The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  “Setau was turning away immigrants in the harbor the day I arrived,” Nykara told Papa after we finished eating and were taking our ease. “I’ve never seen that happen before. Have conditions at Maadi changed so drastically since my last visit?”

  “None of us in Maadi can support any more craftsmen or laborers than we already have,” Papa replied.

  “Why? Seven months ago Khaba told me he needed more men to make vases.”

  “There’s been considerable immigration to Maadi since, especially after the poor inundation last year,” Papa replied. “Workers have poured into our workshops. Our farms can’t support any more residents in Maadi.”

  “Then Maadi will never grow any larger and no one’s workshop will ever generate products beyond what they now create,” Nykara concluded.

  “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

  “Maadi is doomed to die, then,” Nykara said. “Some other settlement with more land or more fertile land or better positioned will take its place.”

  Papa shrugged. “If that happens I’ll return to Farkha, or the North.”

  “Why not solve Maadi’s problem instead, yourself?”

  “How?” Papa asked.

  “You say Maadi’s farmers grow only enough to support your settlement as is. That may be true. But look at where we’re sitting, Nabaru. We’re in the midst of a paradise. Ta–mehu is within hours of Maadi, with limitless rich land just waiting to be farmed and grazed. Surely that land can generate excess food beyond what those who might farm it would need. That excess could feed many more vase makers and metalsmiths and other craftsmen and workers and allow Maadi to continue to grow – without fear of famine.”

  “Possibly,” Papa said cautiously.

  “Definitely!” Nykara exclaimed. He stood and began to pace back and forth. “Farm Ta–mehu, Nabaru! Generate all the food you need to feed your current population and more. Grow rich!”

  “I’m no farmer,” Papa protested. “I have no desire to be one. I’m a merchant.”

  “If everyone at Nekhen thought that way we’d still be a hamlet,” Nykara retorted. “You need to seriously consider it.”

  Later, after everyone else had fallen asleep and the fire had died to coals, I slipped from my sleeping pallet and took a short walk to the northern tip of the turtleback where Nykara was sitting. He’d left the campfire an hour earlier. The moon was new; the stars shone bright enough I could clearly make out the endless sea of grass waving gently in every direction. The night was alive with sound – humming insects, chittering birds, the wind sweeping through the grass, the gurgling river, the distant roars of omnipresent hippos.

  I sat down, boldly leaned against Nykara for support, our arms and legs touching. He didn’t move away. “Your idea was a good one, Nykara, for a farm hereabouts. I’ll work on Papa. He’ll come around eventually.”

  “If anyone can convince him, you can,” Nykara replied. “Don’t you think this particular turtleback would make an excellent estate? Less than a day by boat from Maadi, plenty of water and wood and reeds, clay for a pottery works, high ground for a smithy and brewery, wildlife and fish for food, wide plains to plant with emmer and barley and for cattle to graze, a deep channel to dock boats, space for a boatyard.” He chuckled. “If you can’t talk your father into it, maybe you can find a good man and operate an estate with him yourself. You can save Maadi if Nabaru won’t.”

  “Maybe I will,” I replied. As long as that man is you.

  We reached the vicinity of Farkha at mid–afternoon the next day. A narrow channel twice the width of Nykara’s boat, fringed with reeds, split from the river there and wound more or less easterly. He steered into it. His men seated themselves along the sides of the boat and took up their oars and started rowing. The current was no longer propelling us.

  “Follow the channel for about a mile,” I directed. “It sweeps around the northern edge of Farkha’s three turtlebacks.”

  The waterway was shallow, but more than deep enough for Nykara’s vessel to navigate. The surrounding floodplain had been planted with emmer and barley a month or so ago and the grain was already knee–high. We passed a small camp along the southern bank comprised of a half–dozen rude huts. Women were bending over cookfires before them; children were dashing back and forth, playing. Herds of cattle and sheep were not far distant, watched over by ragged–looking men and older boys.

  “Nomads from the western desert,” I informed Nykara. I pointed in the direction from which we’d come. “They drive their flocks across the delta. Then they swim their animals across this branch of the river right over there and graze them on these plains all summer. They return to their oasis after the rainy season when there’s enough grass on the trail.”

  “Nabaru trades with them?”

  I nodded. “My brother Itu, actually, since he lives here. He’s one of Farkha’s most influential men. Wine, ostrich feathers, animal pelts for the most part. But the donkey caravan Papa is expecting is coming from the East. That trailhead is at the other end of Farkha.”

  A great tangled marsh interspersed with winding streams and pools of water appeared north of the channel, alive with countless birds.

  “The country’s like that all the way to the sea, wet and broken – it’s perhaps nine miles from here to the coast,” I said. “It’s impassable on foot, difficult by boat. Do you want to visit the Wadjet Wer while you’re here?”

  “Not this time. But definitely some day.”

  “It’s easy. You simply backtrack to the river, then drift to the sea.”

  We passed Farkha’s three turtlebacks and landed at the base of the easternmost, tied the boat to a mooring post. The turtlebacks together made up a kind of very long island in the midst of the swamp and water.

  “Most people live on this easternmost hill,” I said as Nykara helped me over the side onto dry land. His men remained aboard his boat; they’d sleep on its deck and guard his trade goods. Papa disembarked without assistance. “It’s where they bury their dead, too. The workshops where they make their products are on the central hill. There are more houses – those of the leading men – and a place to worship their gods on the westernmost. Beyond that are more fields of emmer and barley.”

  “What gods do these people worship?” Nykara asked.

  “Their symbols are the ostrich and gazelle,” I replied. “They must date to an ancient time. Neither of those animals lives in the delta anymore.”

  “Father! Bakist!”

  I spotted my half–brother Itu hurrying down the slope from the settlement to greet us. He was six years my senior and a few inches shorter. His mother, Papa’s first woman, like him from the North, had died a year after he was born. His hair was red, like mine. We embraced, then he and Papa.

  “I expected you’d arrive today,” he said.

  “This is Nykara,” I told him.

  “The trader from Nekhen?” Itu asked in amazement. “The one who’s so greatly increased our family’s wealth?”

  I nodded. “Nykara, this is Itu.”

  “Bakist has told me much about you,” Nykara said.

  “I’m sure she has. The girl loves to talk.” Itu put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, affectionately. “Is this your boat?” he asked, scanning Nykara’s vessel.

  “One of them.”

  Itu sighed. “One. What I wouldn’t give to have a boat of my own. I oversee the donkeys we use to caravan to and from Farkha. Bakist oversees the ones that travel the desert into and out of Maadi. But it’s easier to transfer our goods between Farkha and Maadi by water, so we always borrow a boat. We’re at the mercy of whatever share of our goods the boat’s owner demands.”

  “Nykara’s not demanding a share,” I said.

  “Used your charms to talk him out of it, did you?” Itu teased me.

  “No!”

  “Just a gesture between good friends,” Nykara interjected.

  Papa led us up the hill towards the settlement. I pointed out a line of c
lay storage pits near the crest of the turtleback. “For grain,” I told Nykara. We passed closely–spaced houses made of wattle–and–daub, rectangular in shape. Small attached pens mostly held pigs.

  “All of Farkha’s buildings are in rows, and aligned in the same direction,” Nykara noted. “But lanes wind every which way in Nekhen.”

  “Farkha was planned this way from the beginning,” Papa said.

  Itu pointed. “See that mud–brick fence to the west? That’s the end of the residential section and the beginning of the workshop section. We in Farkha keep our living areas and business areas separate. At least, we have until now.”

  “The building’s coming along?” Papa asked Itu.

  “Foundation’s laid. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “What building?” I asked.

  “It’s a surprise,” Itu responded. “You’re going to have to be patient.”

  Moments later we stopped in front of a small hut, indistinguishable from those nearby. “Welcome to my home,” Itu said.

  I rolled up the reed mat covering the entrance and fastened it to the lintel so there’d be some light and air. We went inside. The roof was supported by a number of posts on each side and in the middle of the structure. There was an opening in the roof in the rear to let smoke from the cookfire escape. The floor was entirely covered with worn reed mats. There was a very small nook where Papa and I slept when we visited, an area for preparing food, and the main room where Papa and Itu and I negotiated with and entertained traders. Scattered on a number of low benches made of dried mud were wine jars decorated with ropes of clay winding around their sides, and ledge–handled jars full of olive oil, and lemon–shaped and globular jars containing a variety of items. There were a few copper fishhooks and axes atop a container. I surveyed the interior. It needed a good cleaning. The hut had always been quite orderly before Itu’s woman died two years ago. Not so much since.

  I quickly lit linen wicks floating in a number of small bowls of oil, then placed them around the room to provide additional light. The bowls were all decorated with zigzag patterns.

  Nykara picked up a black–topped jar. “This doesn’t look like one of Amenia’s. It’s not black inside.”

  “Some of the locals have been trying to imitate her wares,” Papa replied. “Don’t worry – Amenia’s will always command a premium. Hers are clearly better.”

  Nykara settled back with Papa and Itu as I lit a fire and began preparing a meal at the rear of the house.

  “Bet you’re glad I came now, Papa,” I called over my shoulder.

  He said something I couldn’t distinguish. It was probably fortunate I couldn’t.

  I cut up dried fish and bread and fruit with knives made of pale flint and copper. We ate our simple meal hungrily, drank our fill of wine.

  “Farmers cultivate emmer and barley here,” Itu told Nykara as we dipped into the bowls I’d prepared. “They raise cattle and goats and sheep, breed them, occasionally trade their excess. Most people in the settlement keep a few pigs. We hunt the animals that roam the delta – we go after hippos mostly because they can destroy a field of our grain in just a few hours. There are rhinos, aurochs, antelope, hares, wild boars, jackals, even giraffes. But fish are our most important food.”

  “What drew settlers here in the first place?” Nykara asked.

  “The trade routes following the coast of the Wadjet Wer terminate at Farkha,” Papa said. “So do trails from the western desert.”

  “Farkha’s as important as Maadi – maybe even more important. It’s actually more central to the this region, more of a crossroads,” I said.

  “You said you caravan goods by donkey?” Nykara asked Itu.

  He nodded. “A well–marked trail hugs the coast between the delta and the North, seventy or eighty miles long. There’s a series of watering holes along the route, and good grazing. I send loads of fish bones for use as arrowheads, objects carved from ivory, cosmetic palettes, freshwater mussel shells coated with mother of pearl, and a small amount of beer north. My men return with wine and olive oil and almonds, sheep’s wool, goat’s milk and cheese, and flint native to those lands.”

  “What about the cedar logs?”

  “They come by boat. The trees grow on the mountains near Byblos, a port settlement several months travel by land from here.”

  “Are there many large settlements in the North?”

  “Ugarit, a port north of Byblos. Jericho and Megiddo are somewhat inland, in valleys between mountain ranges. Jericho is a very old settlement – it’s actually encircled by a stone wall.”

  “I noticed many types of pottery unfamiliar to me as we walked here from the boat, and here in your hut,” Nykara said.

  “We save the jars products are shipped in from the North and reuse them,” Papa said. “Everyone we trade with has a different style.”

  “Do you ever travel with your caravans, Itu?” Nykara asked.

  “On occasion. And one time four of us rowed a small boat to Byblos. Took twenty days. Had two hundred pounds of goods on board. Donkeys are more efficient.”

  “You can see why I keep a foot in both Maadi and Farkha,” Papa said. “Both are equally important.” He helped himself to a chunk of bread. “We’ll tour the settlement tomorrow and visit the workshops.”

  ***

  The four of us awakened early the next morning. After a quick meal we went exploring. We weren’t the only ones up and about; the streets of the settlement were already busy. I walked close beside Nykara. Almost everyone we passed called out a greeting to me. I was as well known as Papa and Itu in Farkha. A couple of men who endlessly importuned Papa to join me to them eyed Nykara jealously. I wished they had reason.

  Nykara pointed out several women wearing necklaces of gold beads. “I know there’s no gold in the North. Those must be necklaces I originally traded in Maadi.”

  “It’s fair to say a great deal of what you’ve exchanged in Maadi is now scattered throughout the delta and the North,” I said. “It’s a reason Maadi is booming.”

  “If Maadi stops expanding, perhaps Farkha will surpass it someday,” Nykara said. He was obviously still thinking about a delta estate.

  “Until it does, I’ll stay in Maadi,” I said. “I’d get bored here very quickly. Not enough trading going on. I need bustle and excitement. I can’t sit around doing nothing.”

  We passed through an opening in the waist–high mud–brick wall marking Farkha’s economic zone on the central turtleback. Smoke rose from a number of fires, marking the locations of workshops. There were far fewer of them than in Maadi. Still, some of the items made in them were unique and important in the region’s trade.

  Almost immediately we encountered a brewery and stepped into the compound so Nykara could have a look. Men were pouring water into six vats ringed by a low mud–brick wall. Others were arranging fuel at the vats’ bases. Each vat was at the center of a circular space; all six circles were touching.

  “The vats are arranged differently than in Nekhen,” Nykara informed me. “Ours are in parallel rows, with the vats in each row directly across from each other. These rows are parallel too, except that the vats from the second row are aligned with the gaps in the first row. Aside from that, everything looks exactly the same, right down to the heavy bars used to keep the vats from tipping over and the types of grain being used and the fruit being added to start the fermentation process. I wonder if someone from Nekhen carried knowledge of how to brew north sometime in the past?”

  “Or if someone from Farkha carried it south,” I replied.

  Nykara smiled. “In any event, the lines of gossiping women waiting to fill their jars seems universal.”

  The ringing of stone on stone drew our attention. “The stone carvers are over there,” I said.

  After a short walk we entered the workshop, wound through piles of hammer stones and others used for grinding and sharpening and polishing.

  “We make far more items at Nekhen,” Nykara ob
served, scanning the collections of finished objects.

  “Stone is precious in the delta. We have to import it from around Maadi or one of the deserts,” Itu said. “So mostly, in this workshop, they’re reworking worn or damaged tools. They’re too valuable to ever discard.”

  “What are those small objects being exchanged with the craftsmen?” Nykara asked.

  “Tokens. We use them to keep track of trades.”

  “We use rounded stones at Nekhen.”

  We moved a ways down the lane to the next workshop. Men were sitting cross–legged beneath a large reed–roofed pavilion, bending forward, staring intently, carefully carving hippo ivory with sharp–edged copper tools. Itu introduced Nykara to Minmose, the master craftsman.

  “Hippos are Farkha’s curse and blessing,” Minmose said, shaking his head. “They’re a terrible nuisance. They go after our farmers’ crops almost from the moment they’re planted. Hunters guard our fields throughout the growing season and bring me vast quantities of bone from their kills. Hippo tusk is the most prized portion.” He indicated a very large earthenware jar filled to the rim with water. Dozens of tusks were submerged in it. “We have to soften the ivory before we carve it,” he said. “Otherwise it cracks.”

  We walked around the shop, peering over the backs of the craftsmen. Some were true masters, producing beautiful objects, some much less talented. The latter were working on carvings of wildlife – lions, dogs, scorpions, falcons, geese, fish, even model boats. The masters were creating human figurines – naked women, men, a considerable number of dwarfs.

  “What are these holes in the dwarves for?” Nykara asked.

  “We suspend them with twine.”

  “Never seen that before,” Nykara said. He stopped beside a man carving a figure with a bird’s head, lion’s body, wings, and human hands.

  “That’s a griffin,” Minmose explained. “It’s a god worshipped in the North. Destined for trade. And over here.” He picked up a finished figure, a snake with a woman’s face. “It’s a god worshipped in the northwest section of the delta perhaps a day’s travel from here, two neighboring hamlets named Pe and Dep. Many boats from northern lands dock there instead of coming all the way inland to Farkha or Maadi. We trade with Pe and Dep extensively.”