Lights on the Nile

by Donna Jo Napoli

  Fruits. Why not? Fruits were sweet, so fruit breads would be wonderful. Only nothing was in season yet. Mulberry and elderberry would be soon. And dates after that. But Father had spent a lot of money on having the new field sowed, all because he thought he’d be selling everyone bread right away. So Kepi needed fruit today.

  And now a wonderful plan came to Kepi. Figs at the very tops of the trees must get missed in the harvest. Some of them, at least. Babu could climb up and throw them down to her. They’d be dried out. But Kepi had seen Mother boil dried fruit, then squash it and use the juices to flavor food. They could do that with old figs, easy. And figgy bread would be purple! Everyone would want it. Father could make beautiful, sweet fruity breads instead of ugly, yucky herb breads.

  Kepi marched off toward the fig grove full of hope. But pitiful few figs still clung to the treetops. And those that the baboon threw down had been ravaged by birds and snakes. These figs were far too sweet to go undiscovered by animals.

  But, oh, sycamore trees had figs, too—inferior ones not nearly so sweet as grove figs. And those figs grew in the wild, so many trees went unharvested. The animals couldn’t have gotten all of them. Ripe wild figs were red inside, not purple. But red would be a wonderful color for bread, too. Kepi laughed. Who wouldn’t want red bread?

  Tall sycamores were easy to spot, since they grew near the river, where the view was clear. Kepi walked directly to the riverbank and turned north to walk with the current. It wasn’t long before she saw a huge spreading tree. The lower branches had been picked clean by gazelles. And the midlevel ones were close to bare, too, being at the right height for the rare giraffe. But higher up many old, withered fruits still dangled. Kepi didn’t like heights. One fig, though, hung lower than the others. She put the basket on the ground, climbed, and picked it, then climbed back down.

  She lifted Babu off her head and placed him on the ground. Then she dropped the fig into the basket. “See, Babu? You do it now.” She pointed at the figs high up. Babu scampered up the tree. He threw down a fig, straight into the basket. Babu really was the smartest little baboon in the whole wide world. Kepi clapped. “Do it again.”

  Kepi watched the figs plop one by one into the basket. Until something else came hurtling down. Round and plump. Kepi picked it up. It was hard outside.

  With a sharp stick, she slit it open. The inside looked like a cluster of tiny flowers meeting head-to-head in the center. White wormy things moved among them. Instantly Kepi recognized them: wasp larvae. Wasps were important to the tree—anyone knew that. Without them, the tree couldn’t fruit. Kepi shouldn’t have opened this ball. She had to close it up and secure it shut with a leaf and then jam the whole thing someplace safe so the larvae could grow into wasps.

  A couple of the larvae had wiggled free and fallen to the ground. So the first job was to rescue them. Kepi picked one up carefully and poked it back into the shell. “Aiii!” Her finger was on fire. And there, emerging from the tiny flowers slowly and jerkily, was a giant wasp. Kepi had been unlucky enough to slit open the very shell where the queen was hibernating. She needed to plunge her hand into the cool river.

  She turned toward the water, and a boy was running right at her. He was slight and probably not even her age. But the fierce look in his eyes made her heart jump.

  Kepi spun and fled. The boy’s feet thumped behind her. His breath came in loud pants. He caught her by the elbow and yanked her back the other way. She screamed and beat her fists on him. He put his hands up in front of his chest defensively and muttered something incomprehensible as he backed off.

  Kepi had time to catch her breath. The boy’s head was shaved except for a lock at the side, like any child, but he wore no eye makeup, and his loincloth was leather, not linen. He wasn’t Egyptian. With his thick neck and high cheekbones, he was surely Nubian. Why would he chase her like that?

  Babu came running on all fours through the grasses, pounced onto the boy’s head from behind, and bit one of his small ears, then quickly leaped onto Kepi’s head.

  The boy cupped his ear and moaned loudly.

  Kepi felt suddenly confident. “That’s what you get for chasing me. And this is what you get for yanking me.” She kicked him. A Nubian might not understand her words, but anyone understood a kick.

  The boy hopped, clutching his bruised shin and moaning even louder. And to think that she’d been afraid of him.

  A shout came. Kepi now saw a second boy; he waited on the shore, holding a rope attached to a small boat. He was older and stronger. Blue marks ran up both sides of his abdomen. And his face looked mean. Two against one. Kepi’s insides went cold. There was a broken branch on the ground not far off. She backed slowly toward it.

  The younger boy stopped hopping. He shouted something back to the boat boy, who shouted a long string of gobbledygook. The boy untied the sides of his loincloth with both hands at once and ran at Kepi. She lunged for the stick, but the boy threw the square of leather over her head. The next thing she knew, a powerful blow to the belly knocked her to the ground. The back of her head hit with a thunk. For an instant she couldn’t hear anything at all. Then she felt her hair being pulled so hard, she thought her scalp was ripping. She pushed up onto her elbows and blinked till her eyes focused again. The boy was running to the boat with a wriggling roll of leather under his arm. A skinny black tail trailed from it, flicking wildly.

  Chapter 5

  Running

  “Stop!” Kepi ran to the riverbank and shook the stick at them. “Stop, thieves! Stop!”

  The current carried the little boat quickly to the center of the river. The bigger boy steered with a paddle while the younger one fiddled with Babu—tying him tight.

  “That baboon is Tehuti in disguise!” Kepi shouted. “You’re cursed!” That was a downright lie, but Kepi was desperate. Father told a story in which the god Tehuti disguised himself as a baboon and went into Nubia. If these two boys really were Nubian, and if they knew the tale and recognized Tehuti’s name, maybe they’d be so frightened, they’d let Babu go. “Tehuti!” she shouted. “Tehuti! Tehuti! Tehuti!”

  Both boys paddled vigorously now.

  Kepi ran and ran. The back of her head ached where it had smacked the ground. Her stung finger throbbed. But she ran hard. A fast person could outrun a boat, and Kepi was fast.

  Those boys didn’t scare her. Kepi was sure the littler one had head butted her; he’d never have been strong enough to slam her to the ground like that with just his fists. And while the big one looked strong, he might be a coward. After all, he’d stayed at the boat and left all the dirty work to the littler one. Kepi would throttle both boys good if she could only get to them. But the water was deep, and Kepi wasn’t a good swimmer like Nanu was. Besides, the water hid crocodiles, and even though it was still only midday, if a girl happened to step on his back, a hungry crocodile might not wait till dinnertime.

  Well, she’d just have to outwit the boys. They would come to shore sooner or later—and as long as it was on her side of the river, she could catch them.

  She ducked behind plants as she ran so the boys wouldn’t see her if they looked. This section of the floodplain was cultivated with barley, wheat, and flax pretty much continually all the way to the big city of Wetjeset-Hor. The ground was soft and her feet were strong. She could do this.

  Now and then the little boat disappeared from sight, and Kepi had to run harder until it was in sight again. The sun wasn’t that hot, but she was moving so fast, she worked up a lather. Sweat drops burned her eyes.

  How could they go that fast? The boat was made of bundled reeds lashed together and curved upward at both ends—like the kind Egyptians used, but even more narrow and not quite so long. A boat that shape would certainly travel the rapids better. But the boat seemed to travel the open river better, too. It skimmed along northward as though it was going with the wind instead of against it. She was falling farther and farther behind.

  There was only one chance—if the boys
were stopping at Wetjeset-Hor, she might be able to get them.

  The fields stopped abruptly, and Kepi found herself in an open area that held circular stone structures arranged around large boulders. There was a place like this near where Kepi lived, so she recognized what it was: a small cemetery—the kind from long ago. The boulders were natural to the earth, but the circular stones marked graves. Kepi pressed her lips together hard to keep from shuddering. Who knew what was under the ground? Father said that long ago they put bodies right in the earth, without coffins or even reed mats wrapped around them. Sometimes the floods would loosen them, and when the waters receded, bones would litter the area.

  Kepi sucked on a lock of her hair and straightened up to full height. She walked tall like that, eyes on the ground, and picked her way carefully, to show her respect for the dead. She wouldn’t tread on a single bone.

  Once she had passed the last grave marker, she looked ahead on the river. The little boat was out of sight! She barreled through thickets, paying no attention to the thorns that scratched at her arms.

  A loud hiss stopped her. A huge ibis stood right in Kepi’s path, not two body lengths away. She stared; from the bird’s long, curved beak hung a glistening white rope. The ibis fanned out his tail, stretched his curvy neck long and straight, and erected his crest. Specks of blood sparkled on his black feet. Oh! That rope was an animal’s nerve. A big animal.

  “Hello, ibis,” said Kepi in a friendly voice, though she couldn’t hold back her tremble. After all, it was a crime to disturb an ibis. They protected the crops and ate the eggs of crocodiles. “Please, let me pass. Thieves took my baboon, and I have to hurry.”

  The bird gave a cackling cry: Te-hu te-hu te-hu te-hu!

  “Tehuti?” breathed Kepi. In Father’s stories the god Tehuti came not just in the form of a baboon, but also in the form of an ibis. But this couldn’t be the god Tehuti in disguise. It couldn’t. The gods never showed themselves to Kepi.

  Kepi gave the bird wide berth as she walked. The bird just watched her. Once she was past, she whispered, “Thank you.” She wanted to move quickly again now. But the thickets seemed to grow ever more dense. She pushed her way through until she suddenly burst out on the other side.

  It was as though she had entered a different world. A giant pile of rot spread before her. The stench was so unexpected, she gagged. Two more ibises poked around in the carcass of an ox. That’s where the nerve must have come from. The ox clearly hadn’t been killed for food, since his whole body had been left. What a waste. Kepi had never tasted ox; it was far too expensive a meat. Her family ate goat on holidays, but fish the rest of the time. This ox had died recently; it was in better shape than the other carcasses. The remains right beside it she recognized as a ram only with difficulty. This was a dump for animal bodies. Crows hopped through, stealing from one another.

  A hand stuck out from under a clutter of feathers and tails. It was curled up and dried out, but a human hand for sure.

  Kepi clutched her stomach and doubled over till she was in a squat. Her village had a refuse pile at the outskirts. Every village did. But human remains were never in them. That poor person, disposed of like trash. No one could come visit his grave; he’d die the second death, the death of being forgotten. Kepi rocked on her heels.

  When she finally dared to look around again, her eyes met those of a cat sitting on the other side of the ram carcass. Its eyes turned away, and it pounced. Kepi heard a death screech. The crows screamed and took to the air. The cat trotted off with a rat caught in its jaws. The crows quickly settled back down to their squabbling.

  A vulture wheeled overhead. Two black kites glided high above him. The tips of their wings spread like greedy fingers. How could the sky look so clean and fresh, all clear blue and white, when the earth below it was a slime of blood and gore?

  Te-hu te-hu te-hu! The giant ibis now pushed through the bushes and stepped into the pile of rot. He eyed Kepi.

  Kepi gulped. The bird looked like he was going to chase her. That snapped her to attention. The city of Wetjeset-Hor had to be close. If only the boys had stopped there . . . She stood and picked her way carefully past the refuse pile, then broke into a run.

  The mud-brick buildings of the town appeared immediately. Kepi stayed near the water, but she couldn’t keep herself from glancing up the narrow streets, so full of people and carts and geese and goats and sheep. She came to the city only for special occasions, and never alone. It would have been a thrill to stop and gape, if only this wasn’t such an urgent mission. Maybe once she got Babu, they could take a little while to marvel at the variety of pots and cloths and hides and jewelry and foods—at all of it, before starting home again. Father and Mother couldn’t fault her for that.

  A string of fishing boats was docked along the river, their harpoons cleaned and drying in the sun. And trade boats, too. There were so many in so many sizes. Kepi inspected them as she wove her way among men in noisy conversation.

  And there was the little reed boat, bobbing between two fishing boats. Kepi crept closer. The younger boy was nowhere to be seen, but the older boy lay in the bottom of the boat, on his back with his eyes closed. A small handheld drum lay beside his head. His left hand rested on his chest; his right hand was hidden from her sight. The blue marks on his abdomen showed clearly now—two parallel patterns of slash marks, as though ticking off years. Or conquests. Something about this boy’s posture—maybe just the length of him, maybe the definition of his arm and leg muscles, maybe all of it together—gave Kepi the sense that he was exceptionally strong. Her skin turned to gooseflesh.

  Along the side of the boy closest to Kepi was a cloth covering various lumps. Kepi watched, hoping the cloth would move. She dared another step closer.

  The boy’s eyes opened. There had been no special noise to wake him—it just happened. He squinted against the sun and pushed himself up and finally saw Kepi. Instantly his right hand appeared, with a knife!

  Chapter 6

  Menes

  Kepi turned and ran up an alley. She didn’t dare look back for fear of losing time if the Nubian boy was at her heels, knife in hand. She ran past shops with their wares hanging outside, merchants calling out the virtues of their goods. All so much chaos. It made her feel confused and lost and even more frightened. She turned a corner and ran to the next corner and turned again.

  Finally, a quiet street. She stopped and swallowed. Then she peeked back into the last street. There was no sign of the boat boy. She leaned her back against a wall and waited for her heart to stop pounding.

  Everything had gone wrong. Kepi had planned to simply catch up with the boys and shame them, maybe in public if that’s what it took, maybe even with another kick or two, and get her Babu back. Instead, she’d passed a deserted cemetery, she’d seen a human hand under animal carcasses, and that boy’s knife was big and sharp. A spasm shot up her back at the memory. A knife like that could kill in a second.

  If Kepi died here in Wetjeset-Hor, she’d be a stranger. Unclaimed. They might throw her body in the dump beside the ox. Why, if Kepi persisted in this chase, she could become ibis flesh. Or worse, rat flesh. Without a grave, no one could visit her. A part of a human always lingered at the grave—the ka. No one would come to make offerings to Kepi’s ka. No one would recite magic words over her bones. Her ka would be abandoned, all alone into eternity. Kepi’s mouth hung open at the thought of such a hideous fate.

  She could hear her sister Nanu in her heart. She could hear Mother and Father. All of them were calling her names. Not silly—no, they were calling her crazy. Kepi had been crazy to come this far after two Nubian boys. She couldn’t get Babu back. The knife left no doubt.

  Tears came in a gush.

  When they finally stopped, Kepi wiped her face with the hem of her dress. She should start home. Fast. And when she got near her village, she had better find that sycamore fig tree and retrieve the basket. Father was going to be angry enough at her without her having lost t
he basket, too. And tomorrow she’d go collect sycamore figs. Tomorrow she’d talk Father into making fruit breads. Tomorrow she’d turn everything right again.

  She just had to get home first. That was all.

  But she didn’t dare walk the path she had come, past the refuse pile. It would turn dark soon, and jackals and hyenas were bound to feast there. Plus crocodiles would wake and wait, their stomachs empty, the whole length of the riverbank.

  “Hey, girl, is something wrong?” A tall ropy-looking man stood in the doorway of the building across the alley from her. The odor coming out the door told her it was a brewery.

  Kepi shook her head.

  The man walked till he was directly opposite her; then he leaned against the wall and crossed his legs at the ankle and studied her. “You look like you’ve just had bad news.” He took the end of a loaf of bread out of a cloth bag and ripped it in half and held a piece out to her. “Hungry?”

  It wasn’t near dinnertime yet. But all that running had made Kepi hungry. It would be a long time before she got home. And the bread looked good. Still, she didn’t know this man. She shook her head.

  The man smiled and took a big bite of bread. “I don’t live here. Do you?”

  Kepi shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so. Looking as sad as you do, I figure you’d run home if home was nearby. Come on, don’t be stubborn. Have some bread. It’ll cheer you up.” He held out the unbitten half of the bread again.

  Father had told Kepi not to be stubborn just this morning. It felt good to have this stranger say it, too, as though this were a normal moment and not the awful one it truly was. And his shenti—the cloth that wound around him and covered him from waist to knee—was nice and clean; he looked like a well-mannered man. Kepi crossed the alley and reached for the bread. She took a bite. “It has honey in it,” she said. And she burst out crying again.