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.It had been nearly five years since he left me, and the little boy was now a young man.His hair, no longer shaved, had grown in thick and black.His arms showed muscle, his legs were no longer silky smooth, and his chest bespoke his father’s beauty.“Ma,” said the young man who was my son.“Oh Ma, you look well.Even better than I remembered.”He was merely being polite.He was a prince of Egypt addressing the serving woman who had given him birth.It was just as I feared: we were strangers, and our lives would never permit us to become more than that.He motioned for me to come and sit beside him, and Nakht-re smiled his approval.I asked if he suffered, and he waved the question away.“I have no pain,” he said.“They give you wine laced with the juice of poppies before they draw the knife, and afterward too,” he said.“But that all happened a week ago, and I am quite recovered.Now it is time to celebrate, and I am home for the banquet.“But how are you, Ma?” he said.“I am told you are a famous midwife now, that you are the only one the great ladies of Thebes will trust when called to childbed.”“I serve as I can,” I said quietly and turned his question aside, for what can a woman tell a man about babies and blood? “But you, son, tell me what you learned.Tell me of your years in school and of the friendships and honors you earned, for your uncle says you were the best of your fellows.”A cloud passed over Re-mose’s face, and I recognized the little boy who burst into tears when he found a dead baby duck in the garden.But my son did not speak of the taunts of his schoolmates, nor recount for me the mocking cries that followed him everywhere during the first year of his studies: “Where is your father? You have no father.”Re-mose did not speak of his loneliness, which grew as he proved himself the best of his class and the teacher took note of him and made him the favorite.He spoke only of his teacher, Kar, whom he loved and obeyed in all things, and who doted upon him.Unlike other masters, he never beat his students or berated them for their mistakes.“He is the most noble man I ever met, apart from Uncle,” said Re-mose, taking Nakht-re’s hand in his.“I am home to celebrate not only my coming of age, but the great gift Kar has given me.“My teacher asks that I accompany him south to Rush, where the trade in ebony and ivory has been revived, and where the vizier was caught embezzling from the king.The king himself has asked Kar to go and oversee the installation of a new overseer, and to take stock and report upon what he finds there.“I will go to assist my teacher, and watch when he sits as judge and the people bring their disputes before him.” Re-mose paused so I would hear the importance of his next words.“I am instructed to learn the duties of a vizier.After this journey, my training will be complete and I will receive my own commission, and begin to earn honor for my family.My uncle is pleased, Mother.Are you pleased as well?”The question was sincere, echoing with the longing of a boy who asks his mother to pronounce upon his achievement.“I am pleased, my son.You are a fine man who will do honor to this house.I wish you happiness, a kind wife, and many children.I am proud of you, and proud to be your mother.”That was all I could say.Just as he did not tell me of the pain he suffered at school, I did not speak of how much I missed him, or how empty my heart had been, or how he had taken the light from my life when he left.I looked into his eyes, and he returned my gaze fondly.He patted my hand and lifted it to his lips.My heart beat to the twin drums of happiness and loneliness.Two nights later, I watched Re-mose from across the room at the feast given in his honor.He sat beside Nakht-re and ate like a boy who has not been fed for a week.He drank of the wine and his eyes glittered with excitement.I drank wine, too, and stared at my son, wondering at the life he would live, amazed that he was a man already, only a few years younger than his father had been when I saw him for the first time, in his father’s house.Poised on the edge of manhood, Re-mose was half a head taller than Nakht-re, clear-eyed, and straight as a tree.Re-nefer and I sat side by side for the first time in years and admired the man-child who had given us both a reason to live.My hand brushed hers and she did not withdraw from my touch but held my fingers in hers, and for a moment at least we shared our love for our son, and through him for the unnamed son and husband of Shechem.A pretty serving girl raised her eyes to him, and he flirted back.I laughed to think of the baby whose bottom I had washed now warming to a woman.My face ached from smiling, and yet my sighs were so loud that Re-nefer once turned to ask if I was in any pain.It was the finest banquet I had ever seen, with much of noble Thebes in attendance.The flowers shone in the light of one hundred lamps.The air was thick with the smells of rich food, fresh lotus, incense, and perfume.Laughter, fed by six kinds of beer and three varieties of wine, pealed through the room, and the dancers leaped and twirled until they glistened with sweat and panted on the floor.A second troupe of musicians had been hired to supplement the local performers.This company sailed the river, stopping at temples and noble houses to play, but unlike the others, they refused to play with dancers on the floor, insisting that audiences attend to their songs, said to have magical qualities.The mysterious leader was a veiled lady.Blind like many masters of the harp, she was mistress of the sistrum, the hand-held bell-drum.According to the gossip, the singer had escaped the jaws of Anu-bis and won a second life, but he had bitten off her face, which is why she wore the veil.The tale was told with a wink and a nudge, for Egyptians knew how a juicy story could be used to drum up business.Still, when the veiled singer was led into the room, an expectant hush fell and the tipsy crowd sat up.She was dressed in white, covered head to toe in a gauzy stuff that floated in layers to the floor.Re-nefer leaned toward me and whispered, “She looks like a puff of smoke.”Settled on a stool, she freed her hands from her garments to take up the instrument, and the hush released a soft gasp, for her hands were as white as her robes, unearthly pale, as though scarred by a terrible fire.She shook the sistrum four times and produced four entirely different sounds, which sobered the listeners, who quieted to attention.First the group played a light song of flutes and drums, then a lone trumpet produced a mournful melody that caused the ladies to sigh and the men to stroke their chins.An old children’s song made everyone in the room smile with the open faces they once wore as boys and girls.There was indeed magic to this music, which could transform the blackest sorrow to the brightest joy.The guests clapped their hands high in the direction of the performers and raised their cups in gratitude at Nakht-re for the wonderful entertainment.After the applause died down, the sistrum-player began to sing, accompanied by her own instrument and a single drum.It was a long song, with many refrains.The story it told was unremarkable: a tale of love found and lost—the oldest story in the world.The only story [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]