The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

  Bakist saw what I was trying to do and shouted at Amenia and pointed and Amenia started steering a path that might allow us to intersect. But the boat was still too far behind me. Bakist used her rope to drive the oarsmen to greater speed. Ever so gradually the boat began to catch up to Keminub and me, the gap closing achingly slowly. It finally drew close. Bakist sent her rope flying towards me, holding on to one end. It uncoiled in the air, splashed into the water. I grabbed for it, missed, lunged, got it. Heth abandoned his oar and took the end of the rope Bakist was holding and began drawing Keminub and me in hand over hand, a foot at a time. We soon touched the side of the boat. I reached up and grabbed the top strake with both hands. Heth let go of the rope and bent over the side and lifted Keminub off my back. He handed her to Bakist. Then Heth extended his hand and I took it and he pulled me aboard. I lay on the deck for a moment, panting, water streaming off of me. But there was no time to rest. We weren’t even close to being out of danger.

  I hurried to my seat, picked up my oar, shouted instructions to the others, began to row. Heth took his. Bakist was in the stern, holding Keminub in her arms while Amenia, grasping the steering oar next to her, sobbed uncontrollably. It took a while, but we finally got the boat back into the middle of the channel.

  A little before sunset the wind suddenly died and the current took over again and I gave the command to ship oars and relieved Amenia in the stern and soon the cliffs began to recede from the riverbank and a great plain opened up on the eastern shore, much of it covered by the waters of the inundation and brilliant with color. I drew in to land just as the first stars winked into the sky. Everyone had long since fallen to the deck beside their rowing seats, too exhausted to move. Amenia was holding Keminub beneath the pavilion like she’d never let her go. Peksater was leaning against Amenia’s knees, her arms around her sister as well. That we’d made it through the canyon was a miracle and I thanked the falcon god and the god of the inundation for watching over us.

  Heth jumped overboard and tied the bow to the trunk of a date palm. I put the gangplank in place and everyone made their way off the boat and wearily began to arrange camp.

  “Nykara,” Amenia called quietly from beneath the pavilion where she was still sitting along with Keminub and Peksater.

  I went to her. Bakist was lying on her back next to Amenia. Her eyes were closed and she looked exceptionally pale. I remembered how she’d rushed about and flailed at everyone during Keminub’s rescue. She’d worn herself out. Exactly what I’d feared. But if she hadn’t the day would have turned out much differently. Not just Keminub, but all of us, might have died.

  “Bakist should stay on board tonight,” Amenia cautioned.

  Bakist suddenly grimaced, clutched her stomach, cried out.

  “Your baby’s coming,” Keminub announced cheerfully.

  Amenia placed her hands on Bakist’s belly. “She’s right,” she said a moment later. She looked worried. “I wish I had the magic charms for childbirth, to protect her.” Her fingers rose to the talisman. “This will have to do.”

  “Heth’s objects,” Bakist said to me weakly.

  The container of copper items he and Bakist had salvaged from the smithy. I scanned the deck. It hadn’t washed overboard. Quickly I went to it, carried it back to Amenia. “Maybe there’s something in here you can use. We always make some charms to trade.”

  She fished around inside, pulled out a handful of objects. “These will do. Now, Nykara, leave us. Send Peseshet and Kapes and Aat and Nebtint to me. Tell them what’s happening. Take the girls with you.”

  “I want to stay and help,” Keminub insisted.

  Amenia looked at me, appealing. After her ordeal Keminub clearly needed to rest.

  “You and Peksater can help me with the meal,” I suggested. “I’m not sure I know how to cook.” Not true, since I’d spent most of my life feeding my crew on my expeditions. But a good excuse to get Keminub off the boat.

  “Send food to us when it’s ready,” Amenia said. “I think this will be a long night for us.”

  Heth already had a fire going when I reached the campsite. With the girls’ assistance we put together a passable meal, if somewhat skimpy. Tomorrow I’d have to take inventory and figure out exactly what we’d lost in the canyon and what we had left to get us to Maadi. I assumed I wasn’t going to like what I found.

  Keminub crawled onto my lap after dinner. She hugged me, looked up. “I knew you’d save me in the river,” she said with assurance. “I wasn’t worried at all.”

  “That makes one of us,” I laughed. “You were very brave.”

  Bakist cried out on the boat. The sound tore me apart. I couldn’t help her.

  “She’s having her baby now,” Keminub said knowingly. “I’ve helped Mama at births before. Your baby will be my sister or brother.”

  “That’s right,” I agreed. “You and Peksater both. I couldn’t ask for better sisters.”

  “I suppose we’ll be stuck here during the after–birth ritual,” Hemaka muttered darkly.

  “That’ll give Ma–ee time to catch up to us,” Nekauba said.

  “We should set out again first thing in the morning. Leave Bakist here, along with Heth. Save the rest of us, like you promised, Nykara. You can come back for those two later.”

  I set Keminub beside me on the ground. I rose, grabbed Hemaka, lifted him to his feet, hit him harder than I’d hit anyone my entire life. He landed with a thud outside the ring of firelight. I stood over Nekauba, my fists clenched. “How about you?” I asked sharply.

  He raised his hands, palms outward. “He said it. Not me.”

  Yuny and Ibi both seemed pleased. Heth winked approvingly.

  I returned to the fire, made a pallet of rushes for the girls nearby, put them to bed. Keminub instantly fell asleep.

  I sat by the fire that entire night, occasionally replenishing it when it burned almost to coals. The rest of the men slept. Bakist’s cries continued for hours, gradually growing weaker, then tailing off to silence. I’d waited with enough of my boatmen while their women gave birth to know this one wasn’t going well. From time to time I paced the riverbank, helpless, praying to every god I knew to give Bakist strength.

  A little before dawn the women trooped off the boat with sagging shoulders and I sprinted along the riverbank and up the gangplank. Bakist was stretched out in the pavilion, a baby greedily sucking at her breast. She was drenched with sweat, her long red hair tangled and matted and soaked, her face drawn and very pale. There was blood everywhere. Amenia was mopping her forehead with a piece of linen; Aat was trying to clean her legs.

  Bakist saw me and smiled weakly. “We have a daughter, Nykara.”

  I dropped to my knees, reached out and touched my child. How small. How dainty. How amazing. With red hair, just like her mother’s. I bent and kissed Bakist. I’d never loved her more than in that moment.

  “I’m so tired, Nykara,” she said. She closed her eyes.

  “Sleep now,” I said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at Amenia. “Tell him.”

  Amenia’s eyes met mine. I saw sorrow and sympathy in them. “Bakist was already weak from saving my… saving Keminub. She lost so much blood tonight.” Tears spilled down Amenia’s cheeks. “She won’t recover, Nykara. I’m so sorry.”

  “No!” My world came crashing down around me.

  Amenia and Aat left us so we could be alone.

  Bakist took hold of my hand. “I don’t want to die,” she insisted in a whisper. “I’ll fight as hard as I can to live.”

  “I know you will, My Love.” I raised her hand to my lips, kissed her fingers. “You’re a most formidable woman. You can defeat death. I know it. I’m not ready to lose you.” My tears were splashing her now.

  “Give our daughter my name, just in case, so you’ll never forget me,” she said.

  “How could I ever forget you, My Love? I’ve never loved anyone more. I never will.”r />
  Bakist closed her eyes. I stretched out beside her and held her until she fell into an exhausted sleep. Shortly thereafter Nebtint appeared and took Little Bakist away, to clean her and feed her and watch over her.

  We remained camped that day. Amenia never left Bakist’s side. Bakist slept most of the time. I went ashore at midday to eat. I choked down a few bites and returned to the boat to relieve Amenia so she could eat. Standing outside the pavilion – the reed mats were lowered to keep the sun off Bakist – I caught the tail end of a conversation.

  “Look after Nykara when I’m gone,” Bakist said softly. “I can’t stand the thought of him being alone again, like he was for so long. He’ll need help caring for my baby.”

  “Don’t give up, Bakist,” Amenia replied firmly. “The falcon god is watching over you. He’ll give you strength.”

  “My people don’t know the falcon god,” Bakist said sadly. “He doesn’t know me.”

  “But he does. You’re one of Nykara’s people now. So is your daughter,” Amenia argued. “Let yourself believe in him.”

  “I’ll try. But promise me you’ll look after Nykara,” Bakist repeated urgently. “Keminub deserves to be with her father.”

  I was absolutely stunned. Keminub’s father? Me?

  “You knew?” Amenia asked.

  “The moment I saw her climb onto the boat,” Bakist replied softly. “I’m glad, Amenia. I know how much you and Nykara loved each other. I’m glad you had part of him all these years.”

  I’d always hoped. Keminub had been born the right amount of time after Amenia’s and my encounter at the river the afternoon of the inundation festival. But she’d been joined with Sanakht the very next day and I hadn’t been sure. Until now.

  “I promise,” Amenia said solemnly.

  “Thank you.”

  I composed myself, took a deep breath, lifted one of the reed mats and ducked into the pavilion. “There’s food waiting for you at the campfire, Amenia.”

  She nodded. She leaned over Bakist for a moment, then rose. She gave no indication she thought I might have overheard the conversation. “I don’t know how much longer she can last,” she whispered as she passed me. “She’s fighting so hard.” Then she ducked under the mat and headed for shore.

  I sat beside Bakist, leaned over, kissed her. Amenia’s talisman was draped around her neck. By that I knew her condition was critical.

  “You heard Amenia’s promise?” Bakist whispered, her eyes searching my face.

  I nodded.

  Bakist took a deep breath and closed her eyes and almost seemed to shrink before me, as if she’d fought her final battle and was now content.

  She died that day at sunset, with Amenia and Keminub and Peksater and Aat and Nebtint gathered around her and Little Bakist resting on her stomach. As the women and girls began to keen my heart broke. Bakist had flashed across my life like a fireball – unexpected, magnificent, brilliantly illuminating my world for far too brief a time. How was I going to survive the newly–dark night that lay ahead of me without her?

  We buried Bakist atop the plateau back from the river the next day. I placed every single copper object I’d brought from Nekhen in her grave. She wouldn’t go to the Afterlife deprived of anything. Amenia blessed her with the falcon god’s talisman for good measure. I held Little Bakist in my arms as the men shoveled sand into Bakist’s grave and covered my Beloved forever.

  “I’ll tell you all about your mother, every day, for the rest of my life,” I promised my daughter. “You’ll grow up to be a fine loving caring woman, just like her.”

  An hour later we were on our way north again. I grieved as my diminished boat moved into the channel. To not see Bakist moving about the deck, cheering on the women and children or keeping me company, broke my heart. I was leaving part of myself behind. I’d never be whole again. I swept my eyes over the boat. The side of Hemaka’s face was swollen where I’d struck him; he avoided so much as looking in my direction. None of the women tended to him or even paid him attention. Amenia and her girls were under the pavilion taking a well–earned rest. Nebtint was nursing my child, her own infant bundled beside her knee. That was fortunate, that she had milk to give. The rest of the women settled down beneath sunscreens to avoid the heat. That entire day everyone left me alone. I plied the steering oar in the stern, weighed down by loss and unimaginable sorrow.

  ***

  “We’ll reach Maadi in a few hours, Keminub.”

  We’d been underway for an hour and Keminub was seated beside me, as usual. For the past day we’d been encountering small hamlets and scattered farm huts on each side of the river, or, at least what remained after most had dissolved into the still–rising waters of the inundation.

  “I can’t wait!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Mama will be so happy. She says life’s going to be better for us there than it has been.”

  “I think she’s right.”

  I saw Keminub differently now than I had before Bakist died three weeks ago. How I wished I could embrace her and tell her I was her father. But that was for Amenia to reveal, not me. Because of the issues dividing us I doubted she ever would. I accepted that as penance for having ruined Amenia’s life. Why should she want her daughter to know her real father was a man who’d failed her and her mother repeatedly and so miserably?

  Early that afternoon Maadi finally appeared, its reed and thatch and mud huts clustered thickly along a low narrow ridge overlooking the river, surrounded by its wood wall, safe on the heights above the water. For the first time in the journey everyone was excited, even Hemaka and Nekauba.

  Heth was standing near me alongside Aat, pointing out the communal storage area south of the settlement just inside the wall. “There’s another on the northern edge.” I’d described them to him some time ago, since they’d been erected long after he’d gone to Nekhen, as had the wall. “See those columns of smoke? That’s the metalsmiths’ district, where I used to live. Working copper is one of Maadi’s leading enterprises. The largest is vase making. They use basalt quarried from nearby desert outcroppings, and other hard stone brought here by caravan.” He pointed out Northerners moving about on the flats along the river, men who had arrived by caravan or boat from the lands flanking the Wadjet Wer. He indicated the dozens of donkeys being loaded for a long trek across the desert. “See that string? They’re carrying the pectoral bones of catfish for use in the North as arrowheads.”

  Fifteen boats were currently tied up in the harbor, no doubt the last that would arrive before the inundation completely stopped travel on the river. I steered towards an unoccupied berth.

  Hemaka stared at Maadi with disgust, turned to me. “It’s ridiculously small. What have you gotten us into?”

  “You got yourself into this,” I said evenly. “And the instant we touch shore I’m done with you.”

  Nekauba, standing near his uncle, glared at me, turned away, spat in the water.

  Amenia, at least, seemed pleased. At the moment she was on her knees in the bow with a daughter on each side, pointing out the sights. I wondered if she was happier she’d finally be free of Hemaka and Nekauba once we landed, or free of me. I wasn’t going to hold her to the promise she’d made to Bakist to look after me. How could she have refused a dying woman’s wish? But too much had happened between Amenia and me for her to ever be comfortable in my presence, to regard me with anything other than distaste and disgust. I hoped she’d at least let me see Keminub from time to time, whenever I brought a load of foodstuffs from my estate to Maadi. Nabaru would set Amenia up in her own pottery workshop, as Bakist had promised. Amenia and her girls would be fine.

  Keminub left Amenia and rejoined me in the stern as I steered the last distance towards the quay, into the midst of the other boats, most foreign, most made of reeds. Heth tied us to the mooring posts. I’d been the first in the valley to build in wood; my vessel immediately drew attention. Four of the reed vessels in my vicinity were extremely dilapidated and showed the effect
s of having traveled a long distance. They were barely holding together, filled with personal goods, clearly crewed by immigrants from the South attracted by the promise of Maadi, unaware they were about to be sent on their way by Setau. The boat next to mine was a sea–going vessel from one of the lands beyond the river, its decks crammed with containers of goods for exchange, its sailors bearded and dressed differently. It was also wooden, but of a different type, its planks much longer than mine. I pointed it out to Keminub. “See the ropes stretching side by side over the center of the deck from bow to stern?” I asked. “Those are trusses. The captain twists a stick between the ropes and they tighten and pull the bow and stern together to keep the waves on the open sea from tearing the hull apart.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Whenever I traded here at Maadi I spent time with the captains of other boats, learning about their vessels so I could make the next one I built better.”

  I secured the steering oar and moved to the pavilion, lifted Little Bakist, cradled her in my arms. I carried her down the gangplank. Amenia followed with her girls and Nebtint with her infant. Aat trailed us, accompanied by Heth. Ibi and Peseshet and even Yuny fell in behind us. I glanced one last time at Hemaka and Nekauba. They stared at me in disbelief. They hadn’t taken me seriously when I said they’d be on their own in Maadi. With luck, I’d never see them again.

  The district along the shore was as crowded as usual, swarming with traders and porters and oarsmen and women with their foodstuffs, littered with stacks of trade goods. As on my last few visits, Setau was turning away dejected immigrants, backed by several armed guards. He caught sight of my group. “You too? You heard what I told this last lot – move along.”

  I addressed him wearily. “Setau.”

  He squinted, recognized me. His demeanor immediately changed. “Nykara!” He scanned my group. “Where’s Bakist?”