Imhotep (27 page)

Hetephernebti
stood behind him on his left, an older man in immaculate white robes stood at
Djoser’s right hand.

“Life,
prosperity, health!” Meryt said when she and Tim had come to a stop.  Tim
echoed her words, happily surprised to hear his voice match Meryt’s sincere
tone.

Djoser
nodded in response.

“I am
pleased to see you well, Meryt,” Hetephernebti said.

“Thank
you, High Priestess,” Meryt said.  “And you are well, I hope.”

Hetephernebti
smiled at the girl’s question, how like her to make innocent conversation even
in the presence of the king.

“They
say you are a god,” King Djoser said, ignoring the exchange between the two
women.

“I
have heard some people say that,” Tim answered, glancing at Meryt.  “But I
am just a man, King Djoser.”

“Life,
health, prosperity!” Meryt added automatically, nudging Tim.

“Life,
health, prosperity,” Tim added quickly.

Kanakht
leaned toward King Djoser and spoke softly.  The king listened to his
adviser then said, “You healed the girl of the wasting disease.  What heka
did you use?”

Tim
shook his head.  “It was not magic, King Djoser.”

“Life,
health, prosperity!” Meryt said again after the king’s name was mentioned.

King
Djoser smiled at her. “Little bird, I have heard your sweet song.  You do
not need to sing every time my name is mentioned.”

Returning
his calm gaze to Tim, he said, “Not magic?”

“Where
I come from,” Tim said, choosing his words carefully, “we have a different way
of treating some illnesses.  It worked with Meryt.  I was … ” he
started to say lucky, then changed his mind, “I was blessed by the gods.”

“And
you healed a girl who was stung by a scorpion?”

Tim
looked to Hetephernebti, whose face remained friendly, but otherwise
unreadable.

“It
was a small thing,” Tim said.

King
Djoser nodded his head and then stared off in the distance for a moment. “I
have a task for you, man who is blessed by the gods,” he said.  He raised
his hand toward a darkened corner of the room where a figure stood in the
shadows.

Prince
Teti came forward, holding his broken left arm stiffly at his side.  He
stopped at the foot of his father’s throne and stood there facing him, his back
turned toward Tim.

King
Djoser leaned forward and spoke to his son.  Sitting back in his throne,
he looked down at Tim.  “This is my son, Prince Teti.  Heal him.”

T
im wanted to throw up.  He didn’t
know why his hands weren’t shaking, because his stomach was quivering in fear.

He,
Meryt and Prince Teti were in a small chamber off the throne room.  The
young prince was standing stiffly, watching them, as was a guard who stood by
the doorway.  Tim heard the sound of footsteps receding as the king,
Hetephernebti and the king’s adviser left the throne room.

“Meryt,
I need my bag,” he said, referring to his backpack.  It had been left on
the boat.

“I
will get it,” she said.

“Hurry,”
Tim said as she turned toward the door.

“Who are
you?” Prince Teti asked after Meryt had gone.

Tim
didn’t know how Prince Teti had been injured.  He saw that his left arm
was bandaged, but he had no idea what had happened or when it had
happened.  The boy was standing straight; his chest pushed forward, his
chin held high.  Although he seemed composed, Tim saw that his right hand
was balled into a fist, the fingers on his other hand were splayed open, as if
trying to escape from pain.

“My
name is Tim,” he said.

“I
mean, are you a physician, a priest or a god?” Prince Teti said.

Tim
thought before responding. 

He had
always believed that he could draw, but he had never realized the importance of
that confidence until he had met students in his college classes who didn’t
have his assurance.  Their lines were hesitant, their vision small. 

Eventually
he had come to see that self-confidence was often as responsible for success as
was talent.  In some cases more responsible.  He hoped this would be
one of them. 

In the
back of his mind he wondered what would happen to him if he failed to heal the
prince, or, worse, if he somehow harmed him.  He caught those thoughts,
recognized them and tried to forget them until later.

He
tried to smile comfortingly.  “I do not have a title, Prince Teti.  I
am just someone who wants to help you.  I have some medicines that may
help.  I don’t know about  ... ” He was saved from admitting his ignorance
by the sound of footsteps behind him.

Hesire,
the physician, had entered the room.  He walked quickly to them, his eyes
darting from Tim to Teti as he approached, looking to see what had been done.

“Prince
Teti,” he said.  “I came as soon as your father told me that he had asked
another,” he looked at Tim, evaluating what he saw, “another physician to look
at your injuries.”

“Thank
you,” Tim and Prince Teti said at the same time.

Hesire
drew himself up and addressed Tim formally.  “I have been instructed to
assist you,” he said.

Tim
tried to imagine that conversation:  He wondered if Hesire had tried to
persuade King Djoser that he needed to be present to prevent Tim from damaging
Prince Teti or if Djoser had ordered Hesire to keep an eye on him.

Either
way, he was grateful.  And worried.

“I am
sorry if my manner is strange,” Tim said to Prince Teti.  “First, can you
tell me how you were injured?”

Prince
Teti looked at Hesire, who nodded approval.  “I fell onto rocks in the
river at Abu.”

“His
back was also injured, as was his neck,” Hesire added.

Prince
Teti turned his back to Tim to show him the wound.  Tim recognized the red
swelling around the cut as an infection.  He made a mental note to give
Prince Teti some antibiotics.

Tim
turned to Hesire.

“Did
you treat his arm?”

“No,”
Hesire answered.  “Rudamon, a physician at Abu set the broken bone which
had pushed through the skin.” 

Without
thinking, Tim glanced at Prince Teti, who was managing to keep an impassive
face.  Whatever the boy thought of his father ordering him to see a
stranger, he wasn’t showing any anger or concern.

“Prince
Teti,” Tim said, “I am sure that you have been treated properly.  But your
father asked me to look at your injury, so we shall.  Hesire,” he said,
turning to the physician, “your hands are more practiced than mine.  I
need your help.  Please.  I have some medicines from my distant land
that may help Prince Teti.  But I need your skillful hands and eyes to
help me.”

Hesire
was surprised by Tim’s request.  When King Djoser had told him that he had
ordered another physician to examine Prince Teti, Hesire had assumed that he
was being punished for delivering the bad news about Prince Teti’s
injury.  He had expected the new physician to attempt to blame him for
anything that went wrong.

Instead,
this stranger was openly asking his help in front of Prince Teti.

He
nodded his agreement as they heard light footsteps approaching as Meryt
returned carrying Tim’s canvas backpack.

Tim
took the backpack from her and set it on the floor near him.  Then he
turned to Prince Teti.

“May I
see your arm?” he asked.

Prince
Teti extended the arm.

The
fingers were swollen and dark, the forearm was pushing tight against the
palm-bark at both edges of the cast.  Tim wondered if he should press
against the injury as he had seen doctors do on television shows, but he had no
idea what that would tell him.

He
tried to break the problem into small parts.

It’s
swollen, probably from an infection, he thought.  The swelling has
trapped blood from the wound in Teti’s hand. R-I-C-E, he thought, repeating the
first aid mantra of treatment for most injuries: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.

He
touched Hesire’s shoulder and motioned for him to step a few paces away from
Prince Teti.

“The
blackness in his fingers  . . . ” Tim began.

“Yes,”
Hesire nodded, “It is a bad sign.  That is why I told King Djoser that the
arm may need to be removed.”

Tim
froze.  Did King Djoser expect him to amputate his son’s arm?

“Of
course, King Djoser does not want that to happen, which is why, I believe, he
asked you to look at Prince Teti.”

Tim
tried to put the thought of amputating an arm out of his mind. 
I’m
starting to get a lot of things I have to remember to forget,
he thought.

“I
think the blackness in the fingers is blood turned black,” Tim said.

“Do
you think we need to drain them?” Hesire asked.

Tim
thought of Paneb and how he had grabbed a knife to treat his daughter’s
scorpion sting.  “No, I think we can remove the blackness without a
knife,” he said to Hesire.

“In my
country,” he continued “we think it is very important to keep the wound
clean.  So, would you please unwrap the cast?  We can check the
setting of the bone and inspect the wound.”

Hesire
nodded and turned to Prince Teti.

As
Hesire cut off the cast, Tim dug through his backpack.  He had gauze,
antibiotic pills and antibiotic cream, and a white padded splint.  He also
had some Ibuprofen that would reduce the swelling and ease Prince Teti’s
pain.  After the arm was recast, Tim would ask Prince Teti to carry it in
a sling to keep it elevated. 

“Meryt,”
he said, “I need a length of linen, as long as you are tall.”

She
leaned forward and whispered to him, “I know that you can help him, Tim. 
You must know that, too.” Then she turned and left the room.

When
Tim turned back to look at Teti, he almost passed out from the sight of the
unwrapped arm.

It was
grotesquely swollen, the entire forearm was smeared with dried blood and mud
and the wound where the bone had pierced the skin was a pus-filled
bubble.  Quickly he turned to his backpack and knelt over it, as if
searching for something.  He waited for the blood to return to his head and
the wave of nausea to pass.

He
thought of how he dealt with seeing Meryt’s beautiful naked body every day: He
tried to picture her as a model in a drawing class, and focused on the lines
and contours.  Although it was working less and less with her as he came
to care for her, he hoped the method would help him through this examination.

He
composed his face before rising to face Prince Teti and Hesire.

Forcing
himself to look at the arm, he tried to analyze what he saw, to think about
what caused it and what he could do.  As he did, a wave of calm entered
him.

Lightly
he touched Prince Teti’s arm, his fingers almost floating over the dried mud
caked there.

“Hesire,
is there water here, and a cloth?”

The
physician motioned toward a table that stood beside a chair behind Prince Teti.

Tim
realized that his fears had narrowed his vision and he hadn’t truly seen the
room.  He gestured to Prince Teti to sit on the chair.  Standing
beside the chair, he held the arm gently.  Moistening the cloth, Tim began
to gently wash away the dirt around the wound.  He let the water do the
work of softening the mud, waiting until it was easy to pat away.

As he
worked he focused on the warmth of Teti’s arm, flush from the blood that was
pooled there.  He felt the smooth young skin stretched tight beneath the
swollen wound.

Once
the mud and blood were cleaned away, Tim wrapped his hand around Prince Teti’s
forearm and held it, asking the prince to relax his arm’s weight into Tim’s
hands.  With his other hand under the arm, nearer the elbow, Tim slowly
pressed his forefinger against the bone.  He closed his eyes, focusing his
attention on the solid feel of Teti’s radius bone.  He allowed the other
fingers of his hand to follow the swell of the muscles.

Slowly
he moved his hand down Teti’s wrist toward the injury, his finger following the
firm line of the bone.  As he neared the point of the fracture, he felt
Prince Teti stiffen.  The flesh around the injury was swollen, but Tim was
able to trace the line of the bone.

“I’m
sorry if this hurts,” he said as he heard Prince Teti draw a deep breath.

Slowly,
Tim squeezed the forearm around the wound, breaking the thin scab that was
holding in the pus that had accumulated there.  He gently cleaned it away
with the damp cloth.

Meryt
had returned and was quietly waiting, holding a roll of linen.

“Hesire,”
Tim said, “please hold Prince Teti’s arm for me.”

Tim
went to the backpack and retrieved the tube of antibiotic cream and the roll of
gauze.