Huy had been looking forward to hours of companionable gossip with his friend, beginning at once, but Thothmes excused himself soon after Ishat had gone. “Ibi has carried my bedding onto the roof and erected a sunshade over it against the morning’s glare,” he said, yawning, “and to the roof I shall go. Will you join me?”
“Not tonight.” They embraced and Thothmes strode away.
Huy sat on in a silence that seemed to echo with the hum of their chatter, the aroma of Ishat’s perfume now mingling with the not-unpleasant tang of smoke from the lamp wicks as Ankhesenpepi, the house servant, went softly from one to the other, extinguishing them. When he arrived at the last one, he turned inquiringly to Huy, who shook his head. “Put them all out, Ankhesenpepi. Thank you.”
The gloom was welcome. Gradually it lifted a little as starlight blurred grey in the high clerestory windows and faintly showed the open front door. Beyond it, Huy knew, a guard was stationed, but he could neither see nor hear the man. Suddenly he yearned for the poppy. He was not in physical pain; it was his heart that ached with a new loneliness. After a long time he hauled himself to his feet and made his way quietly up the stairs. Halfway along, he saw dull lamplight spilling out of Ishat’s room into the hallway and he paused. Low voices came to him, Ishat’s and Thothmes’, and then Ishat’s soft laugh. Anger seized him. Striding to the door, he was about to push his way in, but then he paused. He had caught a glimpse of the two of them, Ishat on her couch decorously smothered in a sheet while Thothmes was sitting cross-legged on the floor looking up at her. Jealousy is an ignoble emotion, he thought, fighting it with eyes rammed shut and fists clenched. You love them both, Huy. They are your most intimate friends, and you know perfectly well that they also love you. Be happy for Ishat, that she has found someone who can give her what you cannot. Be happy for Thothmes, that he has fallen in love with a fine and honest woman. Yet at that moment he came close to hating both of them.
In the end, he forced himself to continue on along the corridor and enter his own room. The effort seemed to drag down his limbs and take all the heat from his body. Collapsing on his couch, he pulled both sheet and blanket up around his shoulders, but he did not weep. A long time before he had vowed that he would never again shed tears. He tried to pray and gave up. The greed for poppy was nagging hungrily at him, and he could not sleep.
Thothmes stayed with them for a week. On the days when Huy and Ishat were busy with petitioners, he ambled along the riverbank with Seneb, the captain of his barge, or had Anhur set up a target away from the eager crowds, and practised with his bow and arrows. Several times they all boarded Huy’s boat and cruised leisurely in the red sunsets, drinking and leaning over the rail to watch the bare and parched banks glide by. Twice Huy left his office after the usual consultation with Merenra regarding the ongoing state of the household to find that Thothmes and Ishat were nowhere on the property. Guessing that they had sought the privacy of the cabin on Thothmes’ barge, Huy made his way behind the granaries, where there always seemed to be shadow between the large mud cones and the rear wall, and lowered himself onto the packed earth.
Still he did not weep. Drawing up his knees and resting his chin on them, he gazed into his future and found it to be desolate. Months earlier, when he and Ishat still lived in the town, he had placed his hands on her and Seen her painted and gorgeously arrayed. She had smiled at him in surprise, exclaiming that “they” were not expecting him. Ishat had laughed at the idea that she might be wealthy in the future, and she and Huy had simply gone about their business and forgotten the moment, but now Huy believed that he knew who “they” were. Ishat would finally give in to Thothmes’ importuning, and he, Huy, would be left alone with the servants and the wounded townspeople on this beautiful but ultimately meaningless estate. For it will be meaningless without her, his thoughts ran on. My pleasure has been in seeing her so happy with her jewels and fine linens and the freedom from toil that has slowly healed her body from the depredations of hard living. Now her smiles and caresses and the occasional fits of anger that stem from her indomitable spirit will go to Thothmes. He will be the one to take her in his arms, slide the sheath from her shoulders, expose her brown breasts, bring his mouth against hers, and her lips will open for him, her eyes will close … The same fantasies invaded his mind each time he sought refuge where the members of his staff could not find him, and he fought with a groan to banish them.
Therefore, he was not surprised when Ishat knocked on the door of his bedchamber on Thothmes’ last night with them. They had feasted as usual, and for once Thothmes had begun to talk about his and Huy’s schooldays together in the cell at Iunu, how they had become friends, how he had tried to pull Huy out of the temple lake when Sennefer’s throwing stick had sent him toppling into the water, how Huy had become like a second son to Nsakht and a brother to Nasha and Anuket during the times of the Inundation, when the school closed and, instead of going home to Hut-herib, Huy had taken up residence in the room in Nakht’s house that he soon began to think of as his own. In spite of his sadness, Huy found himself drawn in to Thothmes’ reminiscences, and was soon chuckling and adding his own memories; but he did not fail to notice that Ishat had withdrawn a little, leaning back on her cushions into the shadows, her cup of wine untouched on her low table. At the end of the evening they had retired. Huy had begun to doze when the door opened and Ishat came quietly to the side of his couch and stood looking down on him, her sleeping robe clutched tightly under her chin.
“Thothmes still wants me, and this time I have agreed to marry him,” she said without preamble. “He knows that I am not in love with him. He also knows that I do love him, in the same way that you love me. He says that he does not care, that my affection for him will grow with the regular joining of our bodies.”
Huy flinched. Sitting up, he held out a hand and at once Ishat passed him the kilt he had worn, which Tetiankh had left draped over the back of a chair.
“You did that without being asked,” he said. “We have known each other all our lives, Ishat, for so long that our thoughts often seem to merge. Are we not closer than husband and wife in this?” He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood, wrapping the kilt around his waist before perching tensely on its edge.
Ishat retreated to the chair and sat with fingers interlaced and knees together, her head lowered. “In your eyes we are like brother and sister. But to me you are the man I adore, have always adored, and can never have.” Now she looked up. “You fell in love with Anuket and she was given to another. Notwithstanding the proscription Atum has placed upon you, you must be aware of how I feel. You are in all my memories, Huy. Do you remember how I told you that I had lost my virginity to a young man I saw coming towards me through a field? I thought it was you, come home from school. Even up close he looked like you. My whole body, my ka, my heart, filled with joy and desire and anticipation, watching him stride thigh-deep through the flowers.” Her mouth trembled. “That is how I feel every day, from the moment I see you in the morning until we say good night and you disappear into your bedchamber, and the pain of it follows me into my sleep.” She unclenched her hands and turned them palms upward, a gesture of despair. “Just now you stood naked before me as you put on your kilt. You had no thought for what that sight meant to me, how I longed to fling myself to my knees and press my face against you. I cannot live like this anymore.”
Tears had begun to trickle silently down her cheeks, but she seemed unaware that she was crying. Huy watched her, a thousand memories of their childhood and the months together in their hovel rushing through his mind, but beneath them was the all too familiar guilt, as well as something new when he looked at her, a rage that began to grow, pushing aside both guilt and love. He rammed his teeth shut against it. I must not hurt her, I must not hurt her, he shouted dumbly at himself, and gradually the fury paled to a throb of ordinary anger.
“The gods have made me a selfish man,” he managed, though he wanted to grab and shake
her, lock her in her room, shout for Anhur to put a guard on her so that she could not slip from his grasp. “I was a self-willed, spoiled child, an only son to Hapu for a long time. I am still selfish. And possessive, Ishat. I have known for years how you love me. I have disregarded it so that I might keep my friend and dear companion beside me forever.” He swallowed, tasting saliva as acrid and bitter as gall. “Thothmes has made a wise choice. I know, better than he, that you will make him a loyal and faithful wife, and your intelligence will be a great asset to him in his work as Assistant Governor of his sepat. Will you leave with him tomorrow?” He could hardly bear to see the dawning relief in her eyes.
“No, of course not,” she said. “He will consult with Ra’s High Priest for an auspicious day on which the contract may be signed, and he will need time to have it drawn up and to send out scrolls of invitation to his friends.”
“Your mother will be overjoyed.” He could not keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “The daughter of a peasant marrying an aristocrat. You are luckier than I was.”
“Huy, don’t!” Her face crumpled. “Please don’t. I am trying to save my life!”
“Does Nakht agree to this?”
“Yes. He trusts Thothmes’ judgment.”
“He did not trust mine. He would not give me his daughter. But then, I was not a son of his body, was I? I was only a friend, after all.” He wanted to stand and dismiss her, but he knew his legs would not hold him up. “Please go now,” he croaked. “Find Tetiankh and tell him that I need a dose of poppy.”
Immediately, concern flooded her. She rose and took a step towards him, her hand reaching for his forehead, and he recoiled. Dropping her arm, she hesitated, was about to speak, but turned and left the room, her step unsteady. Huy found that he could hardly breathe. His chest was tight and his head had begun to throb behind his eyes. He saw himself flinging his lamp against the wall, slamming his shrine to the floor, ripping the window hanging from its rail—but he did none of these things. She would have made me a better wife than Anuket ever could, he thought wildly. She understands me perfectly. Anuket liked to play with me, the cat with the granary rat. Atum, Atum, have you no mercy for me? Will this thing between my legs remain forever useless, a constant reminder to me that I am only half a man, a reproach to every woman who might want me? Am I to spend the rest of my days Seeing for the poor of Hut-herib and the rich of Mennofer? Is my destiny to be no more than that?
When Tetiankh knocked and approached him, he was still sitting on the edge of the couch, his limbs so stiff that the body servant was forced to hold the drug to his mouth and then help him to lie down. He refused the offer of a massage with a shake of his head. Once the man had gone, Huy waited frantically for the poppy to begin its lulling song, but even when it started to take away the pain of his body and cocoon the distress of his mind, a residue of hopelessness remained.
3
In spite of the poppy, Huy did not sleep much that night, and when he did, his dreams were lurid and confused. At dawn, when he heard Ibi, Thothmes’ body servant, walk along the corridor, he got up, wound the dirty kilt of the previous day once more around his waist, and reached Ibi as he was about to step over the low sill leading out onto the roof of the reception hall. Bidding him a good morning, he took the tray Ibi was carrying. “I’ll take Thothmes his meal,” he said. “Go and heat the water for his bath.”
The first hot rays of the sun had just burst over the eastern horizon, casting a fleeting shadow across the uneven brickwork of the house’s upper floor. Thothmes’ travelling cot had been set up behind one of the north-facing wind catchers and was still shaded. Huy approached it and stood for a moment, staring down at his friend, who lay naked on his back, his wiry little body sprawled loosely over a wilted sheet. Love and jealousy flushed through him. Countless times in the cell they had shared at school he had seen Thothmes sleeping thus, his limbs flung out, his penis in its nest of black curls resting flaccid against his thigh. Now he imagined it stirring, filling, growing firm under Ishat’s caress, but before the vision could intensify, he set the tray beside his feet and gently touched Thothmes’ shoulder.
Thothmes’ eyes opened at once. He smiled. “There was no breeze last night,” he said, rolling over and sitting up with a yawn. “I sweat and I stink, and the stubble on my scalp is itchy. Where is Ibi? Is he ill?”
“I sent him to prepare the bathhouse for you.” Huy lowered himself onto the cot. “I wanted to talk to you in peace before you left.” He lifted the tray, balancing it by Thothmes’ tight brown buttock. “Ishat came to me last night and told me that she had at last accepted your offer of marriage. Do you really love her, Thothmes? Will you take care of her as I do?”
Thothmes sighed. Picking up the cup of water from the tray, he drained it, reached for the milk, drained that, and lifted the small bunch of red grapes. Placing one on his palm, he pushed the dusty fruit delicately to and fro, watching the action of his finger.
“I really love her. Still love her,” he answered. “Nakht tried to persuade me to look for a wife among the daughters of his friends, but I never once considered doing so.” Now he glanced up at Huy, his face troubled. “I feel guilty all the time, Huy, knowing how much you depend on her, how close to her you are. I could deny my desire for her, make an advantageous union with a woman of my own station, and build an apartment for Ishat as my first concubine.” He smiled, a wry twist of his mouth. “Ishat would never be content to walk behind another woman. As for myself, I want a wife with whom I can share my thoughts, not just my body.”
“She doesn’t love you.”
“I know. Her heart belongs to you. But it does her no good, does it?” He pulled another grape off its stem, put the rest back on the tray, and closed his fist slowly around both. “Since we were children together at school, we’ve shared every secret with each other, laughed and played together, comforted each other. While you were trying to make sense out of the Book of Thoth, you recited its words to me. I confided everything to you regarding my family, my fears and joys, my hopes for my future. Nothing has ever come between us. I beg you, Huy, let it always be so. Let me have Ishat without rancour, and go on loving us both.”
Hearing the two of them coupled together in Thothmes’ words gave Huy a pang of such swift pain that his hand went to his chest, as though his heart itself was writhing. “No, it does her no good,” he agreed with difficulty, “and I have closed my mind to the possibility that one day she might want the respectability of a home of her own, and children. Somehow I have never thought of Ishat as particularly domesticated, even though she once cooked and cleaned in my mother’s house. It hurts me, Thothmes. I need time to accept this. I wish that you had not tried to avoid me, that you had come to me, not I to you.”
Thothmes put a warm hand on his wrist. “I know. I’m truly sorry. Guilt has made me a coward. I left it to Ishat to give you her final word instead of me.” He opened his fist, bounced the grapes on his palm, then flung them over the edge of the roof. “She’s stronger than me, Huy. Stronger than both of us, I think. I believe that the deep affection she has for me will one day become as powerful as her love for you. I need your blessing. More than her mother and her sad peasant of a father, you are her guardian. Bless us, and go on loving us for the sake of the friendship that binds us all.”
“I am not generous enough to see her pass into your arms without a morass of bitterness,” Huy retorted. “I want to keep her for myself, to myself, even if it means that her womanhood withers away.” He rose. “You have always known how selfish I truly am, Thothmes. Who will aid me in the god’s work? Know what I am thinking, what I want, with just a glance into my eyes? Love for me gives her that gift, a gift you may find she is unable to exercise with you. No Egyptian man may own a woman. Take her, then, of her own free will, and give me time to remember how I love you both.”
He could say no more. The tears that he had sworn he would never again shed prickled behind his eyelids and thickened his throat. St
riding away across the roof, he hardened himself ruthlessly against them until, by the time he turned in at the door of his bedchamber, he had achieved an equilibrium. Tetiankh had made up his couch with fresh linen, set out a kilt and jewels for the day, and left a tray on his table containing the same food Huy had carried to Thothmes. Huy’s gorge rose at the sight of it.
Returning to the hallway, he shouted for his body servant. “Bring me beer this morning,” he ordered as Tetiankh appeared at the head of the stairs. “I feel too parched for either water or milk. And send to me at once when Thothmes has finished in the bathhouse. Put my jewellery and my sandals away. I don’t want them today.”
The usual crowd of townspeople was already gathering outside the closed gates. Huy did not want to deal with their problems until after Thothmes and his staff had left. Ishat was waiting for him in his office. She looked pale under her face paint, and the eyes that met his were wary. “A scroll has come from the palace,” she said. “The wax bears the imprint of the sedge and bee. Shall I read it to you?”
Huy nodded. She fumbled as she broke the seal, and cried out as pieces of red wax floated to the floor, then she tossed the scroll onto the desk and covered her face with both hands. “Don’t hate me, Huy,” she sobbed. “I could no longer live if you hated me.”
With one long step, Huy was in front of her. Grasping her wrists, he forced them apart. “Look at me!” he commanded. “I do not know this craven woman! Where is the Ishat who defied her mother, who made stealing from Khenti-kheti’s kitchens a game, who called Thothmes’ sister a little bitch, who was so determined to master the skills of a scribe that she used a piece of charcoal and the bulging wall of a hovel to write the symbols? That Ishat would pour scorn upon these feeble tears and take the consequences of her decision, whatever they might be.” He dropped her arms. “I should give you a good shake and send you to your room. Read the scroll.”
Seer of Egypt Page 7
