THE GOD'S WIFE (14 page)

Meanwhile, Egypt and the modern day continued to fuse into one and she found herself buying ankh jewelry at the Field museum. She’d tie a scarf around her head mid-brow, approximating the way an Egyptian woman would do her hair. Even her eyeliner crept ever wider, so it soon had that distinctive beyond-the-eye flair. Women would stop her on the street and compliment her on her makeup, but Rebecca wouldn’t even remember she had done anything different with it. Egypt was in her, and she knew no other way to behave.

#

The best things about the “Aïda” production were the costumes, particularly the jewelry. Raven and Rebecca spent most of their free time between rehearsals trying on copies of expensive Egyptian necklaces, headpieces, armbands and earrings. Rebecca, who didn’t wear the Egyptian adornment on stage because she played the part of a captured Nubian princess, jumped at this chance to model Egyptian finery in the dressing room mirror.

Today, Raven and Rebecca stood in the wings, having just finished a scene. They’d have a good fifteen minutes before Rebecca must return to the stage, so she lifted Raven’s necklace — made to look as if it were made of lapis lazuli and carnelian stripes — from her neck. Raven snickered as Rebecca vamped in front of the little mirror that sat offstage.

“That’s not the proper arrangement, my dear,” came a voice from the dark corner. Rebecca looked up in shock, recognizing Sharif ’s voice.

“It’s supposed to drape like so,” he said, stepping into the light, taking the necklace and letting it cover Rebecca’s collarbone. It did look much better, but she still stiffened at the touch of Sharif ’s hands.

“It’s mine, anyway,” hissed Raven, who quickly undid the clasp, whipped the jewelry off Rebecca’s neck and stomped back into the darkness.

“She’s angry with me,” Sharif said to Rebecca’s image in the mirror.

Rebecca whirled around, careful not to catch her long dress on the many props lying all about her.

“Of course, she’s mad,” Rebecca said, spitting out the words. “You took away her role.”

Sharif bowed his head, but Rebecca couldn’t tell if he meant apology or if he sank into deep thought.

“She still has her role,” he said. “She is Amemnis, the Pharaoh’s daughter.”

“You know what I’m talking about. The understudy —”

The stage manager shot them a dirty look, and Sharif lowered his voice.

“Probably Lenore never will be needed.”

“Then why mess with it?” Rebecca’s frown turned into a full-scale glare. She tried not to look into his eyes or his spell would begin to take her over. “All you’ve done is meddle, and for what purpose?”

“May I propose a meeting this evening, and I’ll explain everything,” Sharif said. “My whole life laid bare to you.” He spread his hands as if opening a large book — the journal of his life. His eyes commanded hers to look up, and she let out a small gasp. In the dark, he transformed into a shape-shifting wizard.

Keeping hold of her senses, she threw back her head in disdain, careful not to dislodge the intricate head wrap she wore.

“Not on your life. Not in a million years. Besides, I’m going out with my boyfriend tonight. Remember him?”

Sharif gave her a shadowy smile. She tried not to gulp.

“The one who’s been calling me? A pest, that one. Anyway, the offer stands. Tonight or any other night. I’ll clear up any questions you have.”

She stood paralyzed, knowing full well she had a cue to be on stage in five minutes. The production neared the scene of Aïda’s death, and she needed to be mentally prepared. However, she stood tantalized by this chance to get to the bottom of Sharif ’s secrets. She detested him and his controlling ways, yet her insides were beginning to turn soft and yielding. With every cell in her body, she wanted to discover this man’s secrets – and to stand near him.

Just before she was to bound on stage, Sharif whispered, “I must be at Belmont Harbor tonight, seven-thirty, slip H-twenty-nine.” Rebecca threw him an incredulous look. A boat? Possibly a sailboat? She’d been wanting to be invited on a sailboat ever since she moved to Chicago. Was this an offer?

The stage director looked her way, and the spell broke. She pulled up her skirts and ran to her mark upstage. Three male dancers dressed as soldiers seized her. She tossed Sharif one last look. He stood raising his arms, as if he were a puppet master guiding the events. She wanted to hurl an insult, but the music came up for her solo and she stood in preparation to be carried across the stage. Aïda, on to certain death.

Deena picked up the language of Kemet with surprising ease. Every other afternoon, when the troops were not training due to the dizzying heat of the day, the multi-lingual captain arrived at Neferet’s quarters to teach a private class. At this point, several weeks into the lessons, most students would still be naming objects like a toddler at play. Deena, however, already put together complex sentences. She bargained at the market square with little effort, and she spoke with the household staff with relative ease.

She had a long way to go, but Neferet sensed that Deena retained remarkable talents and could be counted on to watch over the temple apartment when Neferet left for her many duties. She also could come in handy as a trusted messenger to send missives to Kamose, whom Neferet still dared not meet with spying eyes everywhere around them.

One afternoon, Deena appeared at Neferet’s shoulder.

“I want more,” Deena said, enunciating with clarity.

“More of what, Deena?”

“I want to write,” she said, indicating a scroll Neferet inscribed to Kamose.

Neferet sat astonished. She could count on her fingers the number of women in Kemet who could read and write. The royals had access to written text, and the higher-level female priests also were allowed this special privilege, so they could read the books of spells and prayers. But a woman who remained essentially a slave in the eyes of most citizens? It was something that never had been done. However, Deena counted as no slave, she had the birthright of a princess — not of this land, but of another. She probably knew how to write in her native tongue, so the desire to learn stayed with her.

Deena stood with her palms up in the traditional gesture of asking. Her black eyes remained steady, and her mouth set in determination. Neferet admired her courage.

“Yes. I shall teach you. But it is difficult.”

The woman pointed to the characters on Neferet’s scroll.

“So beautiful.”

How true. The hieroglyphics, representing everything from a bee to an eye to a stately eagle, glowed with grace. Many people studied long years to perfect their calligraphy, for the symbols, born of the ancient time when gods served as pharaohs, were sacred images.

“Each character,” Neferet said, sounding out various glyphs with care, “has several meanings, some simple and some religious.” Deena nodded in understanding. “So it will take a long time.”

“I understand.”

“Well, let it be so. After the captain leaves for the day, we will have a small lesson in writing.”

The foreign princess clapped her hands in joy. Neferet wondered how ecstatic she would be when she discovered how daunting the task lay ahead. Some words were spelled out phonetically, some with a symbol for the idea. Some combined the two, and each word had a determinative — a symbol that gave the reader a general idea of the meaning of the word. Thus, the word “write” would be spelled out with a little hieroglyph of the scribe’s tools and then a phonetic spelling. It took Neferet years to inscribe the simplest of phrases.

Still, she glowed with a small hint of satisfaction, knowing it was an honor to pass the knowledge woman to woman. It felt a bit subversive.

Over the weeks that followed, they labored long hours over sentences a child would use. They laughed at Deena’s mistakes and smiled together like conspirators when the writing stood out as bold and artistic. The Hittite princess had quite a hand for inscribing stunning images on the papyrus.

By the time the Heb Sed festival arrived, Neferet and Deena had bonded in that special way of women sharing a common goal. Neferet would watch Deena at night, brushing her reed against the papyrus with tiny scratching noises. She felt so at peace with this talented woman around. Her interest in Deena’s culture led to rudimentary discussions of the Hittite life, where writing consisted of ugly blocks and triangle shapes stamped into slabs of clay. She learned that Hittite women were not as free as those of Kemet. Deena expressed utter joy at her removal from her native country.

Perhaps Neferet had saved her from a life of ignorance and servitude. Certainly, Deena avoided a hated arranged marriage. Neferet watched Deena practice over and over. Yes, she would have become smothered in her homeland.
Thank the gods, she was delivered to me.

#

After nearly a month of planning, the Heb Sed festival achieved its time of glory. The moment of the test arrived. As the senior priestess in charge of the event, Neferet prayed at the temple of Amun, then walked out on the ceremonial platform wearing the most elaborate crown ever constructed by the temple. This one had the Eset moon atop it, with the body of the vulture goddess Nekhbet creating a smooth hairband. Wings bent down cradling the sides of her head in gold-dipped feathers. Beneath the heavy construction, she wore a Hat-hor wig, recalling the beloved goddess who suckled the young god Hor-heb when his life was threatened by the evil god Set. Everything she wore recalled part of the Eset-Osiris tale — the Great Story that defined their religion. Neferet was aware that she moved as a walking representation of all deemed holy in Kemet.

At the opening of the festival, she stood on the stage Kamose’s men had built and stamped her scepter three times, asking the gods if the Pharaoh Heratkhy remained fit for another thirty years of rule as Osiris on earth. She then drew a feather from her headdress and gave it to the king, who slipped it into his waistband. Cheers of approval rose up from the crowd, for the populace loved their ruler.

“Then let the Heb Sed test begin,” she said and she looked on as her father made his way downstairs to the course. He stripped himself down like an acrobat, to his mere loincloth and the ever-present wig. He wore no royal finery to slow him down. He gazed up at his daughter and winked. She gave him her most beneficent of smiles.

She thumped her staff again, and the gates opened onto the Heb Sed course. Her father took off at a casual speed, for he had much terrain to cover. The crowd pressed in as he neared each station of skill testing. He shot arrows at a target in the likeness of a bull and hit the mock-up animal dead center.

For many watching the spectacle, the Pharaoh merely ran a course of athletic tests to prove he still could be considered a strong man. Neferet knew better. All her temple training came in handy now as she watched her father run about the markers for nomes, or resident spirits, of smaller villages. By passing each nome, the Pharaoh — the living Osiris — gave them power, thereby restoring strength and permanence to the land.

The shooting of the bull recalled the hunt for the perfect Apis bull, another holy animal representation.

So it went, as the Pharaoh blessed, ran about and interacted with the sacred totems of Kemet. The crowd cheered at each feat, although it was likely they would cheer anything. There were tales of old pharaohs who merely walked the Heb Sed, because they were just too fat or frail to accomplish any tasks. The crowd forgives the Pharaoh anything, for he incarnates divinity.

Standing on the platform surrounded by multicolor banners that danced in the wind, smelling the sweet breeze coming off the Great River, Neferet felt pride in her father’s accomplishment. Here he existed, a man of an age that many would consider nearing his final decade. Yet, he stood fit and trim as a man in his twenties. She knew he could run the Heb Sed with no problem, thanks to his normal, rigorous weekly schedule of hunting, archery, chariot riding and spear-throwing. For a second, she hoped her prayers to Amun helped; then, in a cynical mood, she cast that thought aside.

Ever since the rape and Zayem’s defilement of the temple, Neferet had felt her faith shaken. Each day, she believed less of what the priests told her and more of what her senses told her. She was a performer, a figurehead for the people to admire. As wife to Amun, they presumed she had secret knowledge of the workings of the universe. Yet, she probably knew less than anyone. So, her prayers to Amun were rote, rang hollow, and she stood on the stage like a theater performer with lines to deliver and nothing more. She kept up the charade for the people, but in her heart, the love of Amun had grown cold.

She returned her attention to the Heb Sed field, where her father rounded the final turn and headed toward the stage for the final re-coronation rite. Neferet knelt down and picked up the double crown of the Two Lands that rested on a gilt-encrusted pillow. She would have the honor of placing it upon her father’s head.

He hopped up the stairs, taking two at a time, and stood sweating and heaving breaths as the crowd began to yell its approval. He acknowledged the crowd with a wave of the hand. Immediately, servants rushed to towel him off and clothe him in finely loomed, tissue-thin linen garments, including the large apron-like
schenti
, which covered him from waist to mid-thigh. Then they placed a blue and golden
nemes
scarf on his head. They bedecked jewelry about his neck, chest and arms. Finally, they tied the ceremonial, braided false beard to his chin.

He knelt before Neferet because of their difference in heights. She stretched over and placed the crown on top of the
nemes
scarf. With one sure move, she completed the transformation. The Pharaoh rose, restored to full power. The dignitaries from other lands chanted their approval. The crowd roared, and Neferet lifted her hands to acknowledge the praise. She had a warm feeling in her abdomen. This may have been her proudest hour, for she had accomplished something honorable for her father and her country.

#

After the glory of Heb Sed, getting ready for another royal dinner threatened to become a chore, Neferet thought as she dressed herself in another gown befitting the God’s Wife of Amun. She wore a cascade of precious jewels within her collar necklace and slipped matching bracelets on her wrists. The rest of the temple retinue waited outside her door, and she knew she lingered in preparations. The wig the servants had chosen for the evening weighed too much, and she already had a dull headache from the enormous crown she wore all day during Heb Sed. No, that monstrosity would not do
.
She pushed away the cumbersome, gold-braided wig and the incense cone that sat atop it.