“You must never part with this picture, O Nafa,” said Djedef imploringly.
Nafa strode over to the picture, and lifting it from its place, presented it to his brother, saying, “Dear Djedef, she's yours.”
Djedef held it gently with his hands, as though he were clasping his own heart, then said like one obliged to be grateful, “Thank you, Nafa!”
Nafa sat down contented. As for Djedef, he stuck to his place without budging, absorbed in the face of the divine peasant girl.
At length he said, “How does the creative imagination captivate one so?”
“She's not a creature of imagination,” said Nafa, calmly.
The youth's heart quaked as he asked with desire, “Do you mean that the possessor of this form moves among the living?”
“Yes,” Nafa answered.
“Is… is she like your image of her?”
“She is even more beautiful, perhaps.”
“Nafa!” shouted Djedef.
The artist grinned, as the enraptured young man interrogated him, “Do you know her?”
“I have seen her at times on the banks of the Nile,” he replied.
“Where?”
“North of Memphis,” said Nafa.
“Does she always go there?”
“She used to go in the late afternoon with her sisters, and they would sit down and play and then disappear with the setting sun. I used to take my place hidden behind a sycamore fig tree — I could hardly wait for them to arrive!”
“Are they still going there?” asked Djedef.
“I don't know,” replied Nafa. “I stopped following their movements when I had completed my picture.”
Djedef looked at him doubtfully. “How could you?” he said.
“This is a beauty that I worship, but which I do not love.”
Djedef, paying no attention to what Nafa was saying, asked him, “In what place did you see her?”
“North of the Temple of Apis.”
“Do you think that she still goes there?” Djedef queried.
“And what, O Officer, prompts your question?”
A look of confusion flashed in Djedef's eyes, and Nafa asked him, “Could Fate have it that these two brothers are wounded by the arrow of love in the same week?”
Djedef frowned as he returned to regarding the picture thoughtfully.
“Don't forget that she's a peasant girl,” said Nafa.
“Rather, she's a ravishing goddess,” Djedef muttered back.
“Ah, Djedef, I was struck by the arrow and destroyed in the palace of Kamadi,” said Nafa, laughing, “but I fear that you may be struck in a broken-down hut!”
16
The day bore the seal of dreams, as around midafternoon, Djedef — the enchanting portrait next to his breast — went to the bank of the Nile, rented a boat, and headed north. He was not truly aware of what he was doing, nor could he stop himself from doing it. Simply put, he had fallen under a spell and could submit only to its commands, and hear only its call. He set off in pursuit of his unknown objective driven by an all-conquering passion that he could not resist. This magic had seized a man for whom death held no terror, who had no regard for danger. Naturally, then, he struck out boldly for his goal, for it was not his custom to shrink back — and whatever would be, would be.
The boat made its way, cutting through the waters, propelled by the current and the youthful strength of his arms. All the while, Djedef kept his eyes fixed on the river's edge, searching for the object of his persistent quest. And what should he see first but the mansions of the wealthy people of Memphis, their marble staircases descending to the banks of the Nile. Beyond them, for many furlongs, he beheld the spreading fields until there appeared in the far distance Pharaoh's palace garden in the City of the White Walls. Djedef piloted his skiff in the midcourse of the river in order to avoid the Nilotic Guards, until — at the Temple of Apis — he turned back to shore once more. He then hastened northward opposite the spot, where people were not seen except during the great feasts and festivals. He would have given up in despair if he had not then noticed a group of peasant girls sitting on the riverbank nearby, dipping their legs into the flowing waters. His heart pounded intensely as his sense of bleakness fled, his eyes gleaming with ecstatic hope. His arms grew ever stronger as he rowed toward the land; with each stroke he faced them and gazed at them intently. When he drew close enough to see their faces, a faint sigh escaped his mouth, like that of the blind man when he suddenly regains the gift of sight. He felt the rapture of the drowning man, — when his feet chance upon a jutting rock — for he had spied the girl that he desired, the mistress of the image that he bore on his breast, reposing on the riverbank, set as though in a halo of her peers. Everything was, as we have said, suffused with the spirit of dreams, as he steered the boat closer beside them. Finally, Djedef stood up in it, with his handsome frame in his elegant white uniform, which fitted over his body as though he were a statue of divine potency and seductive beauty. He was like a god of the Nile, revealed by a sudden parting of the sacred waves, as he continued to stare at her of the angelic face, of that visage transparent with love and temptation. Confusion gripped the peasant girl, who kept running her eyes back and forth distractedly among her young companions. Meanwhile, they continued watching her radiant face, ignoring Djedef, who they thought was just passing by. But when they saw him standing erect in his skiff, they pulled their legs out of the water and put on their sandals, in disbelief and denial.
Djedef leapt out of the boat and strode up to within an arm's length of them, addressing the one he had come for with a tender voice, “May the Lord grant you a good evening, O lovely peasant girl!”
She glared at him with pride and scorn as she said in a voice more melodious than those of the other birds surrounding her, “What do you want from us, sir? Just keep going on your way!”
He looked at her reprovingly. “You don't wish to greet me?” he asked.
Furiously she turned her head — crowned with hair black as night — away from him, while the group of women called out to him, “Keep going on your way, young man. We don't speak to those we do not know!”
“Do you see it as the custom in this fine country that raised you to greet a stranger so harshly?” Djedef replied.
One of them said sharply, “What shows upon your face is infatuation, not unfamiliarity!”
“How cruelly you are treating me!”
“If you truly — were a stranger, this is not a place — where strangers would come. Return south to Memphis, or go north, if you wish, and say goodbye to us in peace — for we do not speak to anyone — with — whom — we are not acquainted!”
Djedef shrugged his shoulders dismissively and said, pointing at the gorgeous peasant girl, “My mistress knows me.”
They were again seized by disbelief and looked at the lovely girl, whom they found enraged. “That is a slanderous lie!” they heard her say to him.
“Never, by the Lord's truth. I have known you for a long time, but I hadn't resolved to find you until my patience betrayed me, and I could no longer bear to miss you so.”
“How can you claim that, when I have never laid eyes on you before this moment?”
“And she doesn't want to see you after this moment, either,” one of her companions quipped.
Bitterly, another complained, “There's nothing uglier than when soldiers attack girls!”
But he paid them no heed. Then he said to the one from whose face he could not turn his eyes away, “The more I see you, the more my soul is filled with you.”
“Liar… you're shameless.”
“Far be it from me that I should lie — but I bear your cruel speech with love, out of respect for the lovely mouth that utters it.”
“No — you're just a liar who has been rejected, looking for a crooked way in!”
“I said, far be it from me that I should lie — and here's proof.”
As he spoke, he reached his hand into his breast an
d pulled out the picture of her face, then told her, “Would I be able to paint this picture without filling my eyes with your splendor?”
The girl glanced at the picture — and was unable to suppress a sigh of disbelief, anger, and fear. Her companions were also indignant. One of them attacked him without warning, wanting to snatch it away from him, but he put up his arm with lightning speed, grinning triumphantly. “Do you see how you occupy my imagination and my soul?” he said.
“This is vileness and depravity,” she said, seething with fury.
“Why?” he challenged her. “That you so captivated me that I created your image?”
“Give me the picture,” she commanded, with a sharpness not without an element of entreaty.
“I shall not part with it, so long as I live,” he replied.
“I see you are one of the soldiers from the military academy,” she remarked. “Beware, then — your ill manners could expose you to the harshest of punishments.”
Calmly he answered, “To gaze upon you, I would expose myself to the sternest chastisement.”
“How amazing that you have brought this affliction upon yourself!”
“Yes — one that is most deserving of compassion.”
“What did you want to accomplish with this picture?” she demanded.
“With this picture, I wanted to cure myself of what your eyes have done to me — and now I want you to cure me of what you have done to me with this picture,” he answered.
“I never dreamed that I'd ever meet a man of your insolence.”
“And did I ever dream that I would surrender my mind and my heart in a fleeting instant?”
Then another girl shouted at him, “Did you run after us in order to spoil our happiness?”
Another said to him in the same tone, “You foolish, impudent young man! If you don't leave very quickly, I'll scream for help from the people nearby!”
He looked confidently into the empty space surrounding them and said quietly, “I'm not used to asking for anything, so this is painful for me.”
The beautiful peasant girl shouted, “Do you want to force me to listen to you?”
“No, but I do long that your heart would soften so it would want to hear me out.”
“And if you found my heart like a rock that would not soften?”
“Could that delicate breast really enfold a stone?”
“Only when it's faced by the most foolish of fools.”
“And in the face of a lover's suffering?”
She stamped the earth — with her foot and said violently, “Then it becomes even crueler.”
“The heart of the crudest girl is like a block of ice: if a warm breath touches it, then it melts and pours as pure water,” he retorted.
“This talk that you think so refined,” she replied, sarcastically, “shows that you're a phony soldier, the body of a girl hiding in military clothes. Perhaps you stole this uniform, just as you stole my image before.”
Djedef's face flushed. “May the Lord indulge you,” he said. “I truly am a soldier — and I shall win your heart, as I win in every field of battle.”
“What field of battle are you talking about?” she retorted in derision. “The nation has not known war since before the art of soldiery condescended to your acquaintance. You're just a soldier whose victories are awarded in the fields of peace and safety.”
Increasingly embarrassed, Djedef said, “Do you not know, my beauty, that the life of a pupil in the military academy is like that of a soldier in the field? But, since you've no knowledge of such things, my heart forgives your taunting me so.”
Enraged, she burst out, “Truly I deserve rebuke — for being so patient with your impertinence!”
She was about to walk away, but he blocked her path, smiling. “I wonder how I can gain your affection?” he said. “I am very unlucky. Have you ever taken a trip on the Nile in a skiff?”
Frightened of his trapping their mistress, the girls gathered around to protect her. “Let us go now, because the sunset is upon us,” one of them told him.
Yet he would not let them leave. Frustrated, one of them, searching for a moment of inattention, saw her chance and leapt upon him like a lioness, clinging to his leg and biting him on the thigh. Then they all jumped upon him, holding onto his other leg and restraining him by force. He began to resist them calmly without really defending himself, but was unable to move and saw — and the sight nearly drove him mad — the lovely peasant girl running toward the end of the field like a fleeing gazelle. He called out to her begging for her help, but lost his balance and fell upon the grass, while the others still clung to him, not letting go until they — were sure that their mistress had disappeared. He stood up, agitated and angry, and ran in the direction that she had gone — yet saw nothing but emptiness. He returned, despondent, but hoping to find her by following her companions. Yet they outsmarted him, refusing to budge from their places.
“Stay or go now as you wish,” one of them said mockingly.
“Perhaps, soldier boy, this is your first defeat,” said another, maliciously.
“The battle is not finished yet,” he answered in utter pique. “I'll follow you even if you go to Thebes.”
But the one — who first bit him said, “We will spend our night here.”
17
The next month that he spent in the academy — was the longest and crudest of all. At first he was in great pain over his sullied honor and pride, asking himself wrathfully, “How could I have suffered such a setback? What do I lack in youth, good looks, strength, or wealth?” He would gaze a long time into the mirror and mutter, “What's wrong with me?” What, indeed, had driven the gorgeous creature away from him? What had brought down insult after insult upon him? Why had she fled from him as though he were a leper? But then his intense desire to pursue her and capture her would return, and he would wonder, if he persisted in wooing her day after day, would he be able to curb her defiance and win her heart? What girl can be cruel forever? But this came to him while he was a prisoner for a month behind those huge walls that could withstand any siege.
Despite all this, he remained under her spell, her portrait never leaving his vest; he gave it all his attention whenever he found himself alone. “Do you see who this enchanting tyrant is?” he thought to himself. “A little peasant girl? Incredible… and what peasant girl has such luminous, magical eyes? And where was the modesty of the peasant in her arrogance and her stubbornness? And where was the peasant's simplicity in her biting sarcasm and her resounding scorn?” If he had surprised a true peasant girl that way, perhaps she would have run away — or surrendered contentedly — but that is hardly what happened here! Could he ever forget her sitting there among her companions like a princess with her servants and ladies-in-waiting? And could he ever forget how they defended her from him, as though unto death? And would he ever forget how they stayed with him — after her flight — not running away, afraid that he would follow them to her? Instead, they resigned themselves to the cold and dark. Would they have done all those things for a peasant girl like themselves? Perhaps she was from the rural aristocracy — if only she was. Then Nafa could not taunt him again that he was likely to fall in a broken-down hut. If only he had succeeded with her, so that he could tell Nafa about it. What a pity!
Be all that as it may, the month that he imagined would never end, finally did. He left the academy as one would leave a fearful prison, and went to the house with a pent-up yearning for something other than his family. He met them with a joy not equal to theirs, and sat among them with an absent heart. Nor did he notice the stiffness and listlessness that had come over Gamurka, as he waited with an empty patience, when minutes seemed like months. Finally, he made off for the pure place of Apis where his eyes would seek out the beloved face.
This was the month of Barmuda — the air was humid and mild, taking from the cold a pinch of its freshness, and from the heat a lively breath that stirred playfulness and passion. The s
ky was tinted a delicate, translucent white, a pale blue gleaming beyond.
He looked tenderly at the dear spot, and asked himself, “Where is the peasant girl with the bewitching eyes?” Would she remember him? Was she still angry with him? And was his desire still so daunting for her? Could it be that his love would find an echo within her?
The empty place did not reply, the rocks were deaf to his call — and a spirit of pessimism, longing, and solitude possessed him.
And time — first hope tempted him to believe that there was still enough for her to appear, so it passed slowly and heavily. Then despair made him imagine that she had already come and gone, and time flew like an arrow, while the sun seemed to be riding a speedy chariot racing off into the western horizon.
He kept wandering around where he saw her for the first time, peering into the green grass, longing to see the tracks of her sandals or the drag-mark of her skirt. Alas, the grass preserved no more trace of her body than had the waters retained the shape of her legs!
Does she still visit this place as she did before, or did she give up her outings to avoid seeing him? Where could she be? And how could he find her? Should he call out, but without knowing the name to call? He kept on meandering around the beloved place in confusion, his patience running out, battered back and forth by optimism and dejection. In the midst of these musings he looked up at the sky, and saw the fire of the sun going down. His eye looked upon it as though it were a human giant humbled by old age and infirmities. But then he turned his face toward the sprawling fields and saw the outline of a village. Not knowing what he was doing, he set out to reach it, and midway he met a peasant returning home after his long day's labor, and asked him about the place. The peasant answered him, staring at his uniform with respect, “It is the village of Ashar, sir.” Djedef nearly showed him the picture snuggled against his breast to ask him about its mistress, but did not.
He resumed his aimless journey. Yet he found relief in the traveling that he did not find in stopping and walking around. It was as if the disappointed hope that had beguiled him on the bank of the Nile had fled into the precincts of this village and he was following its trail. It was an evening he would not forget, for he crisscrossed all the hamlet's lanes, reading the faces of those that he passed, stopping to ask at each house. As he did so, his searching look aroused curiosity, and his good looks attracted stares, with eyes locked on him from every side. Nor was it long before he found himself ambling amidst a throng of girls, boys, and older youths. The talk and clamor began to rise, while he found not a trace of the cherished object of his quest. Soon he shunned the people of the village as he left it quickly, speeding his steps toward the Nile in the gloom of his soul, and the darkness of the world.
Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Page 12
