The Egyptian by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 4th, 2022 in Stories

She surveyed me again until my heart melted in my breast, and my stomach seemed to have slipped down to my knees. Then she stretched forth a hand heavy with rings and bracelets, touched my head and said kindly, “Is not that handsome head cold, the boy’s locks being so newly shaven?” Immediately she said softly, “Were you speaking the truth? Do you think I am beautiful? Look at me more closely.”

I looked at her, and her robe was of royal linen, and in my eyes she was fair — fairer than all the women I had ever seen — and she certainly did nothing to hide her beauty. I looked at her and forgot the wound in my heart, forgot Amun and the House of Life, and her nearness burned my body like fire.

“You do not answer,” she said sadly. “And you need not for you must think I am an old and ugly woman, who pleases not your splendid eyes. Go then and fetch the young candidate Metufer and be rid of me.”

I could neither leave her nor speak, though I knew she was mocking me with her words. It was dark between the huge Temple pillars. Dim light from some distant stone tracery gleamed in her eyes, and there was no one to see us.

“Perhaps, after all, you need not fetch him,” she said and smiled at me. “Perhaps I should be content if you delight me and take your pleasure with me, for otherwise I know of no other to give me joy.”

Then I remembered what Kipa had told me of women who ask handsome boys to rejoice with them. I remembered it so suddenly that I startled and took a step back.

“Did I not guess that Sinuhe would be afraid?” the woman said and approached me. But I hurriedly raised my hand to hold her off and said:

“I know now what manner you are. Your husband is away, and your heart is a snare, and your embrace burns worse than fire.” But though I spoke this way, I could not flee from her.

She was taken aback, but smiled again and came very close against me. “Do you think so?” she said gently. “But it is not true at all. My embrace does not burn at all like fire — on the contrary, it is said to be rather sweet. Feel it for yourself!” She took my hand and carried my limp hand to her chest, and I felt her beauty through the thin linen so that I began to quake, and my cheeks burned. “You still do not believe me,” she said with feigned disappointment. “Maybe the dress is in the way, but stay — I will draw it aside.” She pulled away her robe and held my hand to her bare breast so that I felt her heart beating, but her breast was soft and cool beneath my hand.

“Come, Sinuhe!” she said very softly. “Come with me, and we will drink wine and take our pleasure together.”

“I may not leave the precincts of the Temple,” I said in a fright and was ashamed of my cowardice. I desired her yet feared her as I would have feared death. “I must keep myself undefiled until I have received my consecration, or I shall be driven from the Temple and never again be admitted to the House of Life. Have pity on me!”

I said this knowing that if she asked me once again I must follow her. But she was a woman of the world and knew my distress. She looked about her thoughtfully. We were still alone, but people were moving to and fro nearby, and a guide was loudly reciting the marvels of the Temple to some visitors and begging copper from them before showing them new wonders.

“You are a very shy young man, Sinuhe!” she said. “The eminent and the rich may offer jewels and gold before I call them to rejoice with me. But you would remain undefiled, Sinuhe.”

“You must want I call Metufer,” I said desperately. I knew that Metufer would never hesitate to slip out of the Temple when night fell, although it was his turn to watch. He could do such things, for his father was the royal master builder, but I could have slain him for it.

“Perhaps I no longer wish you to call Metufer,” she said, looking mischievously into my eyes. “Perhaps I should like us to part friends, Sinuhe. Therefore I will tell you my name, and it is Nefernefernefer, because I am thought of as beautiful and because no one who has pronounced my name can resist saying it again and for a third time. It is a custom also for parting friends to give one another keepsakes. Therefore I want a gift from you.”

Then I was aware of my poverty, for I had nothing to give her, not the most trifling little ornament nor the smallest copper ring — nor if I had could I have offered such things to her. I was so bitterly ashamed that I bent my head, unable to speak.