by Nick Drake
I felt my heart skip a beat.
‘Nebamun is Chief of the Thebes Medjay,’ I replied, as coolly as I could manage.
‘The Queen agrees it is time this city had a police chief whose dignity and worth reflected the power of his high position; someone who was capable of building the force into an organization better suited to its true purpose, which is to uphold the law of the land. Nebamun will accept his retirement with the grace that comes from receiving a large settlement of gold and a royal declaration of official thanks and respect,’ he said, in his most persuasive voice.
Nothing in this world would give me more satisfaction than to reclaim my rightful position in the Medjay, and to see my rival, in all his arrogance and vanity, displaced.
‘You tempt me with the prize I desire above all others. But you know I promised my wife I would not leave the family again,’ I said. Nakht inclined his head.
‘Listen to me. If I were to die tomorrow, I would have no family of my own to perform the rites for me. My tomb would not be visited by my descendants, for I do not have any. But I flatter myself that your own family might miss me. Believe me, I love them as my own. I take their well-being into deep consideration. I am aware of the grave perils of the journey ahead of us. The stakes are high, the way is full of dangers. We are going to the heartland of our enemies. We must cross through unknown and highly unstable territories notorious for the worst kind of barbarity. It’s possible we will not return.’
He paused for a moment, and looked away at the docks that were approaching now. His eyes assessed everything, as if making an inventory of every ship, every cargo, entering the city. I suddenly saw his memory as a great, hushed scriptorium, its shelves stacked with thoughts and memories, all rolled and docketed like papyrus manuscripts.
‘So I propose the following,’ he continued. ‘Your family shall lodge in my city house during the period of our journey. While they are there, they will want for nothing, and they will be safe and secure.’
‘But if I do not return, who is going to look after them? How will they eat? What will become of them?’ I asked.
He turned to me, his face gravely sincere.
‘In the event of your death, my friend, I will provide for them like a father. I will be generous. You have my word. And if I should die too, then they would inherit my entire estate. They would never want for anything again. In any case, I drew up the relevant documents years ago. The Queen is not the only person in Egypt who has to consider her succession.’
I was so surprised by this that I barely registered the thud as the boat touched the quay.
‘There you have it,’ he said. ‘But remember; everything is at stake. The world we know is hanging in the balance. It is no exaggeration to say the future of Egypt depends upon the success of our mission. We must do all in our power to ensure the right outcome. So, join me not only because the Queen commands you; do it so that your children can grow up in a decent world.’
And he stepped quickly up from the boat, and into his waiting chariot.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ he enquired, solicitously.
I shook my head. I needed to walk.
8
That evening, I said nothing to Tanefert about my audience with the Queen. Nor did I give her the little bag of gold. All night, as I lay on the couch, my mind toiled like a scarab beetle trying to push its ball of dung into the light, going over and over the conversation with Nakht. And when dawn glimmered on the floor of our bedchamber, I felt as if I had been fighting with myself for hours. Sometimes I have woken from a night’s sleep with the solution to a long-puzzled, intransigent mystery simply waiting for me. But that morning, my thoughts were still a jumble of shards.
Tanefert glanced at me as she rose from her couch, and pinned her long black and silver hair around her head.
‘You were restless.’
‘Did I disturb you?’ I asked.
After all the years of marriage, of raising children, of surviving the volatility of my working life, I was still in love with my wife. But recently I had realized that she needed more from me than I had been able to give her. A little distance had opened between us, almost unnoticed, rarely acknowledged. We made love infrequently. The couch was for sleep at the end of exhausting days. I confided in her less often. Perhaps that is the fate of all marriages.
‘You can tell me anything,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope you know that.’
I tucked a stray wisp of glossy hair behind her delicate ear. Outside, the girls were preparing their breakfasts, and taking charge of their baby brother. I could hear their amiable chatter, the banging of the dishes, and my son’s early morning protestations. I reached out quickly and embraced my wife, kissing her and drawing her back down to the couch with an open need that surprised her.
‘I miss you,’ she said suddenly, putting her hand against my chest, near my heart. Her eyes were shining.
‘I miss you, too,’ I said, and kissed her again.
By the time we appeared in the kitchen, Tanefert winding her hair about her head once more, me rubbing my face as if to pretend I had just woken, the girls were ready to leave for their lessons, and I was late. They allowed themselves a giggle at my expense–for the older two girls were no longer innocents. I washed my face in the yard basin, and then, having taken Thoth from his place and attached his collar and lead, the girls and I walked together down the lane in the shade, and along the Alley of Fruit, where the market was already lively with sellers hawking bright fruit and vegetables.
At the crossroads, I kissed the girls, and watched as they cheerfully made their way off along the street, talking and laughing and arguing, until they merged into the crowds. I stood for a moment, enjoying the warm light of a new day. I had made this family, I loved my wife, and now, thanks to Nakht, I could finally see a way forward for all of us. I felt the stirring of an unfamiliar sensation: I felt alive and confident. I shook my head cheerfully at my own foolishness, and set off with Thoth at my side, moving nimbly and excitedly down a different street, into a fresh day.
But as soon as I entered the Medjay headquarters, I knew something was wrong: several of the men glanced at me, and glanced quickly away. I hurried over to Panehesy.
‘What’s happened?’
The pity in his face told me the worst.
The body had been dumped in a foul side street of the slums, where locals tipped their stinking rubbish. It was a dismal place to deposit a man’s mortal remains, an offence to the spirits of the dead. A couple of younger Medjay officers were peering down the alley in awe. When they saw me, they tried to dissuade me from going any further. But I shoved them away. I had to see.
Khety’s head had been severed. It sat calmly in a small puddle of congealed black blood. With the cold habit of a lifetime, I noted the details: the sticky crimson prints of dogs and cats in the street dirt all around him. He must have been killed in the small hours of the night. His lips were blue, his skin inert, and his dead eyes half-open. When I examine a murder victim, I think about the kind of knife that might have made the wounds, but not about the suffering those wounds caused. This is because I owe it to the victim to work efficiently; I am not there for the benefit of my own feelings. I am there only to bear witness, as best I can, to the final truth of their death.
So I crushed the futile tears starting to my eyes, and the cries that stuck in my throat. Some force deep inside me was shaking me hard, but I steeled myself to do the necessary work; I focused, for Khety’s sake, for his honour, giving him my final respects. I saw how the blades that accomplished the beheading had been extremely sharp; the cuts in his flesh were precise and knowledgeable. There was no hesitation, no prevarication, no uncertainty. Khety’s head had been severed expertly, just like the Nubian boys’. And the killer had had a respect, amounting to an obsession, with neatness of composition: behind the head were the other parts of my friend’s corpse, butchered like an animal carcass. His arms and legs were stacked against his trunk, like log
s of flesh and bone. His hands and feet had been cut off, too; his fingers, snipped off, were laid on top like a dreadful decoration. And on them, disgustingly, the shrivelled remains of his penis had been placed. The killer had started with his extremities. I realized he would probably have been alive throughout much of the butchery. The world around me was spinning. I turned away and hurried, crouching, into the further shadows of the alley, where I vomited on the filthy ground, bucking like an animal.
A crowd of fascinated little street children had gathered to watch me. I grabbed a handful of stones and gravel, and hurled it at them as if they were dogs. They scattered, shouting and laughing.
I returned to the mutilated remains of my friend. Khety’s dead eyes registered nothing. I reached out and took his head between my hands, as carefully as I could. A dead head is heavy. I felt a ridiculous urge to ask him questions, to interrogate him, even to slap his stupid face until his eyes flickered open, his jaw stirred into creaky motion, and he spoke again, if only to curse me for waking him from the dead. Like a madman, I kissed his cold brow, whispering my useless, propitiatory apologies. Two nights ago, my friend had asked for my help. And I had abandoned him. Now he was cruelly slaughtered. Perhaps I could have stopped him behaving recklessly. I could have saved him. Guilt hunched on my back like a vicious monkey, digging its sharp claws into me, and began to whisper its hot accusations into my ears.
And then, even in the midst of my new agony, a thought crossed my mind; although the jawbone was already stiff, I prised open my friend’s teeth as carefully as I could, and reached inside his dead mouth. And there it was: another fold of papyrus. I tenderly replaced my friend’s head on the ground. I was shivering now, although not with cold, and I forced my hands to do my bidding, to open up the delicate papyrus. Inside was the black star, with its evil arrows pointing in every direction.
I heard footsteps. Nebamun was walking towards me. I hid the papyrus in my satchel. He glanced at Khety’s remains and shook his head with no more respect or feeling than if he were looking at a dead dog. Then he took a deep, dramatic breath, as if he had something momentous to convey.
‘What a world,’ he managed.
His trite little clichés had always incensed me.
‘He was a good officer. I know he was your friend. But I can’t have you running around the city like a madman trying to track down his killer. I’m instructing you to remain at home, and I’m assigning someone else to this case…’
I turned to him.
‘He was my partner. He’s mine. This is my investigation. You can assign your arse,’ I said.
Nebamun squinted, and spat.
‘I’ve tried to be sweet and compassionate, in your hour of need, and all that … and you’ve thrown it right back in my face. So listen to me carefully, Rahotep. If I hear you’re meddling in this, I’ll have you arrested and thrown into the darkest cell I can find, and I’ll seal you in there for ever, and let some of the more enthusiastic and less fastidious members of the Medjay have a go at you. Understand?’
The blood burned in my hands.
‘You have no intention of investigating this, any more than you’ve “investigated” any of the other murders,’ I said. ‘What’s that about?’
I noticed the twitching of the thin blue veins in the wrinkled skin around his beady eyes.
‘That kind of talk will cost you more than you know,’ he said, staring coldly at me.
‘I’ve nothing left to lose,’ I added. ‘What is it about me that alarms you so badly that you’ve spent the last years stripping me of everything that’s rightfully mine?’
‘It’s because you think you’re so fucking special, Rahotep. You seem to think you operate by some code of honour that exalts you far above the rest of us. But you know something? You’re not special. Your honour’s a sham. You’re a failure. I didn’t have to do anything. I just had to watch you turn your own career into a joke. I’ve enjoyed the spectacle. But now I’m bored with you; and when you start making accusations against me, then that’s the day you’ve gone too far,’ Nebamun snarled.
‘Just try me,’ I said deliberately.
He raised his stubby finger at me.
‘You think you’ve still got it, don’t you? The truth is, no one cares. You’re on your own. Some partner you must have been; you’ve been doing nothing, and yet here he was doing the real work, and he ends up like this?’ And he jerked his head back at Khety’s remains.
I only realized what I’d done when he staggered backwards, dabbing at the blood on his lip. The other officers trotted over, stupid as goats, exclaiming at my crazy action. Nebamun waved them away, but I saw to my intense satisfaction he was furious.
‘Hitting a superior officer is grounds for immediate dismissal. So don’t bother coming back to headquarters now, or ever. Just fuck off!’
He turned away, and then, as an afterthought, called back.
‘Oh, I forgot. There is one last thing you can do. Tell Khety’s wife.’ And he laughed.
9
When Kiya saw me standing there, her smile instantly died. She half-closed the door, murmuring, ‘No no no no no,’ over and over. When she stopped, I stood listening to the terrible silence on the other side of the door. I called her name quietly.
‘I can’t let you in. If I let you in, it’ll be true,’ she said, eventually. ‘Please go away.’
‘I can’t. I’ll wait here until you’re ready,’ I replied, through the door.
As I stood there, waiting quietly, the people going about their daily business in the street seemed small and irrelevant. How little they knew, I thought, of the darkness of death behind and beneath and inside everything in their lives. How little they understood their own mortality, as they went unknowingly through each day in the enchantment of new clothes, and appetites fulfilled, and amusing love affairs. They had forgotten that at any moment all we hold dear, all we take for granted, all we cherish and prize, can be torn away from us.
Eventually, the door opened silently. I sat with Kiya in the small room at the front of the house. Khety and I had rarely socialized together; and although I knew where he lived, I had never visited him at home. Now I saw this other side of his life: the ornaments and trinkets, the little divine statuettes, the average-quality furniture, the efforts to make the place look better than it was. A pair of his house sandals waited by the door for his return.
I told Kiya the simple facts. I heard myself swearing and promising I would track down Khety’s killer, and bring him to justice. But the words were meaningless to her. She just stared right through me. Nothing I could do would redeem what had been lost, for ever.
Suddenly her focus seemed to swim up from the black depths of despair.
‘You were his best friend. He was never as happy as when he was working with you.’
I had to turn my face away. Outside, the noises of the street continued. Somewhere a girl was singing lightly, casually, a phrase of a love song.
‘I have to ask you something: did he tell you where he was going last night?’ I said, despising myself.
She shook her head.
‘He never told me anything,’ she replied. ‘He thought it was better that way. It wasn’t. Not for me, anyway.’
We sat in silence for a moment.
‘This new child will never know his father,’ she said, as she looked down at her belly.
‘I will care for it as if it were my own,’ I said.
Kiya was rocking back and forth, as if trying to console the unborn child in her belly for the loss of its father. Then she suddenly looked up.
‘You argued with each other that night, didn’t you?’ There was still nothing accusing in her voice. Only sorrow.
I nodded, relieved to confess it. She looked at me with the strangest expression, a mixture of pity and disappointment; but before I could say more, suddenly the door opened, and their daughter appeared. Her cheerful, delicate face was quickly wide-eyed as she absorbed the strange atmosphere in t
he room. The sight of the child instantly released Kiya’s tears. She threw her arms open, and the child ran into them in confusion and distress, while her mother sobbed, grasping the little girl as tightly as she could.
I stood outside in the futile sunlight, feeling as empty as a clay vessel. I began walking without direction. Every street vendor’s cry and call of laughter, every snatch of birdsong, every friendly shout from neighbour to neighbour, reminded me I no longer belonged to the land of the living, but had become a shadow. I found myself eventually facing the glittering imperturbability of the Great River. I sat down and stared at its perpetual waters, green and brown. I gazed at the sun, shining as if nothing had happened. I thought of the God of the Nile, in his cavern, pouring out the waters of the Great River from his jugs. I thought of the long futility of the impossible days ahead. And I felt a new coldness take possession of me: a single-minded impulse, a purity of intention, like a blade of hatred. I would find Khety’s killer. And then I would kill him.
10
The stench from the garbage and mess in the street alone could have killed a mule. In the sowing season of peret the heat can be sweltering, and in the overcrowded slum on the wrong side of the city, far from the river and its graceful breezes, nothing stirred. All the passageways seemed to lead back into each other, going nowhere. I stood in the shadows on the street corner, and watched. It was late morning; people evaded the heat of the sun as if it were deadly. Old men and women dozed and muttered in grim, dark doorways. Street dogs lay on their sides in the dust, panting. Emaciated, filthy cats stretched out in whatever shadow they could find. Young mothers lazily fanned themselves, while their kids played in the rubbish and dirt that had piled up everywhere, and in the squalid streams that meandered thickly down the alleys. And occasionally young Nubian men–most no more than kids, but already tall and striking in their looks–sauntered past, roving the shadows, watching everything, guarding their territory.
