upon the ground before me when they spoke his name. But one of them said, “If you are looking for Thutmose, you will find him probably in a beer tavern or in a pleasure house.” Another one said, “If you hear someone mocking the gods, Thutmose must be near.” And a third said, “You’ll surely find your friend Thutmose where there is fighting and where men get bumps and wounds.” They spat upon the ground before me since I had said I was a friend of Thutmose, but they only did so because their teacher was present, and when he turned his back, they counselled me to go to a wine tavern called The Syrian Jar.
I found a wine tavern whose name was The Syrian Jar. It lay between the poor quarter and the rich quarter and had an inscription over the door praising the wine from Amun’s vineyard and also wines from the harbour. Inside, there were hilarious images painted on the walls, with baboons caressing dancer girls and goats playing flute. There were artists squatting on the floor drawing pictures while an old man sat in sad contemplation of the empty wine bowl before him.
“Sinuhe, by the potter’s wheel,” said someone and got up to greet me with his hands lifted in wonder. I recognized Thutmose, though his shoulder cloth was dirty and tattered, and his eyes were bloodshot, and there was a big bump on his forehead. He had grown older and thinner, and there were lines at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes still held that infectiously courageous and cheerful glint when he looked at me, and he bent forward till our cheeks touched. Of that, I knew then that we were still friends.
“My heart is heavy with grief and all is vanity,” I said to him. “I have sought you out so that we may rejoice our hearts with wine, for no one answers when I ask, why.”
But Thutmose lifted his apron to show that he lacked the means to buy wine.
“I carry four deben of silver on my wrists,” said I with pride. Thutmose then pointed at my head, which was still shaven because I wanted men to know that I was a priest of the first grade. It was all I had to be proud of. But now I was vexed that I had not let my hair grow. I said impatiently:
“I am a physician, not a priest. I believe I read over the door that wine from the harbour can be had here. Let us see if it is good.” Saying that, I rattled the silver bracelets in my hand, and the landlord ran to me and stretched forth his hands at knee level in front of me.
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“In my storage, I have wines from Sidon and Byblos, with their seals unbroken, sweet from myrrh,” he said. “I also offer mixed wines from coloured goblets. They go to your head like a smile of a beautiful girl and make your heart happy.” Many other things he spoke and recited without bothering to breathe so that I became perplexed and glanced to Thutmose questioningly. Thutmose ordered mixed wine, and a slave came to pour water over our hands and set roasted lotus seeds on a low table before us. The landlord himself brought the brightly coloured goblets. Thutmose raised his and spilled a drop on the ground and said, “For the divine Potter! May the plague consume the art school and its teachers.” And he recited the names of those teachers he hated most.
I also raised my goblet and let a drop fall on the ground. “In the name of Amun,” I said. “May his boat leak to all eternity, may the bellies of his priests rupture, and may the pestilence destroy the ignorant teachers in the House of Life.” But I said this in a low voice and looked about me lest a stranger should overhear my words.
“Have no fear,” remarked Thutmose. “So many of Amun’s ears have been boxed in this tavern that they have had enough of listening. All of us who have ended up here are lost already. I could not find even bread and beer if I had not hit upon the idea of making picture books for rich men’s children.”
He showed me the scroll he had been working on when I came. I could not help laughing, for there he had drawn a fortress defended by a quaking, terrified cat against the onslaught of mice, also a hippopotamus singing in a treetop while a dove climbed painfully up the tree by means of a ladder.
Thutmose looked at me, and there was a smile in his brown eyes. But it faded as he unrolled the papyrus further and disclosed the picture of a bald little priest leading a big Pharaoh on a rope to the Temple, like a beast of sacrifice. Next, he showed me a little Pharaoh bowing before a massive statue of Amun. He nodded at my questioning look and said:
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