Ancient Evenings (14 page)

Menenhetet nodded, even as I watched Isis lead Horus back to the camp of Set. Passing His snoring body, full of its harsh and carnal dreams, They wandered into the garden where lettuce now grew in abundance. Horus assured Her that during the feast of wild boar, Set had often stuffed just such a head of lettuce into His throat, and half-choking, eyes bulging, jaws near dislocated, had crushed the leaves, and swallowed it whole. (“No one,” said Horus, “can eat lettuce in a manner equal to Set.”) Now, at a sign from Isis, He cast the semen in His hand all over this field and it fell in many threads, and subtle sounds were uttered, altogether a curious music. Those long liquid strings shook with the life of the living, which is to say, all the shock of wars to come, even the sounds of horns and trumpets not yet blown. A sigh of music also came to Isis and Horus out on the edge of the field, but it was only the subtle murmur raised by the legs of an army of spiders who left the garden after the intrusion of Horus’ threads upon their webs. How the moonlight glittered. On the way home, Isis sang lullabies to Horus. “His development to manhood,” said Menenhetet, “has obviously been uneven, but two events occurred by morning. Set awakened and gobbled more lettuce, and Horus became Isis’ lover.”

When he saw how much interest arose in me at this remark, my great-grandfather held up his hand. “Of this affair, I will say a little, but only when we are done. For now it is enough to know that Horus was wise by morning, and Set stirred in His bed with all the pride of one who has made a conquest the night before. On His loins, He could smell the shame of Horus’ cheeks, and it mixed nicely with His own pride. So Set made great plans. Before Ra had even risen into the full height of noon, Set called the Gods together.

“Assembled in haste, and curious in the extreme, They heard a powerful speech. Set had put on robes of red, brighter than His skin, and in a voice of fire, He said, ‘On the day that Horus and I made battle, victory should have been Mine. His head was in the mud. But by the use of My lost thumb, He slipped out of My grip—a trick taught by His mother. He has blood like the milk of His mother. From that moment, no test was left but theft. You saw it. Yesterday, His Father—who pretends to be My judge—commanded Us to go away and feast. We did. Now, I tell You, I am the victor. For in the night, I rode in glory upon His back, and I was as large as the tree that grows from the nut. The flood that rose out of My loins was emptied into the contemptible backhole of the boy Horus standing here beside Me. May I say He bleated like a sheep and cooed like a pigeon. He was My possession. So I say: Do not make Him the Lord of the Living, or I will steal a secret each time I enter His bowels. It is better when great powers are given to the strong. Let Horus serve as My assistant. His hips are weak.’

“Set expected Horus to attack, and was ready. But Horus only threw back His head and laughed. To the judges, He said, ‘I have listened with a good and happy heart. My uncle is a thin little man with a loud voice. He squawks like a bird. He lies. It is I who had the onus of traveling up His withered crack, and I did it for nothing better to do. Try for all of one night, My judges, to listen to My uncle’s farts. I confess that I would have done better to hurl a spear into a swamp. Old men are dirty.’

“How much Horus had learned in His night with Isis! The oil of Her thighs must have offered more than the milk of the gazelle. Set had no recourse. He drew His sword. Horus, nimbly, darted away, and at a sign from Osiris, the warriors of the court held Set.

“In a bright, clear voice, Horus said, ‘Let the Gods summon Our seed from last night. Let the seed tell Who speaks the truth.’ Assent came from Set as quickly as from the others, and Thoth was ordered to stand between the disputants. ‘Put Your hand upon the buttocks of Horus,’ Osiris commanded, ‘and ask the voice that is in the semen of Set to declare itself.’ Osiris’ own voice was not confident. He doubted His son.

“ ‘I speak,’ said Thoth, ‘to this seed of Set. Tell Us where you are. Speak from the place where you find yourself.’ In the distance, out of the swamps, came a loud and heavy croaking of mercury. The full pestilence of the weeds was in the air, and the Gods murmured that the semen of Set—foul stuff!—must have been ejaculated into the swamp.

Then Thoth put His hand on the hips of Set, that is, so far as He dared, for Set was shaking with rage, but Thoth proceeded to make the same speech to the semen of Horus. Would it appear? A voice flew right out of Set’s buttocks. It was a full, sweet-smelling wind, and it said, ‘I am the transformation of the seed of Horus.’ This wind smelled sweet as lettuce. The Gods roared. For They knew Horus had buggered Set.

“It would not have been over, and Set might have plotted another revenge, but on His return to camp, le found out He was pregnant. A God may conceive a child by His mouth, or His anus, but if we know it was here by way of the mouth, Set did not. A miserable pregnancy! The creature was born half-man, half-woman, and soon died in the suffocations of attempting to make love to Itself. Set still serves as the Lord of Lightning and the God of Thunder, but He is bewildered, a heavy and near-motionless God who cannot be certain whether He told the truth, or was, indeed, buggered. So He is now mad. It is more difficult for a God to know peace of mind than a man.” Menenhetet sighed. With a sense of movement as deliberate and concentrated as an old hag untying a cloth of many knots, he rose, move by move, flexing one joint into another through a series of gestures forward and back until he was standing on his feet. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“You still have not spoken of the affair of Isis and Horus.”

“Nor should I. They remain among the most powerful of Them.”

“Yet I must know more. What if I encounter a God in the Land of the Dead?”

“You will not. They live in the summits. You do not know a God until you have seen a great mountain.” He sighed again. “Let me say that Isis and Horus had a long affair. It still continues. I whisper to you that cohabiting with Her son keeps the form of fidelity to Osiris. So He is calm, and blesses Them. Her act does not strip Him of honor, but maintains the stability of Their family. And the affair has given Horus much wisdom which He needs as Lord of the Living. It has also given Isis more satisfaction than a Goddess with the head of a cow can rightfully expect when She copulates with a hawk. For it is the shape of that fierce bird Horus has chosen for Himself. Now, He need never fear His weak legs, and every Pharaoh worships His wings. I can say that the God Horus, fully grown, is not at all like the boy, and has become as great as His Father. Such is the extent of the knowledge He has received from Isis.”

Now, my great-grandfather beckoned to me. “It is time to begin our travels in Khert-Neter,” he said. “Are you ready?”

I felt a childish fear of every force beyond the door of this tomb. Yet there was nothing to do but nod.

When we went out into the night, Menenhetet clapped his hands. Doubtless he wanted to signify the end of one spell and the commencement of another. I waited, but only the stench from his breath was remarkable. We were back in our alley of the Necropolis.

III
 
T
HE
B
OOK OF
T
HE
C
HILD

ONE

Our way brought us back to the Pyramid of Khufu. It was hard to pretend I felt calm. My fear of all that was yet to come now lay on me like a slab of stone, and the sight of the Great Pyramid did not reduce my turmoil. With each of Menenhetet’s steps I felt more woe for he walked ahead of me with the quick pace of someone trying to escape a bad odor, and I remembered the grave robber who fled as I approached the door to my tomb. He had loathed my breath even as I had detested his—a sign the wretch was in another realm than my own. But if this were true, what conclusion should I draw about Menenhetet and myself?

Could he be my Khaibit? That was a thought to leave its echo! My Shadow? Who could be more at odds than the Khaibit and the Ka? The Ka might be one’s last poor means of continuing to exist, but it could not bear the weight of much memory. The Khaibit, however, knew all that had happened to you. So it could distort what the Ka did remember. An instrument for evil!

This conviction that Menenhetet was my Shadow came on me with such force that I was about to ask, “Are you the Khaibit of Menenhetet Two?” but did not from the fear that he would only confuse me further by some such remark as, “No, you are the Ka of Menenhetet One and I am the Khaibit.”

So I did not speak, and only continued to travel behind him at his quick rate. It must be said he moved like my guide, his white robe wrapped about him in disdain for casual contact with beggars or bats, yes, everything in his posture spoke of a servant who leads his guest, and will not suffer any distracting encounter. Even as we emerged from the Necropolis, a man was standing at the gate with his palm open, a beggar’s palm with no fingers. Not missing a stride, Menenhetet struck him a sharp slap on the arm to make it clear no approach would be tolerated. Indeed, the man flinched as we passed, and I realized I must look like a noble to him.

But then I had not contemplated my clothes until now. When had I first come to wear these clean white pleats, this jeweled breastplate? A memory returned of a promenade taken by the banks of the Nile, and multitudes bowing before me. The picture was so clear as for me to believe it, and my pleasure was not unlike the satisfaction I had just known before the respect of the beggar. Warmed by such tokens, my mood took a quick turn for the worse, however, so soon as I began to ponder my great-grandfather’s remarks about Horus and Set, for I had to suppose that Menenhetet, given the occasion, would try—put no fine word on it—to bugger me. The quiet arrogance of the old man that he could bring off such a feat was curious. I did not know whether to think of him as laughable. After all, the muscles of my hips spoke of pride—nothing was broken in
my
back. Even as we walked, I felt quietly of my arms and legs and was reassured. My means might be one-seventh of what once it had been, but I still did not see how that foul old man could be the first to take carnal ownership of me. I was remembering how my friends and myself used to think of ourselves as virgin to other men until some fellow was brave enough to grab us from the rear. Of course, once your body was broken into by another, that was a true turning. An aristocrat would allow himself to be used in such a way but once, as if, truth, we had one royal flower to offer. We were determined that no one we did not admire in every way could even begin our seduction. Some of us went on in such chastity for years. That could become a vice. One might grow into a spinster who has waited too long and so is vulnerable to any passing lout. The balance of Maat is in the choice.

Now I wondered if I had been one of those who waited too long. What a horror if Menenhetet One became the first. No, not conceivable, I thought, not as I watched him walk before me in a flapping old man’s step, his head covered against a chill although it was a warm night. Nonetheless, he did not move altogether like an old man.

I was uneasy. We were now near the foot of the Pyramid of Khufu, and as though my reluctance to go on was evident, Menenhetet came to rest and began to speak again, although I could hardly listen. His breath was so mingled with mine. I do not know what he sniffed in my throat, but I thought I had stepped into the scalding odor of urine. It was like a cave of bats—a fair guide to the corruptions of the Duad. Yet in the act of suffering his fumes, so was I delivered of the worst of them. His breath was now endurable, and not much worse than old garlic and old teeth.

“The common entrance to the Duad,” he said, as he shivered in the warm moonlight, “is far beyond the First Cataract—a long journey, and not the route for us. We will go in by way of a cave that can be found in the sky.”

I would never have understood this last remark if the Pyramid had not been there before us, but in the moonlight these limestone slopes were gleaming bright as marble, and their shadows looked dark as velvet. I remembered the chamber of Khufu in the center of this Great Pyramid. Was that a cave in the sky by which I had once been ready to enter the Duad, and by myself? Had I taken the wrong turning? But I had no taste for such questions.