Ancient Evenings (33 page)

When Menenhetet was present, however, another side of my mother would come forth. She could look as demure then, as a girl of eighteen, and I did not feel like her son so much as her younger brother, both of us there to worship Menenhetet, or so I used to think until the glimpse of them together last night which, if taken with her boldness tonight, made me think with some fear: “She has given everything to raising me. But now she wants more for herself.”

I was also aware that our Pharaoh had been gone too long. My family was stirring uneasily. Just before the sight of His empty seat would most definitely spoil the pleasure of the evening, He came back. But in a peculiar state. I felt much unhappiness in Him, yet He was bright in His manner and even more feverish than before.

At once, He made a sign with His hand to the servants, and four Syrians brought us gifts.

A headrest of silver was given to my father, and Menenhetet received a small doll, carved in ivory, of a man dressed in fine linen. When one pressed the hips of this gift, as my great-grandfather soon did, a pale yellow phallus stood up, at which my father giggled uncontrollably for it had a red painted tip.

My mother was presented a grasshopper made of colored glass, and the head, which had two small rubies for eyes, was removable. Now, the loveliest odor of perfume wafted forth.

“Do not open it,” said Ptah-nem-hotep, “for soon we will leave this room. Save it, I implore you, to sweeten the air of the next. Oh, dear, the boy,” He said and made a gesture with His hand as if He had forgotten me, but of course He hadn’t, and the servants brought out a fine small box in which rested the two pieces of black-copper-from-heaven. I was so delighted I forgot everything at once in playing with my bars and their pull seemed more mysterious than before, indeed when I closed my eyes, I could no longer know for certain what was up and down, so strangely were my hands drawn about. Ptah-nem-hotep looked then at my great-grandfather and said, “Explain this wonder to Me.”

“I have seen nothing like it before,” said Menenhetet. “This is not a piece of amber to draw to itself a few snips of cloth. Nor is it the charm of one eye upon another. This attraction has true weight.”

“Would you suppose,” asked our Pharaoh, “that there is desire in one piece of metal for the other?”

“I would say it is more than desire, and like a bend in the nature of things.”

I could hear the curiosity in Ptah-nem-hotep’s voice when He replied: “Where would you find this bend? In the river? In the sky?”

“I would be so bold as to speak of a bend in the passage of time,” my great-grandfather murmured.

“I do not know what you mean. One could speak as easily of a knot or a cramp. Perhaps, dear doctor, you mean an inflammation of time?”

I wished to cry out to the Pharaoh, “Do not mock my great-grandfather or harm will come to all of us,” but I did not dare.

Menenhetet, however, was as powerful as stone in the force of his silence. Only when all of us were looking at him, would he speak. “I wonder if such attraction is not a summons from the past that calls upon the future?”

Ptah-nem-hotep touched His tail most delicately to the table. “Fine,” He said, “Wonderful. Each of us must know one eye of Horus. Between us, we ought to find the truth. For I would say: all-that-is-yet-to-come may be weighing upon what-has-passed.” He nodded, He exhaled His breath, and stood up. We stood up. Our feast was over.

The servants led us out of the dining room, up some marble stairs, across many fountains and palms to a covered patio on which were sofas to recline. At the commencement of our view stood pillars of marble as noble as any on the facade of a temple, and beyond were the buildings of the Palace and many courtyards and gardens and walls, even a view of the river. I was so intent on what could be glimpsed in the distance that I hardly noticed how the servants had begun to bring in, one by one, a number of small covered boxes, set on stands, and the Pharaoh nodded as each was set in place. I had learned enough about Ptah-nem-hotep to know that a marvel you could encounter only in His Presence was soon to be revealed.

As the last torch was extinguished, each of the eight blacks came to stand by one of the hooded cages. In the darkness, we were unable to see each other’s faces. Now, Ptah-nem-hotep clicked His tongue, and on that sound, the hoods were removed.

The darkness began to glow. Slowly we could see what He had prepared. Each cage was covered with a transparent linen. From the interior, behind each veil, appeared the lights of little stars who flitted back and forth, a myriad of lights in every cage. We gasped in pleasure, then applauded. What untold difficulty to capture so many hundreds of fireflies! How soft were the features of my mother by such a light, and, oh, the wealth of her love. We sat in a darkness lit by golden stars.

TWELVE

“By the light of these fireflies,” said my mother, “what is Your request?”

“But I have none,” said Ptah-nem-hotep.

“In our family,” replied my mother, “we look to return a delight for a delight. What would You desire of us? It is Yours.” I could not bear the boldness in her eyes as she looked at Him.

“I can think of many pleasures,” said Ptah-nem-hotep, but He laughed as if to turn her away. “Let Me content Myself with expressing one desire. I would say I have contemplated it for years.” As if, on reflection, this was certainly true, He nodded, and said, “The light of these mites makes Me think of the campfires of ancient armies.” There was a quick exclamation from my father at the charm of this thought. Ptah-nem-hotep nodded again. “Yes,” He went on, “I would ask of the General, your own grandfather Menenhetet who has much impressed Me with his thoughts on time, that he tell us the story of the Battle of Kadesh.”

“I do not know,” said Menenhetet slowly, “when last I have spoken of that day.”

“I can only inform you,” said Ptah-nem-hotep, “that I see this battle often. The heroism of My ancestor, Ramses the Second, appears in My dreams. So, I say, should you wish to return a delight for a delight, yes, tell Me of the Battle of Kadesh.”

My great-grandfather took a pause, and bowed. “As Hathfertiti says, it is the custom of our family.” He looked no happier, however, than a thundercloud.

When he did not say another word, my mother’s voice came forth. “Speak of the battle,” she said, and there was an annoyance in her tone as if Menenhetet would spoil much if he did not take care.

Then we were all silent before the current of ill-will in my great-grandfather. His face had the unspoken clamor of the sky before a storm, and I could feel the force of this bad feeling pass directly into my mother. Ugly as I knew his thoughts would be, I was not prepared for such bitterness. “The degenerate who sups on bat shit has been invited to spill a few secrets,” were the unspoken words that went from my great-grandfather to my mother.

“Know that I take pleasure to see you in My house,” said Ptah-nem-hotep into the silence.

Menenhetet bowed again.

“I can speak,” he said, “in four voices. I can address You as the young peasant who became a charioteer and rose to be General-of-All-the-Armies, commanding the Divisions of Amon, Ra, Ptah, and Set during the reign of Ramses the Second; I can inform you how in my second life I was the youngest High Priest of Thebes during the old age of the same Ramses the Second. Equally, I can speak of the third Menenhetet, who became the wealthiest of the wealthy. Born in the reign of Merneptah, he lived through Siptah, Seti the Second, and other such Pharaohs as Setnacht. Now, if You desire, I can speak as I am here,
Your
Menenhetet, a nobleman, a General, and later a doctor of renown. I can tell, should You wish to hear, of the plot against Your Father, or of the brief and miserable thrones of Ramses the Fourth, Ramses the Fifth, Ramses the Sixth, Ramses the Seventh, and Ramses the Eighth, who have all been lost to us in twenty-five years, even as Your Majesty may reign longer than all of Them together.”

I had often been told that the greatest mark of respect a man could give himself was to speak in a full voice on the worth of his rank and achievements. But my great-grandfather’s speech was so short, it seemed rude, and then he startled us even more by his next words. They departed from every custom on how to address the Pharaoh. He now said: “Twice-Divine House, You speak of being happy to see me. This is, however, the Night of the Pig. So I will dare to say that until tonight, You have not invited me to Your Court in the seven years of Your Reign. Yet, now, You inform me that Your finest pleasure would be to hear an account of Your ancestor, Ramses the Second, at the Battle of Kadesh. My tongue is sour in my teeth. I waited for seven years with more in my heart than any man in Your realm. My ruler never called on me.”

Hathfertiti made a choked sound.

A clear tone came, however, into our Pharaoh’s voice, as if at last He had before Him a man who spoke his thoughts. “Say more,” He commanded.

“Good and Great God, You will abhor what I say.”

“I wish to hear it.”

“Of those in Your Court who laugh at me, You are the first.”

“I am not.”

“Not tonight.”

“No, it is true, I do not laugh at you tonight. I have laughed at you on other evenings.”

“The echoes,” said Menenhetet, “of such good humor have come back to me.”

Ptah-nem-hotep nodded. “I know no one in My Court,” he said, “who does not in some manner respect you. They certainly fear you. Nonetheless, you are the source of much derision. Do you have no idea why this is so?”

“I would like to hear Your voice give me the reason.”

“The secret habits of our esteemed Menenhetet have been described as disagreeable.”

“They are revolting,” my great-grandfather replied. “I am known as the degenerate who sups on bat shit.”

“There,” said my mother, “he has spoken it aloud.”

“Bats,” said Menenhetet, “are filthy creatures, hysterical as monkeys, restless as vermin.”

“Who can disagree?” said our Pharaoh. “It may be easier to speak of you with derision than comprehend your habit.”

They looked at one another in the silence of men who have been saying too much.

“Do you do this,” asked the Pharaoh, “in the practice of magic?”

Menenhetet nodded. “I wished to use what was learned in other lives.”

“And did you succeed?”

“There was a time when I could not give up the pursuit of curious questions. So I refused to draw back from the voice that told of revelations to be found in the unspeakable odium of bats.”

“You went forward?”

“For a few weeks, many years ago, I pursued the question, yes. I supped once, then twice on that loathsome paste. It offends me now to speak of it, but I found it necessary then, and I was given the answer I was looking for. It was smaller than I hoped, and that should have been the end of it, but the trusted servant who aided me in the preparation of the ceremony saw fit to tell one friend. No man can be trusted altogether. By the next night, all of Memphi was agog. I do not think there was a noble lad who did not hear of it. I, who wished to use what I had learned …”

“To what purpose?”

“To enrich,” said Menenhetet, “the marrow of our failing lands.” When our Pharaoh looked at him in some surprise, my great-grandfather held up his hand as if he were for a moment our Monarch. “I do not speak,” he said, “of prayers that ask the river to rise to a good height. That is for priests. I speak of matters I do not wish to explain. It would take a knowledge of my four lives to begin to comprehend certain ceremonies”—here, at the look of displeasure on Ptah-nem-hotep’s mouth, as cruel in its curve as the edge of a sword (so that I realized at once and forever how the desire to torture others came quickest to our Pharaoh when His curiosity was aroused, then balked) my great-grandfather shifted in the confidence of his manner long enough to say, “A man who would deal in strange ceremonies, and employ words of power, finds that he must address himself to one God more than others. To that God is sent not only the large part of his rituals, but his thoughts. So I sought to be the agent of Osiris, since He has spoken to me in the Land of the Dead. Only He, I believed, could enrich the marrow of our failing lands.”

Now, no one was able to say a word, and the dignity of my great-grandfather was like the composure of a statue.

Who but Ptah-nem-hotep could enter such a silence? “I,” He said, “am the Pharaoh Who reminds you most of Osiris?”

“Yes,” my great-grandfather replied, “I would say it is so.” He was watching the light of our Pharaoh’s eyes (for even in the soft glow of the fireflies, a light was there to see).

“That is interesting. Please go on. I would like to hear of the injuries done to you by My Court.”

“I do not wish to complain in Your Presence, but I will say that the little treachery of my servant went far. The desired effect of the ceremonies I undertook was undone by the derision of Your nobles. To my intolerable shame, I knew much but could do little.”

“A magician,” said Ptah-nem-hotep, “ought to be able to overcome much ridicule.”

“The Gods listen to mean thoughts. They are obliged to. None of us is without magic when we speak to the Gods in a dream.”