Reflections in the Nile (47 page)

The Israelites were safe.

He was alone.

Wearily he sat down, his kilt drying in the ferocious winds that blew across the water. I should go pull out those bodies that wash ashore, he thought, yet still he sat unmoving. The sun rose, and the reflection off the turquoise water was blinding. Never before had he felt so alone. The mind that had invaded his at age sixteen also seemed to be gone.

Chloe was gone. Perhaps even now she was walking into the desert, searching for him; she would be a Bible character now. He allowed the loneliness to wash over him in waves as destructive as those that had claimed his friends, foes, and pharaoh. He debated drowning himself, joining his compatriots in the blue water.

He stood and picked his way to the shore, trying not to think beyond the necessity of retrieving bodies. Soon he was on the sandy path that had led to “God's highway.” The waters were still now, just the natural tide of the Red Sea. He scrambled over the rocks and looked in the shallows for bodies.

For hours he searched. He felt his skin burn. The searing heat tormented his recently healed scars. He was blinded without kohl. He found not one body. Finally he crawled under a high rock out of the sunlight and fell asleep.

The cooling breeze of evening revived him. For moments he lay with his eyes closed, reliving the feeling of Chloe close to him in sleep. Murmuring her name woke him completely. It awoke him to the realization that she was gone.

For a few minutes he contemplated how he could travel to find her. After all, he knew where the Israelites would settle forty years from now.

Despairing, he rose to his feet. Rage gurgled within him, and he screamed to the sky, slipping into the French of his true heritage. “
Nooooooo!
You are unfair!” He stood, head bent, chest heaving. “You show me heaven in the arms and soul of this woman, only to take her away?” He felt his control slipping. Fists clenched, he continued to yell at his unromantic God. “
Pourquoi, mon Dieu? Pourquoi? Pourquoi?”
His last question was more of a whimper than a protest. Anguish tore the flesh from his bones as he sagged on the beaten sand.

Far behind him on the Sinai beach, the brilliant sunset reflected briefly off the scarab clasp of a beaded bracelet encircling a brown wrist.

PART IV

CHAPTER 15

C
heftu woke on the sand water lapping his ankles. The tide was coming in, and to the east was the tiniest glimmer of salmon and gold, heralding the sun's entrance. He sat up, moving back from the water. His throat was dry and his eyes sore and scratchy. The utter stillness of the dawn was frightening. The solitude was broken by a rush of birds rising from the water as they called to each other. Another day. Wearily he stood, halfheartedly brushing sand from his kilt and cloak.

He scanned the shoreline again, searching for any sign of life, any debris hinting at the thousands of lives lost the day before.

Nothing.

Too exhausted to care, he shielded his eyes once again and looked across the rough sea. Somewhere he knew Chloe would be searching for him, looking among the hundreds and thousands of men with dark hair. His pain at the thought of her, tearstained face, her heavy heart, almost tore him in two. “RaEm,” he said in an anguished whisper.

But he was not truly calling for RaEmhetepet, Lady of Silver and priestess to HatHor. His soul longed for a futuristic love who spoke French, handled a bow and arrow as well as any soldier, had eyes that could flame with passion, and possessed a talent that brought life to papyrus.

Angrily he dashed the tears from his eyes, turned away from the sea, and began the long walk toward Egypt. In the back of his mind was the faint hope that he might die in the desert, but the self-preservation that had served him all these years recoiled at the thought of his eyes being pecked out by scavengers and his body shredded by jackals. I
really
am an Egyptian, he thought wryly. I cannot bear the thought of my body destroyed. He reached the sandy rise and looked out a final time toward the water.

Egypt held nothing for him. His position and family were destroyed. He looked east—the turquoise mines on the Red Sea were said to kill a man in a quarter of his lifetime. Beyond that? There were a dozen kingdoms where he could go, resume his life. Why would he? He looked again at the water, at the waves lapping on the shore.

There was a movement—he saw it from the corner of his eye. The sun was rising rapidly, and Cheftu shielded his eyes and squinted. Below him, to his east, just above the incoming tide, was something…. He looked harder. Was it a bird? A body? He saw a glitter on it, sparkling in the sunlight, and heard a rushing in his ears as hope surged through his body.

“Chloe,” he breathed. Energy coursed through his veins as he ran to her. “Chloe!” Then he had her in his arms. She was
here!
He lifted her and carried her farther away from the tide. He pulled off his cloak and laid it underneath an overhang, then laid her gently upon it. Sitting beside her, he brushed her matted hair away from her face, his hand trembling. She had a nasty cut on her cheek and abrasions on her head.

Instinct took over, and he examined the wounds carefully, checked her eyes. She seemed to be suffering a mild concussion. Here, with no fresh water, no way of taking care of her, this could be deadly. Fear began to overtake the joy he felt.

Even now she could be lost.

Cheftu bowed his head and, for the second time in the last twenty-four decans, wept and prayed. Only this time it was for wisdom and guidance … and in repentance.

God had rescued Chloe for him. Of this there was no doubt. Elohim had not taken her away. He watched the fluttering of her eyelashes anxiously as she fought for consciousness. She lost the battle, and Cheftu's fears mounted.

She should not sleep; it could result in death or a waking death that was even worse, for then the physical needs of the body must be met but the
ka
was trapped between two worlds.

He seized the water skin still tied around her waist and ran to the shore. After filling it with the cool morning sea, he raced back to her and threw it full into her face.

She came around—with a vengeance. “What the bloody hell!” she shouted in English, sitting straight up. The sudden movement made her clutch her head with both hands and cry out in pain. But she was alive! She was here! Cheftu didn't care if she damned him to all of Dante's Inferno, one eternity after another. She glared at him, then looked around, her face altered. He knew she had suffered the same terrible loss he had.

She threw herself into his arms, kissing his face, then winced, her hands to her head.

“You were hurt,” he said, touching her abrasions. “How do you feel?”

She squinted at him, panting through gritted teeth. “My head is about to break.”

Cheftu took her hand in his, massaging her palm with firm, circling strokes. The tension in her face eased and she lay very still. “Chloe!” His voice was sharp, and she answered with a mumble.

“Chloe!” He slapped her face, bringing her around in an-instant.

“What was that for?” she said holding her cheek where the red pattern of his hand marked her sunburned skin.

He drew her close. “I am sorry I struck you,” he said. “But you cannot sleep. You are hurt and must stay awake. I … I saw you falling asleep, and I”—his voice cracked!—“panicked I guess. I was afraid you would not wake up.” He knew his grip must hurt, pressing all the bruises on her back and rib cage, but the fear inside him was a taloned thing. Bitter bile filled his throat. They sat, uncomfortably close but unwilling to move, to relinquish their holds. Cheftu pulled her to his chest, caressing her hair as he spoke about the night. “What happened to you?”

Chloe grimaced “Well, you ran off to tell Moshe about Pharaoh …” She sat up, her tone changed. “Where are the bodies?”

He traced his finger across her cheekbone and down into her matted black hair, grasping it with his hand. “Gone. The waves drowned them, just as the Bible said.”

“But the bodies! There were thousands.…” The sun poured into his eyes so that they looked like honey, clear transparent gold. “Gone?” she repeated.

“‘And Israel saw the Egyptians lying dead on the shore.’ Apparently they are on the other side.”

“That's impossible! Currents do not run like that,” Chloe scoffed.

She sat up, looking out at the blue waters brushing peacefully against the shore. The rise above the sea had been almost leveled by the thousands of feet: humans, horses, geese, sheep, and finally Pharaoh and her soldiers. A gull cried sharply as it raced off across the water. The other side was visible, and in the quiet of dawn they could hear a faint jingle, like a sistrum or tambourine.

In her mind she placed the tribes in a biblical illustration, a Doré or an Alma-Tadema. Occasionally laughter drifted across the waves. Aside from that, they were frozen in time: no longer Meneptah, D'vorah, and Elishava—instead
The Children of Israel on the Shores of the Red Sea.
Flat, almost a caricature, lacking the life and passion and intrigues of reality.

The water caressed the shore gently, smoothing over the rocks that jutted out now, but in Chloe's time would be sand. Where were the bodies? The armor? All the gold of collars, bridles, and swords? Had God taken even that proof? Or was it only on the other shore, where it couldn't be retrieved and honored? A final slap to the Egyptians?

“A bead for your thoughts?” Cheftu said.

“I saw it.”

“What?”

“The parting. It was as though a spell fell across everyone but me. Thousands of people were standing up, dead asleep. I could see the waters churning, boiling as it built into walls. Then the wind changed and blew directly between the walls, all the way across the sea. I could not feel the slightest breeze, but I watched the sand dry, the remaining crustaceans blown to Arabia. It was like a funnel of air, parallel to the ground. It took all night; the stars came out, the moon shone, and the wind kept blowing.” She looked back at him. “It was so loud, I still can barely hear.” She looked at the calm waters.

“Before dawn came, people started awakening. Conveniently, those closest to the water awoke first. They were astounded!” She smiled at the memory of the families gathering their things and descending to shore, then walking onto the sand—one guy had even picked up a handful and thrown it into the wind, where it had scattered like dust. Children had been fascinated by the wealth of coral along the sides, but mostly people had run. The walls of water were towering high, shrouding the highway in shade. “I watched for you,” she said. “Everyone was traveling in families, so it should have been easy to find you. As the day went on, and more people crossed, I did not see you.” She looked down. “Meneptah's clan crossed, and I began to get scared. I couldn't believe this was really happening, and it seemed that every picture was etched into my memory, every face, every detail. Then I heard the army.” Cheftu sat beside her, drawing her close, bracing them against the overhang.

“I caught sight of you as Hat's troops came down the rise. Pandemonium. A lot of the chariots got stuck in the sand, and the soldiers were shaken when they saw the walls of water. I heard one voice call out, ‘Pharaoh, their god fights for them!’ However, they were disciplined and followed her in.” Cheftu's fingers ran through her hair, calming, reassuring.

“There must have been thousands of men, most of them in chariots. I started screaming when I saw the last ones step onto the sand, but it was too late. Their chariots were falling apart, their horses panicking. I heard a loud crack, and suddenly all I could see was white water and arms and legs and heads bobbing in it like broken dolls. And the noise! The rushing filled my head, almost, but not quite, drowning out their cries, their entreaties, and their curses.” She touched the cut on her cheek. “I went a little berserk and ran down to the shore, determined to help out. That is when I fell, I guess. I remember nothings else.” She paused. “Except praying that you would stay here,” she finished, her voice barely a breath.

“
Haii,
Chloe,” Cheftu said, burying his face in her neck. “My love, my darling, my
ab.
Oh, thank God you are here!”

“I am here, beloved,” she whispered. “I hope I will always be here.”

He laid her down, looking into her eyes, probing her sore head, and finally pulling her body against him. “Now you can sleep. It has been long enough,” he murmured into her hair. “We must rest. Then we must flee.”

Her eyes felt welded shut and her tongue was the consistency of a washrag. Every bone was bruised and every musc[illelligible] ached. She smelled, and sand was stuck in every crevice of her body. But the will to get up was gone. Cheftu snored beside her. He didn't snore unless he was exhausted—an understatement for them both.

The heat was already intense, scorching her skin. She opened her eyes. They'd have to find some shade. Birds wheeled above them, calling and crying as they dove into the waters for fish. Fish Food. Chloe was suddenly ravenous. Tired, gross, and starving to death. “Cheftu …” She nudged him. “Get up.”

He groaned and turned. “Put out the torch and come to the couch.”

She shook him. “The torch is the sun. Cheftu, wake up.”

This rough beginning was an omen for the day. They could barely move, and it required the greatest will to retrieve their luggage, which Chloe had hidden carefully. A swim was cleansing, but the salt burned their wounds and dried them further. Strict rationing of water followed an almost raw fish dinner, and they fell asleep in the sand.

Two days later—two days that Chloe could scarcely recall—they woke up actually alert.

“What are we going to do?”

“It is too early to sound so panicked,” Cheftu groused.

“Should we go back to Egypt?”

His eyes opened and he rubbed his face, scratching at his beard. “We cannot.”

“
Haii.
” She looked out across the sea. “I want to go home.” Cheftu stiffened instantly. Chloe felt raw sobs building inside her. “I want television and hot showers and pizza delivery. I want underwear and Macintosh and Hershey's Kisses.” She took a shaky breath. Cheftu hadn't moved. “I am sick of being hot and chased and hungry and tired. I miss Juan.”