academy never before attained by any pupil.
15
Djedef strolled down Sneferu Street as an unending stream of passersby stopped to gawk at his — white military uniform, his tall, slender body, and his clean good looks. He kept walking until he came to the entrance of the house of “Nafa son of Bisharu,” — with its license from Khufu's school of drawing and painting. He read the name plaque — with interest, as if he — were seeing it for the first time, and on his delightful face there — was a sweet, radiant smile. Then he passed through the doorway, and inside he saw his brother absorbed in his — work, completely unaware of what was around him — so he called out to him laughingly, “Peace be upon you, O Great Maker of Images!”
Nafa swiveled toward him, a surprised look on his dreamy face. When he realized — who had come, he rose to greet him, saying, “Djedef! What good fortune! How are you, man? Have you been to the house?” The two brothers embraced for a — while, then Djedef said, as he sat on a chair that the artist had brought to him, “Yes, I — was there, then I came to see you here — for you know that your house is my chosen paradise!”
Nafa laughed in his high-pitched — way, his face overflowing with pleasure. “How happy I am with you, Djedef! I was amazed at how an officer such as you could be so drawn to this calm, idyllic place for painting! Where is Djedef of the battlefield, and of the forts of Per-Usir and Piramesse?”
“Don't be amazed, Nafa, for I truly am a soldier. But one who loves fine art, just as Kheny loves wisdom and knowledge.”
Nafa's eyebrows shot upwards in shock, as he asked, “Imagine if you were heir apparent in the kingdom! Don't you see them grooming him for the throne, with education about wisdom, art, and war?” He continued, “A divine policy made Egypt's kings into gods — as it one day will make you a commander without peer.”
The blood rose in Djedef's cheeks as he said, smiling, “You, Nafa, are like my mother — you don't see me even though you ascribe to me all of the best qualities combined!”
At this, Nafa let out his high, piercing laugh, seeming to drown in it for a long — while, until he recovered his composure.
Astonished, Djedef asked him, “What's wrong with you? What's so funny about that?”
The young man, still giggling, replied, “I'm laughing, Djedef, because you compared me with your mother!”
“Well, what's funny about that? I just meant that…”
“Don't trouble to explain or excuse yourself, for I know what you meant by it,” Nafa interrupted. “But that's the third time today that someone has likened me to a female. First, this morning, Father told me that I was ‘as fickle as a girl.’ Then, just an hour ago, the priest Shelba said to me, while he was talking to me about my doing a portrait of him, ‘You, Nafa, are ruled by emotion, just as women are.’ And now you come along, and say I'm like your mother! Well, do you see me as a man, or as a woman?”
Now it was Djedef's turn to laugh. “You are indeed a man, Nafa. But you are delicate of spirit, with a passionate sensitivity. Don't you remember Kheny once saying that ‘artists are a sex between female and male'?”
“Kheny believed that art must borrow something from femininity — yet I feel that the emotionality of a woman is in absolute contradiction to that of the artist. For by her nature, a woman is utterly efficient in reaching her biological objectives using every means at her disposal. Whereas the artist has no objective but to express the essence of things, and that is Beauty. For Beauty is the sublime essence of that which creates harmony among all things.”
Again, Djedef laughed. “Do you think that by your philosophizing you can convince me that you're a man?”
Nafa fixed him with a sharp stare. “Do you still need proof?” he replied. “Well, then, you should know — I'm going to be married.”
“Is what you say true?” Djedef asked, the incredulity plain on his face.
Nafa was practically drowning in laughter — when he answered, “Has it reached the point where you would deny that I should get married?”
“Certainly not, Nafa,” said Djedef, “but I remember how you made Father mad at you, by your abstention from marriage.”
His face grown serious, Nafa placed his hand over his heart. “I fell in love, Djedef,” he said. “I fell in love — very suddenly.”
Djedef- his feelings now gathered in concentrated awareness — asked in concern, “Suddenly?”
“Yes, I was like the bird hovering safely in the sky until he feels an arrow dive into his heart — and he falls.”
“When did this happen, and where?”
“Djedef, when one talks about love, you don't ask about the time and the place!”
“Who is she?”
He said with reverence, as though intoning the name of Isis, “Mana, daughter of Kamadi in the Office of the Treasury.”
“And what will you do?”
“I will marry her.”
Djedef wondered, in a dreamy voice, “Is this how things change?”
“And even faster than that,” said Nafa. ‘An arrow and its victim — and what is the bird to do?”
Truly, love is an awesome thing. Djedef knew art, the teachings of the sages, and the sword. As for love, this was a new mystery indeed. And how could it not be a mystery, if it could do in one instant what Bisharu and he were unable to do in years! Meanwhile, he sensed his own passion flaring and his spirit wandering in far distant valleys.
“A happy Fate has willed that I be successful in my life as an artist, and Lord Fani invited me to decorate his reception hall. Some of my pictures were valued at ten pieces of gold — though I refuse to sell them. Look at this little one!”
Puzzled, Djedef turned toward where Nafa was pointing, and saw the miniature image of a peasant girl on the banks of the Nile, the horizons of evening tinged with the hues of sunset. As though awakened by the beauty of this picture that drew him from the valleys of his dreams, he approached it slowly, until he came to — within an arm's length of it. Nafa saw his amazement and could not have been more pleased.
“Do you not see it as a picture rich in both color and shadow? Look at the Nile, and the horizons!” he exclaimed.
Djedef answered in an otherworldly voice, “Just ask me to look at the peasant girl!”
Contemplating her picture, Nafa said, “The brush has immortalized the flow of the Nile, which has such dignity.”
But Djedef interjected, without paying any attention to what the artist was saying, “By the gods… such a soft, supple body, as slender and upright as a lance!”
“Look at the fields, and at the bent-over crops, whose direction shows…” said Nafa.
As though he didn't hear his brother at all, Djedef muttered: “How gorgeous this bronze face is, like the moon!”
“… that the wind was blowing from the south!” continued Nafa.
“How beautiful these two dark eyes — they have such a divine expression!”
“Joy isn't all there is in this picture. Notice also the sunset — only the gods know how much effort I put into drawing and tinting it,” said Nafa.
Djedef looked at him with a mad enthusiasm. “She's alive, O Nafa — I can almost hear her murmuring. How can you live with her under one roof?”
Nafa rubbed his hands happily. “For her sake, I turned down ten pieces of pure gold,” he said.
“This painting will never be sold.”
“And why is that?” asked Nafa.
