Shamanka

by Jeanne Willis

  He slaps his forehead – she is trying his patience. “Thank Ra I was never blessed with a daughter. You are doing my head in. But in answer to your impertinent question, I will say this: magic is the creative force which binds spirit and matter together. Everything has a thread of spirit that connects it to the rest of the world.”

  He stuffs the red ball into his mouth and says, “Ebil igagibut ogjegs agsorg ebotioms.”

  Even inanimate objects absorb emotions; something Mrs Reafy also believes. And Ruth Abafey. It strikes Sam that human minds – ancient and modern – all draw similar conclusions about things they can’t explain. They all hope for an afterlife; they all want to feel the invisible strings that connect them to their world.

  “Indeed,” nods Hufat. “Only the symbols change, and the rituals and names of the gods. This limited thinking is hardly surprising given that we are all made of the same ingredients.” He draws a circle in the sand. “Each of us is a miniature universe. All that is within us is also without; we are electric and magnetic, just like pebbles and planets. We contain a zoo of bacteria and parasites – even more so in the case of your orang-utan. I do wish it would stop scratching.”

  Sam leaps to Lola’s defence. “She has sand in her fur.”

  “I don’t care! She is making me itchy. Any more silly questions? Only it’s my bath time. It’s hot and I’m starting to stick to my mat.”

  “Just one more,” says Sam. “Has a man called John Tabuh ever been to visit you?”

  At the mention of the Dark Prince, Yerba Hufat screws up his face and snarls. “Who is he to you?”

  “My father.”

  “Gah!” Hufat spits into the air, lowers his umbrella and makes a great play of buttoning up the little strap that keeps it closed. He lays it next to him and hunches like a crow. “Yes, I met John Tabuh. He pooh-poohed my umbrella trick. He said it was just an illusion. That I could live with, but then he did something far worse.”

  Sam can’t imagine what that could be.

  “Don’t say he pooh-poohed your ball and cups? If he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean to. It’s just that he’s a magician, and the ball and cups are … well, they are rather basic. Lola taught me how to find the ball when I was three.”

  By now, Mr Hufat’s face has twisted into a very peculiar shape, as if he’s chewing a hedgehog.

  “It’s nothing to do with cups and balls!” he shrieks. “John Tabuh had the audacity, the gall, the temerity, to doubt the word of Yerba Hufat, despite the reassurance of my very good friend, his father!”

  Choking on his own spit, he explains that John Tabuh had asked him if it was possible to bring someone back to life and Yerba Hufat had replied that he could do even better than that; he could bring something to life that had never lived.

  “Impossible!” laughs Sam.

  This makes Hufat even angrier. He turns and he shouts, “You are just like your father! Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No, I’d never say such a thing. It’s just that it goes against all the laws of nature.”

  “Oh!” says Yerba. “You know all the laws of nature, do you? You know them better than Yerba Hufat, who is your elder?”

  “But you can’t even master the cup and ball,” says Sam, under her breath.

  “I,” says Yerba, thumping his chest so hard that he coughs, “I am the greatest magician on Earth! If you refuse to believe I can bring something to life that has never lived, I’ll just have to prove it to you, won’t I? Just as I proved it to that incorrigible sceptic, your father.”

  “How exactly did you do that?” asks Sam.

  “How exactly did you do that?” mimics Yerba with revolting sarcasm. “I’ll tell you how I did that! You see these two stone crocodiles? I snapped my fingers and worked Big Magic. At my command, they sprang into life and grabbed hold of your father’s leg with their very sharp teeth. They gave him the most appalling injuries from which he no doubt died. He limped off into the desert with his magic box, and somewhere out there his handsome (pff!) but sceptical bones lie, picked clean by the vultures – ha! Good riddance to him!”

  Halfway through this vicious rant, Khensu begins to growl at one of his crocodiles – it is not as it first appeared. Now that the umbrella had been removed, it’s no longer in the shade, and the heat of the midday sun is having the strangest effect on it. It’s starting to drip. As the sun continues to beat down, Sam notices a strong smell – like burning candles.

  This is no stone statue; it’s a real crocodile. It’s been coated in a thick layer of wax to immobilize it. As the wax melts from its scaly eyelids, the creature blinks. Khensu leaps in the air; Kitty runs off screaming; Lola swings into the palm tree, and as Sam leaps to her feet, the sinful Mr Hufat commands the crocodile to attack.

  “Fetch, Ammit! Eat the sceptical child!”

  HOW TO LEVITATE

  The masked magician stands at an angle facing away from the audience. Suddenly the magician levitates a few inches above the ground. How?

  THE SECRET

  1. Stand on the tips of the toes of your foot farthest from the spectator. The angle at which you stand, acting and misdirection all contribute to the illusion.

  2. Inform your audience ahead of time that you intend to levitate.

  3. Pretend to put lots of care into where you’re going to perform.

  4. Stress that there are no wires or gimmicks and allow yourself to be examined.

  5. Act as if the levitation is physically straining.

  6. The audience is misdirected from your actual method because they’re busy concentrating on the movement of your feet and the space between the feet and the ground.

  7. When “landing” make a point of hitting the ground hard and bend your knees to fool them into thinking you’ve “levitated” higher than you have. Practise in front of a mirror.

  THE CAT CEMETERY

  When you’re being chased by a carnivore, the natural instinct is to run. But that’s the last thing you must do: the beast is programmed to chase you and kill you. Crocodiles look sluggish, but don’t be fooled; they can reach surprising speeds in short bursts.

  Aware of this, Sam faces Ammit and assumes a statue pose worthy of Bart Hayfue. It takes a great deal of courage to do this when confronted by a croc with a head the size of a cello, but her bravery pays off.

  Confused that its prey is no longer moving, the crocodile slams on its brakes and peers at her like an old man trying to read a menu without his glasses. Unfortunately, crocodiles are good at pretending to be statues too – it’s much easier to balance on four legs.

  Knowing she’ll be the first to wobble, Sam saves herself using that old standby, ventriloquism. She throws her voice behind her, making it sound as if Yerba Hufat is bleating like a goat. Hearing his favourite dish in full voice, Ammit whips round, runs on his scaly toes towards his master and chases him into the water.

  To this day I don’t know if Mr Hufat was eaten alive or whether the crocodile took one bite and spat him out; he was rather oily. Whatever happened, his curdling screams could still be heard ten minutes after Sam and friends had escaped on their camels across the Black Desert.

  The camels have slowed down to a sullen plod. The plan is to head for Lower Egypt, to Tel Basta, but as I said earlier, Sam’s camel has eaten the map. There are no signposts, so it’s more than fortunate that they stumble across a tribe of nomads without whom I doubt they would have survived.

  Sam’s spirits are low. She’s afraid her father died in the desert from his crocodile bite and that her mother has died with him, from grief, lack of water and heat exhaustion.

  Thankfully that is not the case according to the wife of the chief tribesman, who welcomes the weary travellers to her tent and offers them camel’s cheese and figs.

  After their meal, Kitty, Lola and Khensu fall asleep against a pile of tasselled cushions. While they sleep, the tribeswoman tells Sam about the time she found a man bleeding to death in the Black Desert. He was in the arms of his
wife who was trying to staunch the flow of blood from his leg with her blonde hair.

  A nomadic elder had strapped John Tabuh to the magic box and towed him behind his camel. His younger brother carried Christa, and the couple were taken to a tent where they were attended to by the nomadic women.

  It was six months before John Tabuh regained full use of his leg, by which time he and Christa had become part of the tribal elder’s family. The nomads persuaded them to stay for a further six months and, to repay them for their kindness, the Dark Prince entertained them with magic while Christa made clothes for the children.

  “Thank you,” says Sam. “Thank you so much for saving them.”

  The woman hands her a cup of mint tea. “My pleasure. Such charming people. My sisters were in tears when your father left. Compared to John Tabuh, their husbands suddenly looked like the backs of camels!”

  Sam leans back against her cushion. “I don’t suppose you know where my parents went by any chance?”

  “Mexico.” The woman smiles. “I wonder if your mother had a little boy or a girl…”

  Her mother had been pregnant? The news takes a while to sink in. To discover that your father isn’t Bingo Hall and that your mother didn’t die in childbirth takes some getting used to. Now Sam must get to grips with the fact that, somewhere, she might have a sister or brother.

  At first she’s excited, then she’s jealous. She wants to be the only one, certain that if her parents had another child, they’ve forgotten her. If only she knew that no matter how many siblings came along, John and Christa could never love their first child any less.

  If only we all knew that.

  If you follow the east bank of the Nile as Sam, Kitty and Lola did, eventually you will come to Zagazig. Nearby is the ancient city of Bubastis, and there, hidden behind a grove, you will find the sacred enclosure that surrounds the ruined temple of Tel Basta.

  Within it lies the shrine of Bastet, daughter of the sun god, Ra, protector of women, cats, children and all that is life-giving; she carries a rattle but I don’t know if it’s silver. And she has a sister, Sekhmet. According to Kitty, Sekhmet is the opposite of Bastet in every way. She is the wicked sister, the one who revels in darkness.

  “Like Candy and Christa,” says Sam. “I’m beginning to think life is one big illusion done with mirrors, Kitty … Kitty?”

  Kitty doesn’t reply. She’s kneeling at the shrine with Khensu at her side, offering up this prayer. It’s in Ancient Egyptian, so I’ll translate it for you.

  “Beloved Bast, mistress of happiness and bounty, twin of the sun god, Horus, with your graceful stealth, anticipate the moves of all who perpetrate cruelties and stay their hands against the child of light. Watch over us in the lonely place where we must walk…”

  This is as much as Sam hears. In the middle of the prayer, Khensu slips away. It’s as if he’s evaporated from his own shadow. Sam and Lola go after him in case he gets lost. This is nonsense, of course – cats always know exactly where they are.

  They find Khensu in the Cat Cemetery, chattering to himself … or is he communicating with the spirits of hundreds of cats mummified and buried here? His ears swivel, he thumps his tail and he yowls. Perhaps the spirits are reminding him that he isn’t just a barge cat, he’s a demi-god. Deep down, he’s known it all along and he draws himself up proudly like the sacred beast that he is. When Sam calls him, he sticks his nose in the air and ignores her.

  “Come on, Khensu.”

  The feline demi-god won’t let Sam near him. Whenever she approaches him, he slides inside a tombstone, soaks into the soil or melts against the moon. Who knows where he’s gone, but wherever it is, it’s where he belongs. Sam knows he will never come back.

  “Goodbye, Khensu… Let’s go, Lola. He doesn’t want to be found.”

  Lola will miss him. She’s not had a baby to care for since she nursed Sam. Khensu filled a gap that her toy monkey could never fill.

  Sam puts an arm around her. “When I find mum and dad, I’ll buy you a kitten, Lola. Or a rabbit, if you like. Or maybe you’ll fall in love with another orang-utan and have your own baby.”

  As they walk back to Bastet’s shrine, Sam chatters to Lola about the baby orang-utan fantasy. “I could babysit for you, if you wanted to go out. I wonder if you’d have a girl or a boy, Lola… Oh! That’s odd. Where’s Kitty? This is the right place, isn’t it?”

  Kitty is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably wandered off to see the rest of the temple, so they sit and wait for her. But the minutes turn into hours and still no sign. They search all through the night but Kitty doesn’t reply.

  “Here, Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!”

  A raven-furred cat sits on a tombstone and watches them. It’s wearing the bold eyeliner of an Egyptian priestess. The markings on its face bear an uncanny likeness to Kitty’s mask. It stares at Sam.

  For a split second, Sam believes it might be possible for people to shape-shift into animals – but does it work the other way round? Can animals shape-shift into humans? Would this cat turn back into Kitty? Was Aunt Candy really a python who had turned into a person and was unable to twist itself back?

  The cat averts its gaze, bored with the speculation. It’s just a cat, Sam tells herself. She takes out a pencil and paper and asks the spirits where Kitty is hiding. Instinctively, she knows she’s hiding. She doesn’t know why; perhaps it is some kind of test. Or the desire for privacy. Or maybe, like Khensu, she’s come to the end of her journey – she’s home at last and Sam must carry on without her.

  There’s no alternative. The spirits remain silent; Kitty doesn’t return. Sam has no reason to stay in Egypt. Somehow, she must travel to Mexico to visit Father Bayu. His name is dominating the witch doctor’s list – scorching the page. She slams the book shut to extinguish the sparks.

  Sam and Lola must make their way down the Nile to Cairo, but the boatman won’t allow them onto his raft until Sam pays the fare. He’s been tricked before and he’s wary of this wild, lonesome girl. Or maybe he’s scared of orang-utans.

  “Show me your Egyptian pounds, lady!”

  “I only have euros, but they’re as good as anything.”

  “No good! No journey!”

  She could offer him the second oyster pearl from the witch doctor’s pouch, but it would be a waste. The pearl is worth a great deal and she’s sure he’ll short-change her, so she searches for Mr Fraye’s coin.

  It’s an unusual coin, about the size of a ten-pence piece but heavier. It’s tarnished, but when she rubs it on her sleeve, it gleams brightly. On one side there’s an orchid framing the embossed head of a hornbill. On the reverse there’s a picture of a man in a headdress with boars’ tusks in his nostrils. Sam hands the coin to the boatman.

  “Will this do?”

  His eyes dart from left to right as if it’s the currency of the devil. “Get in, get in!” he insists, pulling her on board. “I will take you there for nothing, providing you never tell a living soul that I refused to take you in the first place.”

  Sam promises and the agitated boatman plunges his pole in the water and punts them down the Nile at phenomenal speed, as if pursued by demons. When they arrive at Cairo, he can’t wait to get rid of them.

  “The airport is that way!” He pushes Sam and Lola off the raft and punts away so fast, his arms blur.

  The heat is unbearable, but Lola will have to disguise herself as a person or they won’t let her on the plane. Sam has no clothes to lend her, so they head for the bazaar to buy a burka.

  The bazaar is hot, spicy and loud. There are richly patterned carpets for sale. Chickens, goats, pots, pans, lamps, jewellery and cloth. There’s a barrow loaded with spiky-skinned fruit that look like lizards and a barrow loaded with lizards that look like spiky-skinned fruit.

  They find a man selling burkas, but he won’t accept euros either, so, in a beggar-free corner, Sam takes off her ringmaster’s hat and performs a few tricks with Lola to earn some money. In an Egyptian bazaar, no
body cares if you have a pet orang-utan. There are monkeys everywhere, not to mention rats, cats, snakes, camels and dogs.

  There are also donkeys – one of which has just collapsed under the weight of its load. Sam has just bought the burka when a shrill cry rings out from a child waving a stick. “He’s dead! Now how will we carry pots to market?”

  The half-starved donkey is slumped on the dirt floor, a bag of dust and bones. Sam pushes her way through the crowd and asks them all to stand back. At first they take no notice; who is she to tell them what to do?

  She must act quickly; showmanship is needed to control this audience. She must be like the Dark Prince of Tabuh and work the crowd. She stands on an upturned mango crate. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will now levitate!”

  Sure enough, she appears to have risen into the air – not very high, but just enough to enthral the spice-seller.

  “See the magician!” he cries.

  Word gets around. Now Sam has the attention of the crowd and, with excellent sleight of hand, she produces two palm fronds from nowhere which she waves hypnotically.

  “Magician, magician, see the magician!”

  Maintaining an air of mystery, Sam steps down from the box and walks towards the donkey. As she walks, she chants – but she’s not chanting the resurrection chant. She’s trying to discover what is real, what is magic and what is illusion, so she’s chanting something quite ridiculous:

  You put your right leg in, your right leg out,

  In out, in out, you shake it all about.

  You do the hokey cokey and you turn around,

  That’s what it’s all about!

  She hasn’t gone mad; she’s trying to understand the power of chanting.

  1. Is it the actual words of the chant that make it potent?

  2. Can you use any old words because the magic is in the rhythm of your speech?

  3. Is all in the tone of your voice?