EQMM, June 2012

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

  Our guide cleared his throat. “Allow me to explain. There are three categories of mummification. First class is very expensive, second class much less so, and third class is very cheap, only for the poor. When a man dies, the embalmers present the family with a price list of every item required for the funeral, and the family decides what it can afford.”

  “And this includes mummification?”

  “Yes.” Kemsa shrugged. “This is something all Egyptians know.”

  “But I don't. Tell me more.”

  “A great many skilled artisans are involved in the process. One man examines the body and inscribes marks to indicate where the cuts should be made. Another man uses an obsidian blade to make the incisions. Then the embalmers reach inside and remove all the internal organs. Those that are vital, like the heart and kidneys, they wash in palm wine and spices and place in sealed jars. Those organs that are useless, they dispose of. The brain is the hardest thing to get rid of; the embalmers must insert slender iron hooks and tweezers into the nostrils to pull out all the bits of gray matter. The cavities in the body are then filled with myrrh and cinnamon and frankincense and other spices known only to the embalmers, and then the incisions are sewn up and the body is packed in saltpeter. After seventy days, the body is washed and wrapped in long strips of the finest linen, and the mummification is complete. This is the first-class method, which everyone desires, and the result is a body flawlessly preserved, with the hair and eyebrows and even the eyelids perfectly intact, so that the dead man appears merely to sleep.”

  “Remarkable!” I said. “And the second method of mummification?”

  Kemsa raised an eyebrow. “Those who cannot afford the best must settle for the middle way. No cuts are made and no organs are removed. Instead, the embalmers fill large syringes with cedar oil and inject the fluid through the dead man's anus and mouth and then plug him up, so the fluid cannot run out. The body is packed in saltpeter for the prescribed number of days, then the plugs are removed and the fluid is drained out of him from both ends. The cedar oil dissolves the internal organs, you see, and the saltpeter desiccates the flesh, so that what remains is mostly hide and bones, but such a mummy is protected from corruption and bears some resemblance to the original, living body. Still, such a mummy is not suitable for display, even to family members. Would you care for more pomegranate?”

  I shook my head, feeling slightly queasy. “And the third way?”

  Kemsa shuddered. “Let us not speak of it. As I said, it is only for the desperately poor who can afford no better, and I do not think you would like me to describe the results.”

  I nodded. “If a body is mummified in the best way, what then becomes of it?”

  “The mummy is returned to the family, placed inside a wooden case inscribed with the formulas needed to reach the Land of the Dead. Some cases are very ornate, but other are less so, depending on how much the family spends—”

  “For our fathers, the sons of my family never purchased less than the very best of mummy cases!” cried Djal suddenly. Then he lowered his face and was silent again.

  “So the mummy is put in a case,” I said, “and then what becomes of it?”

  “After the funeral rites,” said Kemsa, “the mummy is taken to the family vault and leaned against the wall, upright in his case, so that when his descendants visit they may gaze upon him face to face. If the family is too poor to purchase a vault in a consecrated area, they may add a room to their house, and keep their ancestors there. Some people actually prefer such a room to a cemetery vault, for it makes it convenient for them to converse with their ancestors every day.”

  I considered this. “If a man's spirit moves on to the Land of the Dead, of what use is his mummy?”

  Kemsa looked at me as if I were a simpleton. Djal wailed and buried his face in his hands.

  Kemsa explained. “After death, the ka is freed from the body and seeks to find its way through many perils to the Land of the Dead. But for the ka to survive, it is essential that the earthly body be preserved from decay and supplied with all the everyday needs of life. The ka is not immortal; if the mummy perishes, the ka, too, will perish. That is why the mummy must be preserved and protected. That is why a man's descendant must give regular offerings to his mummy—so that his ka may continue to thrive in the next world.”

  “Oh, what have I done!” cried Djal, throwing back his head and beating his fists against his chest. “What have I done?”

  “What has he done?” I whispered to our guide.

  Kemsa drew back his shoulder and looked sidelong at the wretched man. “I think I know. You bartered the mummy of an ancestor, didn't you?”

  Djal shuddered and stiffened. “Yes! For a handful of silver, I gave away the mummy of my father!”

  “What is he talking about?” I said.

  “This man is the lowest of the low,” declared Kemsa. “He has used the mummy of his father as collateral.”

  Antipater's eyebrows shot up. “Herodotus writes of such a practice. If a man finds himself in dire straits, he may use the mummy of a family member to obtain a loan. So this practice still exists?”

  “Only among those who have no respect for the dead,” declared Kemsa, who spat on the ground.

  “I was desperate,” whispered Djal. “The floods came late two years in a row; twice my crops were ruined. All I had left I invested in a caravan to bring incense from Arabia. Then my wife and little daughter both fell ill. I needed money to pay the physicians. And so . . .”

  “You gave up the mummy of your father in return for a loan?” I said.

  Djal nodded. “There is a man in Memphis named Mhotep who specializes in such loans. A greedy, wicked man—”

  “No man is more wicked than he who abandons the mummy of his father!” declared Kemsa.

  Djal raised his chin defiantly. “I had every expectation that I would be able to repay the loan. But then the caravan was lost in a sandstorm, and with it the last of my fortune. All the money Mhotep lent me I had already spent, on physicians. My daughter recovered, but my wife is still ill. The repayment of the loan was set to fall due at the commencement of the annual inundation, which will happen any day now, and I have nothing to give to Mhotep.”

  “Sell your house,” said Kemsa.

  “And put my wife on the street? She would surely die.”

  “Your first duty is to your father. I've heard of this Mhotep. Do you know how he treats the mummies he collects as collateral? As long as there is a chance of repayment, he keeps them in a sealed room, crowded together and starved of offerings but safe from the elements. But if a debtor defaults, the mummy is never seen again. They say Mhotep dumps them in a ravine in the Libyan mountains, where insects and lizards and jackals feast on the remains, and whatever is left is turned to dust by the sun, then scattered by the wind—”

  “Stop!” Djal clutched his face and shuddered.

  “Tell them what happens to a man who gives up a mummy for a loan and never redeems it,” said Kemsa. “You cannot speak? Then I will tell them. If this wretched fellow should die without recovering the mummy of his father, the law forbids that he should be mummified, even by the standards of the third class. Nor can he be given funeral rites. His body will rot. His ka will perish forever.”

  “Oh, what have I done?” cried Djal. “What a fool I am!”

  “But you spoke of someone coming to save you,” I said. “That was why you were in the pyramid, wasn't it?”

  “When I saw the hopelessness of my situation, I went to the priests of all the temples in Memphis, begging for their help. Only the priests of Isis showed any interest in my plight. They disapprove of men like Mhotep and would drive them from the city if they could. They called upon Mhotep and appealed to him to be merciful. At first he refused, but the priests were persistent, and at last Mhotep told them: ‘Let this man Djal answer the second riddle of the sphinx, and I will return the mummy to him!’ He sa
id it with a smirk, of course, because no one yet has been able to answer the riddle.”

  “A second riddle of the sphinx?” I said. “Only the other day, seeing the sphinxes outside the Temple of Serapis, Antipater and I recalled the famous riddle that was posed to Oedipus. But I've never heard of a second riddle.”

  “Nor have I,” said Antipater.

  “No?” said Kemsa. “Everyone in Memphis knows it. Mothers tease their children with it, for it is a commonplace that no one can solve it. It goes like this: I am seen by all who pass, but no one sees me. I posed a riddle that everyone knows, but no one knows me. I look toward the Nile, but I turn my back upon the pyramids.”

  Antipater snorted. “Like most riddles, this one probably has an obvious solution, but it sounds like nonsense. How could a thing be seen by everyone, and yet be invisible?”

  “You were unable to solve it?” I said.

  “How could I possibly do what no one else has been able to do?” said Djal. “The riddle mentions the pyramids, so finally, in desperation, I came here, to the temple of Isis that stands in the shadow of the pyramids. I prostrated myself in the sanctuary and prayed to the goddess to show me the answer. One of the priests overheard me. I explained my situation. He prayed with me, told me that Isis had shown him a solution. I was to enter the Great Pyramid, lie in the empty sarcophagus I would find inside, and await the coming of the one who would show me the answer to the riddle. It seemed a mad thing to do, but what choice did I have? As night fell, when no one was watching, the priest showed me the entrance to the pyramid, and lit a torch to light my way. I descended the passage alone. I found the sarcophagus. I lay inside it, like a dead man. When the torch burned out, I was in darkness. But I trusted Isis, and prayed incessantly, and awaited the coming of the one with the answer. But alas, no divine visitor ever came! Only . . . you.”

  Djal cocked his head and gave me a strange look. I thought nothing of it, until I saw that Antipater and Kemsa were also looking at me in a curious way. And so, I suddenly realized, was a tall, imposing figure who suddenly loomed behind us in the doorway of the temple.

  The newcomer was dressed in a long linen gown with splendid embroidery. The garment fitted tightly across his chest but below his midsection it hung in loose pleats to his feet. His head was completely shaved. His staring eyes were outlined with kohl.

  “Priest of Isis!” cried Djal, prostrating himself on the steps. “I did as you commanded me, but Isis never came. Nor did Anubis. Nor did any god or messenger, only this young man—a Roman who calls himself Gordianus.”

  The priest continued to stare at me. “How curious that Isis should have sent a mortal to do her bidding—and a Roman at that!”

  I cleared my throat. “No one sent me. Antipater and I are travelers. We came to Egypt to see the Great Pyramid, because it's one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was only by chance that we came on this day, and that we found a guide who knows how to enter the pyramid, and that this poor fellow happened to be inside.”

  “Only by chance, you say?” The priest pursed his lips. “What sort of man are you, Roman?”

  “A man who solves riddles!” declared Antipater, rising to his feet. He gazed at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.

  “I hardly claim it as a profession,” I said quietly, feeling thoroughly disconcerted. “To be sure, on our journey, I have had occasion to use my powers of deduction—”

  “On occasion?” said Antipater. “You do so invariably, I would say. Think about it, Gordianus. First in Ephesus, when that girl was shut up in the cave, and then in Halicarnassus, when the widows—”

  “There's no need to recite our whole itinerary!” I snapped.

  “But don't you see, Gordianus? You are a solver of riddles. I've seen you do it time and again. It would seem that you possess a special ability, a power, which others do not. Such gifts come from the gods. And here we find ourselves at the consummation of our journey, at the first and greatest of the Wonders, and what should appear but a riddle—awaiting you to solve it.”

  “But Antipater, I don't know the answer. I heard the riddle just now, and I have no idea what it means.”

  “Are you sure? Think, Gordianus!”

  I mumbled to myself, reciting the bits I could recall. “Seen by all who pass . . . no one sees me . . . a riddle that everyone knows, but no one knows me . . . I sit among the pyramids. . . .” I shook my head. “It means nothing to me.”

  “But you are the one sent by Isis,” said the priest. “Come, let us pray to her, at once!”

  We followed the priest inside. The walls of the sanctuary were covered with hieroglyphics recounting the story of Isis, the great Egyptian goddess of magic and fertility, sister-wife of Osiris and mother of Horus. The images dazzled me, though at the time I knew little of her story—how she gathered the scattered remains of Osiris after he was slain by the evil Set and oversaw the miracle of his rebirth.

  Dominating the sanctuary was a statue of the goddess. On her head she wore a crown made of two curving horns that held between them a golden solar disk. Between her breasts, suspended from a necklace, was the sacred object called the Isis Knot, shaped like an ankh but with the arms turned down; as I would later learn, it was a symbol of her monthly flow, which in some divine way was connected with the annual inundation of the Nile. One hand was raised to touch one breast; the other held a breast-shaped vessel for the collection of her sacred milk. Her broad face was beautiful and serene, radiating wisdom.

  “The goddess will tell me what must be done,” declared the priest. “Then you will do as Isis prescribes, and the answer to the riddle will come to you. I am sure of it.” He turned to the statue and raised his arms. “O Isis, universal mother, mistress of the elements, primordial child of time, sovereign of all things divine, queen of the living, queen of the dead, queen of the immortals, singular and utmost manifestation of all gods and goddesses, known by many names in many places, we call upon you!”

  I shivered and felt slightly faint. What sort of test or labor might Isis demand of me? I had a feeling I was not going to like the answer.

  * * * *

  “Gordianus of Rome, you fool!” I whispered. “How did you ever get yourself into such a predicament?”

  There was no one but myself to hear the words. Lit by the last flickering light of my torch, the granite walls surrounding me made no answer.

  As the sun had begun to set behind the Libyan mountains, I had climbed once again to the hidden doorway of the Great Pyramid, accompanied only by the priest of Isis. Antipater, Djal, and Kemsa watched from below as the priest lifted the stone panel for me and lit a torch. Then, holding the torch in one hand and clutching the rope in the other, for the second time that day I descended into the heart of the pyramid. Above me, the priest let the panel fall shut.

  Alone, I reached the burial chamber.

  For as long as the torch burned strongly, I simply stood there, staring at the sarcophagus. Then the torch began to sputter, and I thought to myself: If I am to lie in the empty sarcophagus of Cheops, as Isis prescribed, now is the time to do it. Once the torch went out, I would surely become disoriented and lose all sense of direction. I might also lose my nerve completely, and go scrambling back up the narrow passage, desperate to escape from the bowels of the pyramid.

  Isis had directed Djal to seek a solution to his problem by lying in the sarcophagus. According to her priest, she had directed me to do the same thing, promising that an answer to the riddle would come to me. It seemed to me that this Egyptian goddess was singularly lacking in imagination, to prescribe the same ordeal to two suppliants in a row.

  When the priest made this announcement, I immediately protested—the very idea was madness—and looked to Antipater to back me up. But my old tutor had done the opposite. He seemed convinced that everything the priest said must be true, and that I was indeed the emissary promised by Isis.

  “Everything that's happened since we left Rome has been leading to thi
s moment,” he declared. “You must do this, Gordianus. It is your destiny.”

  Antipater's certainty left me speechless. The priest nodded gravely. Djal fell to his knees and looked up at me imploringly. I looked to Kemsa, hoping he might tell me that Djal deserved his fate, but instead he embraced me, as one might a valiant warrior about to leave on a doomed mission, and wiped tears from his eyes.

  “And to think, it was I, humble Kemsa, who led you to your destiny!”

  They were all determined that I should do as the goddess desired. In truth, some part of me was flattered by their confidence, and intrigued by the challenge. But once inside the pyramid, that part of me began to dwindle and fade, rather like the flame of the dying torch.

  “Madness!” I whispered as I stepped inside the sarcophagus and stretched out full-length. The rough-hewn granite felt cold to the touch. I clutched the stump of the torch and stared at the last dying embers until the orange glow faded to utter blackness. I cast the stump away and folded my hands over my chest.

  “Now what?” I said aloud.

  No answer came, only silence.

  I shut my eyes, then opened them. It made no difference. I was surrounded by infinite blackness. I blinked and suddenly found myself confused: Were my eyes open or shut? I had to reach up to touch my eyelids to be sure.

  As complete as the darkness was the silence. I found myself making small noises, snapping my fingers or clicking my teeth, simply to reassure myself that I had not gone deaf.

  Eventually the utter lack of sight and sound, unnerving at first, began to have a sedative effect. I closed my eyes and lay perfectly still. It had been a long, hot, tiring day. Did I doze, or only imagine that I did so? I seemed to enter a state of consciousness I had never experienced before, neither asleep nor awake.

  A succession of images and ideas passed through my mind. As one thought faded, leaving only a dim impression, another took its place. Where was I? What time was it? I reminded myself that it was night, and I was inside the Great Pyramid, but these demarcations lost all meaning. I sensed that I had arrived at a place and a moment that were at the very center of time and space, outside the ordinary realm of mortal experience.