Suti and the Broken Staff

by Jerry Dubs

  Mahu turned to the governor. I looked from the policeman to the governor. Although they said nothing, it was clear that they were communicating.

  “You tracked a Medjay named Kebu here and now a boy was killed by a Medjay,” Mahu said with slow deliberation, announcing that the mystery was solved. He lowered his eyebrows, questioning why he had been summoned for such an obvious crime.

  “The boy said that he was killed by Medjays, that there were several. And he said that they stole his ivory. Kebu was traveling alone, and I don’t believe that he would steal ivory,” I said, trying to separate the boy’s death from my search for Kebu.

  “You believe that Kebu would kill, but not steal ivory?” Mahu said, raising an eyebrow now.

  “Of course he would kill, he is a soldier. I am only saying that Kebu would have no reason to kill the boy. He was not an enemy soldier. The boy’s death is not related to my search for Kebu,” I said, struggling to keep exasperation from my voice.

  “What’s this about ivory?” Mahu asked, his eyes darting from my face to the governor.

  “The dying boy said that Medjays attacked him and stole his ivory,” I said, swallowing a sigh. “When we docked, we found an abandoned boat with ivory bundles and with drops of blood on the deck.”

  Mahu looked to the governor again, who offered the police chief a small nod.

  “Chief Mahu will take care of this right away, Scribe Suti. He will visit the docks and examine the boat. You have the boy’s body somewhere? He can examine it. I’m sure that he will be able to clear up this accident. Now, you said, ‘we found an abandoned boat.’ You are traveling with others?” Governor Nehi asked.

  “With my charioteers,” I answered, edging closer to the police chief. “I will accompany you,” I told Mahu. “I can show you the boat.”

  “Charioteers?” Governor Nehi asked.

  “They have traveled with me from Megiddo,” I said.

  “Yes, of course,” Governor Nehi said. “Now, I am confident that Chief Mahu can handle all this, but if you want to accompany him…” He directed another tight nod to Mahu and then, as the police chief and I were leaving, Governor Nehi said, “Tomorrow, Scribe Suti. We’ll have our feast. Bring your charioteers.”

  I Die

  Morning had ended by the time Mahu and I left the palace.

  The riverfront, dark and menacing when I had arrived the night before, was bright and lively now. Bright flakes of sunshine, dropped from Re’s solar barque, rode ripples rolling from departing boats. The water was a mirror of the bright sky, hiding the fish that lived within until they breached the river’s surface, some of them flopping ungainly onto their sides, others moving in graceful arcs as they snatched hovering insects.

  Trees had been cleared from the western bank where the wharves jutted like stubby knuckles into the water, but on the far side of the river, weathered fronds brushed against the sky, thick bushes clung to the curving bank, and stands of reeds stood sentry, leaning with the slow current.

  “It is very different here than up north, isn’t it?” Mahu asked, as we moved through the crowd that, without obvious intent, parted to give us wide berth and then closed behind us.

  Turning my attention to Mahu’s question, I looked at the sailors and merchants and traders who milled about the market space that we were crossing.

  “In Men-Nefer the ships are larger, and they come from foreign lands. The city itself has many neighborhoods, each with its own cooking smells, its own languages and its own ways of dressing,” I said. “The people there are generally shorter and lighter skinned than those I see here,” I said, my mind categorizing, as if I were sorting rocks.

  “I haven’t been to Men-Nefer,” Mahu said. “Actually, I haven’t left Ta-Seti. I don’t see any reason to leave the province, or even our city. We have plenty of food here in Kerma. We don’t have to worry about invaders from the desert or from across the sea. We have temples, not as grand as those in Waset, I imagine, but, even if our priests don’t ride about in litters or wear gold bracelets, the gods protect us just the same.”

  I nodded, my eyes straining to glimpse the waterfront through the swirling movement of the crowd.

  “Over there,” I said, one hand touching Mahu’s shoulder, the other pointing toward the southern end of the wharf.

  As the crowd parted to give us passage, I saw that there was no boat tethered to the dock.

  “It’s gone,” I said.

  Walking toward the water, Mahu watched the crowd, smiling to himself as merchants and sailors and dockworkers lower their eyes to the ground.

  I began to walk faster and then I broke into a jog. Reaching the empty pier, I dropped to my knees and lowered my head toward the worn wood.

  “Are you ill?” Mahu asked as he reached me.

  “I’m looking for tracks,” I said. Rising from the pier, I turned to the police chief.

  “There are trails of blood drops between the planks of wood,” I said, “and there is blood on the wood itself. Here, look.” I took a step away from Mahu and knelt again on the weathered boards. Looking up at the police chief, I traced a dark, crescent-shaped stain with my finger.

  “The print of a heel,” I said.

  Mahu shrugged. “There is no boat here,” he said, nodding at the water.

  “There was,” I insisted. “I boarded it last night. I saw a puddle of blood. I saw bundles of ivory, stacks of pelts, and wooden boxes.”

  Mahu rested his hands on his hips and stared at me.

  “We should ask the merchants if anyone saw the boat,” I said, puzzled by the police chief’s inaction.

  “Suti,” Mahu said, “let us say that a boat was here. Let us agree that a boy has died, perhaps at the hand of Medjays. But the Medjays are not here and I tell you, Suti, not a single merchant in Kerma will accuse the Medjays of anything. The traders travel through sections of the river controlled by the Medjays. They would be cutting their own throats if they accused a Medjay of murder.”

  “So you do nothing? Is murder permitted here in Kerma?” I said, regretting my words as Mahu’s face turned to stone.

  “Forgive me,” I said. “But he was just a boy.”

  “There is no boat. There are no witnesses. And the boy is dead. He will not miss his boat or his ivory,” Mahu said. “Come, Suti, we will go to the temple and make sure that the boy is properly prepared for his journey through Duat. That is all we can offer him now.”

  Mahu took my arm and tugged on it gently.

  I paused to glance back at the water as if the boat would magically reappear. Instead I saw a large white bird with a black neck and long, curved beak flap to a landing at the water’s edge, its long, thin legs extended.

  The ibis cocked its head at me and then bent to stab at fish feeding at the edge of the river.

  I thought: The ibis embodies the ka of the god Thoth. There is a truth hidden here!

  I turned fully toward the water and then slowly, taking care to not disturb the holy messenger, I knelt by the edge of the pier. Turning my face downward I saw that the heavy body of Thoth’s messenger was blocking Re from painting the river with his bright light. Revealed within that shadow were sharp lines, curving, tapering, and lighter than the river mud.

  Ivory.

  Standing, I twisted to find the nearest boat. Running to it, I found the knotted rope that was used to measure the river’s depth. I half-jogged back to Mahu, tying the free end of the rope around my waist as I ran. Then I handed the weighted end of the rope to Mahu.

  “There is something on the river bottom. I am going to get it. I can’t swim, so hold this end of the rope. I will use it to climb out of the water,” I said, handing the weight to Mahu and turning to lead the police chief to the river.

  “What do you see in the water?” Mahu asked.

  “A bundle of ivory. Proof that the boy spoke the truth. Proof that your harbor is infested with thieves,” I said, once more letting my tongue outrace my thoughts.

  When we rea
ched the side of the pier, I lowered myself to the wood and let my legs hang over the water. I checked the knot on the rope tied around my waist and then slid into the river, gulping in lungsful of air as I dropped.

  The water was clearer here in the shallows by the river bed, and I found the bundle of ivory quickly. It was too awkward to lift, so I untied the rope from my waist and looped it though the rope that held the bundle together. Then, with my lungs burning, I tugged on the rope.

  The ivory began to rise.

  I watched it for only a moment and then turned to head for the river bank.

  At that horrible moment, I realized that I didn’t know which way to go. The water, so clear from above, had grown cloudy, filled with silt I had raised from its bottom.

  I tried to jump, hoping that I could get my head above water, however, my feet only sank deeper into the river muck. I waved my arms as I had done last night, but the river held me fast.

  I fell to my knees and felt them sink into the mud.

  My lungs, an iron fist squeezing them, ached for release. A fire began to burn within my chest, and I knew that in another moment, I would open my mouth, the river would pour into my lungs, and I would die.

  Hoping to control my final thoughts, I turned them to Queen Merti.

  But my thoughts were pulled away from the queen by the pain that was spreading from my chest. My ba, tortured by the fire and pressure within me, insisted that I open my mouth and drink my death.

  And then I saw the legs of the ibis.

  I crawled toward Thoth’s messenger. Head lowered, eyes closed, the river bottom grabbing at my knees and my hands and my feet, I crept toward the bird.

  Now a darker blackness filled my closed eyes and I knew that instead of reaching the edge of the river I had crawled to Duat’s gate.

  I moved another hand, commanded my leg to move, strained at the muck and clenched my jaws to keep my breath and my ba within.

  I collapsed.

  ***

  Each night we close our eyes and surrender to unconsciousness. Sometimes we dream, sometimes we rise from the bed with no memory of the night. But, unless the gods have visited us, we have no knowledge of what happened while our kas have taken flight from our bodies.

  (I do not know the cause of sleep. I do not know if it is an illness, although I believe all men and women sleep, so perhaps it is part of our nature. Perhaps — trapped by a body that cannot fly, living within a body that bleeds and grows hungry and tires — our ka must escape each night to find succor with its immortal brothers and sisters in Khert-Neter. I do not know.)

  And, as strange as it feels each morning to return to life, it is stranger still to realize that life has continued during my absence. Others have eaten or fought or loved or been born or died while I was absent from the world.

  Yes, I find it horrifying that life goes on without my knowledge. And yet it does. It must. Fields are harvested without my knowledge. Fish are netted, birds are captured, bread is baked, beer is brewed.

  All without my knowledge!

  And all to my benefit!

  On that day when, under the water, I fell onto Geb’s wet back and surrendered my ka, as I lay dead, three merchants waded into the water and lifted my lifeless form from the river.

  ***

  I returned to life lying on the sandy ground of Kerma, surrounded by strange men with worried looks on their faces.

  Coughing river water from my mouth, I rolled onto my hands and knees.

  “He was going to throw the rope into the river,” one of the men whispered.

  “Be careful of him,” another said and then he backed away.

  I turned and sat, my chest heaving as I feasted on the air. Tilting my head back as I breathed, I saw Thoth take flight, his long legs hanging from beneath his body. Then Mahu approached, carrying a wet bundle of ivory on his shoulder.

  I stood and, amid gasps, said, “We have evidence now that the boy was telling the truth. Now we just need to find the Medjays.”

  Mahu nodded and then pointed to a longshoreman who was lingering near us. “You, take this ivory and follow me,” he commanded before stalking away from the river, leaving me standing alone.

  ***

  As I wiped my muddy hands on my wet kilt the men who had helped me from the river gathered around me.

  “That was very brave,” one of them said.

  “It was just water,” I said, “and I wasn’t far from the bank.”

  “He means it was brave to say out loud that the Medjay are stealing ivory,” another man said.

  “Right in Mahu’s face,” a third said admiringly.

  “With all of us watching,” the second man said.

  “Did you see Mahu’s face?” the third man asked.

  “You better watch your back, boy,” the first man said.

  “And your front,” the second added.

  “He can watch all he wants, he’ll never get out of Kerma alive,” the first said knowingly.

  “He’s right,” the second man said. “I’d turn around and find the first boat heading north.”

  I stopped and stared at the men. “No, Mahu is the police chief, not a murderer and thief.”

  The men fell silent for a moment and then the first said, “Yes, off course, you are right. He is the police chief.”

  The other men backed a step away from me. I looked at them, taking in their worried eyes, their down-turned mouths. One by one, the men lowered their eyes and shuffled away.

  I watched them a moment, wondering if they were delivering a message from Thoth or if, at Seth’s command, they were trying to confuse me.

  Then I turned to run after Mahu’s receding back.

  I See Too Much

  I followed Mahu and the longshoreman across the market, away from the road that led to the governor’s palace and south toward the edge of Kerma.

  The air was fresher, the greens of the trees were brighter, the sky was an aching blue, so dazzling that it made my heart beat. I knew that I had been reborn; I was seeing the world now with the fresh eyes of a baby.

  We reached the gate of Mahu’s house, where he told the longshoreman to put the bundle of tusks on the ground. Pushing the gate open, Mahu picked up the ivory and entered the small garden that fronted his house.

  Following him, I said, “Is there where you store the trade goods? Not in a warehouse by the market, not someplace protected by guards?”

  “No,” he said, “I am keeping this bundle separate from the trade goods.”

  “Because it is evidence?” I asked.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Mahu said, turning to walk along the front of his home to a wooden lean-to that clung to the side of his mudbrick house.

  “Do you know who the Medjays might be? I think that some of the merchants would talk to you if they could be assured that you wouldn’t reveal their names,” I said as I followed Mahu into the lean-to. I blinked my eyes slowly, helping them adjust to the striped shadows cast by the widely spaced logs that were propped against the house.

  As Mahu laid the ivory on the dirt, I saw that the storehouse contained bundles of pelts, stacks of the strange black wood that was too heavy to float, but worth its weight in silver, simple wooden casks packed with precious stones and gems, and a row of tusks, most of them no longer than a man’s arm.

  The bundle of ivory beside the one Mahu had just placed contained tusks the same length and color. Except the bundle was marred by splotches of dried blood.

  Suddenly, despite the shadows, I saw everything clearly.

  The warnings whispered to me in the market made sense now.

  For a moment, all was still. The birds in the small garden paused their rustling. The dust motes suspended in the light that slanted through spaces of the wooden wall ceased their slow swirl. The air that passed through my nostrils caught in my throat.

  Aware that Mahu was watching me, I knelt and extended a hand to the ivory. With a curious finger, I flicked at the dried blood, loosening a pat
ch of it. Catching the dry, brown flake in my hand, I brought it to my face and sniffed. Then I touched it with the tip of my tongue.

  Tasting iron, I knew that the dried rivulets sprayed on the ivory were blood.

  I thought: This bundle is closer to the doors than the others — it was placed there most recently. The curved tusks are the same length as the ones I rescued from the river.

  I had found, not a collection of evidence, but a cache of stolen goods, including the ivory that had been stolen when the boy was killed.

  I wondered if I would soon be lying on the ground with my own blood spilled over the ivory.

  Rising, I said, “Pairy and Turo know that I am with you.”

  Mahu’s chest rose and fell as he studied me.

  “If I do not return, Pharaoh Thutmose will send others,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

  Mahu clenched his hands.

  My eyes on the police chief, I backed from the shadows and into the streaming sunlight. With Re’s watchful gaze falling on my back, I turned away from Mahu. I paused a moment, expecting to hear rapid footfalls and to feel a blade enter my unprotected back.

  Then, aware that each moment could be my last, I walked toward the gate, passing the sharp shadow of the house roof, its angled lines forming a knife blade that pointed at me.

  I approached a trio of rounded rocks arranged by the small pond. A lone lapwing stood on the tallest rock. Remembering that Pharaoh Hatshepsut referred to the people of the Two Lands as her lapwings, I imagined that the bird was the eyes of all of Kemet, watching me, judging me. Approving my bravery.

  Or my foolishness.

  Re was drawing moisture from the pond, filling the air with the scent of drying mud. The fragrance evoked the memory of Queen Merti sitting by the potter’s wheel, and I imagined her watching me as well, her approval more important than the acclaim of all the lapwings of the Two Lands.

  I saw the wide wooden door of the garden wall. Accustomed to measuring, I began to calculate the number of steps until I reached the door…