by Jerry Dubs
Tim and Diane
Tim waited all day for the right time to cross the canal.
If Brian had been with Diane, he would have gone to the edge of the canal and waved a greeting, calling out in English, as soon as he had seen them. But he was worried about Brian’s absence.
Paneb had told him that Djefi was mean and vicious. Was Brian being held hostage? Had he been hurt?
Tim wanted to talk to Diane privately and find out. They could make a plan, meet somewhere, go back to the tomb and return to their lives. At least, they could. Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted to return, there was nothing waiting for him in the future but memories.
Djefi, however, was only half the problem. The black woman never left Diane’s side, and Diane seemed happy with all attention. She smiled when the woman caressed her, ate from her hand and snuggled up against her to nap when the afternoon heat started to press against them.
As the early evening light began to lose its strength, the festival caught a second wind.
Many of the pilgrims had taken a nap. They were awake now and ready to be entertained.
The ram-masked men returned, untied the barge and pulled it around the far side of the stone island to continue its trip. The twelve pairs of torches that lined the canal from the central island to the far wall, where the barge would leave, were lit. Hetephernebti returned, accompanied by her coterie of young girls, all dressed in white gowns. Three elderly harp players set up on the far side of the canal by the nobles and a line of priestesses holding sacred sistrums lined the second half of the waterway.
Hetephernebti had washed away her glittering gold covering. Back-lit by the setting sun, her elegant form was a dark silhouette sheathed in a translucent gown trimmed with bands of deep gold and dark red. Accompanied by the strumming harps and the dry rattle of the sistrums, she began a song of praise to Re as the ram-masked men began to pull the god and his barge slowly down the canal toward the western exit.
The eastern side of the electrum obelisk was dark now, the torches on that side unlit. The hieroglyphic etchings on the northern and southern sides were caught in shadows cast by the flickering torches. As Tim saw them he felt a disturbing wave of deja-vu and flashed back to the ceremony he had imagined beneath the Step Pyramid.
The uneasy recognition stayed with him, coloring the excitement he felt rising from the crowd as it joined in Hetephernebti’s chant and the light faded. The eastern edge of the plaza was caught in a dusky light. Dark shadows shrouded the western wall that encircled the courtyard. A darker shadow defined the exit through which Re’s canal would pass.
The courtyard grew darker as the priestesses extinguished each torch as Re’s barge passed it.
Although the crowd continued to chant the praises of Re, Hetephernebti seemed to have sunk into a trance. She stood by the entrance to the tunnel that represented the netherworld, chanting the forms of Re’s name to help him on his night-time journey: ‘He of the West,’ ‘He Who has Command Over his Cave,’ ‘He who Renews the Earth,’ ‘He of the Netherworld.’
Tim saw dark forms emerge from the ‘netherworld’ entrance, priestesses portraying gods who would accompany Re through the night and help him in his rebirth tomorrow morning.
One figure was a slight girl who held a large ostrich feather, symbol of the goddess Ma’at, Re’s closest ally. Another wore a headpiece made of the horns of a cow with a golden disk rising between them, a sign of the goddess Hathor. The goddess Nut, who would swallow Re at night and give birth to him in the morning, waited with them for arrival of the barge.
Hetephernebti’s chanting of Re’s names ended and she began to call out magical spells to help the god survive his twelve hours in the land beyond life.
As the next to last pair of torches were extinguished, Tim heard a whispered excitement course through the crowd. Along the shadowy walls walked men carrying bags that seemed alive with movement. Some small children near Tim began to whimper and he saw a gleam of anticipation and fear in the eyes of the adults near him. He looked around for his friends, but could not see them.
Re’s barge slid quietly into the dark opening, the last two torches were extinguished and Hetephernebti began to wail in mourning at the god’s passing. All around him, women and girls joined in the lamentation. Caught up in the moment, the older men shuffled their feet and wept silently. Young boys, trying to be brave, looked down at the ground but Tim saw their shoulders shudder as they sobbed.
Suddenly the crying was interspersed with shrieks, coming from the edges of the plaza, now dimly lighted by the first of night’s stars. Tim saw movement as the pilgrims nearest the walls began to jump and scream.
The frenzied movement rippled across the plaza, preceded by cries and shouts and then Tim saw the reason: swarms of scarab beetles, the symbol of Re’s rising and rebirth, had been released from along the walls. The heavy-bodied black beetles scuttled quickly among the pilgrims’ bare feet, climbing over them as they skittered across the plaza.
The crowd danced away from the dangerous looking beetles, trying to avoid contact with the sacred symbols. After the first rush of adrenaline, the pilgrims, knowing that the beetles really were harmless, began to laugh and shout exaggerated warnings to each other.
As the scarabs disappeared into the shadows, the pilgrims, murmuring their approval of the ceremony, turned to the food and beer tables that had been refilled.
Tim looked to the western wall where the barge was now out of sight. The torches along the walls and canal where being re-lit. Tim saw the ‘goddesses’ at the exit look out over the crowd for a moment before turning to enter the cave of night.
In the flickering light, Tim realized that the girl who was holding the ostrich feather was the same one he had seen smearing the Nile’s mud on herself yesterday.
The crowd grew quiet as they finished eating and drinking. Worn from the day’s excitement, the children began to gather with their parents, and some families filtered away from the plaza toward their campsites.
On the other side of the canal, where no scarabs had been released, some of the chairs had been replaced by low wooden beds. The nobles and priests, too tired or drunk to return to their rooms, were lounging there, talking and drinking.
Tim saw Djefi’s round form slouched in a chair, his feet propped on a footrest. His arms hung limply at his side. His head twitched occasionally as he slept. Diane and the black woman were lying on a palm-frond-filled mat on the ground.
Servants moved among the slumbering nobles and priests, gathering empty ceramic jars and wooden plates.
Paneb and Ahmes approached Tim as he looked across the canal. Paneb was walking stiffly, clearly trying to keep his balance. One hand rested on Ahmes shoulder as they approached. Tim saw the women waiting near one of the arched openings in the plaza wall.
“We’re going back to the camp,” Paneb said slowly and carefully.
Tim smiled. Even drunk, Paneb was a considerate host. He shook his head. “Go without me,” Tim said. “I will be there soon.”
“Do you know the way, Netjer Tim?” Ahmes asked. “I can stay with you.”
Tim nodded. “I can find you,” he said.
“Of course he knows the way,” Paneb said a little too loudly. “Do you forget who he is?”
“Are you sure?” Ahmes asked Tim.
“Yes, go with your father. I am fine,” Tim said.
“If you drink any beer, be careful to look in the jar first. I saw some kids putting some of those nasty dung beetles in some of the jars,” Paneb said over his shoulder as Ahmes led him away. “I never heard of such a thing. Such a waste. Why if I had done that…”
His voice trailed into a low murmur. Ahmes looked back once and waved at Tim, who returned the wave.
Once they were outside the plaza, Tim walked casually to the edge of the canal near the island.
Behind him, only a few families and stragglers remained, all of them clustered near the food and beer tables. Across the canal, he heard on
ly the deep breath and occasional snort or snore from the nobles.
Looking carefully into the canal, he found the nearly invisible footbridge just below the water’s surface. Cautiously he stepped onto it and crossed to the island where he found a similar underwater bridge to the other side of the canal.
Once on the opposite bank, he crouched and waited for a moment to see if there would be any reaction from the group of sleepers. Then he walked quietly to Diane’s small group.
Djefi was snoring heavily; Diane and the black woman were entangled, breathing softly and deeply.
Tim knelt by Diane and touched her shoulder.
“Diane? Don’t be startled. Are you alright? Where’s Brian?” he whispered.
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“My name is Tim. I’m from our time. I can help you.”
Her gaze was unfocused and Tim wondered if she was too drunk to understand him.
“I saw you and Brian enter the tomb. I followed you. Where’s Brian? Is he hurt?”
She shook her head. “Who are you?” she asked sleepily, raising herself up her elbow.
“My name is Tim,” he spoke slowly.
“Don’t know any Tims. Sorry,” she started to giggle, then suddenly leaned toward him and vomited. Then she sank back on the bed and closed her eyes. As she lay back, Tim saw that the black woman was awake, watching and listening.
He stood slowly to leave and gasped in surprise as the other woman reached across Diane and grabbed his kilt.
“Who are you?” she hissed in Egyptian.
“Who are you?” he answered, straightening up. He tried to sound important and godly, but knew that his voice sounded frightened.
“What do you know of Brian?” she said loudly, her grip tightening on his kilt.
She spoke too quickly and Tim didn’t understand the question. He looked down at her hand and said, “No.”
She pulled tighter as he backed away. The kilt’s waist tore and the linen came loose in her hand. Wearing only his boxer briefs, Tim turned away from her.
“Stop him! Stop the thief!” the woman yelled. Tim saw Djefi stir and other shadows began to move. He ran toward the island, hearing footsteps following him.
Afraid of slipping on the narrow submerged walkway, he ran past it and dove into the water. Staying under it, he swam through the darkness toward the opening in the western wall.
“Where is the thief?” a temple guard asked as he ran up to stand beside Yunet who was by the canal, staring into the water.
“Get me a torch!” she commanded.
“I don’t see anyone,” the guard said.
“Of course not, it’s too dark. He went in there. Get a torch!” She watched the water and looked along both banks of the canal, watching to see where he emerged.
The guard returned with two companions, each of them carrying small torches, their flames wavering uncertainly. There was no movement atop the water or along the canal. To Yunet, who had never heard of someone swimming underwater, the stranger’s disappearance was impossible.
“Get more guards, search the plaza.”
“What does he look like?” The first guard asked.
She looked at him in disgust. “He’ll be the wet one, you idiot. Go!”
Tim stayed under the water as long as he could and then feeling his way along the bank, he rose slowly to the surface, quickly sucked in fresh air and then swam back toward the bottom of the shallow canal.
The water was too dark to see his way, so he swam along the edge, feeling his way away from the shouting woman. He focused on swimming and staying near the bottom of the canal and tried to push away thoughts of spears slashing through the water or a circle of guards waiting when he broke the surface.
He didn’t know how far he had swum, but the water seemed darker now. Bubbles escaped from his mouth as he released the pressure that was growing in his lungs. He hoped they wouldn’t be seen on the surface.
He pushed his arms out, pulled back again and knew he needed to get some air.
Feeling the bank on his right side, he floated upward. He felt his heart beat fast and hard as he broke the surface and drew air deeply into his lungs.
He was inside the exit tunnel. The canal stretched away toward the lighter area outside. He heard the woman still shouting and saw shadows hurrying across the island to the other side of the canal.
He closed his eyes to help them adjust to the darkness.
When he opened them he saw that someone was standing back from the canal in the darker shadows by the tunnel wall.
“I saw you,” she said.
Tim stood still, unsure what to say. The canal ran flush against the other side of the tunnel. A narrow footpath ran along the side where he stood. He wondered where it would lead.
“Yesterday, by the river. Early in the morning,” she said.
With a start Tim realized who she was.
“Help me,” he said quietly. “Help me leave.” He looked back out the tunnel and saw torches bobbing closer to the canal entrance.
The girl followed his gaze and saw the guards coming closer. “Give me those,” she said, pointing to his boxer briefs.
“What?” Tim said.
“Hurry,” she said.
Although Tim didn’t know that word, he understood the urgency in her voice and heard the footsteps behind them drawing closer to the canal opening. In the darkness of the tunnel he slid the wet boxer briefs off and handed them to her.
She turned and ran down the path away from the plaza. Tim leaned back against the wall, trying to make himself less visible.
In a few seconds she returned. “Follow me,” she said. She reached out her hand and took his. Pulling him gently she led the way down the path and turned into a narrow opening that left the main trial.
“I am Meryt. You talk strangely,” she said.
“I am Tim,” he said as she led him along a winding garden path to the back of the temple complex.
“What thief? What are you talking about?” Djefi squeaked in his high-pitched voice. He had struggled to his feet, but was not fully awake. He didn’t understand what Yunet was talking about and why men were running around the nearly deserted plaza carrying torches. He felt his stomach gurgle as another flush of half-digested food and wine prepared to spew its way out of his stomach.
“Another netjer,” Yunet said quietly.
She was speaking slowly, separating her words carefully. She did that sometimes when Djefi made her explain something a second time.
“What do you mean?” he said, looking around for a serving boy.
“He spoke their language. He named Brian.”
Suddenly Djefi fell to his hands and knees and threw up. Yunet turned away. She understood communing with the gods and she enjoyed the feeling of oneness she experienced when she had drunk enough of the sacred wine. But she never threw it up again. One did that only if they continued to drink more than they needed.
But Djefi is a man of excesses, she thought. Like all men.
“Boy!” Djefi shouted weakly.
A servant boy ran up to him, sized up his bulk and quickly waved for another boy to join them.
“More wine. And bread. Much more bread! And help me to a chair.”
Yunet looked around the plaza. The guards had followed the wall around the entire courtyard without finding the intruder. Two had entered the narrow tunnel entrance by the western wall. They hadn’t returned yet.
“We were sleeping,” Yunet told Djefi, speaking slowly again. “I heard someone approach. He knelt by Diane and talked to her in that strange language they use. She answered him, then she got sick and fell back asleep. I asked him who he was, but he refused to answer. Then he ran away. I grabbed his kilt, but it came loose.”
“Was he big like the other one?” Djefi asked.
She shook her head.
“He looked like an Egyptian. He was dressed like a common worker.” She held up the torn kilt. “But he wore something else.
”
Djefi waved his hand at her comment. He was more interested in what the stranger had said.
“Wake Diane.”
Yunet didn’t want to disturb the goddess, she was so delicate and innocent lying there as everyone around her shouted and ran. Such serenity and calmness! But she knew that Djefi wouldn’t be satisfied until he had asked her about the stranger.
Hetephernebti was sad.
People were so consumed by their fears and ambitions, their desires. They were so busy planning and plotting their lives that they failed to live them. Each waking moment was a gift from Re. His warmth and blessing were given every day to everyone: poor, strong, crippled, farmers, builders, merchants, women, children, young and old.
All he asks in return is for us to live, fully alive and aware. He brings light and life to all. We can surely take his energy and use it to live. It should be so simple.
Djefi and his small entourage were almost vibrating with anger and distrust. Just look at him, fat, sweating, angry. How can he live like that? She wondered.
“A thief in the night. This is not the hospitality one expects,” he said sulkily. His tiny voice, so odd for his size, was petulant, like a little boy who has been denied the last sweet cake.
Hetephernebti nodded. “Please find First Prophet Djefi a comfortable seat,” she said to a serving girl. She looked at Yunet who stood slightly behind the quivering priest. With her dark flashing eyes and tightly pressed lips, it was obvious to Hetephernebti that it was Yunet who was bringing the charge.
The servant brought a chair for Djefi, who ungainly plopped into it.
“Now, First Prophet, what has the thief taken?”
Djefi squirmed in his seat. He held out a hand to Yunet who put the torn kilt into it.
“He left this behind,” he said.
She nodded gravely as if leaving a torn kilt behind were a high offense.
“I hope you were not harmed by the dropping of his kilt,” she said.
Djefi stared at her, aware that she was mocking him.
