The Egyptian by Mika Waltari

Posted by admin_akashic on Mar 4th, 2022 in Stories

The strong beer made him drunk, and tearing his greying hair with chained hands, he cried out aloud, saying, “Oh, Syria, oh, Syria, my torment, my hope, my love. I did all for your greatness, and for the sake of your freedom I rose in revolt, but now on the day of my death you cast me out and curse my name. Oh, fair Byblos, oh, blossoming Zemar, oh, wily Sidon, oh, Joppa the mighty — oh, all you cities that gleamed like pearls in my crown, why did you forsake me! Yet I love you too dearly to hate you for your desertion since I love Syria because it is Syria: deceitful, cruel, capricious and ever ready to betray. Families die out, nations rise up only to fall, kingdoms change, and fame and glory flee like a shadow, but you: endure, my proud cities, endure; let your white walls sparkle by the sea and by the red mountains; shine on from eternity to eternity, and my dust, borne by the desert winds, shall fly to caress you.”

While he spoke, my heart was filled with sadness, and I realised he was still imprisoned in his dreams, and I would not kill his dreams since they brought him comfort during the night of his death. So I held his maimed hands in my hands, and he pressed my hands, moaning, and said, “Sinuhe, I do not regret my death, nor my defeat, for only those who risk a lot can win a lot — and the victory and Syrian greatness already dawned within the reach of my hands. All the days of my life, I have been strong in love and strong in hate, and I cannot think of any other life for myself nor change the course of my life — nor do I regret anything though my actions have become a powerful rope, tying me up and taking me to a shameful death so that my body will be cast to jackals. Yet Sinuhe, I have always been curious, and I have a merchant’s blood, like all Syrians have. Tomorrow I must die, and death makes me very curious so that I would like to know if I can bribe death and deceive the gods since the hereafter and eternal walkabout as a ghost in the dark feel rather grim in my mind. You, Sinuhe, have gathered the wisdom of all countries in your heart. Tell me how to bribe death.”

But I shook my head and said, “No, Aziru, a man can bribe or deceive anything else. He can bribe love and power, good and evil, his mind and his heart, but birth and death cannot be bribed. However, let me tell you during this night when the flame of your lamp flickers: There is nothing to fear in death, Aziru, and death is good. Next to everything that happens in the world, death is a man’s best friend. As a doctor, I don’t have much faith in life in the hereafter nor — as an Egyptian — in the Western Land and the preservation of the body,

687

but death is to me like a long sleep, and it is to me like a cool night after a scorching day. Truly, Aziru, life is hot dust, while death is cool water. In death, your eyes close and will never see again; in death your heart goes silent and does not lament any more; in death your arms go weary and do not desire deeds any more; in death your legs break and do not desire the dust of endless roads any more. That is death, my friend Aziru, but for the sake of our friendship, I am happy to make the drink and meat sacrifice to you and your family before the Baal of Amurru. I will make a sacrifice worthy of your kingship to you and your family if that comforts you, though I don’t have much faith in sacrifice. Anyway, certainty is best, and so I make the sacrifice to you so that you shouldn’t suffer from thirst and hunger in the underworld, whether such a land even exists or not.”

Aziru was greatly excited about my words and remarked, “When you make the sacrifice, use the sheep of Amurru, since they are the fattest of all sheep, and their meat melts in my mouth. And do not forget to sacrifice for me the sheep’s kidneys since they are my favourites, and if you may, sacrifice for me wine of Sidon, mixed with myrrh, for my blood has always liked heavy wines and fatty food. I would also like you to sacrifice me a comfortable and strong bed which endures even hard labour since indeed it is not becoming to my dignity as the King to lie in grass like shepherds — though the ground does not squeak under Keftiu’s weight like even the strongest of beds.”

He went on to list various things that I needed to sacrifice to him, and he got excited and rejoiced like a child, contemplating all the nice things he could take with him to the underworld. But at last, he became wistful and sighed deeply, and he leaned his beaten head in his hands and said:

688