by Jerry Dubs
The man shrugged. “I do not know. I only know that there is no food for me and my family there. But there have been no rich fields here either. We have walked many days. At each village I offer to work. We find a generous soul here and there who gives us bread, but there has been no work to be found.”
“Are there others like you?” she asked.
The man looked confused.
“Others who walk the land looking for food,” she explained.
The woman spoke up now. “My husband is a good man, Voice of Truth. He works hard and provides for us. He is a good father. What would you have a man do?”
Tama turned to the woman. “A man must care for his family, yes. But he must keep balance. Stealing everything from another is not made right just because you have nothing. Look to your heart. You know this is true.
“Again,” she repeated, turning back to the man, “are there others who walk the land in hunger?”
“I have seen a few others, Voice of Truth, but it is hard to wander without knowing what you will find. The boatman was mistaken; the harvest has been small all along the river. We are going home.
“What you said is true,” he admitted. “I took too much from the traveler. I was wrong.”
Tama waited for a moment to allow the man to think that she was weighing his words. She knew that he was telling the truth; she had anticipated the story he would tell. She and Brian had encountered other wandering families, all of them following rumors of heavy harvests, all of them disappointed and tired.
“Your words bring you back to the path of ma’at,” she said solemnly. “But truth in words alone is not enough.”
“I would return the goods, if I could,” the man said quickly.
“In the morning the woman’s servant will come to you. Keep one of the donkeys to help you with your travels. The servant will divide the goods, taking what he needs and leaving some with you. Balance will be restored and Ma’at will be served.
“I will go to your governor and soften his heart. The granaries will be opened at Edfu when you return.”
“As you say, Voice of Truth,” the man said.
“Thank you,” his wife added.
Tama turned and walked into the darkness.
“Can you really get the governor to release grain?” Brian asked.
Tama was walking beside him. They had one donkey; its packs lighter now. Brian had gone to the campsite early in the morning and, as Tama predicted, the stranger offered Brian both donkeys and all the goods.
He had left most of the bread, one of the two water skins, a few rolls of linen, a salt cone and two small pieces of jewelry with the family. In the morning light, the father had looked even smaller and less imposing than he had the previous evening.
He had started to apologize, but Brian had shaken his head.
“Balance has been restored,” Brian had said, repeating the ritual phrase Tama had instructed him to use.
He had seen the boy watching him. Dropping the donkey’s lead rope, Brian had walked to the boy and laid a large hand on his shoulder. “You are brave,” he had said, saying the words Tama had given him. “You father is a good man. Follow him.”
Then he had gathered the donkey’s rope and left the small clearing.
Tama nodded her head in answer to Brian’s question.
“The governor will release grain. It is his duty to care for the people. I will speak with Hetephernebti and King Djoser if needed. The people must be fed.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
Brian stole glances at Tama. She had removed her linen robe and was dressed as a commoner, dark kohl at her eyes and wearing only a linen belt. But when he looked at her, he realized that he was looking not at her small, soft breasts or the curve of her hips, but at her face and eyes. He knew her body and he wanted it, but it was her ideas and view of the world that fascinated him most.
“Last night,” he began.
“Yes?” she answered, expecting him to be like other men and ask about their lovemaking - to ask her to explain her motives, to evaluate his performance, to promise another opportunity.
“When you went to that family. It looked like you changed. Your voice was different, you walked differently.”
She smiled in relief, happy that her initial view of Brian had been correct. Although his physical size and power were unusual, his true strength and his heart lay in understanding.
“That has always happened,” she said. “When I wear the robes of Ma’at I feel her spirit come over me. It may be an illusion,” she added, “it may be real. I do not think that the difference matters. Whether the presence comes from Ma’at herself or from within me, the feeling is the same. Do you understand?”
“I think so. I read stories about guys being traded to the New York Yankees. They say when you put on their uniform, you feel like a Yankee, that you actually become a better player.”
Tama stopped walking. Brian stopped also and looked at her. Her face was scrunched up and serious.
“Brian,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “I didn’t understand anything you said. You talked in your tongue and the words were strange. I am sorry. But I think I felt your understanding.”
Brian started to laugh. He was in a foreign land, thousands of years in the past, walking along with a donkey and a beautiful naked woman talking about the New York Yankees, the one team in baseball he despised. He was trying harder than ever before in his life to understand another person’s mind but he was talking in a language she didn’t understand.
And he was happier and more content than he had ever been. Everything around him was strange and different and he had never felt more at home.
He stepped forward and, still laughing, he put his hands under Tama’s arms and picked her up. He lifted her high off the ground. Laying her hands atop his strong arms, she joined in his laughter.
Pulling her close, he held her, careful to not squeeze her too hard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, both of them shaking and laughing.
“You hesitated to speak last night,” Tama said later while they walked along the road. “After we were together and before I visited the family.”
Brian nodded. “You said that words sometimes get in the way.”
The trees along the road opened to a grassy clearing. Brian walked beside Tama as she led the donkey toward the river. Close to the riverbank, Brian lifted the sacks from the donkey so the animal could drink freely.
Tama pulled the last of the bread from a sack and breaking it in two, offer half to Brian. She held the dry bread in her hand and walked toward the river. Brian waited by the sacks. He had gotten used to her moods during their trip and recognized that there were times when she wanted to be alone.
He sat on the grass and watched the donkey back awkwardly from the water’s edge, its front hooves covered in mud. Tama stood upstream from the donkey, her back to Brian as she watched the river and ate.
It was early afternoon, too early to make camp. The next village, a town called Sohag, was just an hour’s walk away. They planned to trade some linen or jewelry for food there and rest a few days. Tama said it was the halfway point in their walk to Waset.
When he was a child Brian had learned to escape from the shouting of his mother by shutting down his thinking and focusing on whatever he saw: the grain of wood on the paneling inside the trailer home; the way fibers in their worn carpet wove in and out of each other, twisting and knotting; the worn fabric on their sofa and how the colored threads came together to make rectangular patterns.
He learned to study with his eyes, allowing his mind to narrow to the visual world and ignore the sounds of anger and poverty.
When Tama said that words sometimes get in the way of reality, he thought he understood, but he would have said it differently. He thought words warped reality, scraping the joy from it, twisting it so hard that the happiness bled from it like water from a dirty dishrag.
He looked at her no
w, standing naked by the water. He saw her brown tapering legs, the tight, round curve of her bottom leading to the smooth, muscled lines of her back. Beyond the sky was a pale blue, the far bank a sandy brown with a scattering of trees, their long ragged leaves arching into the sky.
He saw the colors and contour, but didn’t give them names. He could smell the river, a rich, organic mixture of water, plants and fish, its aroma a curious mixture of clarity and loamy fecundity. The grass, the donkey, the trees and the wind blowing in from the desert all colored the air around him, making it seem alive. He contributed to it, too, his salty perspiration mixing with the oil Tama had given him to protect his skin.
Finishing his bread, he walked over to the donkey, which was grazing along the water’s edge. It ignored him as he rubbed the coarse hair along its neck, moving away from him, searching for taller grass.
Brian unbelted his kilt and draped it over a small bush.
The river was low, the bare bank curving down steeply to it. The brown water rippled around unseen rocks, catching on reeds near the bank. Stepping carefully in the slippery mud, he entered the water, feeling the soft river bottom squish beneath his toes.
He walked toward the center until the water reached his waist, then leaning forward he dove under and swam, pulling himself along with long, strong strokes. After a while he turned and floated on his back, drawing himself against the slow moving current, then rolling over, he swam toward the shore.
Tama was standing in the water near the shore. Although she bathed in the river, she was not a swimmer. She watched Brian as he swam toward her. When the water was shallow enough he stood and walked to her.
“Take me out there,” she said, pointing toward the middle of the river and walking toward him.
“Sure,” he answered in English.
“Sure,” she echoed, trying out the sound of the word.
Taking her hand he led her into the water, sweeping his free arm under her legs to carry her when the water came up to her waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked around her at the rising water as he walked toward the river’s center. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
The water rose to his chest now, her face would be under the water if she tried to stand.
“Hold on,” he said. He pushed her around to his back. He felt her breasts push against him and her legs wrap around his waist as she settled in, her arms a little tighter now around his neck.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He leaned forward and dove under the water, pushing them deeper and deeper. Then he arched his back and curved toward the bank, rising to the surface.
When his head cleared the water he heard her laughing and sputtering.
“More,” she said, wrapping her legs tighter around him.
Taking a deep breath he dove under again.
He carried her through the water and under it, swimming until his shoulders started to tire, and then he headed for the land. She stayed on his back until they reached the steep, slippery bank, then she slid off so he could pull himself up. Then he reached down to help her up.
Once they were both on land, Brian lay on his back on the grass, looking up at the empty sky, enjoying the rush of air as he breathed deeply, the languid feel of his arms and legs, tired from the exercise. He saw Tama’s head as she bent down to sit beside him.
She lifted put her hands under his wet hair and crossing her legs, lay his head on her lap.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little higher and breathless. “I felt like a hawk soaring through the air, effortless and weightless.”
Brian smiled. He rolled his head, settling his weight in her lap.
She brushed her hand along his lips, across his cheek and then followed his jaw to his chin. She cupped it briefly and then caressed beneath his chin and along his throat.
“I must learn that,” she said, as much to herself as to Brian. “Can you teach me?” she asked. “Is it very hard?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s easy. You just have to be careful when you start. The only thing with rivers is the rocks. And I guess crocodiles here. I didn’t think about that,” he said. “But the ocean, that’s more dangerous because of the waves and undertow and sharks.”
His head bobbed as she laughed quietly.
“What?” he said.
“More words I do not know.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, no,” Tama said. “I love the sound and the look on your face when you talk in your language. I must learn it better.”
He closed his eyes and focused on her touch as she caressed his shoulders and chest.
“I do believe that words sometimes keep us from what is real,” she said. “But now I must learn new words to understand you better. They have two faces.”
Brian stretched his arms above his head. One hand found one of her feet, which he held, his thumb massaging her. The other hand found the smooth muscle of her lower back. He let his arm lower until his hand cupped the side of her hip. He kneaded the flesh softly, enjoying the feel of the skin and muscle beneath his hand.
“When the words come from within, when you are freeing an idea, then the words are powerful. They give life to the thought. They can ignite a fire in another person’s mind. Waja-Hur could do that when he was young. His voice was rich and strong; the words that he said were powerful seeds. They could bring the very gods to life,” she said.
“Other times, words hide life, or make it pale and meaningless.
“When I say river from now on, it will be a rich, powerful word. I will remember today and the feeling of floating and swimming. But when I say it to another person, they may only hear the flat ribbon of brown that wanders through The Two Lands.”
She looked down at Brian, his eyes closed, his face muscles relaxed.
“It made you very tired,” she said.
He nodded.
“I will let you sleep.”
He shook his head and rolled to his side so that he was facing her. Her stomach was directly in front his face. He kissed it softly as he pulled her closer with his free hand.
She held his head with both hands and pressed his face against her stomach. Then she raised his head higher, holding him close as he kissed her breasts. She moaned and let his head slide back down her stomach.
Leaning onto her side, she reached for him. She touched and kissed him until he was ready and then swung around on her hands and knees and presented herself to him.
Brian raised himself to his knees behind her and pushed into her.
“It is like dying,” she said afterward, “or what I hope dying will be like.”
“What do you mean?” Brian asked. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. They were lying beneath a palm tree, their legs intertwined, their heartbeats still slowing from their lovemaking.
“My thoughts are slowly erased, I don’t see the trees, I don’t hear the birds or feel the sun, all of my attention goes to my skin and then within. The energy draws into a little ball and then it explodes and I am nothing but joy. That is the death. Then I begin to come alive again, slowly, but with a feeling of happiness that overwhelms all else. That is the rebirth in Khert-Neter.”
“That sounds good,” Brian said, “But what if all that happens when we die is that we’re dead? I mean, how do we know what happens? Why would we even think that something happens after we’re dead?”
Tama lifted her head to look up at his face.
“I know,” she said. “That is a hard thing for me. I have been trained to look for the truth, to use my eyes and ears and touch and heart, but to test what I see and hear and feel and think. If it is not true, then it is not true.
“But I cannot ask question of the gods; I cannot see them and talk to them. I feel the spirit of Ma’at within me, but I do not know where it comes from. Is it from my heart? Is it from her? I see the sun every day. Hetephernebti would tell me that I see the god Re, but I see only a great glowin
g fire.
“My parents, the stories of my childhood, Hetephernebti - everyone and everything - they all teach me that there are gods. In the end, Brian, I cannot explain everything.
“If Sobek did not sweat to create the river Iteru, then where did it come from? It is possible that the story of Sobek is not true, but something must be true. The river is here. I see it, thanks to you, I was part of it. So, we can say it came from a strange land up there,” she pointed upstream where the river disappeared into the horizon. “But eventually, we have to say where it started.”
Brian nodded. “I understand. I mean, the river comes from rain that falls on mountains deep in Africa. But where did the rain come from. Yeah, I know. You can take it back far enough, but eventually, even if you go back to the Big Bang, you have to stop explaining and start believing something.”
Suddenly Tama began to lightly pound her fists against Brian’s chest, softly but rapidly. “You know where the river comes from? And what is Africa and this other big bag thing? There is so much in there and I don’t know it,”
Brian rolled closer and held her so she couldn’t hit him. He laughed quietly as he pulled her close.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “You are so much stronger and you know so much more, too.”
He kissed her forehead and lifted her chin gently to kiss her mouth.
“My head has facts in it, but I’m just starting to understand.”
“Why does Djefi want to kill me?” Brian asked two days later as they walked along the road after resting and replenishing their supplies in Sohag.
“I don’t know,” Tama answered.
“But you have an idea,” he said, knowing that Tama would never let a puzzle stay unsolved.
“He sent you into the desert with Siamun who left you there with an injured man. But you returned, carrying the man on your back. Then you stopped a crocodile from taking a little girl.”
Although she didn’t raise her fingers to count, she recounted the actions as if ticking them off a list.
“This raised you in the eyes of the people who live at To-She. He could not permit that.”
