them the confidence and well-being that his nearness instilled in her. How brutal life can be! Sorrow enshrouded her long before the reasons for it would come to pass. Enfolding layers of pain oppressed her, like the waves of clouds driven by the winds amidst the fog of the dark and gloomy months of Hatur and Kiyahk.
When the cock crowed at dawn on the first day of the month of Baba, Zaya awoke and sat on her bed, muddled with sadness. An impassioned sigh was her first greeting to this day from the world of sorrows. Then she abandoned her bed and walked lightly to Djedef's little room to wake him and to dote over him. She entered the chamber on the tips of her toes in order not to disturb him, and Gamurka greeted her while stretching. But her plan was dashed when she found the youth had already awoken without her assistance. Softly he was singing a hymn, “We are the children of Egypt; we are descended from the race of the gods.” The boy had risen by himself, obeying the first call of soldiery. From her heart, she cried out to him, “Djedef!” Slowly becoming aware of her, he then ran toward her like a bird greeting the morning's light, hanging from her neck and lifting his mouth toward her. She kissed him while he kissed her cheeks, and picked him up in her arms and kissed his legs, before carrying him outside saying, “Come and say goodbye to your father.”
They found Bisharu still deeply asleep, sending up jarring snorts and grunts as he slumbered. She shook him — with her hand until he sat upright, moaning, “Who's there? Who's there? Zaya?”
“Don't you want to say goodbye to Djedef?” she laughed as she shouted at him.
He sat in his bed, rubbing his eyes, then peered at the youth in the weak light of the lamp. “Djedef, are you going?” he said. “Come here and let me kiss you. Go now, in the protection of Ptah!”
He kissed him — with his great, coarse lips once more, then added, “You are a child now, Djedef, but you're going to grow into a skillful soldier. I predict this for you, and the predictions of Bisharu, servant of Pharaoh, are never wrong. Go then safely, and I'll pray for your sake in the Holy of Holies.”
Djedef kissed his father's hands, then went out with his mother. In the outer parlor, he met Kheny and Nafa standing there ready. Nafa cackled as he scolded him, “Hey, fearless warrior, the wagon is waiting!”
Zaya's face was transformed by yearning. Djedef lifted his face toward hers, filled with happiness and love. But alas, the months had passed fleetingly, and the time had come to say goodbye. Not embracing, nor kissing, nor weeping could lessen the tribulation. He descended the staircase between his two brothers and secured his place in the vehicle beside them. Then the wagon set off, carrying the dear one away as she gazed long after it through the mist of her tears — until it was swallowed by the blue light of dawn.
12
The wagon arrived at the military academy in Mereapis, the most beautiful suburb of mighty Memphis, — with the rising of the sun. Yet they found the square in front of the school already crammed — with boys hoping to enroll, all accompanied by one or more relatives. Each of them waited his turn to be called for scrutiny, after which he remained inside the academy — or was sent back whence he came.
That morning, the square was like a fairground, filled with festively decorated horses and sumptuous vehicles — for only the sons of the officer caste, or of the wealthy, were admitted to the college of war. Djedef turned anxiously right and left as he looked around, yet the faces he saw weren't strange to him, for many of those present were his classmates from primary school. So, pleased and charged with courage, his sagging spirits revived.
The voice of the school's crier called out continuously, while the torrent of students kept pouring into the building's monumental entrance. Some of them stayed within, while others emerged, their faces dejected, in obvious distress.
Kheny was staring sternly into the crowd. “Are you mad at me?” Djedef asked, disturbed by his look.
Kheny put his hands on the boy's shoulders. “May the Lord protect us, dear Djedef,” he said. “The military is a sacred profession so long as it is just a public duty to which one devotes its full due for a time, and then returns to normal life. The soldier would not neglect any god-given talent, and would guard his spirit against useless distraction. I am confident, Djedef, that you will not disappoint any of the hopes that inflamed your soul in my room. As for your military escapade, and your commitment to carry it out — this entails the renunciation of your human feelings, the destruction of your intellectual life, and a regression back to the ranks of the animals.”
Nafa laughed, as usual. “The truth is, my brother, you are rhapsodizing the pure life of wisdom, that of the priests,” he said. “As for my own models, I sing the praises of beauty and pleasure. There are others — and these are the soldiers — who resent contemplation and — worship sheer force. Mother Isis be praised that she endowed me with a mind that can perceive beauty in each of the colors that cover all things. Yet, in the end, I am not able to look after anyone's life but my own. In truth, the capacity to choose between these lives comes only to those who know them both, who are not biased against either one of them. But it's impossible to find such an arbiter.”
Djedef's wait was not long, for soon the school crier called out, “Djedef son of Bisharu,” and his heart pounded. Then he heard Nafa say to him, “Farewell, Djedef, for I don't think you'll be returning with us today.”
The youth embraced his brothers and strode through the forbidding door. He went into a room to the right of the entrance, and was met by a soldier who ordered him to remove his clothes. The boy took off his robe and walked up to an elderly, white-bearded physician, who examined each limb and member, glancing appraisingly at his form. Then the doctor turned to the soldier and said, “Accepted.” Overcome with joy, the boy put his robe back on, as the soldier led him out into the academy's courtyard, leaving him to join those who had been accepted before him.
The school's grounds were as vast as a large village, surrounded on three sides by a huge wall, adorned with warlike scenes of battlefields, soldiers, and captives. On the fourth side were barracks, storehouses for weapons and provisions, plus the headquarters for the officers and commanders, grain sheds, and sheds that housed the chariots and wagons, altogether resembling a formidable fortification.
The youth looked over the place in astonishment, his eyes eventually fixing on the assembled throng of his fellows. He found them puffing themselves up with tales of their family lineages, boasting of the exploits of their fathers and grandfathers.
“Is your father a military man?” one boy asked him.
Irked at the question, Djedef shook his head. “My father is Bisharu, Inspector of the King's Pyramid,” he said.
Yet the boy's face showed that he wasn't impressed by the title of inspector. “My father is Saka, Commander of the Falcon Division of spearmen,” he bragged.
Annoyed, Djedef — withdrew from their conversation, pledging to his young self that he would triumph over them, and surpass them one day. Meanwhile, the process of examining and selecting the students dragged on for three hours. Those who were accepted were kept waiting until finally an officer approached them from the direction of the barracks. He glanced at them sternly, then called out to them. “From this moment forward, you must put all anarchy behind you forever,” he warned. “You will regulate yourselves with order and obedience. From now on, everything — including food, drink, and sleep — is subject to strict discipline.”
The officer lined them up in single file, and marched them toward the barracks. He ordered them to enter one by one, and as they did, they passed by a small window in the great warehouse, where each one was handed a pair of sandals, a white loincloth, and a tunic. Then they were split up among different dormitories, each one holding twenty beds in two opposing rows. Behind each bed was a medium-sized wardrobe, on top of which was a sheet of papyrus stretched in a wooden frame, upon which it was demanded that each individual write his name in the sacred script.
They all felt they were in peculiar surroundings, a place run with rigid organization, that produced a spirit of rigor and toughness. The officer loudly ordered them to take off their familiar clothes and to don their military uniforms. Then he warned them not to venture out into the courtyard unless they heard the sound of the horn — and they all complied with this command. A rapid movement spread throughout the dormitories, the first military action that these young boys would carry out. They rejoiced in their white warriors’ regalia, exulting as they put it on. And when the horn was sounded, they scurried nimbly to the courtyard, where the officers lined them up into two straight lines.
Thereupon appeared the academy's director, a senior officer with the rank of commandant. His uniform — was hung — with insignia and medals. He reviewed them with care, then stood before them as he declaimed:
