and listlessness that had come over Gamurka, as he waited with an empty patience, when minutes seemed like months. Finally, he made off for the pure place of Apis where his eyes would seek out the beloved face.
This was the month of Barmuda — the air was humid and mild, taking from the cold a pinch of its freshness, and from the heat a lively breath that stirred playfulness and passion. The sky was tinted a delicate, translucent white, a pale blue gleaming beyond.
He looked tenderly at the dear spot, and asked himself, “Where is the peasant girl with the bewitching eyes?” Would she remember him? Was she still angry with him? And was his desire still so daunting for her? Could it be that his love would find an echo within her?
The empty place did not reply, the rocks were deaf to his call — and a spirit of pessimism, longing, and solitude possessed him.
And time — first hope tempted him to believe that there was still enough for her to appear, so it passed slowly and heavily. Then despair made him imagine that she had already come and gone, and time flew like an arrow, while the sun seemed to be riding a speedy chariot racing off into the western horizon.
He kept wandering around where he saw her for the first time, peering into the green grass, longing to see the tracks of her sandals or the drag-mark of her skirt. Alas, the grass preserved no more trace of her body than had the waters retained the shape of her legs!
Does she still visit this place as she did before, or did she give up her outings to avoid seeing him? Where could she be? And how could he find her? Should he call out, but without knowing the name to call? He kept on meandering around the beloved place in confusion, his patience running out, battered back and forth by optimism and dejection. In the midst of these musings he looked up at the sky, and saw the fire of the sun going down. His eye looked upon it as though it were a human giant humbled by old age and infirmities. But then he turned his face toward the sprawling fields and saw the outline of a village. Not knowing what he was doing, he set out to reach it, and midway he met a peasant returning home after his long day's labor, and asked him about the place. The peasant answered him, staring at his uniform with respect, “It is the village of Ashar, sir.” Djedef nearly showed him the picture snuggled against his breast to ask him about its mistress, but did not.
He resumed his aimless journey. Yet he found relief in the traveling that he did not find in stopping and walking around. It was as if the disappointed hope that had beguiled him on the bank of the Nile had fled into the precincts of this village and he was following its trail. It was an evening he would not forget, for he crisscrossed all the hamlet's lanes, reading the faces of those that he passed, stopping to ask at each house. As he did so, his searching look aroused curiosity, and his good looks attracted stares, with eyes locked on him from every side. Nor was it long before he found himself ambling amidst a throng of girls, boys, and older youths. The talk and clamor began to rise, while he found not a trace of the cherished object of his quest. Soon he shunned the people of the village as he left it quickly, speeding his steps toward the Nile in the gloom of his soul, and the darkness of the world.
Though grieving, his ardor burned within him, while the sense of loss tore him apart. His condition reminded him of the ordeal of Goddess Isis when she went looking for the remnants of her husband Osiris — whose body evil Seth had scattered to the winds. Mother Isis had been more fortunate than he was. If his own beloved were a phantom that one sees in dreams, then his chances of finding her would have been much stronger.
Handsome Djedef was in love, but his was an odd infatuation, one without a beloved, a passion whose agony was not from rejection or betrayal or the vagaries of time, or from people's wiles. Rather, his torment was the absence of a sweetheart altogether. She was like an errant breeze borne by cyclone — winds which took it to a place unknown to man. His heart was lost, not knowing a place of rest. He knew not if it was near or far, in Memphis or in the farthest parts of Nubia. How cruel — were the Fates that turned his eye toward that picture that he kept next to his heart — ruthless Fates, like those spirits — who take delight in the torments of men.
He returned to his house, — where he met his brother Nafa in the garden.
“Where have you been, Djedef?” the artist asked. “You were gone a long time — didn't you know that Kheny is in his room?”
“Kheny?” he asked, taken aback. “Is it true what you say? But I didn't find him when I came.”
“He arrived in the past two hours, and he's waiting for you.”
Djedef hurried to the room of the priest, whom he had not set eyes on in years. He saw him sitting as he did during the days gone by, book in hand. When Kheny saw him he stood up and said to him with joy, “Djedef! How are you, O gallant officer!”
They clasped each other around the neck for a long while, as Kheny kissed his cheeks and blessed him in the name of the Lord Ptah. Then he said, “How fleetly the years pass, O Djedef! Your face is still as handsome as ever… but you have grown into something quite spectacular. To me you look like those intrepid soldiers that the king blesses at the end of great battles, and whose heroism he immortalizes on the walls of the temples. My dear Djedef, how happy I am to see you after all these long years!”
Filled with joy, Djedef said, “I too am very happy, my dear brother. My God, you've turned out the faithful image of the men of the priesthood, in the leanness of your body, the dignity of your presence, and the sharpness of your expression. Have you finished your studies, my dear Kheny?”
Kheny smiled as he sat, clearing a space for Djedef next to him.
“The priest never stops learning, for there is no end to knowledge,” he expounded. “Kagemni taught, ‘The learned man seeks knowledge from the cradle to the grave — yet he dies an ignorant man.’ Nonetheless, I have finished the first stage of study.”
“And how was your life in the temple?”
Kheny turned dreamy eyes upon him. “Oh how long it has been!” he replied. “It's as though I were listening to you ten years ago, when you would hurl a question at me — do you remember, Djedef? You shouldn't be surprised, for a priest's life is spent between question and answer — or between a question and the attempt to answer it. The question is the summary of the spiritual life. Pardon me, Djedef, but what interests you about life in the temples? Not all of what is known is uttered. Suffice it that you be aware it is a life of inner struggle and purity. They habituate us to making the body pure and obedient to our will, then they teach us the divine knowledge. For where does the good seed grow except in the good soil?”
“And what are you busying yourself with, dear brother?” asked Djedef.
“I shall soon work as a servant of the sacrifices to Lord Ptah, exalted be His name. I have won the sympathy of the high priest, who has predicted that it will not be ten years before I am elected one of the ten judges of Memphis.”
“I believe that His Holiness's prophecy will come true before then,” Djedef said with passion. “You are a great man, my brother.”
Kheny grinned in his quiet way. “I thank you, dear Djedef. And now, tell me, are you reading anything useful?”
Djedef laughed. “If that's how you count military strategy, or the history of the Egyptian army, then I'm reading something useful!”
Then Kheny inquired empathetically, “Wisdom, O Djedef! You were listening to the words of the sages with zeal in this very place, but ten years ago!”
“The truth is that you planted the love of wisdom in my heart,” Djedef said. “But my life in the military leaves me little free time for the reading I crave. Be that as it may, the distance between myself and liberation has been shortened.”
Disturbed, Kheny said, “The virtuous mind never dismisses wisdom even for a day, just as the healthy stomach does not renounce food for a day. You should make up for what you have already lost, O Djedef. The virtue of the science of war is that it trains the soldier to serve his homeland and his sovereign with his might, though his soul does not benefit at all. And the soldier who is ignorant of wisdom is like the faithful beast — nothing more. Perhaps he would do well under an iron hand, but if left to his own devices, he is unable to help himself, and can help only others instead. The gods have distinguished him from the animals by giving him a soul, and if the soul isn't nourished by wisdom then it sinks to the level of the lesser creatures. Don't neglect this, O Djedef, for I feel from the depths of my heart that your spirit is lofty, and I read on your handsome forehead splendid lines of majesty and glory, may the Lord bless your comings and your goings.”
The conversation flowed between them sweetly and agreeably, closing with the subject of Nafa's marriage. Kheny learned of it for the first time from Djedef, calling down blessings on the husband and the wife. Then a thought occurred to Djedef and he asked, “Kheny, won't you marry?”
