The Sublime Seven

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Jamila studied her neighbor with narrowed eyes, then her gaze traveled to the gifted fruit.

  “That’s very kind of you, Moswen. Tell me something, please. Why would my father think you might want to poison him?” She saw no need to prevaricate. Best to have everything out in the open with this odd little woman if she were going to accept her help.

  “Poison? That’s absurd. I told you last night I love your father. I always have.”

  “Yes, that’s what you said. But would a woman scorned still love the man who broke her heart? The man who called off an engagement to her because he was in love with a woman more beautiful than herself?”

  The beady eyes narrowed, matching Jamila’s expression. “He’s out of his mind, Jamila.”

  “Perhaps not completely out of his mind.”

  “Perhaps not. But you have it wrong. He wasn’t the one to call off the engagement.”

  Jamila’s jaw dropped.

  “Close your mouth or flies will get in. I was the one who cancelled it.”

  “Why would you do that?” she stammered.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Do you think I wanted to be the heavy, ugly brick Akhon wore about his neck for an entire lifetime?”

  Jamila had no answer.

  “Even more though,” she said, sitting down at the foot of Akhon’s pallet and patting his knee. Her father’s eye stared at the would-be poisoner on his blanket. “I wanted to release him from an obligation he had no stomach for. Above all else, your father is honorable. Even though I felt the sting of the emotional abandonment, he would never have subjected me to the lurid, painful circumstance of publicly rejecting me. So I let him go instead. I set him free.”

  “You did that to yourself?”

  The close-set eyes peered at her with disdain. “You still don’t get it, do you? Of course, you don’t. You’re too young. You have never experienced all-consuming love for another person. Not the selfish, self-absorbed type most people engage in, but a love that places another person’s happiness above her own.” Moswen chuckled, a snorting combination of bitterness, amusement, and affection.

  “Oh, Moswen. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s long-dead history. Besides, it didn’t end well for your father. I doubt he would believe that I felt no vindication when he lost your mother. And I’m here now because I want to be, not because I have any underlying spiteful desire to even the score. That’s never how it was.”

  Akhon’s eye watered now, but he didn’t speak.

  “What about my mother? Akhon said something that makes me question that she died in childbirth. He may be confused, but he seemed quite adamant.”

  The brown eyes became aloof, suddenly. “I cannot comment on matters that are not my business.”

  Jamila laughed out loud, then covered her mouth quickly. “You know everyone’s business. Why withhold now?”

  A reluctant grin tugged at the thin lips. “You have a point. Still, this is not my discussion to have.”

  “Akhon is not capable of having it.”

  “Give him time. Maybe he will, or maybe he won’t. Either way, what happened in the past is unchangeable. Best to let old bones stay buried.”

  With that she made her way to the door and out into the late afternoon sunshine. Before she disappeared from view, she said, “There is no stronger force in the world than true love, child. Not that of the Pharaoh, nor his pyramid, nor even the gods themselves.”

  After Moswen was gone, Jamila studied the door without seeing it, thinking about the words. Then she turned to her father, who was drooling again. She sighed, wiping the moisture from his chin. There would be no further answers that day.

  Sleep eluded her for hours. She kept thinking about the kind of love Moswen felt for Akhon and how rare it must be. To sacrifice your own happiness so that your loved one can be happy in your place was almost incomprehensible. When she finally rose with the first blush of pink in the background of Kahfre’s pyramid, she saw that her father was up, emptying his bladder in the urine jar by his pallet. She gently cleared her throat so he would know she was there.

  “Good morning, Jamila. I’m feeling more clear-headed today.”

  “Wonderful, Papa. Would you like some beer and bread?”

  “Yes, in a minute. I need to talk to you, while I’m thinking straight. Come, sit with me.” He patted the place where Moswen had been last night.

  She sat down and took his hand, noting how soft the fingers were now that they no longer worked heavy tools and rough stone.

  “Do you miss it, Papa? Your job?”

  “I do. Perhaps I’ll get well enough to do some lowly work on the pyramid. Hauling rubble or delivering water buckets.”

  “That would be beneath you,” she said.

  “Nothing is beneath a father who must provide for his family. And that’s what I want to talk to you about before I forget again. There are still so many holes in my thoughts...it’s nearly impossible to piece everything together. But I do remember that your mother did not die giving birth to you. I don’t know why I told you that story for all those years. I have vivid memories similar to the one I told you about, when you were a toddler with your mother. I know she did not perish during childbirth.”

  “I wish I could remember her,” Jamila said. Her mind could summon nothing earlier than images of her father’s face.

  “She was special, like you. Not just a rare beauty and attentive wife, but an exceptionally devoted mother.”

  Jamila felt her eyes water.

  “Something happened. She was here one day and gone the next. I just can’t remember what it was, nor why I didn’t tell you the truth.”

  “I think Moswen knows, but she won’t tell me.”

  “Maybe I can talk to her today, if she comes again.”

  “That would be wonderful, Papa. You realize now that she doesn’t want to poison you?”

  The eyebrow arched. “Probably not. Possibly not. Oh, who knows? Everything is so foggy.”

  Jamila could see his mind clouding up again. Pressing him further would just upset him. Instead, she readied herself for work, then left the apartment with firm directions to Akhon to stay put.

  “You may stand outside for fresh air, but don’t leave. We don’t want you wandering off and getting lost.”

  “Hmmm.” He stood in the doorway with the morning sun shining on his face. She was happy to see his color was a little better every day.

  “I mean it, Papa. We wouldn’t want people to think you have something they could catch.” She was thinking about the leper. Her father’s bandaged eye and thin limbs could be mistaken for more than injuries.

  She saw that her words had an effect on him, but she couldn’t tell what kind. And since she was late for work, she would have to ask him about it later. How strange that their roles had been reversed: she was now the one to give orders, and he must acquiesce. It gave her no sense of satisfaction.

  Her day was harder than usual. Even the gentle Nedjem, her supervisor, was cranky and demanding. She was especially relieved to be finished for the day. She placed one of the best loaves in her market basket and ducked out of the bakery. She would go to the street venders on her way home and purchase some fresh beer for Akhon. With a sinking feeling in her belly, she saw Nephi and his friends standing there, already drunk. She pivoted and began walking back the way she had come.

  “Jamila, wait,” Nephi called, slurring the words.

  She sighed. “What do you want? I need to tend to my father. He’s been home alone all day.”

  He caught up to her and tugged on her arm, not ungently.

  “I’m miserable, Jamila. I don’t know if I can go on.”

  There was self-pity in the tone, but also genuine heartbreak.

  “You can and will,” she replied, coldly.

  “See? That’s what I can’t bear. You loved me so and now you can’t even look at me without disgust.”

  “Nephi, if not for your impetuousness, my father would be whole.”
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  “But why can’t you see that it was out of love for you that this all happened?”

  “Was it? Or was it impatience to get under my dress?” She was shocked by her boldness. Still, it was an opinion she had been harboring, unspoken, since the accident.

  Nephi stopped. She begrudgingly did as well, curious to hear his response.

  “I love and respect you, Jamila. Of course I felt passion for you. I’m a hot-blooded man. But that’s not why I didn’t wait for a more suitable time to approach your father. It was because I was eager to begin our lives together. And also, I admit, I was afraid you might get a better offer than me.”

  This was a new twist. “Jealousy motivated your recklessness?”

  Nephi didn’t respond, standing in the street and looking miserable.

  “You realize this only makes it worse?” she said. “Leave me alone. I want nothing further to do with you.” She turned away and began walking.

  “I know that, Jamila. And I understand. What I want more than anything else is your forgiveness. Please say that you forgive me. I can’t go on if you don’t.”

  “You don’t have it. You ruined our lives.” She didn’t glance back to see the inevitable self-pity on the face of her former suitor. She was in no mood for it.

  She meandered through the cobblestone streets of the village, lost in her thoughts and not ready to go home yet. Was she being too hard on him? It was true that if not for Nephi, Akhon would be whole, but Nephi didn’t push him off the scaffolding. When the sky turned violet, she headed home.

  “Hello, Papa,” she said shortly thereafter. She was irritable and exhausted and wanted nothing more than a few moments of relaxation. When she saw distress in her father’s face, she knew her desire would be denied.

  “She was here again today. That woman who wants to poison me,” Akhon whispered, one conspirator to another.

  “Moswen does not want to poison you,” she said with a sigh. “Here’s some bread. I baked it myself. No poison. I suppose this means you weren’t able to talk to her about what happened to my mother?”

  “What? Your mother died in childbirth,” Akhon said. “The poisoner left something for you,” he added, pointing to a fragment of pottery on the table next to the doorway. Beside it was a second food chit.

  She picked up the shard, glanced at the glyphs, and then set it down again in disgust. “Another demon shard. I won’t do it. I’m too tired.”

  “The poisoner seemed quite insistent. I don’t understand what it means, but I know it’s very important. You must do it.”

  She studied her father, noting the anxious look on his face, and forced herself to summon patience from a badly depleted reservoir.

  “You don’t need to worry about what it means, Papa. I will do it. We can’t afford to offend Moswen at this point. She worked some magic and got us an extension on our apartment as well as an extra food chit, it seems.”

  She placed the second chit in her basket, then trudged back out into the late afternoon sunshine to collect dinner.

  By the time her father had eaten, relieved himself, been cleaned up, and settled back into his pallet for the evening, it was dusk. She would have to return from the cemetery after dark. She was so tired she could barely think straight, but she knew she must do this. Moswen’s benevolence seemed to depend on it.

  She entered through the gates as usual, then found the spot from before. Would the leper show up again? She hoped not. She needed to finish the task and get home before she fell asleep standing up.

  She located the same heavy rock, placed the demon shard upon the sand, and smashed it into a miniature rubble pile. She uttered the necessary words, in case Moswen asked if she had, then stood to go.

  The shuffling footsteps came from behind, just as they had the last time. The fine hairs on her neck prickled again. When she turned, the leper was close, but not too close. Moonlight glittered off dark eyes within the linen wrappings. Raspy, labored breathing escaped through a slit in the gauze near the chin. She realized there were no air holes for its nose, and neither was there a lump in the cloth where a nose should be. The image she conjured of the lamentable face beneath the rags filled her with sympathy. As bad as her life had become, it would never be as horrific as this poor creature’s existence.

  She felt no fear. The shambling bag of skin lesions, lumpy tumors, and bones couldn’t hurt her. As long as it didn’t approach further.

  “I’m happy to see you again.” The unearthly voice seemed less frightening this time.

  “I was about to leave,” Jamila replied.

  “Moswen sent you here for a reason. Please sit. I promise I won’t come closer.”

  “I think I’ll continue standing.”

  “You’re a sassy one. I like that.”

  “You know Moswen?”

  “Indeed. We were close friends a long time ago.”

  So the creature was most likely female, which had been impossible to discern from her appearance. The tragedy intensified further. In Egyptian society, it was one thing to be a disfigured, contagious male, but quite another to be a disfigured, contagious female.

  “She has been helping my father and me since the accident. I’m in her debt.”

  “You are that. She’s a paradoxical creature, our Moswen. But she does have you and your father’s best interest at heart. You can trust her.”

  “Your endorsement of her might carry some weight if I knew you.”

  The dry chuckle reminded her of the sound of the laborers’ dice games. They used desiccated animal bones for the game pieces.

  “I see that you still have no suspicion...no clue as to my identity, despite the recent revelations.”

  “What revelations?”

  “That your mother did not, in fact, die during childbirth.”

  “Moswen told you that?”

  “Jamila, think about it. I know you have your father’s quick mind, as well as his good looks.”

  Suddenly, the world came crashing down upon her. She thought she might faint. She took the leper’s advice and sat abruptly on the sand.

  “Mama?” she said. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Yes, my darling. Oh, Jamila, I’ve missed you more than words could ever convey. I’m so proud of the young woman you’ve become.”

  “H-h-how did it happen?” she said, once she could speak again.

  “There was a woman I worked with in the merchants’ street. We sold baubles and trinkets from a stand. I carried you to work with me after you were born, but you were a baby and wouldn’t remember any of that. I would cover your little face with a cloth so you wouldn’t get hot in the sun. I think that may be why you never contracted the disease.”

  “The woman gave it to you?”

  The ragged head nodded. “I noticed a growing white patch on her arm and commented on it. I know now she had suspected she was ill and yet continued to expose me – and you – to it. It took many years to forgive her, but I finally managed. She died recently. I buried her in the colony’s plot.”

  “The leper colony? That’s where you live now...” Jamila trailed off, overwhelmed with thoughts of her mother’s life all these years. She found it difficult to breathe.

  “Yes. It’s as bad as you might imagine, but there is life to be had there anyway, and all life is precious.”

  “Oh, Mama. You left so you wouldn’t make me and Papa sick.”

  “Of course. The two people I loved most in the world could not be exposed to what I had, so I disappeared. Leaving you was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Much worse than living with this disease. Akhon and I decided on the story of my dying in childbirth so you would not be stigmatized or traumatized. Moswen played an important role. Anyone in the village who revealed the truth to you would be subjected to a reputation assassination. She knows everyone’s secrets.”

  Her mother might have been smiling under the bandages.

  The raspy voice continued. “We would have carried on with the dece
ption but for the recent damage to your father’s brain. Moswen came to me and told me he was no longer able to keep up the pretense, and that you were old enough and strong enough to know the truth. So here we are.” The skeletal arms opened wide, gesturing to the gloom of the cemetery. Jamila had the desperate desire to rush into their loving embrace.

  “Don’t even consider it,” her mother said, reading her thoughts. She folded her arms.

  “I don’t think I can endure it, Mama, thinking of you like this. It’s so unfair. How could you ever forgive that woman for making you sick and ruining your life?”

  The voice no longer sounded eerie now that she knew it belonged to her mother. With alarm, though, she noticed its strength diminishing. She had to strain to hear the words.

  “If I could teach you one thing, it would be forgiveness. Resentment and grudges impact the target only slightly – or perhaps not at all. They cultivate insidious, harmful forces inside the person who harbors them. They are poison and will destroy you. Your young man...”

  “Nephi?”

  “Yes. You must forgive him. I know it’s not easy and it won’t happen overnight, but you must work toward that goal. The process of forgiveness – genuine forgiveness – can take a long time. Months, years, even. But the sooner you accomplish it, the sooner you can be happy and whole. Has he asked to be forgiven?”

  Jamila nodded.

  “Well, then. The process can begin.”

  There was much truth in the words. Jamila had been nurturing in her belly a tight, angry ball of bitterness, a malignant growth of animosity for her former suiter. It was damaging to them both and served no purpose other than to cause pain for everyone within its influence.

  “You’re right. I see that now. If you can forgive the woman who made you ill, I can forgive a foolish, impetuous young man.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can come back and visit you tomorrow,” she said, excited now at the prospect of gaining a mother after all these years.

  Moonlight reflected off moisture in the cloaked, glittering eyes.

  “My time draws near, child. I scarcely had stamina enough to walk here tonight. For my sake, because it hurts us both for you to see me like this, I ask that you let me go.”