Footsteps padded along the passage and Huy came to himself. He opened the door wider. Itu stood there in a sheath she had obviously pulled on in haste. One strap was crushed under her arm. Her hair was in disarray and her eyelids swollen with sleep, but her glance was alert. Behind her Hapu came hurrying, still tying on a kilt. Both stared in blank amazement at Huy. Huy, his nostrils slowly filling with the well-remembered scent of his mother’s lily perfume, so common and yet so distinctly hers, felt himself loosen inside. “Mother, it’s me, Huy,” he said huskily. “The front door was open. I’m sorry to startle you. I …”
He got no further. With a cry of joy Itu flew at him, flung her arms around him, and crushed him to her. “My Huy, my Huy, my son,” she said, her voice muffled below his shoulder. “Is it really you?” Huy felt a wetness blossom on his skin. She was crying. “You are really here? But we had no word. You sent us no word …”
Huy extricated himself and kissed her. She had changed little, he reflected. Her delicate face held a few more wrinkles and her long hair was slashed with grey at both temples. But she was still beautiful, this woman whose love for him, whose faith in him, had never wavered. She clung to his arm as he turned to his father. Hapu was smiling warily.
“I hardly recognized you,” he said. “So tall and handsome! So you visit us at last. You are very welcome.” His gaze fell to the sa on Huy’s breast and back to Huy’s face. Huy could see the questions there and, deeper still, a small bud of resentment. Or was it the old fear that had spawned the breach between them?
He held out his hand. “I am very glad to see you again, Father. Glad that you have not changed.” But he had. As Hapu took the proffered hand, Huy thought how stooped the man had become, how ropy the muscles of his arms and chest, and all at once he was filled with pity. This is what happens to the man who spends his life in hard labour, he thought sadly. My father Hapu, so strong, so virile, being gradually twisted into deformity so that his old age will be filled with aching joints and hands that will no longer obey him.
“Oh, I’ve changed,” Hapu replied. “I know it. So have you.” He ran a critical eye over his son and then suddenly grinned. “Gods, you’re a sight to be proud of! Wait until Ker hears that wonderful noble accent of yours! You’ve made your school days a triumph of success, haven’t you? Itu, clean yourself up and run and get Hapzefa. There must be wine tonight instead of beer, and definitely a feast!”
An indignant shout came from the cot. Heby had wriggled off it and was pushing his way between Hapu and Huy. “I’m your son!” he cried, tugging Hapu’s hand away from Huy. “Lift me up, Father, and tell this man who I am!”
Hapu laughed and hoisted Heby onto his shoulders. “You are my little Heby, and this is your brother, big Huy. You must be respectful towards him.” Huy met the boy’s hostile glance.
“I am big Heby,” Heby announced, his fingers in his father’s hair. “I go to school. I go to a much better school than Huy. I get all my lessons right.”
“No you don’t, you child of Set,” Hapu said indulgently. “Get down now. When Hapzefa comes, you must be washed and have some milk. Then you can play with the cats. Huy and your mother and I have much to talk about.”
“I don’t want to play with the cats.” Heby slid down Hapu’s body and glowered at Huy. “I want wine and a feast if that’s what he’s getting!” He pointed at Huy, who was cursing himself for not bringing any sort of a gift, even something small, for this little firebrand. Then he remembered that at the bottom of his small satchel he had thrust the box of almonds Thothmes had given him. Quickly he opened the bag, rummaged about, and, lifting the box, handed it to Heby.
“I brought these for you, my special brother,” he said gravely. “They are very good to eat and quite rare. You don’t have to share them if you don’t want to.” Hapu raised his eyebrows. “Almonds,” Huy whispered.
Hapu’s eyes widened. “Quite an expensive gift.” The tartness in his voice was back. Huy sighed inwardly.
Heby’s eyes flicked doubtfully from the box to Huy’s face and back again. Then, gingerly taking the box, he lifted the lid. “These are funny brown nuts,” he pronounced. “Father, shall I eat one?”
“Eat as many as you like, but save a few for your mother,” Hapu replied heavily. “We won’t see almonds again for a very long time.”
Anger flared in Huy, but he pushed it down, resisting the urge to tell his father that he had not acquired the expensive treat himself, that he had never been able to afford such things, that Thothmes had given them to him, as Thothmes’ family had given him almost everything on his body that Hapu was openly assessing.
Heby reached into the box, carefully extracted an almond, and put it in his mouth. He bit down on it with an audible crunch. “It’s bitter, but I like it,” he said presently. “I’ll have another one. Thank you, Huy.” He set the box on the table beside the cot. “Can I go outside now?” Hapu nodded and the child scampered into the passage.
So I am accepted, Huy thought, relieved.
Hapu indicated the door. “Come into the reception room and sit. Itu won’t be long. Then you can tell us all your news.” Taking up his satchel, Huy followed him.
Nothing had changed in the little house’s main room either. A couple of worn cushions, a low communal meal table, a few stools, made up the furnishings Huy remembered. Sinking to the floor, he put his back to the wall. He and his father regarded one another in silence for a moment. Then Hapu said, “Itu has enjoyed your letters very much, particularly when you began to write them in your own hand. Each time one was delivered we requested the messenger to read it to us and then Itu would sit with the papyrus in her lap and finger the hieroglyphs as though she could touch you. She has grieved at your long absence.” But you have not, Huy accused him in his mind. Now you have another son, a normal, healthy child who will not go away to school, who will not be struck by a noble’s throwing stick, who will not die and return to life. Now you can sink into the security that you enjoyed before.
“I have no excuses, Father,” Huy said aloud. “My life filled up with school and my city friends. You and Mother and Hut-herib receded into my past. I should have returned more often, but everything here became small and dreamlike to me. There’s no point in lying about it.”
Hapu’s thick eyebrows rose. “Well, at least you do not insult me with false sentiments. When Itu returns, you can tell us why you are here.” Of course, you did not travel all the way from Iunu just to see us—Huy heard the addition although Hapu’s mouth had closed.
“My brother is a handsome boy,” Huy said. “How is his school work? Does he like learning?”
Hapu smiled. “He is already ahead of his class in reading and reciting,” he said proudly. “He is slightly weaker than his fellow students in writing and numbers, and unfortunately we, your mother and I, cannot help him seeing that neither of us can read or write. But he goes to visit Ker quite often and Heruben helps him.”
“I was slow at writing and numbers also,” Huy put in. “I soon caught up. So will Heby. Intelligence shines out of those brown eyes of his.” The attempted compliment, the desire to remind his father that he and Heby were of the same blood, fell flat. Hapu merely grunted.
Huy was about to open his satchel and withdraw his scrolls when Hapzefa came rushing across the room, grabbed his hands, and in a flurry of delighted cries tried to haul him to his feet. Huy struggled up to be engulfed in the woman’s embrace.
“Master Huy! How wonderful! Look at you! You have grown up behind our backs! Do you still lie down in vegetable patches to catch frogs? I suppose you catch girls now instead, and you are too big to spank! Are you home for long? Itu, where can he sleep? There’s no room.” All the time she was crowing she was kissing his cheeks and his hands. Laughing, Huy kissed her back. This was the woman who had both spoiled and disciplined him, sung him to sleep and terrified him with her stories of demons and ghosts, and he remembered how much he had loved her. She had not changed at all. The st
out peasant face had always been seamed, the breasts soft and large for a small boy to lay his head against, the arms thick and strong.
Setting him away, she surveyed him critically. “Fine linen and gold amulets. Jasmine perfume and hands without a single callus. Are you a nobleman now, Master Huy? Should I be bowing to you and calling you Prince?” Her eyes twinkled at him without malice.
Huy held out his hands. “No, no, Hapzefa. Look—no henna on my palms. The linen, the gold, the oil, all gifts from my friend Thothmes’ family, and I have been so long at my studies that I have had no opportunity to work with anything other than a pen and a few weapons. My station has not changed much.”
“But a little. Yes, a little. You speak in the accents of a lord. Gods, it’s good to see you!” She turned to Itu, who had entered behind her, clad in a clean sheath. Itu had combed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon, Huy could have sworn, that came from the chest of good things Nakht had brought to her on his visit years ago. He felt momentarily sick.
“I’ll bring the shedeh-wine now,” Hapzefa said, “and I made fresh date cakes this morning. Sit back down, Master Huy.” She bustled out.
Huy went back to the floor and Itu joined him, taking his arm and nestling against him. “It’s good to see you, my dearest. But what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”
Huy looked into her flushed face. “The school closes every year for the Inundation,” he reminded her, “but in any case, Mother, my school days are over.” Opening his bag, he took out the scrolls. “These are my reports and recommendations from my tutors. May I read them to you both?” Hapu nodded. He had crossed his legs and was leaning back, watching Huy carefully. Slowly, with great pride, Huy read to them the words of praise from the men who had governed his life for the last twelve years.
He was halfway through the scrolls when Hapzefa returned with clay cups and a flagon of wine. Quietly she poured for them, then hovered in the doorway, listening. When Huy had finished, it was she who spoke first. “I always knew you could be the best at whatever you chose to do. I suppose you will return to Iunu now and take up a position as chief scribe to some rich man, and marry his daughter and settle down in comfort. Oh, Master Huy, well done! Wait until I tell Ishat!”
Huy’s throat was dry. The sweet pomegranate wine slipped down it easily, the taste bringing a host of vivid memories with it. Yes, Ishat, he thought as he set his cup onto the floor. Where is she? Does she still work in the house or has her father married her off to some sturdy farm labourer? The idea was thoroughly distasteful. I want her to be here. I want to see her again. I want her to be unchanged, like Hapzefa.
His mother squeezed his arm and murmured her congratulations. She seemed quite overcome. Hapu smiled faintly. “You have triumphed over every adversity,” he said, and Huy knew his father would come no nearer to the matter of Huy’s death. “What now, Huy?”
Huy glanced at the three expectant faces. “The High Priest of Ra at Iunu offered me a place as his personal scribe,” he said carefully. “But I declined. I have spent enough time in the temple. I want different surroundings for a while.”
Hapu looked at him blankly. “What does that mean?” he said sharply. “Such a position would be a plum for any young man. It would lead to even greater things. How long is ‘for a while,’ Huy?”
“I don’t know,” Huy admitted. “I will be working as a scribe for Khenti-kheti’s High Priest, Methen.” Hapu visibly flinched. Huy knew the reaction had nothing to do with the lowliness of the station.
“Did something bad happen to you in Iunu, Master Huy?” The query came from the astute Hapzefa. “Is that why you have come home to this miserable town?”
How can I possibly explain to them about Anuket and the Book, and how the reverences of the priests became painful to me, and how I wear the sa night and day to keep the demons away from me, and how I fear and hate the heka of Atum and Thoth? I will try to tell Mother, she might understand, but now is not the time.
“No, nothing bad,” he lied, “unless boredom with so much studying and a need for a different experience can be called bad. Methen has given me a house in the town, close to the shrine.”
Itu sat straighter. “Then you will be close by!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Huy! We will be able to see you often!”
Hapzefa sniffed, a derisive sound. “It is a step down from what you might accomplish. I hope that a new boredom and a need for some other, more acceptable experience sets in before long. I never thought of you as stupid when you were a boy. Self-willed and given to tantrums, but not dim-witted. What about your friend’s father, Iunu’s Governor? Can’t he do something for you?”
“I would not let him,” Huy lied again, meeting the servant’s shrewd gaze. “I have arranged to do what I want to do for now. I am not a child anymore, Hapzefa. I have attained my majority. I am a free man.”
Hapzefa rolled her eyes and disappeared, only to reappear with a dish of date cakes, which she set before Itu. “Heby is already in the pond and covered in mud. I’ll fish him out and wash him, and then we’ll cook something fine for you, Huy. Meanwhile, eat my cakes. You always liked them.”
Hapu had said nothing. His head was down and he seemed to be contemplating his bare feet. You are not happy at having me so close, Huy thought, his gaze on the crown of Hapu’s head. Are you afraid that I will somehow corrupt my little brother? Or is it simply that now you will be forced to relive the failure of your love towards me?
“You need not worry that I shall be visiting you too often,” he said. “Methen will be keeping me busy, and besides, your own lives have fallen into customs and habits that my presence would only disturb. I shall not even stay the night here.”
Hapu’s head came up. He met Huy’s even glance, but his eyes quickly slid away. “You are welcome to stay as long as you wish,” he murmured, but his words were lost in Itu’s loud protestations.
“What nonsense! You must come and see us at least once a week, and as for tonight, Heby can sleep with your father and me and Hapzefa can put fresh linen on your old cot. We insist, don’t we, Hapu?” She leaned forward towards her husband anxiously. So she remembers also, Huy thought. Poor, darling Mother, desperate to make peace, to mend the rift between her husband and her son.
He drew her back into his embrace and kissed her. “I would like to sleep once more in my old room, providing Heby understands that I’m just borrowing it. Don’t fret, Itu. I am merely concerned that I don’t upset the household.”
The hot afternoon passed in polite conversation, and at sunset Hapzefa and Itu laid a modest feast upon the one low table. Heby had appeared, scrubbed and freshly kilted, and had fallen asleep in his mother’s lap, but at the aroma of food he woke and the family ate together in an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness. Huy was chewing the last of his honeyed figs when Heby, unbidden, crawled onto his knees and thrust a sticky face close to his. “I will tell you about my school and then you can tell me about yours,” he commanded. “Have you failed at all your lessons, to still be at school? You are much bigger than the biggest boys in my class.”
Huy felt himself warming towards this pert brother of his. “I think that your school only teaches boys until they are eight. My school has lessons for everyone until they are sixteen.”
Heby twisted around in Hapu’s direction. “I like school,” he announced, his voice rising. “I want to be like Huy and study until I’m sixteen. Will I go to a new school when I am eight, Father?”
Hapu set down his beer. “Your uncle Ker has kindly arranged for you to go away to school at the temple of Ptah in Mennofer,” he said. Huy saw his fingers draw together tightly.
Heby’s lower lip stuck out. “But I want to go to Huy’s school.”
“I’m not there anymore, Heby,” Huy said quickly. “I have finished all my lessons.”
“Oh.” With the abruptness of every small child he lost interest in the subject, and began to wriggle towards Huy’s cup. So Ker will fund the education of yet
another impecunious relative, Huy thought savagely. Doubtless he prays that this time he will not be rewarded with shame and embarrassment. Oh, curse you both, Father and Uncle! I don’t want to spend the night here among these awkward strangers. I want to run to Methen, to his unquestioning affection. Absently he was wrapping his hand around Heby’s as the child struggled to lift the beer to his mouth.
“No, Heby,” Itu said firmly. Heby let out a wail and Itu stood, taking him from Huy’s arms. “He’s tired,” she went on. “Hapzefa can put him to bed.” She went out. Huy and Hapu sat on, not speaking, the silence uncomfortable between them. All afternoon and evening Huy had wanted to ask about Ishat. Surely Hapzefa had told her by now that he was at home. Where was she? He had held his tongue, why he was not sure. Now he rose.
“I would like to go out into the garden and feel the night breeze for a while,” he said.
Hapu nodded, obviously relieved. “The household begins the day early, as you must remember. Itu and I will follow Heby to bed very soon. I’ll say your good night to your mother. Hapzefa has already changed the sheets on your cot.”
Huy bowed. “Good night, then, Father. If I don’t see you in the morning, I’ll be back next week.” Without waiting for a reply, he escaped into the narrow passage and in a few strides was out under the stars.
At once he felt all tension leave him. The moon was at the half and waning, and the stars blazed around it. The air was soft and smelled of the freshly sprinkled earth of his mother’s little vegetable garden. When his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he wandered across the grass to the pool and stood looking into its placid surface where the glory of the night sky was reflected. Itu planted her crops around it continually, he remembered, and the fronds of vegetables he could not name stirred gently and darkly, blurring the edges of the water. Somewhere under them lay the stones he had used to smash the offending toy monkey. It seemed to him that he was bending once again, destroying it, and in a moment Ishat would appear in her usual soundless way and tell him not to worry, that she would get rid of the pieces. It had an evil aura right from the start, he thought, and realizing that he was indeed bending, he straightened and sighed. Much of my disastrous future was already lurking inside it, waiting for my touch to flow into me. The memory of its idiot face can still make me tremble. He glanced towards the hedge separating the garden from the orchard, half hoping that the leaves would rustle and Ishat herself would step out, but the shrubbery remained a dusky profusion of stillness.
The Twice Born Page 42
