds of the family.
Brian was worried that the bandits would get away but Tama reassured him that they would be eager to eat the bread they had taken. She thought they would move away from the road and set up a camp for the night.
Soon they saw a small campfire off in the trees, away from the river. Tama and Brian found a grassy spot to wait. “I want to let them eat first,” she said.
After they settled, Brian thought about the bandits. “Does this happen often?” he asked.
She shrugged and then realized that the movement was barely visible in the dark. “I don’t know,” she said.
“At Khmunu there is very little crime. Sometimes men will get angry with each other and there is a fight. A man and wife may argue or fight. But why would you take something from someone? I understand if it is food and you are hungry. But if you take clothing or jewelry and wear it, everyone would see it. And a donkey? No, never.”
“It must be different out here,” he said.
She thought for a moment and then laughed. “I was going to say that it could not be different, but then, we have no donkeys, do we?”
They were quiet for a little while.
Brian thought about the encounter on the roadway and how Tama, wearing only a narrow belt and reed sandals had walked unafraid toward an armed man. He thought about how the blood had pounded through his veins as he watched her and worried for her. For a little while, when the man with the club had walked toward her, Brian had been torn between running forward to protect her and following her request to stay where he was. If the man had started to raise his club, Brian would have been there in five hurried strides. When he would have reached the man, Brian knew he would have been out of control.
Tama thought about the unexpected pleasure she had taken in touching Brian’s shoulder and how his statement that he wouldn’t hurt children or women had affected her. And, always honest with herself, she admitted that knowing he was behind her had given her more courage to face the men than she would have had if she had been alone. He seemed solid and reliable, and, strangely, more interested in helping her than in trying to prove himself innocent of the killing at Khmunu.
“It is different in my country,” Brian said, breaking the stillness. “In my country people are in love with things - with clothing and jewelry and . . .” he thought of huge, gas-guzzling SUVs, two-hundred-dollar sneakers, big screen televisions and everything else that made modern Americans so serious about material wealth. “And other things. They would take things they do not need, just to have them,” he continued.
“I think people in my country are more violent. They kill each other all the time. Husbands kill their wives, strangers kill each other, and children even kill their parents.”
Tama waited to be sure he was finished speaking.
“Are they angry with each other? So angry that they want to kill? I don’t understand.”
Brian scooted closer to her. “It is very easy to kill someone in my country. We have,” he didn’t know the word for weapons, “we have sticks that can kill from far away, just by pointing them. We have things that fly and can drop fire on towns and kill everyone there. We have many, many more people and they live very close to each other. Some of them work very hard and have very little. It makes them angry.”
“Do they have food? Do they have wheat and salt and oil?”
“Tama, there is so much more to have in my country. And everyone wants everything. When they see that other people have things that they want themselves, sometimes they become crazy. They think the world isn’t fair and that they have to take what they want to make it fair.”
“Isn’t there enough for everyone?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Some countries are very, very poor. They may not have enough, I don’t know. My country is very wealthy, but people don’t want to share. No, that’s not right. We just believe that if someone wants something they should work to get it.”
“That seems fair,” she said.
“Yes, but, somehow things have gotten messed up. I read that . . .” he began.
“You can read?” she interrupted him. “You are a priest?”
“No, most people can read in my country. Where was I?”
“Working to get things.”
“No, that wasn’t it. Oh, somehow just a few people own almost everything and they don’t want to share. And if one of the people who doesn’t have anything gets lucky and becomes one of the people who have everything then they won’t share.”
Suddenly Brian felt very sad. Tama saw his eyes and read his heart. At times he reminded her of Waja-Hur before his illness.
The priest was beloved by the people because he felt their fears. He sincerely tried to help them reach Khert-Neter. Brian seemed to be filled with the same desire to help others and the ability to feel their pain.
Brian sounded unhappy with his own country, and lost here in hers. Yet he continued to try to help others. She had heard the stories about his heroics at To-She and she had seen his concern for others with her own eyes. She didn’t believe that he was a god, but she thought that he had a god-like depth to him, that his heart was as light as Ma’at’s feather, despite the pain he felt for others.
“Why are you here?” she asked, reaching up and stroking his cheek.
Brian moved his face against her hand. He knew that if he looked at her and saw desire in her eyes that he would be overwhelmed with his desire for her. But he was afraid he would see pity in her eyes instead.
“I don’t know, Tama. I didn’t try to come here.
“I don’t really know where here is. I mean, when Diane and I came out of the tomb I didn’t know anything was different. Then after we got to To-She I knew something really weird had happened, but I didn’t know what to do. I was scared, really scared, but I tried not to show it.”
He looked at her and shrugged. “It doesn’t do any good to worry, you just do you best and figure things out.”
“Then Tim found us and explained what had happened and how we could get away. But then Diane wouldn’t talk to me.”
“And then I helped Neswy and that little girl and I started to feel like I was brought here for a purpose. But I really don’t believe in that stuff. Sorry, I know you’re a priestess, but I never really got into religion. So this whole “here for a purpose” doesn’t feel right. I’m just trying to figure things out and do the right thing.”
Tama looked at his face. His eyes stared into the distance as he fought against the loneliness she heard in his voice. She saw him as a powerful natural force, a vortex of compassion and strength, absorbing others’ pain and offering comfort without expectations. She was drawn to his strength and now, as she saw his unease, she wanted to comfort him, to offer, if not her strength, then at least relief from his anxiety.
“What is the right thing, Brian?” she asked, caressing his shaved head and the back of his neck.
He reached up and grabbed her wrist, gently, but firmly.
“Tama,” he said in a rough whisper, “I know that it is different here and if I was normal, I’d be jumping at every chance. I think you are incredibly beautiful. But. . .” he stopped speaking as she placed a finger on his lips.
“Words,” she said, shaking her head. “They are powerful, Brian. They bring our thoughts to life, but sometimes they keep us from what is real.”
She leaned close and replaced her finger with her lips, inhaling his breath as she kissed him.
Her hand slid down his chest and, finding him aroused, she tugged on him gently.
He reached for her, but she already was moving, straddling him as he sat on the grass. For a delicious moment he felt her hover over him and then she sat, slowly moving down and driving him into her.
She pulled back from their kiss and looked at him, her eyes seeking his. She saw his uncertainty give way to hunger and desire. In her eyes, he saw eagerness and playfulness.
Slowly she began to rock on him, her arms pulling him closer.
Sitting on the grass, Brian reached back with one arm to steady himself as they moved to her rhythm. He pressed his other hand against her back feeling the muscles tighten as she rode him. He moved his hand lower and pulled her closer, matching his movements to hers.
Arching her back, Tama ground her hips hard against him. The pale moonlight filtered through the palm leaves, laying a dappling of shadows and soft light on her dark skin. He brought his hand from her back to touch her breasts, pulled high as she leaned away, their dark tips erect.
Suddenly she leaned toward him, her movement stopped. “Lay back,” she whispered.
As he did, she placed her hands on his chest to balance herself as she began to raise her hips, pulling herself almost away from him and then slowly settling back onto him. Leaning close she kissed him, slowly, fully, pulling away when he pushed against her too hard, laughing with her eyes, her mouth open and smiling.
He found himself laughing with her, finding a joy in their lovemaking that removed him from time. There was her touch, her smell, the taste of her mouth, the sweet warmth of her on him, pulling on him, swaying against him, and there was nothing else.
On the Road to Waset
A rustling noise woke Brian from a deep, exhausted sleep.
The night air seemed to absorb the faint moonlight that filtered through the palm fronds. He heard the soft sound again, coming from his left. He sat up and, turning to his left, he saw a glowing shape approaching through the bushes.
He rubbed his eyes and the shape took form as the goddess Ma’at dressed in a pure white linen robe that reached to her ankles. Black hair fell to her shoulders in braided plaits and an ostrich feather, symbol of truth, rose over her head.
“The children have fallen asleep. It is time,” Ma’at said in the calm voice he recognized as Tama's.
He had no idea what she was talking about.
She held out her hand, “Ma’at will visit them and reclaim the donkeys. Come with me, but stay in the shadows beyond their fire. Don’t worry,” she said, seeing his worried look, “if I need help, I will signal you. Come, before the adults fall asleep.”
He stood and realized his kilt had come off sometime during their lovemaking.
“Over there,” she said smiling.
He found it on the grass behind him and wrapped it around his waist.
He realized that he hadn’t spoken to her since they had been together. Then, remembering her words from earlier in the night, he decided that their actions had spoken more than any words would.
He nodded his understanding and walked over to her. She turned to leave and then suddenly turned back to him and reaching up, cupped his face with both hands. She studied his face, trying to read his mood, understand his silence. He smiled at her and opened his mouth to thank her, and then catching himself again, he simply smiled and turning his head slightly, lightly kissed the palm of her hand.
Tama’s speculation about the attackers proved eerily accurate.
The light from the small campfire showed three small shapes curled together just at the edge of the circle of flickering light. An elderly man sat near them, propped against a tree, his head turned to the side, his mouth open as he snored. The larger man, the one who had robbed them, sat cross-legged by the fire, an empty water skin by his side. The boy who had been with him was across the fire sitting beside his mother who was examining a roll of linen. Ceramic jars from the packs sat by her side.
Tama stopped by the edge of the camp and motioned for Brian to wait there. Then she walked into the open area. As she moved, she seemed to transform. Always graceful in movement, she seemed now to float rather than walk. Her shoulders were drawn back more; her arms stayed straighter, her wrists were bent slightly, opening her palms in front of her.
The woman saw her first. Her fingers, busy examining the threading of the linen, stopped moving. Her face froze in astonishment. Her husband, seeing his wife’s expression, followed her eyes. He stood clumsily and unconsciously wiped his hands on his dirty thighs.
He started to speak, but Tama raised a hand, stopping him.
“Have you done ma’at?” she asked, evoking the ritual question that was asked during the weighing of the heart, when ma’at meant to live an honest life without lying, cheating or harming anyone.
The woman looked at her husband, knowing the answer and wondering if Anubis himself would burst into the small clearing and use his jackal’s fangs to rip her husband’s still-beating heart from his chest.
“Have you done ma’at?” Tama repeated, her tone quiet but insistent.
The man looked at the ground, fearful, knowing that if he lied t
o the goddess he would die the final death and never see Khert-Neter.
“A woman was walking on the road with her servant when they were accosted by two men,” Tama said, as if telling a fairy tale. “Seeing their great need, the woman offered them food and oils and water, fine linen and gold. Her words were sweet and filled with love. The great god Thoth heard them and recorded them.”
The woman started to cry quietly. Her son reached out a hand to comfort her. The father’s face grew hard and Brian, watching from the shadows, wondered if the man's guilt would lead him to violence.
“Good man,” Tama said, her voice softer now. “Kemet needs balance. Those with wealth and food must share with those who have none. The gods provide enough for all. I know that hunger and need are hard taskmasters. They darken thoughts and sway the heart. They can lead a man beyond ma’at.
“Tell me your story that I might weight your words.”
The man looked up now and Brian saw that the anger and fear in his eyes had given way to sadness.
“We live in Edfu, Voice of Truth.”
“That is many days from here,” Tama said.
The man nodded. “My fields are far from the river’s bank and the ground was not flooded last year. I worked the land but the ground was barren. Only weak shoots arose, too small to grow, even though I prayed to the gods and made offerings,” he said, a note of accusation in his voice.
“When Shemu began, there was nothing for me to harvest. I heard from boatmen that down river there were fields too full to harvest, that if I traveled there I could find work and be able to feed my family.
“And so we gathered all we had and took to the road, looking for those fields.”
“The governor of your nome, did he not provide food and salt for you?” Tama asked.
“Ha! He only takes. He sends his men. They count each grain of wheat, each fig and cucumber and take their share. But no, Voice of Truth, he does not give back.”
“Are his granaries empty?”