Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  When the streets grew narrow, I hesitated, unsure which street to follow.

  “This way,” Turo said, tilting his head.

  “You know the way?” I asked.

  Turo shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. “Away from the rich merchants,” he said. “Each city has such a district.”

  “Even Waset?” I asked, unwilling to believe that Seth maintained an outpost in the capital, a city sacred to so many gods.

  Turo turned a gentle smile to me. “You know a lot about the gods,” he said, “but little about men.”

  I lowered my head, acknowledging the truth of his words.

  Soon we reached the crumbled wall of Seth’s Cave.

  “She said they live just past here, between two huts,” I said.

  “Hold on a minute,” Turo said, turning toward the fallen building.

  He stepped over the rubble and kicked at the debris. Searching the ground, he lifted the palm fronds that had fallen when the roof collapsed. After a minute, he emerged holding the broken leg of a stool. “Just in case your giant wants a fight,” he said. “I’m not much good with a knife,” he said. “Because of …” — he tilted his head to indicate his wounded shoulder.

  I thought to reassure him that the giant would probably be unconscious, but, hearing the eagerness in his voice, I nodded and said, “Thank you, Turo.”

  “I should have borrowed a spear from the barracks,” he said sadly. Then he flipped the stool leg into the air and caught the other end as it spun downward. “I was trained with the sticks,” he said, twisting his wrist to make the tip of the stick swing in quick, graceful circles. “War sticks are longer, but this should work.”

  I had seen stick dancers, but I hadn’t considered that soldiers would be trained to use the sticks as weapons. Then I remembered Pairy asking if the rocks I had left behind in Megiddo were weapons. A soldier must be trained to evaluate everything as a weapon. And a priest, I thought, must see everything as actions of the gods. And I, I wondered, how do I see the world?

  ***

  I remember deciding that scribes record the truth.

  But now, I know that we scribes — even honest Tjaneni, even great Thoth! — describe what could have happened. We weave words to tell the story of ma’at.

  And so, our words, clothed in ma’at, become truth.

  ***

  With Turo confidently twirling the stick, we walked away from the rubble of Seth’s Cave.

  We passed several huts, erected so close together that there was not enough space for either Ahset or her giant father to squeeze between them. As we approached the last of the huts I heard a loud snore and then a muffled sob.

  Turo pointed the stick toward the sounds.

  Walking quietly, we approached a dark space that lay beside the hut.

  “Ahset?” I called.

  The sobbing changed to a long, wet snort and a heavy figure emerged from the shadows.

  “You came back?” she said as she stepped into the street. A hopeful smile battled against dirty rivulets that trickled from her eyes. Then, seeing Turo, her smile turned into a frown.

  She said, “Oh, you brought someone.”

  “Is your father awake?” I asked.

  She shrugged, the movement making the huge breasts that I had mistaken for Bes’s eyes wobble. “It doesn’t matter. If you have a bracelet or a gem or something I can give him. Will it be both of you?” she asked, her voice hardening.

  “We’re not here for that,” Turo said gently.

  “Then what?” Ahset said. “I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms and stared at me.

  I searched my tongue for the words.

  “To rescue you,” I heard myself say.

  “Rescue me?” she said. “From who?” She looked around the deserted street.

  “From your father,” I said. “From this life.”

  “You came to kill me?” she said, her eyes turning now to Turo.

  “I think he means to take you away from being a whore,” Turo said, using the voice that charioteers use to calm horses. “This,” he raised the stick, “is just to protect us from your father. We don’t mean to attack anyone.”

  “You said your father beats you,” I said.

  She squinted her eyes at me.

  I saw that my words were only confusing noise to her. I remembered the concern on the commissioner’s face and the relief that followed when I said to him the words he needed to hear.

  I searched for such words now.

  “Ahset,” I said, “you know that the gods take many forms. Sobek becomes a crocodile, Thoth an ibis, Horus a hawk. Geb is the ground beneath our feet; Shu is the air we breathe.

  “You know that priests speak for the gods, bringing their words to us.”

  “Are you a priest?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I am a scribe. But, hear me, Ahset. When I write, I capture the words and thoughts of others. I take something that I cannot see and I make it visible. Do you understand?”

  As she nodded her head hesitantly, I heard Turo say, “Yes.”

  “When I saw you in Seth’s Cave, I saw more than your body. When you spoke, I heard more than your voice,” I said.

  “You did?” she said, her eyes wide.

  “You did?” Turo echoed.

  I nodded.

  “When I hear words, I see the sacred symbols that will capture them. When I saw you, Ahset, I saw the god Bes. When I heard your voice, I heard, between your words, the whisper of Bes.”

  “Which one is he?” she asked.

  “Is he the little one?” Turo asked.

  “He protects mothers and their children,” I said.

  “Oh,” they said in unison.

  “So I want you to come with me,” I said. “I want to understand what Bes is saying.”

  ***

  Sometimes, when I hear the words I speak, I do not know their source.

  They are new to my mind.

  For many years, I imagined my body as the horses that pull a chariot. My mind was the brave charioteer, holding the guiding reins.

  Now I see a different image:

  The horses are still my body, but my mind is now the chariot, pulled here and there by those untamed horses. Standing in the chariot, directing the horses is a charioteer.

  But I know him not.

  ***

  “I’ll wake father and tell him I am leaving,” Ahset said when I finished speaking.

  At the side of my vision, I saw Turo stiffen.

  “No, Ahset, I will send a messenger to tell him in the morning,” I said. “Just gather your things.”

  “I have no things,” she said.

  And so we left the slums of Gaza with Ahset, whose body was the face of Bes.

  ***

  In the morning, I visited Commissioner Pakhura to thank him for his hospitality and to request permission to leave the city.

  I was an envoy of Lord Amenhotep and so I didn’t need permission to leave Gaza, but Lord Imhotep had taught me to caress the egos of those in power. (It takes little effort, it makes them happy, and it eases your life, he said. As always, I found Lord Imhotep’s words to be true.)

  Commissioner Pakhura asked me to repeat the story of Pharaoh Thutmose’s great victory.

  In this fourth telling, I found that the details that I added with each previous retelling came to me easily: A Hittite charioteer pulling on the reins with such fear that the heads of his horses twisted, causing the horses to fall and the chariot to overturn … an enemy charioteer’s padded armor embedded with so many arrows that he looked like the spiky head of a blossoming papyrus stalk … a Canaanite jumping from his chariot and turning to run toward Megiddo, the back of his kilt stained brown.

  I had watched the battle from the mountainside.

  I had seen the flow of the battle, but I had seen none of the details I described.

  Yet, as I stood before Commissioner Pakhura, I remembered each event. My words had brought the
m to life in my memory. I knew that they would take root in his memory as well. My words had become truth!

  ***

  This is how Ptah created our world: He envisioned the gods in his heart. He spoke the words. They took form.

  ***

  When I finished, Commissioner Pakhura waved me to approach his low throne.

  As I did, a servant girl carrying an ornate wooden box emerged from behind the commissioner.

  Commissioner Pakhura motioned for me to kneel. I heard the clack of the box opening behind me and then a dazzling screen of colors passed my eyes. A wide pectoral necklace nestled its weight upon my chest, and fingers played at my neck as the servant knotted the leather thong of the necklace.

  “A reward for bringing us the news,” Commissioner Pakhura said, raising his chin in pride.

  ***

  My neck weighted with the precious necklace, I returned to the barracks to tell Commander Anun that I planned to go on to Men-Nefer in search of the queen.

  “We are returning to Megiddo,” he said. “Pharaoh Thutmose will want news. And I need to return to my command.”

  “I understand, commander,” I said. “But my master gave me a letter to deliver to Lord Useramen in Men-Nefer. And the trail leads that way. So…” I shrugged as if the choice were beyond me. I hoped that the mention of my master (and the sparkle of the necklace) would sway Anun’s heart.

  He nodded, his lips a tight line.

  Then he looked at me, his eyes hard in the morning light. “I have failed,” he said. “I will resign my command.”

  “No, Commander Anun,” I said. “We have not failed. We know that the queen’s chariot left Yehem. We know it followed the road south. We know that she is not in Gaza. She surely must be in Men-Nefer.”

  “You are a scribe,” he said. “For you, words are actions. You can talk about where the queen might be, but I am returning to Pharaoh Thutmose with an empty chariot. That is the truth.”

  I bowed my head, submitting to his words.

  Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder.

  “You have done your best, scribe. I hope that you are right. I hope that you find Queen Menwi in Men-Nefer. I will send Pairy with you as a bodyguard,” he said.

  “Thank you, commander,” I said. Then I thought of Turo and the death sentence he faced on returning to the army. “Could you send Turo with me as well? He was the last to see Lord Imhotep and the queen. He would be useful.”

  I tried to make my face open and honest. I succeeded too well.

  “He cannot evade his punishment,” Anun said, his eyes sad as he read my heart.

  “But if we find the queen, there will be no need to kill him,” I argued.

  “That is not your decision,” he said.

  I bowed my head once more and waited to hear if the mercy that I hoped dwelt in the commander’s heart was strong enough to allow Turo to live a little longer. Although I tried to look submissive, I pulled my shoulders back to make the ivory and gold and turquoise of the necklace more visible.

  The shine of gems added a tipping weight to my request, for after a moment, Anun said, “Yes, you may take Turo.”

  ***

  Pairy’s bottom lip was swollen.

  One of his eyes refused to open, and he stood on legs that looked eager to collapse.

  Ahset and Turo were with him, talking about the previous night, when I entered the barracks.

  When I entered the room, they turned to me and stopped talking. I raised my eyebrows in question, but they were not looking at my face: their eyes were on the necklace Commissioner Pakhura had given me.

  I raised my hand to my chest. The necklace stretched from shoulder to shoulder, its strands heavy with ivory beads, turquoise gems the color of sky reflected in water, and silver ankhs. “Commissioner Pakhura gave me this to celebrate our victory at Megiddo,” I said.

  “Is it real?” Ahset asked, her hands together, the fingers wrestling with each other. “I have never seen so many jewels.”

  I remembered her words from last night: I have no things.

  And suddenly, I thought of the strange god Bes who lived within her.

  He was a god; an offering might open his tongue.

  “Yes, it is real, but it is too loose for me. Look! It almost hangs down to my navel,” I said, reaching behind my neck. I untied the leather thongs that held the necklace in place. Raising it carefully over my head, I nodded to Ahset to turn around.

  She stood rooted to the ground in disbelief.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  I lifted the necklace over her head and let it settle on her chest. After I knotted it in place behind her neck, I touched her shoulder indicating that she should turn to face me.

  “It fits you perfectly,” I said, admiring the graceful fall of the crescent necklace across the generous curves of her breasts.

  I rolled my shoulders. “That feels better,” I said, happy to find that the words were true; Bes had accepted my offering.

  “Commander Anun is taking the charioteers back to Megiddo,” I said, turning to Turo and Pairy, whose eyes were on Ahset and the necklace. “He said that you should accompany me to Men-Nefer.”

  “Men-Nefer?” Turo said, his eyes still on the necklace.

  “I have a letter to deliver to Lord Useramen. And the queen’s chariot is not here. She must have gone on to Men-Nefer,” I said.

  Turo looked at me. “All of us?” he asked, tilting his head toward Ahset.

  “Yes,” I said. “We’ll take two chariots. Can you drive?” I asked Turo.

  He nodded. “If we are on the road. I might not be able to hold the horses if they gallop over rough ground.”

  “I am your woman now,” Ahset said, her voice singing with joy as she turned to me.

  “No,” I said as quickly as I could. “You are my friend, Ahset. You belong to no one except Ptah. And Pharaoh Thutmose, of course. You are your own woman.”

  I saw the charioteers watching us.

  Fear and rejection filled Ahset’s face.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Ahset,” I said. “But you do not need to be owned by anyone. You can live your own life now. But I would like you to come with me to Men-Nefer…”

  “Because of Bes,” she said.

  “Yes, exactly,” I said.

  “But what will I do in Men-Nefer?” she asked. “Will you want this back when we get there? Will you give it to someone else?”

  “No, Ahset, I will not take the necklace,” I said. “It is where it belongs now.”

  I could not take back the offering to Bes.

  (I wonder sometimes if I should have, for, in thanks for the gift, that strange, demon dwarf disclosed to me the terrible secret that I have carried all my life. It is said that Bes can strangle snakes with his bare hands. I have often felt his deadly grip on my own ka.)

  I Ride to Men-Nefer

  I was eager to reach Men-Nefer, and so each day I roused Ahset and the charioteers before Re appeared. We would drive slowly through the pre-dawn haze that cloaked the brown, rocky plains of the Sinai Peninsula. Eyes widening, nostrils flaring, the horses loosened their muscles while behind them Pairy and Turo held the reins lightly.

  I rode with Pairy, Ahset with Turo.

  If the road was smooth when Re touched his rosy fingers to our backs, Pairy and Turo would lightly slap the slack reins on the horses. The grind of the wooden wheels on packed dirt would grow louder. I would hold onto the chariot rail, my tongue checking often to reassure my belly that the small pebble was in place.

  Ahset, who had never ridden in a chariot, enjoyed the ride. Smiling, she gripped the chariot rail with both hands and leaned forward into the dry wind. Her breasts swayed beneath the ever-present weight of the necklace, its dangling beads shy eyelashes above the dark nipples — those playful eyes of Bes.

  At noon, when Re overtook our chariots, Pairy would begin to search for a village or the shade of a watering hole.

  Through the heat of the midday, o
ur horses drank water and stood in the shade, swishing flies with their tails. We rested near the horses and exchanged stories.

  Pairy and Turo told tales of the great battle when Pharaoh Thutmose, leading only a small company of chariots, had attacked an entire Hittite army. At Pharaoh Thutmose’s command, the god Shu had raised the desert with his deadly breath. Pharaoh Thutmose had ordered the horses cut free and the chariots overturned. While the horses ran from the sand storm, Pharaoh Thutmose and his men crouched beneath the chariots.

  The Hittites had tried to outrun the god and the wind and the wall of dust.

  They had been buried alive.

  When Shu had finished his work, the Egyptians had dug free of their chariots and celebrated the god’s mercy and Pharaoh Thutmose’s wisdom.

  Pairy and Turo told the tale well, adding new details with each retelling.

  Ahset’s stories took place within the darkness of Seth’s Cave. She told of brawls, often retelling the story of Pairy’s fight with her father. With each telling her father was more intimidating and Pairy braver and stronger.

  She told of sexual encounters that made Turo blush and Pairy laugh. I admired her ability to hold the two charioteers with her words, and I learned that coupling consisted of sweaty movement, loud cries, slapping, biting, scratching, fumbling, and moaning.

  Ahset’s voice came alive from the attention Pairy and Turo gave her. She read their reactions and adjusted her stories — making her customers as huge as a horse, or as tiny as a mouse; she extended the encounters for hours, or ended them after a few frantic seconds.

  (Watching the surprise and delight that crossed Ahset’s face when she spoke, I sometimes wondered if her words were her own, or if they came from mischievous Bes.)

  When my turn came to tell stories, I told them about the strange rocks I had found and about the images formed by clusters of stars. To my surprise, the stories moved them: their eyes often glistened with tears and they frequently covered their mouths to conceal their amazement.