by Jerry Dubs
The early days of her illness were lost to her in a hot haze of fever and pain. Her first memory of her new life - that was how she viewed her miraculous recovery - was of Tim. She had awakened before dawn, thirsty and free of the stomach pains that had felt as if Sobek was gnawing on her belly. Her head was in his lap as he sat, leaning against the mud brick wall of the small hut they were using. He was asleep, his face drawn from worry, but a small smile was on his lips.
She had reached up a weak hand and traced the curve of his lips, feeling the raspy scratch of the stubble of his beard that had grown overnight. As her fingertip had moved slowly across his lips, he unconsciously had kissed it, so loving and gentle, even in his sleep.
She had brought her hand down to her mouth and kissed the same spot on her fingertip.
A guard was waiting for them on the riverbank.
“Come with me,” he said, turning and leading them along the riverbank to a broad avenue that led inward to the town.
They arrived at a wide doorway in a smoothly plastered whitewashed wall. Guards stood by twin pillars embedded by the doorway.
“Where are we?” Tim asked Meryt.
“I’ve never been to Waset,” she said.
The guard paused by the doorway.
“High Priestess Hetephernebti is with King Djoser, they want to see you,” he said. He stood aside and motioned for them to enter the building.
Tim’s mouth went dry and he felt his heart begin to race. King Djoser! A few weeks ago, in the dead of night at Saqqara, he had slowly pushed his hand through the opening in the wall of the Serdab and traced the contours of the stone bust of the king’s face, a statue of a man who had been dead five thousand years. Now he was about to meet him.
“Say “Life, prosperity, health,’ when we meet him,” Meryt said.
“Really?”
“Tim, I have never met the king, but everyone knows how you greet him. After that…” she shrugged her small shoulders.
King Djoser was seated on a golden throne on a slightly raised dais. He wore a white linen kilt, and a broad jeweled pectoral that covered most of his chest. In his right hand he held a flail, royal symbol of power.
Hetephernebti stood behind him on his left, an older man in immaculate white robes stood at Djoser’s right hand.
“Life, prosperity, health!” Meryt said when she and Tim had come to a stop. Tim echoed her words, happily surprised to hear his voice match Meryt’s sincere tone.
Djoser nodded in response.
“I am pleased to see you well, Meryt,” Hetephernebti said.
“Thank you, High Priestess,” Meryt said. “And you are well, I hope.”
Hetephernebti smiled at the girl’s question, how like her to make innocent conversation even in the presence of the king.
“They say you are a god,” King Djoser said, ignoring the exchange between the two women.
“I have heard some people say that,” Tim answered, glancing at Meryt. “But I am just a man, King Djoser.”
“Life, health, prosperity!” Meryt added automatically, nudging Tim.
“Life, health, prosperity,” Tim added quickly.
Kanakht leaned toward King Djoser and spoke softly. The king listened to his adviser then said, “You healed the girl of the wasting disease. What heka did you use?”
Tim shook his head. “It was not magic, King Djoser.”
“Life, health, prosperity!” Meryt said again after the king’s name was mentioned.
King Djoser smiled at her. “Little bird, I have heard your sweet song. You do not need to sing every time my name is mentioned.”
Returning his calm gaze to Tim, he said, “Not magic?”
“Where I come from,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully, “we have a different way of treating some illnesses. It worked with Meryt. I was…” he started to say lucky, then changed his mind, “I was blessed by the gods.”
“And you healed a girl who was stung by a scorpion?”
Tim looked to Hetephernebti, who face remained friendly, but otherwise unreadable.
“It was a small thing,” Tim said.
King Djoser nodded his head and then stared off in the distance for a moment. “I have a task for you, man who is blessed by the gods,” he said. He raised his hand toward a darkened corner of the room where a figure stood in the shadows.
Prince Teti came forward, holding his broken left arm stiffly at his side. He stopped at the foot of his father’s throne and stood there facing him, his back turned toward Tim.
King Djoser leaned forward and spoke to his son. Sitting back in his throne, he looked down at Tim. “This is my son, Prince Teti. Heal him.”
Tim wanted to throw up. He didn’t know why his hands weren’t shaking, because his stomach was quivering in fear.
He, Meryt and Prince Teti were in a small chamber off the throne room. The young prince was standing stiffly, watching them, as was a guard who stood by the doorway. Tim heard the sound of footsteps receding as the king, Hetephernebti and the king’s adviser left the throne room.
“Meryt, I need my bag,” he said, referring to his backpack. It had been left on the boat.
“I will get it,” she said.
“Hurry,” Tim said as she turned toward the door.
“Who are you?” Prince Teti asked after Meryt had gone.
Tim didn’t know how Prince Teti had been injured. He saw that his left arm was bandaged, but he had no idea what had happened or when it had happened. The boy was standing straight; his chest pushed forward, his chin held high. Although he seemed composed, Tim saw that his right hand was balled into a fist, the fingers on his other hand were splayed open, as if trying to escape from pain.
“My name is Tim,” he said.
“I mean, are you a physician, a priest or a god?” Prince Teti said.
Tim thought before responding.
He had always believed that he could draw, but he had never realized the importance of that confidence until he had met students in his college classes who didn’t have his assurance. Their lines were hesitant, their vision small.
Eventually he had come to see that self-confidence was often as responsible for success as was talent. In some cases more responsible. He hoped this would be one of them.
In the back of his mind he wondered what would happen to him if he failed to heal the prince, or, worse, if he somehow harmed him. He caught those thoughts, recognized them and tried to forget them until later.
He tried to smile comfortingly. “I do not have a title, Prince Teti. I am just someone who wants to help you. I have some medicines that may help. I don’t know about . . .” He was saved from admitting his ignorance by the sound of footsteps behind him.
Hesire, the physician, had entered the room. He walked quickly to them, his eyes darting from Tim to Teti as he approached, looking to see what had been done.
“Prince Teti,” he said. “I came as soon as your father told me that he had asked another,” he looked at Tim, evaluating what he saw, “another physician to look at your injuries.”
“Thank you,” Tim and Prince Teti said at the same time.
Hesire drew himself up and addressed Tim formally. “I have been instructed to assist you,” he said.
Tim tried to imagine that conversation: He wondered if Hesire had tried to persuade King Djoser that he needed to be present to prevent Tim from damaging Prince Teti or if Djoser had ordered Hesire to keep an eye on him.
Either way, he was grateful. And worried.
“I am sorry if my manner is strange,” Tim said to Prince Teti. “First, can you tell me how you were injured?”
Prince Teti looked at Hesire, who nodded approval. “I fell onto rocks in the river at Abu.”
“His back was also injured, as was his neck,” Hesire added.
Prince Teti turned his back to Tim to show him the wound. Tim recognized the red swelling around the cut as an infection. He made a mental note to give Prince Teti some antibiotics.
&n
bsp; Tim turned to Hesire.
“Did you treat his arm?”
“No,” Hesire answered. “Rudamon, a physician at Abu set the broken bone which had pushed through the skin.”
Without thinking, Tim glanced at Prince Teti, who was managing to keep an impassive face. Whatever the boy thought of his father ordering him to see a stranger, he wasn’t showing any anger, or concern.
“Prince Teti,” Tim said, “I am sure that you have been treated properly. But your father asked me to look at your injury, so we shall. Hesire,” he said, turning to the physician, “your hands are more practiced than mine. I need your help. Please. I have some medicines from my distant land that may help Prince Teti. But I need your skillful hands and eyes to help me.”
Hesire was surprised by Tim’s request. When King Djoser had told him that he had ordered another physician to examine Prince Teti, Hesire had assumed that he was being punished for delivering the bad news about Prince Teti’s injury. He had expected the new physician to attempt to blame him for anything that went wrong.
Instead, this stranger was openly asking his help in front of Prince Teti.
He nodded his agreement as they heard light footsteps approaching as Meryt returned carrying Tim’s canvas backpack.
Tim took the backpack from her and set it on the floor near him. Then he turned to Prince Teti.
“May I see your arm?” he asked.
Prince Teti extended the arm.
The fingers were swollen and dark, the forearm was pushing tight against the palm-bark at both edges of the cast. Tim wondered if he should press against the injury as he had seen doctors do on television shows, but he had no idea what that would tell him.
He tried to break the problem into small parts.
It’s swollen, probably from an infection, he thought. The swelling has trapped blood from the wound in Teti’s hand. R-I-C-E, he thought, repeating the first aid mantra of treatment for most injuries: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.
He touched Hesire’s shoulder and motioned for him to step a few paces away from Prince Teti.
“The blackness in his fingers . . .” Tim began.
“Yes,” Hesire nodded, “It is a bad sign. That is why I told King Djoser that the arm may need to be removed.”
Tim froze. Did King Djoser expect him to amputate his son’s arm?
“Of course, King Djoser does not want that to happen, which is why, I believe, he asked you to look at Prince Teti.”
Tim tried to put the thought of amputating an arm out of his mind. I’m starting to get a lot of things I have to remember to forget, he thought.
“I think the blackness in the fingers is blood turned black,” Tim said.
“Do you think we need to drain them?” Hesire asked.
Tim thought of Paneb and how he had grabbed a knife to treat his daughter’s scorpion sting. “No, I think we can remove the blackness without a knife,” he said to Hesire.
“In my country,” he continued “we think it is very important to keep the wound clean. So, would you please unwrap the cast? We can check the setting of the bone and inspect the wound.”
Hesire nodded and turned to Prince Teti.
As Hesire cut off the cast, Tim dug through his backpack. He had gauze, antibiotic pills and antibiotic cream and a white padded splint. He also had some Ibuprofen that would reduce the swelling and ease Prince Teti’s pain. After the arm was re-cast, Tim would ask Prince Teti to carry it in a sling to keep it elevated.
“Meryt,” he said, “I need a length of linen, as long as you are tall.”
She leaned forward and whispered to him, “I know that you can help him, Tim. You must know that, too.” Then she turned and left the room.
When Tim turned back to look at Teti, he almost passed out from the sight of the unwrapped arm.
It was grotesquely swollen, the entire forearm was smeared with dried blood and mud and the wound where the bone had pierced the skin was a pus-filled bubble. Quickly he turned to his backpack and knelt over it, as if searching for something. He waited for the blood to return to his head and the wave of nausea to pass.
He thought of how he dealt with seeing Meryt’s beautiful naked body every day: He tried to picture her as a model in a drawing class, and focused on the lines and contours. Although it was working less and less with her as he came to care for her, he hoped the method would help him through this examination.
He composed his face before rising to face Prince Teti and Hesire.
Forcing himself to look at the arm, he tried to analyze what he saw, to think about what caused it and what he could do. As he did, a wave of calm entered him.
Lightly he touched Prince Teti’s arm, his fingers almost floating over the dried mud caked there.
“Hesire, is there water here, and a cloth?”
The physician motioned toward a table that stood beside a chair behind Prince Teti.
Tim realized that his fears had narrowed his vision and he hadn’t truly seen the room. He gestured to Prince Teti to sit on the chair. Standing beside the chair, he held the arm gently. Moistening the cloth, Tim began to gently wash away the dirt around the wound. He let the water do the work of softening the mud, waiting until it was easy to pat away.
As he worked he focused on the warmth of Teti’s arm, flush from the blood that was pooled there. He felt the smooth young skin stretched tight beneath the swollen wound.
Once the mud and blood were cleaned away, Tim wrapped his hand around Prince Teti’s forearm and held it, asking the prince to relax his arm’s weight into Tim’s hands. With his other hand under the arm, nearer the elbow, Tim slowly pressed his forefinger against the bone. He closed his eyes, focusing his attention on the solid feel of Teti’s radius bone. He allowed the other fingers of his hand to follow the swell of the muscles.
Slowly he moved his hand down Teti’s wrist toward the injury, his finger following the firm line of the bone. As he neared the point of the fracture, he felt Prince Teti stiffen. The flesh around the injury was swollen, but Tim was able to trace the line of the bone.
“I’m sorry if this hurts,” he said as he heard Prince Teti draw a deep breath.
Slowly, Tim squeezed the forearm around the wound, breaking the thin scab that was holding in the pus that had accumulated there. He gently cleaned it away with the damp cloth.
Meryt had returned and was quietly waiting, holding a roll of linen.
“Hesire,” Tim said, “please hold Prince Teti’s arm for me.”
Tim went to the backpack and retrieved the tube of antibiotic cream and the roll of gauze.
As Hesire held the arm, Tim packed the wound with the cream, thankful that it did not need stitches, and then wrapped gauze around it. He placed the splint under the bone and wrapped more gauze around it to hold it in place.
Measuring off a length of linen, he tied a sling around the prince’s shoulder to support the broken arm.
Finished with the arm, he picked up the pill bottles.
Shaking two antibiotics and then some Ibuprofen into his hand, he asked Meryt to get a cup of water for Prince Teti. Giving the pills to Teti, he asked the prince to swallow them.
While Prince Teti swallowed the last of the pills, Tim washed and dried his hands with the leftover linen.
“Prince Teti,” he said. “Please keep your arm in the sling, even as you sleep.” Taking the cup, Tim filled it with water and held it over the water bowl. “Your arm is swollen with blood. If you keep your arm raised, then,” he began to pour the water back into the bowl, “the blood will slowly flow down and away from your arm. Like this.
“The medicine I put on your arm will help it to heal. Tomorrow or the next day, your arm will return to normal size. Then we must cover it with a hard covering, like Hesire had on before. Please, Prince Teti, please be careful until then.”
Prince Teti nodded his understanding.
“Will I be a cripple? Will I lose my arm?” he asked.
“I do not think so,�
� Tim answered. “The treatment Hesire gave you saved it. This will help you grow strong faster.”
Prince Teti nodded once more and walked from the room.
Suddenly Tim was exhausted, but he knew there was more he needed to do.
“Thank you, Hesire. You did save his arm. I could not have helped him without you.”
Hesire didn’t know how to answer. He knew that he had done little except stand by. He wasn’t sure what Tim had done, except to remove the healing mud and replace it with something else. The pills he had fed Prince Teti, were they heka? He didn’t know.
Had Tim told Prince Teti that Hesire had saved the arm in case the treatment didn’t work? Tim’s voice and actions seemed so true, but Hesire’s mind was still filled with questions.
He wanted to believe in this stranger, this man who said he wasn’t a god. He really did.
Tim picked up his backpack and held out his hand to Meryt. As they walked to the doorway, he leaned to her and whispered, “I’ve never been so afraid.”
“You are a great doctor, Tim. You saved my life,” she said. “You will heal Prince Teti.”
Imhotep arrives
Long after Meryt, who was still weak from her illness, fell asleep that night; Tim sat beside a flickering lamp in their chamber wide-awake and marveling over the day he had just experienced.
He had met King Djoser!
The last time he had stayed awake this long - the night in Diane and Brian’s room at the Mena House - seemed as if it had taken place in another life time, to a different person. He had spent much of that night reading about Saqqara, the Step Pyramid, King Djoser, and the land he had ruled almost five thousand years ago.
And now he had met him.
Although Djoser ruled in the Third Dynasty, well into the recorded history of ancient Egypt, he was the earliest Egyptian king whose name Tim recognized. From his reading that night at the Mena House, Tim knew that an earlier king named Narmer had united Upper and Lower Egypt to form The Two Lands. But it was Djoser, who ruled five hundred years after Narmer, who was better remembered, immortalized by his stone tomb, the Step Pyramid. The great pyramids of Giza were modeled after it. Imhotep, architect of the Step Pyramid was perhaps even more famous than King Djoser.
