House of Dreams

by Pauline Gedge

  The shade was shrinking. Ra had moved in the heavens, and his hot fingers had begun to caress my feet, his touch both welcome and burning. I sat up and pulled in my knees. As I did so, an audacious idea came to me, an idea so scandalous that it took my breath away. I must have gasped, for my mother shot a glance at me. I stood, and not meeting her eye I said, “I will walk along the river path and meet Pa-ari.” She did not protest, and I set off briskly across the blinding dust of the square.

  Once under the thin shadow of the trees my pace slowed. I met no one on that suffocating, timeless afternoon, and if I had I would not have noticed them. What could I offer? Myself of course. My virginity. It was worthless to me anyway. I was not saving it for some worthwhile village simpleton, for some undeserving husband, as the other girls were. I had heard their whispers, seen their sidelong looks when one of the boys swung past, light gleaming on his brown skin over the muscles farm work kept taut. I saw further than they. I saw those fine boys twenty, thirty years hence in the person of their fathers, their clean muscles all knotted, their backs bent, their hands gnarled and thickened and their faces grooved by the remorseless sun and grinding labour. Only my father, out of all the village men, seemed to care for his body, drawing his bow and swimming purposefully in the river so that his spine stayed straight and his muscles long. Yet even he had begun to show the rigours of his life. No. That was not for me. I would trade my body for a glimpse into my future, and count the loss well spent. Men liked young girls, I knew. I had heard them talk, heard their lustful laughter when the beer jugs emptied on village feast days. I was not unattractive, with my budding breasts, my long legs and small hips, and surely the startling fact of my blue eyes would titillate a man who was probably used to such exotic sights in Thebes and the Delta but who would not expect to see one here. My mother would die of shame if she knew. My father would beat me. I would be a disgrace in the village. My heart began to pound.

  I had reached the temple precincts. Wepwawet’s sacred home stood graceful and white in the dazzling sunlight, and I found a patch of shadow just off the path and sat on the ground, studying the building with the mixture of delight and awe that it had always inspired in me. I would have liked to perch on the edge of the stone canal and dangle my feet in the water but the sun was too hot, and besides, the water was at its low summer ebb. No sound came from the walls, or from the sad growth around me. I waited.

  After a long time I saw Pa-ari appear under the pylon leading to the outer court, skirt the end of the canal, and walk towards me. He was dressed, as usual, in a white kilt and nothing else. His feet were bare. The bag he carried was no longer full of pieces of pottery for he now used a scribe’s palette, pots of red and black ink and brushes of various sizes that belonged to the temple and had to stay there. He was tall and beautiful, my brother, his body a uniform brown, the colour of the earth, of the desert at twilight. He strode proudly, uprightly, his head raised, the sheen of light and heat on his thick black hair, and I thought with a shock, he is one of them, my Pa-ari, one of the village boys the girls giggle over. He is one of them, but oh, I pray that he will not shrink and wither, that he will remain erect and full of sap no matter what. I came to my feet and stepped out onto the path, unaccountably shy for a moment. He saw me and his rather solemn face broke into a smile.

  “You must be very bored, Thu, to have nothing better to do than crouch under a tree,” he said as I swung into step beside him. “Has something happened at home?”

  I shook my head and hugged his arm. “No, but I heard today that a great Seer is coming to Aswat. Is it true?”

  “Why yes, it’s true,” he said, surprised. “The First Prophet himself only knew yesterday, when a message arrived from Thebes. News travels fast in small places.” His tone was ironic. He looked at me and then away to where the limp palms towered over our heads, dividing the path from the wasteland of the empty fields beyond. “Let me guess,” he went on. “My Lady Thu is anxious to meet this man. She wishes, as always, to have her future spelled out for her like a child on his first day at school.”

  I scuffed at the dust, watching it puff over my naked toes, both flattered and annoyed that I was so transparent to him. “It is something like that,” I admitted. “What are the priests saying?”

  “They are saying that this man will arrive three days hence, that he will stay aboard his barge except when he is consulting with the First Prophet, that he will be guarded by royal troops, and that he will not receive any villager but the mayor who will convey Aswat’s respectful greeting to the Lord of the Two Lands.” His eyes returned to the path ahead. “Therefore, Thu, I suggest you forget about him. While he is here I have no classes or duties in the temple. We can go eeling and have lots of lessons.” All at once he came to a halt and pulled open his bag. “I have something for you,” he explained. “Here.” He drew out two sheets of papyrus, smooth and crisp, and thrust them into my hands. They were followed by a tiny sealed clay pot. “Powder for ink, and a brush my teacher threw away. It’s well used but you can squeeze some more life out of it. I was given the papyrus and the ink as a reward for good work,” he finished proudly. “I want you to have them.”

  “Oh, Pa-ari!” I managed, overwhelmed, clutching the precious squares to my chest. “Oh, thank you! Can I try some letters now?”

  He held the bag open and reluctantly I slid the treasures back inside. “No you can’t,” he said firmly. “I’m tired and hungry and very thirsty. Tomorrow morning, if Mother doesn’t need you. We can sneak away to our spot under the sycamore.”

  I thought no more about the visiting oracle for the rest of the day.

  3

  THREE DAYS LATER I was standing with Pa-ari in the crowd of excited villagers when the Seer’s barge turned into the canal and laboured the short distance from the river to the watersteps. I had seen royal craft before, usually fast boats flying the imperial colours of blue and white and carrying Heralds with messages for the Viceroy of Nubia far to the south. They would pass Aswat swiftly, cutting the water and disappearing to leave nothing but their wash rippling against the bank. The great barges weighted down with mountainous granite from the quarries at Assuan also went by but rarely, for little building was being done. It was said that at one time the river was busy night and day, thronged with commerce, thick with the pleasure ships of the nobles, choked with Heralds plying to and fro on business for the hundreds of administrators and officials who ran Egypt. Watching this barge bump against the watersteps I was seized with nostalgia for a time I had never known, and fear for the slow eclipse of my country of which until that moment I had been only dimly aware. The village dreamed on, self-contained, but when talk of outside events did begin, the words were all of what had been in a glorious past, of present threats and future disasters. I will ask Pa-ari to read the history scrolls, I decided, jammed against him in the crush of excited bodies. I want to know this Egypt from a different vantage point than the village square.

  The craft was painted a spotless white. Its mast was polished cedar, as were its oars, and from the top of the mast the imperial flag was shaken sporadically by the intermittent, dry breeze. The planking curved sweetly from prow to stern, and fore and aft curled inward in the shape of fanned lotus flowers, each painted blue, the petals picked out with gold that glittered intoxicatingly in the sunlight. The cabin amidships had heavy, tightly drawn curtains of some material into which gold thread had been woven, for they also sparkled in the bright day. Sumptuous red tassels hung from the cabin’s frame, waiting to tie back the drapery. High in the stern, the helmsman clung to the vast steering oar and ignored the exclamations and cries of the people.

  The soldiers ignored us too. Six of them stood on each side of the cabin, tall, blackbearded foreigners with watchful eyes that peered out from under their horned helmets to disdainfully contemplate the sky above our heads. They wore long white kilts that concealed all but the shape of their massive thighs, and beneath collars of studded leather their chests we
re bare. They were equipped with swords and great round shields. Our father once looked like that, I thought with a rush of pride. He defended Pharaoh. He fought for Egypt. But then I wondered just what these men here today were supposed to be defending the illustrious oracle from. Us harmless villagers? Attacks from the banks of the Nile on his journey to Aswat and back to Pi-Ramses? I saw one of the soldiers shift his weight from one splayed, sandalled foot to the other. The gesture made him suddenly human, and I decided that the escort was simply for pride and show. Was the oracle arrogant, then, as well as famous? It was important for me to know.

  A ripple of anticipation went through the watchers as the curtains of the cabin twitched and were drawn aside. A we’eb priest appeared, tied back the drape, and bowed to the figure who emerged. I held my breath.

  The ripple subsided quickly and the silence of shock took its place, for the thing that came out of the dimness of the cabin and paused on the deck was a wrapped corpse, walking like a man. It, he, was swathed from head to toe in white wrappings. Even his face was hidden far back in the shadow of a voluminous hood, and the cloak that enveloped him covered his hands as well. The hood came up, turned from side to side, and I was sure that the unseen presence within was measuring us all.

  The man stepped up onto the ramp that had been run out between the boat and the stone facing of the canal. I glimpsed a foot bound in white bandages and suddenly felt faint. The Seer was diseased. He had some terrible disfiguring illness that made him too monstrous for ordinary eyes. I would abandon my mad scheme. This was too much. Besides, the sheer daylight reality of the boat, the trappings, the sweating soldiers, had shattered my stupid daydreams. I noticed then that Wepwawet’s High Priest with his acolytes had come out from beneath the pylon, wreathed in thin streams of incense, and was waiting to receive the God’s strange guest. I turned away.

  “Where are you going?” Pa-ari whispered.

  “Home,” I answered curtly. “I don’t feel well.”

  “Do you still want me to find out how long the Seer is staying?” he pressed. “I go to school with the acolytes. They’ll tell me.”

  I hesitated, pondered, then nodded. “Yes,” I said resignedly. It was no good. Even if the man had three heads and a tail I wanted an end to the aimless not-knowing. I would stiffen my resolve. Pa-ari’s mouth came close to my ear.

  “Remember, Thu,” he muttered. “You have no gift.”

  I swung to meet his gaze, which told me nothing, but I had the distinct impression that he suspected the thing I was determined to offer. Leaving him I slipped through the throng and began to run towards the village. The day had become oppressive, and I could hardly suck in the turgid air.

  Pa-ari and my mother returned to the house much later, and I was severely scolded for not preparing the evening meal, seeing I had been home alone. But even Mother was caught up in the disturbance caused by the notable’s visit, and did not punish me. I took our cow down to the water and then milked her. We ate bread and cold soup in the last red light of the day, and then Father surprised me by asking for fresh water. I brought it to him, then sat on the floor and watched while he meticulously washed himself. Mother was twisting wicks for the lamps and Pa-ari was cross-legged in the doorway, brooding over the darkening square beyond. Then Father called for his sandals and a jug of our best palm wine. I scrambled to obey and Mother looked up suspiciously from her work.

  “Where are you going?” she enquired.

  He ran both hands through his wet, blond hair and smiled in her direction. “I am off to seduce one of the mayor’s nubile daughters,” he joked. “My dearest sister, your jealousy is delightful. Really, I am going to indulge in soldier’s gossip with the Shardana. I have had no contact with men of my own kind for a long time. Do not wait up for me.”

  “Hmm,” was her comment, but I could see that she was pleased. He took the sandals from me gently, slipped them on, and hefted the jug of wine. “Pa-ari!” he called to the huddled form of his son outlined between the lintels. “Would you like to come with me?”

  The invitation was a surprising honour, for Pa-ari would not be reckoned a man to share in other men’s affairs until he turned sixteen. He jumped up at once. “Thank you, Father!” he crowed. “I would like that very much!” And then they were gone. Pa-ari’s excited voice faded and the night fell.

  My mother was asleep long before the two of them came home, but I was not. I sat on my pallet with my back against the wall in the room Pa-ari and I shared, fighting drowsiness, until I heard their unsteady footsteps turn into the house. Father’s heavier tread stumbled straight into my parents’ bedroom. Pa-ari came fumbling for his mattress in the darkness.

  “It’s all right,” I hissed at him. “I’m awake. I want to hear everything, Pa-ari. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “Very much.” His voice was laboured and I could tell that he was slightly drunk. He sank onto his pallet with a gusty sigh and the air was full of wine fumes for a moment. “The Shardana are formidable men, Thu. I would not want to face them in battle. I was in awe of them, but Father sat with them before their tents and laughed and drank and spoke of things so foreign that I was reduced to silence. He is a great man in his own way, our father. Some of the stories he told tonight, of his exploits in the time of troubles! I could hardly believe them!”

  “Well what of the soldiers?” I broke in sharply. I was jealous of the unfeigned admiration in Pa-ari’s voice. I wanted him to love and admire no one but me. “Where are their tents? How many of them guard the Seer at night? Is he on his barge or elsewhere? How long is he staying?”

  There was a silence. For a while I was afraid that Pa-ari had fallen asleep, but then I heard his mattress rustle as he found a new position. “I called you obdurate once.” The words came quietly from his unseen mouth but their tone conveyed his expression, sad, disappointed. “I think you are ruthless also, Thu, and not always very likeable. You do have a gift, don’t you? Something shameful, dark. Do not lie to me. I know.”

  I said nothing. I waited calmly. Everything in me had gone cold, a kind of dead peacefulness, while our relationship hung in the balance. Would he help me or would he turn aside, just a little but enough to sunder the closeness we had always shared, and define our affection in other, less forgiving terms. I heard the anger and sorrow in his voice as he at last gave me the information I needed.

  “There are two tents, set up on this side of the temple wall. Two soldiers stand guard over the Seer, who sleeps in his cabin on the barge. The rest stand down. He will be here for two nights and will cast off for Pi-Ramses at dawn on the third day. If you take to the river and swim up the canal you should be able to accomplish your desire. The guards are really for show.”

  I did not thank him. I sensed that he would be insulted if I tried. But the coldness in my ka had gone and I felt obscurely dirty. After a long time I said tentatively, “I love you, Pa-ari.” He did not reply. He was either asleep or had chosen to ignore me.

  All the next day I thought about what I would do. The village remained largely deserted, the people hurrying to the temple in their spare moments to try and catch yet another glimpse of the sinister figure who had glided under the pylon and into their imaginations, but my father slept late and then went out onto the desert for reasons of his own and Pa-ari disappeared with his friends. Mother and I retreated to the relative coolness of her herb room and busied ourselves in grinding and bagging the dozens of leaves that hung drying from the ceiling. There was little conversation and I was free to make plans, each more fantastic and impossible than the last, until I was ordered sharply to soak the lentils for the evening meal and stop daydreaming. With an inward sigh, part hopelessness and part recklessness, I did as I was told. I had discarded all flights of fancy and decided on a direct course of action. I would go simply, nakedly, to my fate. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Arrest, and an ignominious march back to my father’s door.

  Father came home at sunset, blood caking his ches
t and dried in rivulets down his arms. A dead jackal was slung across his shoulder, and more blood dripped from its mouth and nose down my father’s sinewy back. He tossed it outside the door, together with his bow and two soiled arrows. “I’m hungry!” he shouted into my mother’s horrified face. He was laughing. “Don’t begrudge a man an afternoon’s sport, woman! Thu, bring beer to the river immediately. I am going to wash off this carrion’s remains and then I will drink and eat and then you and I,” he planted a kiss on my mother’s silently protesting mouth, “will make love!”

  He set off for the river at a lope and later, watching him splash and plunge about in the water, I understood that the time he had spent with the soldiers had freed him to briefly be the man he had laid aside, willingly but perhaps regretfully, when he chose my mother as his wife. He was fine, my father, straight and honest and strong, yet in my arrogance I pitied him that day for the choices he had made.

  We all ate together, sitting cross-legged on our mats with the food on a cloth before us while the sun dropped behind the desert. My mother lit a lamp. Father said the evening prayers to Wepwawet, our totem, and to Anhur and Amun and mighty Osiris, his voice reverential but still full of happiness. Then he and my mother walked out under the stars and Pa-ari and I went to our room. He busied himself with arranging his pallet, his back towards me. “It is the Seer’s last night,” he remarked non-committally at last, his face still averted. “Have you come to your senses, Thu?”

  “If you mean am I going to meet my destiny tonight, yes I am,” I replied loftily. The words hung between us, fraught with a dignity I had scarcely intended, and I finished lamely, “Please don’t be angry with me, Pa-ari.”

  He had lain down and was motionless, a dark column on the pallet. “I’m not,” he said, “but I hope they catch you and whip you and drag you home in disgrace. You know that none of us has actually seen under all those grim white wrappings, don’t you? What if he’s not human? Aren’t you afraid? Good-night, Thu.”