The Women and the Boatman

by Mark Gajewski

“Dead.”

  “By the gods! No!”

  “This is our daughter. Is Nabaru at home?”

  Setau was shaken. He’d loved Bakist years before I had. He stroked my daughter’s arm gently with a finger, looked up at me, blinked, quickly looked away. “I think he’s at the northern storage area today. I’ll send for him.” Setau huskily barked a command to one of his men, who dashed off through the gate into the settlement itself. “Go with them,” Setau ordered two of his guards. “Clear the way for them. Quickly!”

  Setau hurried towards another vessel gliding into the harbor, brushing tears from his eyes.

  We’d attracted a crowd by the time we reached Nabaru’s house. I’d been recognized as we’d wound through the settlement’s streets. Heth pulled back the reed mat covering the entrance and I carried Little Bakist down the ramp and into the house. Thefy looked up in surprise, recognized me.

  “Who are these people? Where’s Bakist?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Nabaru burst in, breathing hard from running fast.

  “Bakist died in childbirth.” No sense explaining everything that had happened. “This is your granddaughter. Her name is Bakist too.”

  ***

  Nabaru came to sit with me beside the fire late that night. He couldn’t sleep any more than I could. Everything about his hut reminded me of Bakist. I was holding our child in my arms. She was fast asleep. Amenia and her girls and Thefy and her daughters were stretched out on pallets along the wall. Yuny’s family was aboard my boat.

  “You and Little Bakist have a place here, with me, now that…” He paused for a long time. “I could use your help in the trade, and your boat too.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’d be happy to set up a pottery workshop for Amenia. Talent like hers shouldn’t go to waste.”

  “Especially not when you can make a little profit from it.”

  Nabaru shrugged sheepishly. He reached out, took hold of Little Bakist’s hand. “What about the rest of the people who came with you? What are they planning to do.”

  “Bakist and I were going to create an estate in the delta, on the turtleback where you always camp on your way to Farkha. I’m going to do it on my own now. It’s what she would have wanted. There’s plenty of land for crops, and a place for a smithy, and a boatyard. An excellent place from which to trade both along the coast and into the valley. I’ll eventually be able to supply Maadi with all the food it needs. I’ll be able to supply you, Nabaru.”

  He was skeptical. “How? Besides yourself, the only men you have to help you are Yuny and his son Ibi. I assume that’s why they’re still on your boat. How are the three of you going to erect farm structures and plant and harvest fields and transport crops to Maadi? You can’t possibly raise enough to make a dent in our food supply.”

  “Setau is turning away boatloads of farmers at Maadi’s waterfront as we speak,” I said. “They have tools and seed on their boats, and they have experience. All they need is a place to live. Bakist and I… I have a ready–made workforce at my fingertips, just waiting to be used.”

  “The inundation has just started,” Nabaru argued. “It’ll be months before a crop is ready for harvest. How will your farmers live until then?”

  “You’ll have to provide for them, of course.”

  “But…”

  “It’s an investment, Nabaru. They can hunt and fish and gather wild plants to supplement what you provide.”

  Nabaru’s brow crinkled in thought.

  “Agree to provide food and supplies for my farmers until the first harvest. In exchange I’ll transport all products made or grown on my estate to Maadi. They’ll go solely to support your dependents, Nabaru. Once those products exceed your needs, the two of us will share the excess evenly. You can trade your portion or use it to support even more dependents.”

  “It might work…”

  “You transport your wine from the North by caravan,” I noted. “The caravanners surely take a share as payment. The same must be true for Khaba when he sends his vases north.”

  Nabaru nodded.

  “I can eventually construct a large wood boat and carry your goods by sea instead. We can charge Khaba to carry his. As my partner, you won’t have to pay for transport. No more worries about moving your goods between Farkha and Maadi either. And how much time do local farmers waste now, carrying their products to Maadi on their small reed boats, or overland by donkey? They must have to make many trips back and forth. And you’re at their mercy – they deliver when they want to, not when you need them to. But with my boat, and those of the farmers I’ll employ, I’ll have a fleet with which to range up and down the river collecting produce, delivering trade goods. I’ll share the proceeds with you.”

  Nabaru was envisioning the possibilities.

  “Most importantly, you’ll have solved the problem of Maadi’s future, Nabaru, that we discussed years ago,” I added. “And perhaps you’ll even make yourself its leader. For you’ll be in control of Maadi’s food supply and its transportation.”

  Nabaru tipped his head slightly. He was a particularly ambitious and intelligent man. He looked at me for a moment. “Yes, Nykara. I accept your proposal.”

  ***

  At first light I went straight to the harbor. I spent the rest of the day arranging for four boatloads of immigrant farmers to join me in the delta. I wanted to leave Maadi as soon as possible. I couldn’t bring myself to remain in a settlement where everything I saw reminded me of Bakist. A place that, despite its extraordinary bustle, was absolutely empty without her.

  Well after dark I strode along the harbor lane towards the settlement’s gate on my way back to Nabaru’s house. A nearly full moon was halfway up the sky in the east and the moon path was shining on the river. The water was still rising, still flowing fast, still expanding across the valley. Groves of palms shadowed the far shore, that riverbank now a rapidly–shrinking island in the midst of the inundation. The hum of conversations carried from the decks of boats tied up in both directions, crews and immigrants settling down for the evening or preparing meals. Cookfires dotted sand pits on decks, blazing yellow and orange and lighting the faces of those gathered around them. More lights spilled from the windows of Maadi’s houses dotting the ridge inside the wall. Off in the distance some women were singing. I paused, gazed up at the stars, wondered which one now held Bakist’s spirit.

  A figure stepped from the shadows.

  “Nykara?”

  “Amenia?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Can we talk?”

  “Of course.” I braced myself. With me leaving Maadi and her staying to open a pottery workshop for Nabaru this was the last chance she’d ever have to take me to task for everything I’d done to cause her pain and make her suffer. I doubted she’d bring up the promise she’d made to Bakist to look after me. She didn’t know I’d overheard, and I wasn’t going to hold her to it in any case. “But before you say anything, I want to thank you for trying to save Bakist. I’ll never forget how you cared for her.”

  “Cared for her?” There was anguish in Amenia’s voice. “She’s dead because of me. You must hate me, Nykara. If you’d let Ma–ee kill me she’d still be alive.” Tears began streaming down her cheeks.

  “I don’t blame you for her death, Amenia,” I said softly. “Bakist ordered me to rescue you. She knew what she was risking. We both did. Neither of us could have lived with ourselves if we’d let Ma–ee execute you and your entire family. Once she’d made her mind up there was no talking her out of it. She was the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.”

  “She really was special, Nykara. I didn’t know Bakist before we fled Nekhen and I loved her by the end. So did my girls. I’m glad you had her for the time you did. I wish I could have done more.”

  “At least I have Little Bakist. I’ll always have a part of her.”

  Amenia nodded. “You can’t even begin to guess how much of a comfort that will be fo
r you.”

  “As your daughters are for you?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Did you arrange for your farmers today?” She sounded nervous.

  “Four boatloads. One from Nubt, one from Tjeni, two from smaller hamlets in the Badari region. Plus Yuny and his whole family. And Hemaka’s and Nekauba’s, except for them. And Heth and Aat.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Yuny’s agreed to obey my commands.”

  “He must be desperate.” Amenia laughed.

  “Tomorrow we’ll load the supplies Nabaru is providing. We’ll leave for Ta–mehu at dawn the following day. One of the immigrant boats is in horrible shape so that family will move to mine and crew it along with your cousins.”

  “Could my girls and I go with you?” Amenia asked hesitantly.

  That was the last thing I’d expected from her. I was too surprised to answer.

  “I have experience farming,” Amenia said hurriedly, obviously taking my silence for “no.” “My girls and I will do our share.”

  Her request made no sense. “Why, Amenia? Why not stay here at Maadi? You can make a future for yourself. Nabaru has promised to set up a pottery workshop for you. That’ll be an easier life for you and your girls than farming.” I searched her face in the moonlight, one once so familiar yet now so distant, one I’d loved so much for so many years. “If you’re asking because you promised Bakist to look after me, I release you from your promise.”

  “You overheard us talking?”

  “Accidentally.”

  “Is that all you overheard? My promise?” Amenia probed.

  A moment I’d both dreaded and longed for had arrived. “No.”

  “You know about Keminub.”

  “Yes.”

  “I should have told you.”

  “I understand why you didn’t,” I assured her. “You wanted to spare me knowing my child was being raised by Sanakht. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. I would’ve gone crazy.” I took a deep breath. “That day you brought Keminub and Peksater to my boat to talk about Sanakht, when they were running around the deck, I did the calculations. I knew it was possible she was mine. I hoped she was. I truly did.”

  “Keminub feels a connection to you,” Amenia said. “She’s never acted so at ease around anyone as she does with you. And I have you to thank she’s alive. Without you she would’ve drowned in the river.”

  “At least one tragedy averted,” I said.

  “More than one. You saved all of us, Nykara. You rescued us from Ma–ee. You saved me.” She took a step closer, stared into my eyes. “Now I’m begging you to save me again. Take me with you to your estate.”

  “How will that save you?”

  “It’s Uncle, of course,” Amenia said disgustedly. “I guarantee you he’s been plotting to become one of Maadi’s leading men since the moment we left Nekhen. He has nothing now except what he carried from your boat. He’s a nobody – he just got a job as a common porter in the harbor. His first order of business will be to join me to someone like Khaba so he can become part of a prominent family.” She gazed over the river. “And then there’s Nekauba. He’ll never stop pursuing me.” She threw her shoulders back. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Nykara, the moment I stepped onto your boat at Nekhen I was free for the first time in my life – absolutely free!” she said fiercely. “Uncle and the rest were running away from their fates. I was running to mine.” She straightened. “This taste of freedom I have now, beholden to no one… I won’t give it up, Nykara, not for myself, and not for my girls.”

  “You’re absolutely sure that’s what you want?” I queried.

  “Yes. More than anything.” She touched her talisman. “I believe it’s time for the falcon god to reside in the North again, his original home.”

  “Then you’re welcome to settle on my estate.”

  I could sense Amenia’s relief. “Thank you, Nykara. You won’t regret it.”

  Yet I thought I would. We wouldn’t be able to avoid each other on the farm. We hadn’t dealt at all tonight with the things that truly separated us, the things I’d done to make her life miserable. Being in close proximity was going to make them more difficult to deal with as time passed. Amenia was grateful now, but her gratitude would wear off. She’d begin again to blame me for what had happened at Nekhen, for depriving her daughters of their father, for the pain she’d suffered. That was simply human nature. I doubted she’d tell Keminub the truth about me, because of all the questions it would raise, so I’d have to keep my daughter at arm’s length. That was going to be hard. But, for now, allowing Amenia to settle on my estate would be partial amends for what I’d done. Likely someday one of the farmers who worked for me would take her as his woman and they’d leave and start their own farm. Then she’d finally be free of me too.

  ***

  At dawn two days later I set out for Ta–mehu with a new crew and Yuny’s and Amenia’s and Hemaka’s and Nekauba’s families and Heth and Aat aboard my boat, food supplied by Nabaru piled high on its deck, three additional reed boats packed with immigrant farmers and their families and their farming supplies in my wake. My crew was made up of several of those farmers’ sons and Yuny and Heth and Ibi. All the men in our caravan were enthusiastic and their laughter and the singing of their women carried across the water, the despair engendered by Setau that had robbed them of hope just days ago replaced by the promise of better lives. They all looked upon me as their savior and were prepared to follow me without question. Amenia and Peksater and Nebtint and her baby were seated under the pavilion, looking after Little Bakist. Keminub and Peksater already considered her their little sister.

  Less than an hour’s travel north of Maadi, thanks to the rapid inundation–fed current, where the river split into many branches, I led my convoy into the second. It was bittersweet for me, remembering the day Bakist had stood at my side and guided me into this very channel for the first time. She should have been beside me today. We should be heading together to our new home.

  “Why this one?” Keminub asked. “They all look the same to me.” As usual, she was in the stern, helping me steer.

  “It flows unhindered all the way to the Wadjet Wer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Bakist and I traveled there once. We visited a large hamlet midway there a couple of times. Access to the sea is going to be important once I start carrying Maadi’s products north along the coast.”

  “Will you take me?” she asked.

  “When you’re older, and if your mother says you can go.”

  “She’ll want to go with us,” Keminub averred. “She wants to see the whole world. She told me.”

  “She told me too, once,” I said. But that had been a very long time ago, and we’d been different people, young and naïve and full of hope.

  As we left the desert environs behind we were quickly swallowed up by the delta. Just now, because of the inundation, it was practically a lake as far as the eye could see in every direction, the water flashing silver amid the tall grasses and reeds waving in the breeze above its surface. Ta–mehu was unlike any place any of the others had ever seen and they crowded the sides of their boats, pointing to each new discovery. I smiled at the cries of wonder and delight coming from the families aboard my vessel. Ta–mehu was mostly uninhabited – there were only a dozen or so hamlets between Maadi and the Wadjet Wer, all on raised hillocks keeping them perpetually above the inundation, all located along the river’s branches, most of them closer to the sea than to Maadi. Ta–mehu was swampy, permanently covered with feathery papyrus and reeds taller than a man, in places flat and lush with natural grasses, teeming with birds and animals and fish. It was potentially a paradise.

  We reached the site of my future estate at sunset. We slept that night on our boats; at dawn we set to work building rude shelters of mud–covered reeds, as well as hearths and temporary structures to hold our supplies.

  I sat at the edge of the hillock
that evening with Little Bakist in my arms, watching the sun sinking towards the endless horizon at the far end of the world, the very spot Bakist and I had once sat, talking about an estate, the spot where we would have erected our house. I felt her presence. I missed her so much. I bent and gently kissed my daughter’s head. Water lapped at my feet; my future fields were well below its surface right now. Not far away four anchored boats bobbed and swayed in the current – my fleet. A mere hint of the one I’d had at Nekhen, but a start. The river and flooded delta before me shimmered yellow and orange and red in the dying light of day. Behind me on the flat ground on the crest of the hillock smoke rose from a dozen cookfires. Laughter and conversation drifted on the breeze.

  I heard rustling in the tall grass at my back and turned. Amenia slipped to my side.

  “Thank you again for allowing me and my girls to come here, Nykara,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.” She sat down unbidden next to me, gently touched Little Bakist’s arm.

  “I hope you still feel that way a month from now,” I said. “It’s going to take a lot of hard work to turn this into a farm.” I glanced at her sideways. “You can always go back to Maadi if you want. Just say the word and I’ll take you. Nabaru would love to have you.”

  Amenia shook her head, gazed pensively towards the setting sun. It bathed her face with warm golden light. “Never. I’m here for better or worse, Nykara.” She lifted her hair with both hands to cool her neck, let it down, pulled it forward over her shoulder, turned towards the encampment. “Just picture this place a few years from now.” She pointed. “Over there, fields of barley and emmer and lentils and onions and other vegetables. There flax. Beside it a threshing yard, and granaries. Beyond them a kiln where I can make pottery to store and haul foodstuffs, and for trade. Perhaps a brewery. A bakery. Beehives. Racks to dry fish. Pens, and marshland to graze cattle and pigs and goats and sheep. A slaughterhouse. A carpenter’s workshop. A shaded pavilion with women spinning flax into thread, using looms to make linen. My girls and Little Bakist down by the riverbank, weaving mats of reeds and rushes. At the north end of the hillock a vineyard. A smithy for Heth so he can forge your tools.”