Imhotep

by Jerry Dubs

  “More?” she asked.

  He nodded. He held on to the bowl when she tried to take it. She looked up at him, puzzled. “Pahkeh,” he said. “Hank ou, ou aved my ife.”

  She didn’t understand what he tried to say, but she understood his smile and touch. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

  “Rest,” she said. “I will be right back.”

  Samut was nervous.

  He didn’t know if Siamun was still looking for Brian. If Siamun did find them hiding here in Edfu, there was nothing Samut could do. Brian was a criminal and it would be within Siamun’s right, acting for Priest Djefi, to take him back to Kom Ombo, back to the Temple of Sobek.

  Samut had wanted to keep moving, to get as far from Kom Ombo as possible, but Brian had been too weak. What good would it have done to bring Brian’s dead body to Tama?

  So they had stopped in Edfu and he had sent a message to Tama. He would either see her in a few more days or get a message from her. Until then they would hide and hope.

  He had left Pahket and Brian in a hut past the edge of town beside a dried up irrigation ditch that ran through a small grove of willow trees. A farmer who lived near there had promised to supply them with food for a few days in return for the donkey.

  During the day, Samut stayed at the southern edge of town near the roadway where he would watch for Siamun. Each night he went back to the small hut to check on Brian and Pahket.

  Until Tama arrived, or until Brian got strong enough to travel, there was little Samut could do except wait, watch and worry.

  The hut that had seemed so protective, almost womb-like, was too small now. He needed to get outside. He wanted to run, do some push-ups, get his muscles working and strong again.

  Pahket had explained to him that they were only a short distance from Kom Ombo and Siamun. Samut had told her that Kanakht had declared Brian an outlaw, so that anyone who saw him was supposed to restrain him and notify Kanakht.

  When Brian had nodded his head in understanding, she was happy to see anger instead of resignation in his eyes.

  “We can go out at dusk or early in the morning before travelers are moving on the road,” she said.

  “Samut is keeping watch. If Siamun approaches, Samut will warn us and we will flee. So, you see, we are safe. But we must be careful.”

  On the second day of his new life, Brian walked along the canal with Pahket. The stump of his tongue throbbed but the only alternative to enduring the pain was to drink himself to a stupor.

  He refused to do that; he was in training.

  On the third day he felt strong enough to jog. Each step jolted the severed nerves in his tongue, but each step also brought him closer to regaining his strength. He clenched his teeth, fought past the pain and thought about Siamun. He saw his face, smelled his breath, and heard his raspy voice.

  Part of his mind told him that if he allowed Siamun to become an obsession then he was losing his freedom and entering into Siamun’s dark world. But he believed he could control it; use the anger and hatred to push himself harder. Once he felt strong again, then he would distance himself from his hatred. But until then he would stare into the past, pound against the sand along the irrigation canal and do his push ups and sit ups with the vision of his hands around Siamun’s neck clear and strong in his imagination.

  After breakfast one morning, Brian picked up a stick and began to draw in the sand. He had given up trying to talk; the language here had too many harsh, clicking sounds that required a tongue.

  He drew a girl with wavy hair, and a larger man beside her. Then he drew a smaller man. Pahket sat on the sand beside him.

  He pointed to the girl and said “Iane.”

  Pahket nodded. “Diane.”

  He pointed to the large man and then patted his chest. Then he pointed to the third man and said “im.” He looked at her, anxious to see if she understood.

  “Tim,” she repeated. “Samut told me about him. All I had heard before are rumors. You want to know about him?”

  Brian nodded.

  “He is now called Imhotep and he travels with King Djoser. Samut said that he healed Prince Teti. That is King Djoser’s son. So the king has made Imhotep part of his group. They are at Abu, a temple that sits on an island near the first cataract. That’s a place in the river where there are a lot of rocks. I’ve never been there.

  “The king is waiting there until the floods come. Don't look worried, Brian, the floods are good. The river comes over the bank and covers the fields. Then it goes back down and leaves behind dark rich soil. The farmers need the flood.”

  She leaned against him playfully.

  “I had forgotten that you are a stranger in the Two Lands. Everything I know is new to you. Remember at To-She when I told you the story about Sobek? We were in the orchard. It was so peaceful and,” she looked away from him as she remembered, “and nothing bad had happened.”

  Suddenly she started to cry. “I’m sorry that he hurt you, Brian. It was so terrible. I saw them tie you to the chair every night and I was afraid to help. And then I heard your screams and, I’m sorry.”

  She turned to leave, but he reached for her and, putting his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. He felt her warm tears on his skin as she cried quietly.

  Lost in his own pain, he hadn’t thought about her. She had risked her life to save him, rebelling against a lifetime of obedience to rescue a stranger. He thought about her bravery and about his own loss. They were both changed forever, but she had chosen the change.

  He laid his head against hers and held her close, feeling her small body quiver as she cried.

  The day after his morning jog, after he was able to make her understand that he wanted to write a letter to Imhotep, Pahket brought him a papyrus roll, a brush and ink.

  He wasn’t used to writing letters and after just a few moments he realized how painstakingly slow it was going to be to paint English words with a brush. He would have to be brief.

  “Djefi kill king. Croc attack man in chair. Kom Ombo temple. I look for you.”

  Some of the letters were smeared and the small letter “o’s” had filled in, but the note was readable.

  He shook his head in disappointment. There was so much more to say but he hoped he would be better able to speak English than Egyptian. Tim would be able to understand him and then he could explain everything.

  He touched the ink lightly. Looking in dismay at the smudge that was left behind, he sighed and laid the papyrus aside, waiting for the ink to dry.

  “For im” he said to Pahket.

  She had watched him labor over the short note, complimenting him on his talent. He knew from his conversations with Tama that writing was an unusual skill here. He had wondered about putting the note in some kind of code and then laughed at himself: There were only three people in this world who could read English.

  “When Samut returns tonight I will ask him to send it to Imhotep,” she said.

  He ran again that evening, breaking into a sprint at times. It was good to feel his chest heaving, the air rushing in and out of his lungs. His legs were gaining strength. He had regained some of the weight he had lost, but his ribs were visible and the small bones in the back of his hand were no longer hidden beneath thickening flesh.

  The tender cut edge of his tongue was healing, a crusty scab had formed and then scaled away from it. The sharp pain and constant throbbing had given way to phantom twitches and occasional aches.

  Each evening he assessed himself, measuring his progress and deciding what he could add to his workout.

  Pahket was always with him, her presence sometimes reminding him of when he and Diane had first arrived at To-She and everything had seemed mysterious and fun. She was more somber since the evening when she had cried, and he caught her watching him at times, searching his expression for signs of disapproval.

  He had tried to let her know that she had
nothing to be ashamed of for being afraid of Siamun, but he knew that she understood very little of what he tried to say. He smiled at her, laughed at her when she flopped on the sand while trying to do pushups, and he held her when they slept.

  She was shyer now than she had been at To-She and he didn’t understand why until he remembered her expression at Khmunu after they had watched the ceremony and he had seen Tama for the first time. He knew that she had had a crush on him and he must have hurt her with his open desire for Tama.

  And still she had braved Siamun’s men and saved him.

  That night as they held each other, he rubbed her back, his hands exploring her skin and feeling the life beneath it. She moaned softly and moved closer to him, but kept her hands curled against his chest.

  He kissed her forehead and lifting her chin, kissed her mouth gently.

  She returned the kiss and then pulled away.

  “When you left that night at Khmunu and didn’t come back, Djefi said that you had gone to Tama. Is that true?”

  He started to shake his head, then stopped. He had been tricked into leaving the boat and then ambushed. But he had left the boat thinking that Tama wanted to see him. He didn’t know how to explain that without words, but then he realized that the truth, the view that Tama would have was that, yes, he had gone to Tama.

  He looked at Pahket, her eyes locked on his, and he nodded.

  “Later we heard that you killed a man . . .”

  He shook his head angrily before she could ask the question.

  “I believe you,” she said. “After you left the boat, until you arrived at the Temple of Sobek. What did you do? How did you survive?”

  “Ama and me,” he used his fingers to show people walking. He tried to say Waset, but it came out as “Waheh.” He sighed and then used his fingers to show Tama and himself separating. “Me, Kom Ombo,” he said.

  Pahket shook her head. “She should not have let you go to Kom Ombo alone. It was too dangerous.”

  Brian nodded. He made a fist and patted his chest to show that it was his decision.

  “You couldn’t know, Brian. This isn’t your land. She should not have let you go. I wouldn’t have.”

  She had propped herself up on an elbow. Resting her head against her raised shoulder, she looked at Brian and asked, “Do you love her?”

  He didn’t know how to answer. When he had been with Tama and they had first made love he was sure that he would fall in love with her. Then he learned that she didn’t expect or want a commitment from him. The sensation of touch, the thrill of the motion and excitement of the moment were reasons enough for her.

  The release from expectations had hit him like a rock shattering a stained-glass window. He had seen everything in a fresh way, uncolored by social conventions or religious rules or family traditions. And he had fallen in love with Tama, or rather the idea of Tama and everything she was and wasn’t. The physical Tama remained a joyful celebration, whether she was walking beside him, splashing water on him, wrestling playfully or riding him in a sweaty flush.

  Yes, he decided, he loved her. He loved her like the sun and the wind on his face, like the power in his muscles, like the dreams of his childhood, like the rush of anticipation and the exhilaration of success. She was a natural force, so real and unassuming. Too strong to be owned or contained, he thought.

  He loved her as she was, not as a possible possession.

  And suddenly he realized that that was her gift to him, this understanding of love and acceptance and unselfishness.

  He started to laugh. Yes, he loved Tama. And he loved Diane, not because she looked good walking beside him, not because of her father’s money, not because she dressed right or felt good, but because she was a bundle of imperfect human impulses and desires, just as he was. He loved her and he wanted her to be happy, by herself or with Yunet or with another man. It didn’t matter.

  He looked at Pahket, her eyes confused at his laughter, but eager to give way to his joy.

  He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and watched as her face opened into a smile that matched his own.

  He started to speak and then thought that the words, especially coming from his mangled tongue, would simply confuse and get in the way. He and Tama had talked about how words conceal reality. Now without his tongue, he was free of that illusion. He shook his head at the thought that somehow, all that he had been through at the Temple of Sobek had actually been good for him.

  He had been through a fire of pain and was cleansed.

  “Are you all right?” Pahket asked.

  He realized that he had tears in his eyes, but they were from happiness.

  Samut led Tama to the hut in the early evening light as shadows lengthened across the bottom of the irrigation canal.

  “There’s no one here,” she said, emerging from the darkened hut.

  Samut looked around in panic.

  “They were here. I promise you,” he said.

  “Samut, everything is in order. Two people have been sleeping here; the sand has held their shape. One is large, the other small. There is a smoldering fire near the door. They have probably gone for a walk.”

  She turned and looked along the irrigation canal.

  “See,” she said, pointing. “There is a pathway worn along the canal.”

  He started to walk toward it. “I will get them,” he said.

  “No, Samut. Stay with me. While they are out you can tell me everything that has happened. You said Brian is well, but you looked away from me when you said it. I’ll see him soon, so there is no need to spare me. Tell me what you know.”

  He took a deep breath and began to talk.

  “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!” Pahket counted loudly. She stopped pacing and turned to look at Brian. Breathing heavily and drenched in sweat, he was waiting, bent over with his hands on his knees.

  “On your mawrk, geg seh, go,” she said, mimicking the English sounds he had taught her. She clapped her hands when she said go and Brian began to sprint, breathing deeply though his nose and exhaling through his mouth. His bare feet dug into the sand, pushing hard as he ran.

  She had counted to eleven but not yet twelve when he pulled past her.

  “Your best ever,” she cheered as he slowed to a stop.

  He smiled widely as he sucked in the cool evening air.

  “Enough?” she asked.

  He nodded again and waited for her to catch up to him. She reached to hug him, but he moved away, holding his nose.

  She playfully slapped at him. “Do you know how bad you smelled when we first got here? I put up with that, I can put up with this.”

  He shook his head, but waited for her with a smile. She hugged him and then backed away, pretending to be disgusted. “I was wrong. You are worse than an onion-eating camel in heat.”

  She squealed in laughter and ran away as he tried to grab her.

  He ran after her. She was fast, but he could have caught her. Instead he stayed on her heels, growling and waving his arms whenever she turned her head to look at him.

  They saw the second person waiting at the hut at the same time, and came to a quick stop.

  “I’m sure the first is Samut,” Pahket said. “The other is slim. I think it is a woman. It could be Tama,” she said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice.

  Brian took her hand and squeezed it as they started to walk.

  Tama came down the pathway to greet them. She saw immediately that Brian was smaller. His chest was less full and his legs were leaner, the muscles hard ropes beneath the dark skin. He was turned a little sideways, as if protecting the girl.

  Pahket’s head was slightly lowered, but her eyes were alert and ready.

  They stopped as Tama reached them.

  Tama came closer and opened her arms to them both. She pulled Brian close and held Pahket at the same time. With their heads close together, she said softly, but clearly so they both could hear, “I am so relieved that your are well, Bria
n. I only heard that you were taken by Djefi the day before the messenger arrived to say that you had escaped.”

  She raised herself on her toes and kissed his cheek.

  “Pahket,” she continued. “Samut told me what you did. You have the bravest heart of anyone I have met.”

  She brushed her fingers across Pahket’s face and then kissed her cheek. “May Ma’at bless you always,” she added.

  She stepped back, taking their hands in hers.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Pahket. I am glad you are with us. I want to hear your story.” She turned to Brian. “I heard about your tongue, Brian.” She shook her head. “That is not our way. I am sorry. But look at you. You were laughing and running. Your spirit is as strong as ever. As is your aroma,” she added with a smile.

  “Come, Pahket, it is dark enough. Let’s take him to the river so he can wash himself. Then you must tell me about the Temple of Sobek.”

  She dropped Brian’s hand, but held onto Pahket’s. She turned toward the river. “I only met Djefi once, at Khmunu, so I don’t know him, Pahket. What can you tell me?”

  As they walked to the river the women talked, but Brian saw how Tama glanced at him, her look serene and accepting, but her eyes assessing and measuring. He knew that she realized that Pahket would feel threatened by her arrival and was making her comfortable. And he knew she was giving him time and space to adjust to her return.

  He moved up beside her and took her free hand. She squeezed his hand and he felt a wave of confidence and love sweep through him.

  Somehow, everything would be all right.

  Djefi at Kom Ombo

  The river began to stretch its fingers up the sloping bank.

  Ripples of current brushed against dry, exposed pebbles, coloring them with moisture, covering them and then finally dislodging them. Stands of papyrus reeds began to sway as the current gained strength, and soon they began to tilt, bending north toward the mouth of the river. Light reed boats, tied off and left floating in the water, bobbed and strained against their moorings, twisting to turn their untethered ends away from the river’s gathering force.