The Egyptian by Mika Waltari Read Free Book Online Page B

carry out the most menial tasks because I had not had the wit to give him a present.
    Then I conceived such a hatred of Metufer and his words as only a youth can feel. However much I longed to ask him about Nefer I would not stoop to it. I hid my secret in my heart, for a lie is more lovely than the truth and a dream purer than earthly contact. I contemplated the green stone upon my finger, remembering her eyes and her cool bosom, and seemed still to sense her perfumed ointments on my fingers. I held her, and her soft lips still touched mine—in consolation, for by then Ammon had revealed himself to me and my faith was gone.
    When I thought of her, I whispered with burning cheeks, “My sister.” And the word was a caress in my ears, for from untold ages its meaning has been and will ever be, “My beloved.”
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    But I shall tell how Ammon revealed himself to me.
    On the fourth night it was my turn to watch over the peace of Ammon. There were seven of us boys: Mata, Mose, Bek, Sinufer, Nefru, Ahmose, and I. Mose and Bek were also candidates for the House of Life, and so I knew them but not the others.
    I was weak with fasting and suspense. We were in a solemn mood and walked unsmilingly after the priest—may his name perish in oblivion—as he led us to the enclosed part of the temple. Ammon’s ship had sailed beyond the hills in the west, the watchmen had blown their silver horns, and the temple gates were shut. But the priest who guided us had eaten a good meal of meat from the sacrifices and fruits and sweet cakes; oil dripped down his face, and his cheeks were rosy with wine. Laughing to himself, he raised the veil and let us look into the holy of holies. In his alcove, which was carved out of one huge block of stone, stood Ammon. The jewels in his headdress and collar sparkled green, red, and blue like living eyes in the light of the sacred lamps. In the morning under the direction of the priest we were to anoint him and clothe him afresh, for each morning he required a new robe. I had seen him before at the Spring Festival when he was carried out to the forecourt in his golden boat and all the people prostrated themselves before him, and when the river was at its height, I had seen him sail upon the sacred lake in his ship of cedarwood. But then as a lowly novice I had but glimpsed him at a distance. His red robe had never made so fierce an impact as now, by lamplight, in the inviolate silence of the sanctuary. Red was worn by gods and Pharaohs alone, and as I gazed at his lifted face, I felt as if the very slabs of stone lay upon my breast to stifle me.
    “Watch and pray before the evil,” said the priest, clinging to the border of the curtain, for he was unsteady on his legs. “Perchance he will call you. It is his custom to reveal himself to the postulants, addressing them by name and speaking, if they be found worthy.”
    Hurriedly he made the holy signs, mumbled the divine name of Ammon, and pulled the veil back into place without troubling even to bow and stretch forth his hands at knee level.
    He went, leaving us alone in the darkness of the inner antechamber, whose stone floor struck cold to our bare feet. But when he had gone, Mose brought forth a lamp from beneath his shoulder cloth while Ahmose walked coolly into the sanctuary and fetched some of the sacred flame with which to kindle it.
    “We should be fools to sit in darkness,” said Mose, and we felt safer, though I think we were none of us without fear. Ahmose brought out bread and meat; Mata and Nefru started throwing dice on the flagstones, calling the score so loudly as to wake the echoes in the hall. But when Ahmose had eaten, he rolled himself in his shoulder cloth and, after swearing a little at the hardness of the stones, settled down to sleep; a little later Sinufer and Nefru lay down beside him for warmth.
    But I was young and I watched, though I knew that the priest had been given a jar of wine by Metufer, whom he had invited with one or