Three Novels of Ancient Egypt Khufu's Wisdom by Naguib Mahfouz
Rhadopis laughed. “What do I do that causes miracles to happen? I am more powerless than a suckling child.”
Then she hurried over to where Hof was sitting and sat down next to him. He had not tasted the wine and as she looked at him seductively, he laughed and said sarcastically, “What a poor choice of one to sit with.”
“Do you not love me like the rest of them do?”
“If only I could. But I find in you that which a cold man finds in a burning stove.”
“Then advise me what I should do with my life, for today I am sorely troubled.”
“Are you really troubled? With all this luxury and wealth you complain?”
“How could it have escaped you, O Wise One?”
“Everyone complains, Rhadopis. How often I have heard the bitter grumbling of the poor and the wretched who yearn for a crust of bread. How often I have listened to the bellyaching of rulers -who groan under the -weight of enormous responsibilities. How many times I have listened to the whining of the rich and reckless who have tired of wealth and luxury. Everyone complains, so what is the use of hoping for change? Be content with your lot.”
“Do people complain in the realm of Osiris?”
The old man smiled. “Aah. Your friend Ramon Hotep scoffs at that exalted world while the scholar priests tell us it is the eternal abode. Be patient, beautiful woman, for you are still little experienced.”
The wave of dalliance and sarcasm came over her again, and she thought to tease the philosopher. “Do you really think I have little experience?” she said, feigning a serious tone. “You have seen nothing of the things I have seen.”
“And what have you seen that I have not?”
She pointed to the drunken throng and laughed. “I have seen these outstanding men, the cream of Egypt, mistress of the world, prostrating themselves at my feet. They have reverted to a state of barbarism, and forgotten their wisdom and dignity, they are like dogs or monkeys.”
She laughed delicately, and with the agility of a gazelle she stepped into the center of the hall. She signaled to her musicians and their fingers plucked the strings, as the courtesan danced one of her select dances at which her lithe and lissome body excelled, working miracles of nimbleness and flexibility. The guests were absorbed in the entertainment, and clapped their hands in time to the drums, a subtle fire smoldering in their eyes, and when she ended her dance, she flew like a dove back to her throne, whereupon she cast her eyes round their greedy faces. The sight made her roar with laughter: “It is as if I am among wolves.”
Anin, in his drunken state, relished the comparison, and he wished he were a wolf so that he might pounce on the beautiful ewe. The wine made his wish come true, and thinking he was really a wolf, he let out a great howl and the guests roared with laughter. But he went on howling and got down on all fours, and crawled toward Rhadopis amidst the uproarious laughter until he was only inches away from her. “Make this night belong to me,” he said-She did not reply, but rather turned to Governor Ani, -who had come to bid her farewell, and extended her hand. Philosopher Hof came next. “Would you like this night to belong to you?” she asked him.
He shook his head and laughed. “It would be easier to make jokes -with the prisoners of war -who labor in the mines of Koptos.”
Each man wanted the night to belong to him, and eagerly demanded so, and they competed vehemently until matters were almost out of hand, at which point Henfer took it upon himself to find a solution. “Let each of you write his name on a paper, and let us put the names in Anin's ivory casket, then Rhadopis may draw out the name of the lucky winner.”
They were all obliged to agree and they quickly wrote down their names, except for Anin, who saw his chances of the night receding. “My lady,” he beseeched, “I am a man of travel. Today I am here before you, tomorrow in a far-off land reached only with great effort. If this night passes me by I might lose it forever.”
His defense infuriated the guests and was greeted with hoots of derision. Rhadopis was silent as she surveyed her lovers with cold eyes. A strange apprehension came over her and she felt a desire to flee and be alone. She was tired of the din and she raised her hand. They fell silent as they stood suspended between hope and fear. “Do not tire yourselves, gentlemen. Tonight I shall belong to no man.”
Openmouthed they gazed at her, unwilling to acknowledge her words, unable to believe their ears, then they burst into shouts of protest and complaint. She realized there was no point in talking to them and she stood up, a look of determination and resolve upon her face. “I am tired. Please allow me to rest.”
And with a wave of her tender hand she turned her back on them and hurried out of the room.
As she went up to her bedchamber, the heated protests of the men still ringing in her ears, she felt delighted at what she had done, and great relief that she had been spared that night. She hurried straight over to the window and drew aside the curtain, and looking out at the dark road, she saw the shapes of chariots and litters in the distance carrying her drunken guests off into the night as they nursed their grief and disappointment. She relished the sight of them and a cruel and malicious smile formed upon her lips.
How had she done it? She did not know, but she felt uneasy, nervous. “O Lord,” she sighed, “what is the point of this monotonous life?” The answer evaded her. Not even the wise man Hof had been able to quench her burning thirst. She lay down on her sumptuous bed and went over the day's strange and wonderful events one by one in her mind. She saw the throngs of Egyptians and the burning eyes of the sorceress, which had seemed to hold her own eyes with an overpowering force, and she heard the crone's repulsive voice and her joints shivered. Then she saw the young pharaoh in all his finery, and next, that magnificent falcon who had flown off with her sandal. It had indeed been an eventful day. Perhaps that is what had roused her emotions and distracted her thoughts, shattering her into so many pieces. Her unfortunate lovers had paid the price for that. Her heart thumped loudly and burned with a mysterious flame, and her imagination roamed through unfamiliar valleys, as if she longed to pass from this state into another. But what state was it? She was baffled, unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Could it have been a waft of magic sent out to her by that accursed sorceress?
She was obviously under a spell, and if it was not the spell of a witch, then it was the spell of the Fates that control all destinies.
TAHU
ANXIOUS AND troubled -with all kinds of disturbing thoughts, she despaired of ever finding sleep. She rose from her bed once again, -walked slowly over to the window, and throwing it wide open, stood there like a statue. She undid the clasp that held her hair and it flowed in shimmering tresses over her neck and shoulders, touching the whiteness of her gown with a deep black. She breathed the damp night air into her lungs and put her elbows onto the window ledge, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. Her eyes wandered over the garden to the Nile flowing beyond the walls. It was a mild dark night, a gentle intermittent breeze was blowing and the leaves and branches danced discreetly. The Nile could be seen in the distance like a patch of blackness and the sky was adorned with shining stars that emitted a pale radiance that almost drowned in seas of darkness just as it reached the earth.
Would the dark night and the overwhelming silence be able to cast a shade of stillness and relief over her troubled mind? Alas, she felt as if her mind would never be at rest again. She fetched a pillow and placed it on the window sill and laid her right cheek upon it and closed her eyes.
Suddenly the words of Hof, the philosopher, came back to her: “Everyone complains, so what is the use of hoping for change? Be content with your lot.” She sighed from the depths of her heart, and asked herself dolefully, “Is there really no use hoping for change? Will people always complain?” But how was she to believe this so completely that it would sway her own heart from desiring change? A storm of defiance was brewing in her breast. She wanted it to sweep away her present and her past and she wo
She was not to be left to her thoughts and dreams though, for she heard a gentle knock on the door of her chamber. She pricked up her ears in surprise and lifted her head off the pillow.
“Who is it?” she called.
“It is I, my lady,” replied a familiar voice. “May I enter?”
“Come in Shayth,” said Rhadopis.
The slave girl came in on the tips of her toes. She was surprised to find her mistress still up, and her bed unslept in.
“What is it, Shayth?” Rhadopis inquired.
“A man is here who awaits permission to enter.”
Rhadopis frowned and could barely conceal her anger. “What man? Throw him out without delay.”
“How, my lady? He is a man the door of this palace is never closed to.”
“Tahu?”
“Yes, it is he.”
“And what has brought him at this late hour of the night?”
A mischievous glint flashed in the woman's eye. “That you will know soon enough, my lady.”
With a wave of her hand, Rhadopis signaled her to call him, and the slave girl disappeared. A moment later the commander's tall, broad figure filled the doorway. He greeted her with a bow then stood before her, looking at her face in confusion. She could not help noticing his pale color and furrowed brow, and the darkness in his eyes. She ignored him and walked over to the divan and sat down. “You look tired. Is your work wearing you out?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “No,” he said curtly.
“You do not look your usual self.”
“Is that so?”
“You must know that. What is the matter with you?”
He knew everything, no doubt about it, and she would know in a moment, whether he told her himself or not. He was wary of being so audacious as to speak, because he was risking his happiness and he was afraid she would slip through his hands and be lost to him forever. If he were able to prevail over her will, everything would be so easy, but he had almost given up hope ofthat, and was tormented by pangs of anguish.
“Ah, Rhadopis! If only you felt for me the love I feel for you, then I could beseech you in the name of our love.”
She wondered why he needed to beseech. She had always considered him an aggressive man who detested beseeching and pleading. He had always been satisfied with the charm and enticement of her body. What was it that had upset him? She lowered her eyes. “It is the same old talk as before.”
Her words, though they were true, still angered him. “I know that,” he shouted. “But I am repeating it for reasons of the present. Ah, your heart is like an empty cavern at the bottom of an icy river.”
She was familiar with such comparisons, but her words twitched nervously as she spoke. “Have I ever refused to give you what you wanted?”
“Never, Rhadopis. You have granted me your enchanting body, which was created to torment mankind. But I have always yearned for your heart. What a heart it is, Rhadopis. It stands firm and steadfast amidst the stormy tempests of passion as if it does not belong to you. How often I have asked myself in confusion and exasperation, what faults do mar me? Is it that I am not a man? Nay, for I am the very paragon of manhood. The truth is that you do not have a heart.”
She wanted nothing to do with him. It was not the first time she had heard these words, but normally he spoke them with sarcasm or some mild anger. Now, at this late hour of the night, he was speaking with a shaking voice full of fury and resentment. What could have inflamed him so? To elicit an explanation she asked him, “Have you come at this late hour of the night, Tahu, to simply repeat these words in my ears?”
“No, I have not come for the sake of these words. I have come for a far more serious matter, and if love fails to help me in its regard, then let your freedom assist me, for it seems you are keen to hold on to that.”
She looked at him curiously, and waited for him to speak. He could stand the tension no longer and, determined to get to the point without further delay, he addressed her quietly and firmly as he looked straight into her eyes. “You should leave the palace of Biga, and escape from the island as soon as possible, before dawn breaks.”
Rhadopis was stunned. She looked at him with disbelief in her eyes. “What are you saying, Tahu?”
“I am saying that you should disappear, or else you will lose your freedom.”
“And what threatens my freedom on Biga?”
He ground his teeth, and then asked her, “Have you not lost something valuable?”
“Why yes. I lost one of the golden sandals you gave to me.”
“How?”
“A falcon snatched it away while I was bathing in the garden pool. But I do not understand what a lost sandal has to do with my threatened freedom.”
“Slowly, Rhadopis. The falcon carried it off, that is true, but do you know where it landed?”
She could tell from the way he spoke that he knew the answer. She was astonished. “How should I know that, Tahu?” she muttered.
He sighed, “It landed in Pharaoh's lap.”
His words echoed ominously in her ears and pervaded all her senses. All else faded from her mind. She looked at Tahu with confusion in her eyes, unable to utter a sound. The commander scrutinized her face with nervous and suspicious eyes. He wondered how she had taken the news, and what feelings surged in her breast. He could not contain himself and asked her softly, “Was I not right in my request?”
She did not reply. She did not seem to be listening to him. She was drowning in a storm of confusion and the waves crashed against her heart. Her stillness filled him with fear, and her confusion was almost too much for him to bear, for he read into it meanings that his heart refused to acknowledge. At length his patience ran out and his anger put him on the defensive. His eyes narrowed as he roared at her, “Which valley are you lost in now, woman? Does this terrible news not alarm you?”
Her body trembled at the power in his voice, and anger blazed in her heart. She glared at him with hatred in her eyes, but she suppressed her rage, for she was going to get her own -way. “Is that how you see it?” she asked him coldly.
“I see that you are pretending not to understand what this means, Rhadopis.”
“How unjust you are. What does it matter if the sandal landed in Pharaoh's lap. Do you think he will kill me for it?”
“Of course not. But he held the sandal in his hands and asked who the owner might be.”
Rhadopis felt a flutter in her heart. “Did he receive an answer?” she asked.
Tahu's eyes misted over. “There was a person there waiting for a chance to confound me,” he said. “The Fates have made him friend and foe at one and the same time. He snatched the opportunity and stabbed me in the back, for he mentioned your enchanting beauty to Pharaoh, sowing the seed of desire in his heart and igniting passion in his breast.”
“Sofkhatep?”
“The very same, that enemy-friend. He stirred temptation in the young king's heart.”
“And what does the king want to do?”
Tahu crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke loudly, “Pharaoh is not a person who just desires a thing when it is dear to him. If he loves something, he knows how to take it for himself.”
Silence fell once again, the woman falling prey to burning emotions while the nightmare settled in the man's breast. His anger grew at her reticence, and because she was not alarmed or afraid.
“Do you not see that this threatens to curtail your freedom?” he said furiously. “Your freedom, Rhadopis, which you are so eager to preserve, and care about so much. Your freedom, which has destroyed hearts and devastated so many souls, and which has made anguish, grief, and despair plagues that have smitten every man on Biga. Why are you not afraid to stay here and lose it?”
“And why do you not love, Rhadopis? Even Tahu, the mighty warrior, who has fearlessly plunged into the hazards of war in the South and the North, who was raised on the backs of chariots, has loved. Why do you not love?”
She smiled mysteriously. “I wonder if I possess an answer to your question?” she asked.
“I do not care about that now. That is not why I came. I am asking you what you are going to do.”
“I do not know,” she said quietly and with astonishing resignation.
His eyes glowed like hot coals, consuming her in a fury. He felt a mad urge to smash her head into pieces, then suddenly she looked at him and he sighed deeply. “I thought you would be more jealous of your freedom.”
“And what do you suggest I should do?”
He clasped his hands together. “Escape, Rhadopis. Escape before you are carried off to the ruler's palace as a slave girl to be placed in one of his countless rooms where you would live in isolated servitude, waiting your turn once a year, spending the rest of your life in a sad paradise that is really a miserable prison. Were you created, Rhadopis, to live such a life?”
She revolted furiously at the thought of such an affront to her dignity and pride, and wondered if it might really be her misfortune to live such a miserable life.
Would it really be her destiny in the end - she, to whom the cream of Egypt's manhood flocked to woo — to compete with slave girls for the young pharaoh's affection, and content herself with a room in the royal harem? Did she want darkness after light, to be enveloped in destitution after glory, to be satisfied with bondage after complete and utter mastery? Alas, what an abominable thought, an unimaginable eventuality. But would she flee as Tahu wished? Would she be happy with flight? Would Rhadopis, whom they worshipped, whose beauty no other face possessed, and with whose magic no other body was endowed, flee from slavery? Who, then, would crave mastery and power over men's hearts?