The Egyptian by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 4th, 2022 in Stories

fields. But impatience drove me onward, and I hastened the journey, and the sweat poured down the faces of my oarsmen, and with reproach they showed me their hands, which were swollen and blistered because I urged them on to such a speed. I promised to heal their sores with silver, and I quenched their thirst with beer in my desire for goodness. But as they pulled, their sides aching, I heard them mutter amongst themselves and say to one another, “Why should we row this fat swine if all men are equal before his god? Let him try it himself, to learn how rowing feels. Let his throat dry and his hands swell and then heal his hands with silver if he can.”

The stick at my side called for me anxiously, but my heart was filled with goodness because I was on my way to Thebes. Having reflected on their words, I realised they spoke the truth, and I went down to them and said to them, “Oarsmen, give me an oar, too.” After this, I rowed standing among them, and the hard wood of the oar made my hands swell and rubbed blisters on to the palms of my hands and rubbed the blisters into sores. My back strained sideways and all my joints burned like fire, and I thought my spine would crack and I drew my breath with pain in my chest. But I said to my heart: “Would you give up the labour you took upon yourself, only for your slaves to mock and scorn you? This, and much more than this, they have to endure every day. So taste their sweat and swollen hands to the bottom that you may know what an oarsman’s life is like. Didn’t you, Sinuhe, once require your cup to be full.” So I rowed until I was near swooning, and the servants carried me to my bed.

But the next day I rowed again with my flayed hands, and the oarsmen no longer laughed at me but begged me to cease, saying, “You are our lord and we your slaves. Row no more, or floor becomes roof for us, and we shall walk backward with our feet in the air. Row no more, our beloved lord Sinuhe, so that you won’t swelter, for there must be some order in all things, and every man has his station as ordained by the gods, and yours is not the oarsman’s stretcher.”

But I rowed amongst them all the way to Thebes, and my food was their bread and their porridge, and my drink the bitter beer of slaves, and every day I could row for a longer time, and every day my limbs grew more wiry — and every day I took more delight in living and I

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noted that rowing had ceased to swelter me. But my servants were uneasy on my account and said to one another, “Surely a scorpion has bitten our master, or he has gone mad like everyone else in Akhetaten, madness being an infectious disorder unless one wears a talisman about his neck. Yet we do not fear him, for we have the horn of Amun hidden beneath our clothes.” But I was not mad and had no intention of rowing beyond Thebes nor had any plans to remain an oarsman the rest of my life for it was an altogether too tiresome profession for me.

Thus we reached Thebes, and already far out on the river the scent of Thebes came to us, and there is no lovelier scent for a man who is born in Thebes, for in his nostrils this scent is sweeter than myrrh. I bade my servants rub healing salves into my hands and wash me and dress me in my best clothes — and the loincloth was loose about me for part of my belly had melted away in rowing, and they had to tighten it about my waist with pins, and they moaned miserably, saying, “Our master is sick for he has lost his belly which is the sign of eminence, and we are ashamed amongst the servants of other distinguished men since our master has no belly.” But I laughed at them and sent them to the old copper founder’s house to inform Muti of my arrival, not daring any more to present myself unannounced in my house. I divided silver and even some gold amongst the oarsmen and said, “By Aten, go and eat so that your bellies swell, and gladden your hearts with sweet beer and pretty girls of Thebes — for Aten is the giver of joy and loves simple delights, and he loves the poor better than the rich, because their joy is simpler than the joy of the rich.”

But hearing this, the faces of the oarsmen darkened, and they dragged their toes on the ship’s floor and fingered my silver and gold and said, “We would not offend you, our lord, but surely your silver isn’t accursed silver and your gold accursed gold since you speak of Aten to us. We cannot accept accursed silver for it burns our hands and everyone knows it turns to clay in our fingers.” They would not have said this to me had I not rowed with them and won their confidence so that they trusted in me.

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