by Mika Waltari
Something in me evaporated in the fumes of the wine. I had felt something like it before when in my boyhood I saw the priest of Ammon spit on the face of the god in the sanctuary and rub it with his sleeve. The river of life was choked and its waters spreading-spreading into a wide lake whose surface was fair, a mirror to the starry heavens. Thrust a staff into it, and the water was clouded and the bottom but slime and corruption.
One morning I awoke in the inn to see Kaptah sitting in a corner of the room weeping silently and rocking his head between his hands. I bowed my head over the wine jar and having drunk said roughly, “What do you weep for, dog?”
It was the first time for many days that I had troubled to speak to him, so weary was I of his foolish solicitude. He raised his head and answered, “A ship is now lying in the harbor ready to sail for Syria, the last, it is said, that will leave before the winter gales set in. That is all I weep for.”
I said to him, “Run away to your ship, then, before I beat you again. At least I shall be spared the sight of your unendurable face and the sound of your everlasting lamentations and complaints.”
Having said this, I was ashamed and pushed away the wine jar. A bitter consolation lay in the thought that there was at least one creature dependent on me, though it was but a runaway slave.
Kaptah said, “Truly, lord, I, also, am weary of your sottishness. The dead are dead and don’t return. Let’s go away from here while we may. Your gold and silver-all that you a massed in the course of your journeys-you have thrown out of the window. With your shaking hands I do not believe that you could effect a single cure; you cannot so much as hold a wine jar. At first I thought it well for you to drink for the sake of your peace of mind; I urged you to do it, continually breaking the seals of new jars-and I drank also myself. Moreover, I boasted to others: See what a master I have! He drinks like a hippopotamus-he drowns both gold and silver in his wine, recklessly, and makes exceedingly merry. Now I boast no longer and am ashamed on my master’s account, for there are limits to everything, and to my mind you exceed them.
“I will never condemn a man who drinks himself into a passion and brawls in the street and gets his head broken. That is a sensible custom, which relieves the mind in many kinds of grief, and I have often done the same. The resulting disorders should be treated prudently with beer and salt fish, after which a man resumes his labor, as the gods have ordained and decency requires. But you drink as if each day were your last, and I fear you wish to soak yourself into your grave. If this is your aim, you would do better to drown in a bath of wine, for this is a speedier method, pleasanter also, and no dishonor.”
I considered his words. I surveyed my hands, which had been those of a healer but which now shook as if they had a will of their own and I were no longer their master. I thought of the knowledge I had accumulated in many lands and saw that excess was foolishness. It was as foolish to eat and drink immoderately as to give way to extremes of joy and sorrow.
Therefore, I said to Kaptah, “Let it be as you say, but know that the matter was already evident, and it is not your words that persuade me. They are as the tedious buzzing of flies in my ear. I shall leave drinking for a time and do not purpose to open another jar. I have brought order among my thoughts and intend to return to Smyrna.”
Kaptah skipped joyfully across the room and went out to arrange for our departure, and on that same day we went aboard. The rowers dipped their oars, and we glided from the harbor, past the scores and hundreds of vessels lying at anchor and past the copper-shielded Cretan warships. Once outside the harbor the men shipped their oars; the captain made sacrifice in his cabin to the sea god and others and gave orders for the hoisting of the sail. The vessel heeled over and sped on her way. Astern of us the island of Crete melted like a blue cloud-a shadow-a dream-and we were alone on the rolling expanse of the ocean.
BOOK 9
The Crocodile’s Tail
1
So I ripened to manhood, and when I returned to Smyrna, I was no longer young. I had been absent from that city for three years, during which I had acquired knowledge, both good and evil, of many countries. The ocean winds blew the wine fumes from my head, cleared my eyes, and restored strength to my limbs. I ate and drank and behaved like other people, save that I spoke less than they and was even more solitary than before. Solitude is some men’s destiny-a destiny of mature years-but I had been lonely from childhood, a stranger in the world since the reed boat had carried me to the Theban shore. I had no need to adapt myself to loneliness as many must, since from the beginning it was home to me and a refuge in the dark.
But as I stood by the ship’s figurehead amid the green, rolling waters and the wind blew folly from my mind, I saw far off two green eyes like moonlight on the sea; I heard Minea’s spontaneous laughter and watched her dance on a threshing floor beside the roads of Babylon, in her flimsy dress young and slight as a tender reed. And her image was not grievous to me but rather a sweet torment such as a man feels on waking from a dream that is lovelier than life. When I thought of her, I rejoiced at having known her and would not have renounced one hour of her company, knowing that without her there would have been less of myself. The ship’s figurehead was of cold, painted wood, but the face was a woman’s. As I stood beside it with my face to the wind, I felt my manhood strong within me and was aware that there would yet be many women in my life since for a solitary man it is comfortless to lie every night alone. Yet I fancied that to me all these women would be but painted wooden figures and that, when in the darkness I took them to me, I should seek in them only Minea-only the glint of moonlight, the warmth of a slender body, the fragrance of cypress, which would remind me of Minea. Thus, by the figurehead of the ship, I bade her farewell.
My house in Smyrna was still standing though the shutters had been broken open by thieves. They had carried away all that was worth taking of such possessions as I had not entrusted to the safekeeping of the merchants. Since I had been away so long, my neighbors had begun to use the space before my house as rubbish dump and privy, the stench of which was very foul. Rats scuttled over the floor as I entered my rooms and tore the cobwebs from the lintels.
My neighbors were not pleased to see me. They averted their eyes and said to one another, “He is an Egyptian and all evil comes from Egypt.” Therefore I went first to an inn, bidding Kaptah set my house in order so that I could once more live there, and then visited the merchants’ houses where I had placed my funds. After my three years’ traveling I had returned a poor man, for besides my own earnings I had lost what Horemheb had given me, mostly to the priests of Babylon on Minea’s account.
The wealthy shipowners were astonished to see me. Their noses grew even longer than before and they tugged thoughtfully at their beards, for my long absence had encouraged them to think that my wealth was now theirs. Nevertheless, they rendered me strict account, and although certain ships had foundered and I had lost my share in them, yet others had proved exceedingly profitable. When all had been assessed, it appeared that I was now wealthier than I had been at my departure and I need have no concern for my livelihood in Smyrna.
Nevertheless, the owners invited me into their rooms, offered me wine and honey bread, and pulling long faces, they said to me, “Sinuhe the physician! You are our friend, but although we are glad to trade with Egypt, we do not like to see Egyptians making their way in among us. The people murmur and are sorely vexed by the tribute they must pay to Pharaoh. Egyptians have lately been stoned in the streets, dead pigs have been cast into their temples, and our people will not show themselves publicly in their company. You, Sinuhe, are our friend, and we respect you highly for your skill in healing, which we still remember. For this reason we would make all clear to you, that you may act accordingly and with prudence.”
Their words bewildered me since before my departure people had vied with one another for the favor of the Egyptians and invited them to their houses. Just as Syrian customs had been adopted in Thebes, so h
ere in Smyrna men followed the fashion of the Egyptians. Yet Kaptah bore out their words when in high indignation he called at the inn.
“An evil spirit has certainly crept into these people, for they conduct themselves like mad dogs, feigning ignorance of the Egyptian tongue. They threw me out of the tavern where I went to refresh my parched throat when they saw I was Egyptian. They shouted evil words after me and the children showered me with dung. Then I went to another tavern, for my throat was as dry as chaff and I craved the strong Syrian beer. But here I never uttered a sound-a hard thing for me, as you know. However, I was prudent and dipped my reed into my beer with the others in silence, and I listened to what they were saying. They said that Smyrna was once a free city, paying tribute to none, and that they no longer wished their children to be born the bondsmen of Pharaoh. Other Syrian cities were once free also, and therefore all Egyptians should be clubbed and driven forth-this was the duty of every man who loves freedom and is weary of being Pharaoh’s serf. Such was their nonsense, although it is well known that Egypt’s protection is for Syria’s benefit rather than its own. If left to themselves, the cities of Syria would be like wildcats in a sack, rending and tearing at each other, to the great detriment of farming and commerce. These people boasted of their power and spoke of some alliance between all their cities. As an Egyptian I became so sickened with their talk that when the landlord turned his back I went away without paying and snapped my drinking-reed.”
I did not have to walk far in the city before observing the truth of Kaptah’s words. No one molested me, for I had learned to wear Syrian clothes, but those who had known me before now turned away when we met, while other Egyptians in the city went guarded. Even so, men mocked them and pelted them with rotten fruit and fish. I felt no concern, however. Doubtless the people of Smyrna were incensed over the new taxes, and tumult such as this was apt to subside quickly since Syria had as much profit from Egypt as Egypt from Syria. I did not fancy that the cities of the coast could long maintain themselves without Egyptian grain.
I had my house set in order, received patients, and treated them as before. As before they came, for pain and disease do not inquire after a man’s race but only after his skill.
Yet they would argue with me, saying, “Tell us, you Egyptian, is it not unjust that Egypt should extort tribute from us, exploit us, and batten on our poverty like a blood-sucking leech? Flow unjust also that we may not repair our walls and towers if we so desire and are willing to bear the cost of it ourselves! Our own councilors are competent to govern us well and fairly without Egyptian interference in the coronation of our rulers or the administration of our justice. By Baal, if it were not for the Egyptians, we should flourish and prosper. They are upon, us like locusts, and your Pharaoh is now forcing a new god upon us so that we lose the favor of our own.”
I did not desire to bandy words with them, but I said this, “Against whom would you build your walls and towers if not Egypt? It is doubtless true that your city was free within its own walls in the days of your great-grandfathers, but you shed blood and impoverished yourselves in countless wars with neighbors whom you still hate, while your princes were licensed despots under whom neither rich nor poor knew security. Now you are protected from your enemies by the shields and spears of Egypt, and Egypt’s laws secure the rights of rich and poor alike.”
But this incensed them; their eyes reddened and their nostrils quivered as they retorted, “Egypt’s laws are filth to us and its gods an abomination. What if our princes were despots, and unjust-which we do not believe! They were our own princes, and our hearts tell us that injustice in a free land is better than justice in a land enslaved.”
I said, “I see among you no signs of slavery; rather you grow fat and boast of wealth gained at the expense of Egyptian stupidity. If you were free, you would plunder one another’s ships and cut down one another’s fruit trees. On your journeys inland your lives would no longer be secure.”
But they would not listen. They flung down their gifts and left, saying, “You are an Egyptian in your heart though you wear Syrian clothes. Every Egyptian is an oppressor and an evildoer, and the only good Egyptian is a dead one.”
In consequence of these things I was now ill at ease in Smyrna. I began to gather in all that was mine in preparation for departure. I must go to Egypt, according to my promise, to meet Horemheb and tell him of all I had seen. But I made no great haste, for my spirit quailed at the thought of drinking Nile water once again, and so the time slipped by.
One evening I was returning in the dark from Ishtar’s temple, which I visited upon occasion-as a thirsty man will drink without regard to the source of his refreshment. Some men came along the wall toward me, saying to one another, “Is not this man an Egyptian? Shall we suffer a circumcised man to lie with our virgins and defile our temple?”
I said, “Your virgins, for whom I could suggest a more fitting term, care neither for race nor person. They weigh their pleasure by the gold the man has in his purse. I do not quarrel with them for this since it is my custom to take pleasure with them, and I intend to continue when it so pleases me.”
At this they drew their cloaks before their faces, threw themselves on me, and bore me to the ground, then beat my head against the wall until I thought I was about to die. But as they set about robbing me and were dragging the clothes off me before throwing me into the harbor, one of them saw my face and said, “Is it not Sinuhe, the Egyptian doctor and King Aziru’s friend?”
I acknowledged this and swore that I would slay them and throw their carcasses to the dogs. My head ached exceedingly, and I was much too angry to be frightened. They released me, restored my clothes, and fled, holding their cloaks before their faces. I could not think why they did so, for with me in their power they had no reason to heed my threat.
2
A few days later a messenger rode up to my door on a horse, which was a rare sight, for an Egyptian never travels on horseback and a Syrian very seldom. It is chiefly the desert raiders who journey in this fashion, the horse being a tall, unruly creature that kicks and bites when a man tries to mount it, and throws him off, and behaves quite differently from the donkey, which is amenable to all uses. This man rode up to my door on a lathery, gasping beast, from whose mouth blood was trickling. The man’s garments told me that he came from the hills of the sheep country, and in his face I read intense agitation.
He rushed up to me and barely gave himself time to utter a greeting before crying out to me in his excitement, “Order out your carry chair, Sinuhe, and follow me speedily. I come from the land of Amurru, whose king, Aziru, has sent me to fetch you. His son is sick, and no one knows what ails the boy. The King rages like a lion in the wilderness and breaks the bones of everyone who comes near. Therefore take your medicine chest and follow me in haste, or I will cut your head from your shoulders and kick it along the street.”
“My head alone would be of little use to the King. Yet I pardon you your impetuousness and will follow you-not on account of your threats but because King Aziru is my friend and I would help him.”
I ordered Kaptah to fetch a chair, and I followed the messenger, rejoicing in my heart. I was so lonely that I looked forward to meeting even Aziru, whose teeth I had once coated with gold. But I was no longer so happy when we came to the mouth of a pass, for then I and my medicine chest were hoisted into a chariot and drawn by wild horses. We careered over stones and rocks until I feared that every one of my limbs would be broken, and I cried out shrilly in my terror. My companion on his weary horse was left far in the rear, and I hoped that he might break his neck.
On the other side of the range I was hauled from the chariot into another drawn by fresh horses. I hardly knew whether I was on my head or my heels, and I could only scream at the drivers, “You filth! You carrion! You dung beetles!” and thump them on the back with my fists when we came to the smoother stretches, and I dared loosen my hold upon the edge of the cart. They did not heed me but shook the re
ins and cracked the whip so that we leaped over the stones and I thought the wheels would fly off.
Our journey to Amurru was thus not a lengthy one, and before sunset we came to a city that was encircled by newly built, lofty walls. These were patrolled by soldiers bearing shields, but the gates stood open to us. We drove through the city amid the braying of donkeys and the yelling of women and children, while baskets of fruit flew through the air and countless pitchers were crushed beneath the wheels, for the drivers paid no heed to any in their path.
When I was lifted from the vehicle, I could no longer walk but reeled like a drunken man. The drivers rushed me by the arms into the house, followed by slaves with my medicine chest. We had come no farther than the outer wall, which was hung with shields and breastplates and tasseled spears, when Aziru collided with us, trumpeting like a wounded elephant. He had rent his clothes and cast ashes on his hair, and he had scratched his face with his nails until it bled.
Aziru then embraced me warmly and wept and said, “Heal my son, Sinuhe-heal him, and all that is mine shall be yours.”
I said to him, “Let me first see your son that I may find out if I can heal him.”
He led me quickly to a large room heated by a brazier although it was summer. The air within was stifling. In the middle of the floor stood a cradle in which lay a baby less than a year old, swathed in woolen garments. He was screaming so hard that he was blue black in the face and sweat stood in beads upon his forehead. Although he was still so small, he had thick black hair like his father. I could not see that much ailed him. If he had been dying, he could not have roared so lustily. Lying on the floor beside the cradle was Keftiu, the woman I had once given to Aziru. She was fatter and whiter than ever, and her mountainous flesh shook as she struck her forehead on the floor in her grief and mourned and shrieked. From the corners of the room came the outcry of slaves and nurses whose faces were swollen and bruised from the blows that Aziru had dealt them because they could pot heal his son.