by Jerry Dubs
Where is Imhotep? Tim wondered. He had assumed that the famous Egyptian who was architect, physician and adviser to the king would be standing beside King Djoser in the throne room, as Kanakht had been. But he was not, and Tim had not even heard Imhotep’s name mentioned. He made a mental note to ask Meryt about the missing Imhotep.
Tim stretched and looked down at his sketchbook. He had begun to draw Meryt, nude as always, sleeping peacefully on her side, her back to him. The dim light of the room shrouded her in shadows, softening her small form, making her look even younger than she was.
He knew that thinking of her as a child was a cultural bias. In this time and place, a girl of thirteen was a woman, not a child. But every time he fantasized about kissing or touching Meryt, something he caught himself doing more often as they spent more and more time together, he felt a twinge of conscience and then a flush of guilt. In his old world she would be a girl, and it would be wrong for him to think of her the way he was now, or even to look at her as he was now as she slept.
The lamp’s light gave her dark skin a soft sheen, its shadowy glow gently washing over the smooth muscles of her back. His eyes followed the curve of her body’s profile, from her delicate shoulder down the slender line to her waist over the angled rise of her narrow hips, across the lithe contour of her backside to the tapering length of her thighs.
A year is simply how long it takes the earth to swing around the sun, Tim thought. Does it really matter how many times that has happened since Meryt’s birth? Is the movement of the planets and stars a more relevant way of measuring her maturity than looking into her eyes? Is counting the number of days and nights that have passed since her birth more meaningful than her touch and her smile?
He looked down at his sketchbook. With his pencil, little more than a stub now, he drew the curve of her hips sweeping inward to her narrow waist. Her arm rested on her side, her elbow bent slightly as her forearm draped away from him into the shadows toward the wall.
Lightly he outlined the soft rise of her back as it widened to her shoulder. He re-gripped his pencil to shade in the shadowed curve that led to her spine. He followed the smooth shadow toward her lower back.
He could go to her now, unwrap the linen belt that held his kilt in place and curl up beside her. She would sense his presence, know it was him and push against him. She would roll over and open her arms to welcome him and pull him closer.
If I touched her, caressed her shoulders, felt the smooth skin of her arms, the delicate strength of her fingers, would it be wrong? If I had been born in this time and place, I wouldn’t think about it. I would be as free to love her, as she feels free to be with me.
There was a rolled cotton sheet at the foot of the small bed. Setting aside his sketchbook, Tim stood and walked to the bed, unavoidably aware that he had become aroused. He picked up the sheet and shook it open. Gently he placed it across her bare form, covering her to her waist. He leaned over her and tenderly stroked her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Meryt,” he whispered. Bending closer, he kissed her forehead and then, turning, he walked back to his chair to wait out the night.
It was mid morning when Tim and Meryt were called to the royal chambers.
Tim had fallen asleep in the chair. He woke to the touch of Meryt’s hand sliding across his stubble-filled skull.
“You need to shave before we meet with Prince Teti again,” she said as he opened his eyes. A dream disappeared as he opened his eyes, its substance already lost, only a warm feeling remaining. He leaned forward to hide the erection he felt beneath his kilt, wondering if Meryt had noticed.
“I’ve sent for a barber. She should be here soon,” Meryt said, turning her back and walking to a table that held a tray of bread and fruit.
Tim tasted his morning breath. “I should bathe,” he said.
“After the barber,” Meryt said over her shoulder. “There will be time.”
Prince Teti and Hesire were waiting in the royal chambers.
The prince wore a half smile as he fought to keep his regal demeanor. Hesire was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Tim and Meryt stopped a few feet away from the prince, but Hesire waved them forward.
“Come closer, closer and look. Your heka is very strong, the swelling is almost gone.”
Tim lowered his backpack to the floor and approached the prince.
“Good morning, Prince Teti,” he said.
“Good morning, Netjer Tim,” he answered, apparently deciding that Tim was indeed a god.
Tim decided not to argue with his patient.
He touched Prince Teti’s side and extended his other arm toward a window. “Come with me to the light, Prince Teti.”
He was relieved to see that the simple first aid and the power of modern antibiotics had worked their ‘magic’ over night. The prince’s fingers were almost normal size and the blackness had begun to fade to a normal looking bruise. Tim decided to leave the wrap in place and put a hard cast around the broken bone.
“I stayed awake through the night, holding my arm so,” Prince Teti said, raising the fist of his injured arm to his shoulder.
“You have a strong mind, Prince Teti,” Tim said.
“I do what needs to be done.”
Tim waved Meryt closer. “I’m sorry, Meryt, but could you please find me another length of linen and some wheat flour? Oh, and a bowl of water.”
Hesire stopped her with a gesture. “No, Netjer Tim,” he said. “Your hemet does not need to run errands.” He clapped his hands and two servant boys ran into the room. He bent to them and gave them orders. They ran quickly back out the door.
Meryt stood silently, her eyes on Tim, who allowed the moment to pass. He knew that hemet meant woman and that Hesire had just suggested that Meryt was more than just Tim’s medical assistant. Hemet also could mean wife.
“Your hemet is beautiful,” Prince Teti said so quietly that only Tim could hear.
The words could have been a simple compliment, but Tim heard much more in Prince Teti’s four words. The way he said ‘hemet’ made Tim think that the prince understood that Hesire had overstated the relationship between Tim and Meryt. The prince’s eyes as he looked at him told Tim that Prince Teti really did believe that Meryt was beautiful and that he saw her as a woman, not a little girl.
“Yes,” Tim said, as much to himself as to Prince Teti, “Yes, she is.”
When the boys returned with the supplies, Tim asked Hesire and Meryt to help him with the cast.
They mixed the flour and water to make a soupy paste. Then they tore the linen into foot-long lengths and soaked them in the flour mixture. Tim’s idea, remembering craft projects from grade school, was to create a cast from paper mache.
Once the linen was soaked, he wrapped the damp strips around Prince Teti’s arm to create a cast. When he finished, Tim tied a sling to support Prince Teti’s arm.
“Once this is dry,” he told Prince Teti, “it will be hard as wood. But if it gets wet again, then it will grow soft and be useless.”
“How long?”
“Ah . . .” Tim didn’t know how long a broken bone took to heal. He turned to Hesire. “How long do you think it will take to heal?”
“Forty days,” he answered easily, happy to be asked his opinion in front of the prince. “Prince Teti is young and strong. Forty days, no more!”
Tim nodded and said, “Forty days, Prince Teti. But I would like to see you again tomorrow.”
Prince Teti nodded. “It will be so, Netjer Tim.”
“Oh, wait,” Tim said as Prince Teti turned to leave. He dug into his first aid kit and pulled out the antibiotics and Ibuprofen. “Please swallow these again,” he said, giving some pills to the prince.
After Prince Teti had gone, Tim turned to Hesire.
“Thank you, Hesire. We must watch the prince’s hand. If it swells again, then the cast is too tight and the injury is, uh,” he didn’t know of a word for infected, “unwell.”
&n
bsp; Hesire nodded.
“The heka that you gave him. Can you tell me what is it?”
Tim thought about the idea of germs and bacteria and viruses. How could he explain that to Hesire? He took the old man’s wrist and found his pulse, then turned his wrist over to allow Hesire to find his.
“Yes, yes,” Hesire said, “The voice of the heart. We know of it.”
“The voice of the heart,” Tim said, picking up on Hesire’s term, “carries blood throughout the body.”
Hesire nodded. “Yes, yes.”
He probably thinks I’m a simpleton, or else talking down to him, Tim thought.
“The blood gives the body strength. The heka, the medicine, I gave Prince Teti will make his blood stronger.”
“Will it help a man who is not ill?” Hesire asked, a soft urgency in his voice.
“I don’t understand.”
Hesire sighed softly. “I have a friend, an old friend. I’ve heard that he is not well, that his thoughts leave him and he knows not where he is. Otherwise he remains strong and active, for a man of his age, that is.”
Tim shook his head. “No, Hesire. Where I come from some people have the same illness. There is nothing we can do except watch over them. I am sorry.”
Hesire had expected that answer. He nodded knowingly. “My friend has lived a long life, soon he will be happy once more with the body of his youth in Khert-Neter.”
The next morning Tim and Meryt were called again to the royal chambers to see Hesire and Prince Teti.
The cast had dried and felt solid. The prince’s fingers looked healthier, and Prince Teti was in an even brighter mood.
“The feeling has returned to my hand,” he said, wiggling his fingers.
“You heal fast,” Tim said, returning Prince Teti’s arm to the sling. “You might be healed in only thirty-eight days,” he said with a grin.
“You make light of this?” Prince Teti asked. His voice was suddenly tinged with anger and hurt.
Taken aback by the prince’s tone, Tim was reminded that he was dealing with royalty, with someone who expected to be taken seriously at all times, someone whose word meant life or death.
Hesire moved toward them to intervene, his mouth open as he tried to find words to calm Prince Teti.
Tim had a fleeting thought about royal in-breeding and mental instability, then realized that despite Prince Teti’s view of himself, he was still a fifteen year-old boy who was in pain and who had thought for several days that his arm would be cut off.
He put a hand gently on Prince Teti’s shoulder and looked squarely into the prince’s eyes. “Yes, Prince Teti, I make light of this. Not your pain, but the injury. You are strong and can laugh at this broken arm. It will heal and be stronger than ever. Your will is stronger than this injury. And laughter, Prince Teti, is a strong medicine. With it you show the gods that you are at ease, that you are unafraid. It makes your body stronger and keeps your spirit light.”
Hesire and Meryt stood motionless, waiting to see Teti’s reaction.
“Are you unafraid?” Prince Teti asked, his tone one of curiosity, not menace.
“I was afraid, Prince Teti. All of my life I was afraid,” he said.
He thought of the needless worries from his past - finding the right clothes for a party, auditioning for school plays, anxiously showing his first drawings to a friend, being late for an appointment, getting into the right school, mispronouncing a word when ordering at a restaurant - all of these fears that had seemed so real and large at the time. Now he saw that they had been meaningless. The energy he had wasted, the hesitation he had felt, all so unnecessary.
Tim turned to his backpack and dug inside the front pouch. Finding what he wanted, he reached for Prince Teti’s cast. With a few, sure strokes he drew on the cast a vulture’s spread wings, the ancient symbol that was often drawn around the king, to show divine protection.
“When I was younger, I was afraid of shadows. There,” he said, capping the black marker, “your arm is protected twice.”
Prince Teti looked at the drawing and smiled. “And now?” he asked.
“Strange things have happened to me, Prince Teti,” Tim answered. “I have felt fear when there was no need. Fear deserted me when it should have warned me. I think I have lost my respect for fear.”
As he spoke, Tim was unaware of what he was saying until the words came out, and hearing them, he felt a weight lift from his heart, a lightening of his spirit that reminded him of the buoyant mood that had come over him when he first emerged from Kanakht’s tomb and breathed the air of ancient Egypt.
The room itself seemed to grow brighter. Tim was suddenly aware of Meryt’s gaze. He knew without turning to her that she was watching him, seeing him with a heart filled with love. He felt Hesire’s concerns: for Prince Teti’s health, for his unnamed friend’s wanderings into dementia, for his own aging body, for The Two Lands. He saw the pride and confidence in Prince Teti’s eyes.
Although he knew that the life and energy he felt now were confined to a stone chamber that would be reduced to crumbling dust by the time he would be born, he understood that each passing moment was real and important even though it arrived and departed in the blink of an eye. He suddenly realized that he needed to touch each moment, to let each passing second fill his life, expanding and rising.
Without thinking he slowly reached out his hand and tenderly caressed Prince Teti’s smooth head, feeling the smoothness of the oil with which the prince had been anointed that morning, sensing the slight brush of the shaved nubs of his hair, the underlying firmness of his skull, aware somehow of the dreams and hopes of the fifteen-year-old man-boy.
Hesire and Meryt stood transfixed. Aside from King Djoser, no one would ever think to touch the prince in such an intimate way.
Prince Teti stood unflinching, his eyes on Tim’s face. He saw that Tim’s eyes were looking past him, seeing something in another realm. He felt an energy and warmth in Tim’s touch and he believed that this living god was transferring to him a touch of his immortality.
“All will be well, Prince Teti,” Tim said. “All is well.”
As his hand slid from Prince Teti’s smooth head to his shoulder, Tim was suddenly struck with a thought.
He turned the prince so that his back was to the light. Then Tim traced the line of the wound on Prince Teti’s back, up to the base of the boy’s skull where the bump had been.
“Prince Teti,” Tim said. “Tell me again about your injury. You said you fell. Where were you?”
“In the river, at Abu.”
“No, I mean tell me where you were standing.”
Prince Teti looked puzzled.
“Were you between some rocks, in an area where the water runs fast, near the shore?”
“I was standing atop a boulder, to get a view of the river.”
Tim stretched an arm out at waist height. “This high?”
Prince Teti laughed. “No, Netjer Tim, a boulder.” He reached his good hand over his head. “A little higher than this.”
Tim thought for a moment. “How many companions were with you?”
“Three.”
“Where were they?”
Prince Teti squinted his eyes as he thought back to the river. He looked at Tim, realizing what he was asking. “Yes, Netjer Tim. Nesi was behind me. He had given me his shoulder to help scale the rock. Bata was in front of me, below in the river. Rensi was on the riverbank. He is afraid of water, well actually the mud and stones at the bottom of the water.”
“And you fell forward, didn’t you?” Tim asked.
Prince Teti reached around to touch the wound on his back. “Nesi,” he whispered.
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know, Prince Teti. It seems strange that you would have a cut on your back if you fell forward. If someone threw a rock at you, then it could cut your back as it did and hit the back of your head where the bump was. It fits.”
“Why?” Prince Teti said, more to himself than to Tim.
Prince Teti was seated by his father that evening when Tim was ushered into the throne room. Kanakht stood to their right. Hetephernebti stood behind Prince Teti, her hand resting on his shoulder, her fingers idly playing with the linen strap that was his sling.
Tim and Meryt stopped a few feet from the throne and bowed their heads. When King Djoser motioned him forward, Tim glanced at Hetephernebti, but her face held only the official smile she reserved for state events.
Meryt nudged him softly and he stepped forward, uncertain about the protocol.
“We are grateful for your help,” King Djoser said as Tim stopped in front of him.
He raised his left hand showing Tim a flat ceramic object that was shaped like a large keyhole. Two thick beaded strands were attached to it. Each of them ended in a mass of smaller threads filled with tiny beads. The throng of threads looped together to form a necklace.
Tim hesitated, unsure what to do.
“Come forward, Netjer Tim,” Prince Teti said, seeing Tim’s uncertainty.
Tim stepped closer to King Djoser, whose raised throne kept the king above him.
It struck Tim that King Djoser was, in a way, the most beautiful person he had ever seen. It wasn’t so much the arrangement or proportions of his face although the wide pronounced cheekbones and strong nose complemented each other perfectly. There was an undisguised intelligence in his dark, deep-set eyes and a calmness about his mouth, the full lips forming a gentle smile. He gave the impression of someone who has found an inner calm and wishes only to help everyone around him.
King Djoser stood and bending forward, draped the object he was holding around Tim’s neck. Tim felt the large ceramic counterbalance come to rest between his shoulder blades. The wide array of tiny beaded strands formed a necklace that fit snugly around his throat.
