Imhotep (58 page)

Imhotep
thought back to the night Addy had gotten a phone call and drove away into the
night.  What if he had gone with her?  What if her friend had been at
a different restaurant?  And as much as it hurt to think the thoughts, if
Addy hadn’t been killed he wouldn’t have followed Diane and Brian here and he
never would have met Meryt.  The life that was growing inside her would
never have been created.

“I
think he changed here, Diane,” Imhotep said.  “He seemed different after
he escaped from Kom Ombo.  As awful as it sounds, I think he lived more in
the time he was here than he would have if he hadn’t encountered this land.”

“He
wouldn’t be dead,” she said.

“You
don’t know.  He could have been hit by a bus, or eaten a bad meal.  I
mean, people die these strange, meaningless deaths all the time.  Just
random shit,” he said angrily. 

“I’m
sorry,” he said.  “It’s just that we never know. 

“We’re
all going to die, everyone knows that, but back in our time we keep ourselves
so busy, so occupied with cell phones and texting, television shows, movies,
parties, bars, nightclubs, fancy restaurants, sixty-hour-a-week jobs, shopping,
buying clothes and furniture and jewelry, working to save up for a car, a
house, a second house, a beach house.  Here people have time to live,
really live.  I’ve done more, I mean drawing, making friends, doing things
that really matter, than I did my entire life before.

“This
is life stripped down to what matters, without the distractions.”

“You
can do that back in our time,” Diane said.

He
shook his head. “I don’t think so.  Maybe if you’re the Dalai Lama, but
not ordinary people.  I don’t see how.”

Diane
shrugged and looked at the tomb entrance.

“I
think you can.  I think it’s just a matter of deciding what you really are
going to do and then doing it.”

“I
hope you’re right,” Imhotep said, getting to his feet.  “It looks like
Paneb’s finished.  Let's go.”

P
aneb and Ahmes waited outside the tomb
under the palm canopy.

“Is
Lord Tim leaving, too?” Ahmes asked.

Paneb
shook his head.  “His name is Imhotep now, Ahmes.  King Djoser gave
the name to him.  And no, I don’t think he is leaving.  But with the
gods, you never know.”

D
iane and Imhotep held hands as they walked
down the tomb hallway.

“What
should I do when I get there? I mean about Brian.”

“I
guess just say he’s missing.”

“Yeah. 
Shit, this is weird.  His body is going to be in this tomb, isn’t
it?  I mean when they find this tomb, his mummy will be in it, right?”

Imhotep
shrugged.  “I guess.  There wasn’t much information about the tomb in
the guide books in your room.”

“Who
was this tomb being built for?”

“It
was for Kanakht, the king’s vizier.  But he betrayed the king and lost the
right to eternal life.”

She
shook her head. “I still can’t believe Brian is gone,” she said.

She
started to cry.

Imhotep
squeezed her hand. 

“We’re
here,” he said, pointing to the freshly painted symbols above the door. 
“I’m sorry, Diane, but we have to do this now.  We can’t leave this
doorway open for long.  What if some other tourist is in the tomb?”

She
nodded and wiped her eyes.

“Are
you sure you want to leave?” he asked.

“Are
you sure you want to stay?” she answered.

They
turned to the panel and Imhotep raised his hands and placed them gently against
the door.  He looked at the wall and then over at Diane.  Then he
leaned into the wall, pressing hard.

He
stepped back as the stone started to swing open.

They
stood by the opening, feeling the stale air from the long closed tomb drift
through the gap in the wall toward them.  There was no sound, no light
coming to them.

“It’ll
be morning, just like here, but five thousand years later.  Here are three
wooden matches that I brought with me.  They’re all I have left. 
They should last long enough for you to get back to the staircase.  As
soon as you’re through, I’m going to paint over these symbols, so you won’t be
able to turn back.”

She
took the matches.  “Wait until I have one of them lit and get through the
hole in the other wall.”

“Goodbye
Diane. I hope things go well for you.”

She
nodded and stepped through the door.  He watched as she struck the match
against the stone wall, found her way to the break in the facing wall and
stepped through. 

He saw
the light dim as the match burned out and then flare again as she lit the
second match.  Pushing shut the wall, he bent down for a brush. He
hesitated for just a moment, listening through the wall.

Then
he began to paint over the hieroglyphics.

T
he outlander renamed Ipy was buried in the
unfinished tomb that was to be Kanakht's resting place.

King
Djoser honored Ipy by attending the funeral, which his sister Hetephernebti
conducted.

Tama,
priestess to the goddess Ma’at, pronounced Ipy’s heart truthful and light,
assuring its owner passage to Khert-Neter.  It was the first time anyone
had seen the priestess cry during the ceremony of the weighing of the
heart.  A young wbt-priestess named Pahket assisted her.

Modern
archaeologists who discovered the tomb could offer no explanation for the
unusually large size of the sarcophagus.

K
ing Djoser ruled for almost thirty
years.  The Stele of Setet Island records his anguish over the seven-year
famine and his success in persuading the god Khnum to unleash the waters of the
river.

He was
entombed in the Step Pyramid, the precursor of the more famous pyramids later
built at Giza.  His fame was overshadowed in later years by that of his
famous adviser, Imhotep.

I
mhotep directed the building of the Step
Pyramid, and served King Djoser as adviser, official scribe, and personal
physician.  The ancient Egyptians regarded him so highly that he came to
be viewed as a god himself. 

His
tomb has not been found.

Although
this is a work of fiction, the ancient Egyptian world is depicted as accurately
as the passage of five thousand years (and my limited knowledge) allows.

There
is a Tomb of Kanakht at Saqqara. I was in it. And I did actually trip, fall and
roll into the recessed hold of the sarcophagus.

There
is a temple at Kom Ombo. It includes a chamber in which are stored the
mummified remains of crocodiles which were worshiped as the god Sobek. I saw
them, too.

The
hymn sung to Re by Hetephernebti is a translation of a prayer to the god from
the time of King Djoser. (And the ruler was called king, not pharaoh, in the
Third Dynasty.)

Hetephernebti
was either a wife or sister, or both, to King Djoser. I chose to make her a
sister.

King
Djoser did declare himself a god, and there was a devastating seven-year
drought. Its history is recorded in the Famine Stele found near Aswan. The
offerings King Djoser made to the god Khnum and his dream are recorded on the
stele.

And
Imhotep, Djoser’s adviser and physician, was the architect of the Step Pyramid,
the precursor to the more famous pyramids at Giza.

Following
is an excerpt
from “The Buried Pyramid,”
the second novel in the tetralogy
about the famous ancient architect Imhotep

THE
BURIED PYRAMID

A novel by Jerry Dubs

Alone in the walled garden behind her father’s
palace, thirteen-year-old Hetephernebti was determined to discover if she was
ready to bear children.

Holding it by its grassy stem Hetephernebti
dangled a small spring onion close to her face and sniffed.  She rubbed her
fingers over the small bulb making sure there was no dirt on it.  With a
fingernail she scraped off the hair-like roots at the bottom of the bulb and
then she examined the pale green translucent root as if she would be able to
see into its heart and understand the mystery of its power.

She shook her head.  She didn’t understand how it
would work, but all the older girls told her that what she was about to do was
necessary if she wanted to marry.  With an ease that came from months of
practice, she closed her eyes and conjured a picture of herself holding an
infant to her breasts.  She could feel the warmth of the baby’s breath on her
breast.  She could feel his, yes, it would be a boy, weight on her arms and she
could hear the soft whistle of his breath as he slept in her arms. 

She opened her eyes from her dream and sighed.

She needed to be a mother.

Cupping her free hand over her mouth
Hetephernebti exhaled.  Her breath smelled fresh and clear, perhaps a little
yeasty from bread she had eaten earlier.  She shrugged and, opening her legs,
she slowly slid the small onion bulb inside herself.  Clamping her legs
together to keep the onion within she picked up a small green faience figurine
of Taweret, goddess of childbirth and fertility who took the form of a pregnant
river hippopotamus with the tail of a crocodile.  As Hetephernebti caressed the
large snout of the goddess she realized that she had forgotten to ask how long
she needed to keep the onion inside her.

If she were truly old enough to bear a child,
then the fragrance of the onion would pass upward through her stomach and soon
fill her mouth with its pungent aroma.  If the gates to her womb were not yet
open, well, she would try again next month.

She ran her hands over her body.  Her breasts
were small, barely formed, but she was sure that they would swell with milk if
she were to have a child.  Her concern was her hips.  They were narrow, not the
wide girdle of her mother, and even she grimaced in pain as she sat astride the
birthing blocks. Hetephernebti didn’t understand how a baby could pass through
her own narrow channel.

She caressed the pregnant belly of the icon.  The
gods would provide.

Just then she heard the shouts of her younger
brother.  “Nebti! Nebti!”

She crossed her legs to hide the grassy stem that
protruded from her.

“Yes, Djoser, I’m over here,” she called.

Her eleven-year-old brother appeared from behind
a cluster of young date palm trees.  Unlike Hetephernebti who wore only a
gold-threaded belt, Djoser was wearing a pleated kilt.  His head was shorn
except for a short sidelock.

“I’m going with father to Sinai!  I’m going to
have my own company, the Lion Company!” he shouted as he ran to her.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, standing to hug her
little brother.  Ever since he was old enough to pretend a stick was a spear,
Djoser had played at being soldier.  He was shorter than his older sister, but
broad-shouldered, his ropy muscles growing stronger every day.

“I know,” he agreed.  “The Lion Company is from
Sais, down in the delta.  All the men are fishermen and hunters of hippos, so
they have strong arms.” He pulled his right arm back as if he were holding a
spear.  He threw the imaginary spear and grunted.  “Like that,” he said,
laughing.

He stopped and pointed between her legs.

“What’s that?”

Hetephernebti leaned toward him.  She put her
hands on either side of his head and held his face still.  “Smell my breath,”
she said, exhaling.

Realizing that she was testing her fertility,
Djoser pulled away.  “Onions!  You reek of onions!” he said and then he started
to laugh.

She cupped her hand in front of her mouth and
exhaled.  Her breath was sweet as freshly baked bread.  She frowned; there was
not a hint of onion.  

Djoser saw her disappointment and stopped
laughing.

“I’m sorry, Nebti,” he said solemnly.  “I’m sure
you’ll have many, many children.”

He started to smile, “You’ll have so many
children they’ll have their own company in the army and I’ll lead them.” He
backed away from her. “They’ll be the Onion Company,” he said as he turned to
run through the garden.

Hetephernebti couldn’t pretend to be angry with
her little brother; they were more than siblings.  They confided their dreams
to each other, they confessed their fears and they wondered aloud about the
many things they didn’t understand.

Djoser often came into her room at night and told
her stories about his training at the barracks near the palace.

He would relay rumors from other towns, always
filling in the gaps in the stories with his own ideas of what had really happened,
who had actually fought someone and who had boasted of things they would be too
afraid to do.

As she lay on her bed listening to her little
brother, Hetephernebti marveled not so much at his ability to remember all the
details of each story but rather his understanding of why some of the boys lied
and why others didn’t.  He intuitively grasped their characters, their
weaknesses, and their desires.

She knew other boys his age feared not only
Djoser’s strength but also his position as prince of the Two Lands, but she
thought that their fears were misplaced.  It was his understanding and
intelligence that were his true weapons.

Suddenly, she remembered the onion.

She checked her breath once more, shrugged at its
stubborn sweetness and tugged the onion free.  She started to toss it behind a
young fig tree and then stopped.  It wasn’t the onion’s fault.  She found a
clear spot in the garden and scooped a small hole in the ground.  She put the
onion bulb in the hole and brushed dirt over it.  She straightened the straggly
green leaves only to watch them sag again.

Sighing, she stood and clapped the dirt from her
hands.

Her time would come.

She knew that the royal blood of the Two Lands
passed through women.  Her father, Kha-sekhemwy, was king, but it was because
he had married Hetephernebti’s mother, Menathap.

Hetephernebti paused at that thought.

Suddenly it didn’t make sense to her that her
mother would know who to marry, that she would be able to pick which of her
suitors should become king.  She wondered if instead the strongest man decided
to become king and then he married a woman with royal blood to make himself
legitimate.

She sat again.

What did that mean?  Who would she marry?

There was Djoser, of course.  He was Menathap’s
and Kha-sekhemwy’s son and the prince of Kemet.  It was natural that he would
become king.

But what of Nebka?  He was also Kha-sekhemwy’s
son, from a wife he had before he became king and took Menathap as his chief
wife.  Nebka was much older than Djoser, almost thirty years old.  If something
should happen to Kha-sekhemwy before Djoser was old enough to take the throne,
then Nebka might be king even though he was not truly of royal blood.

She thought of him.  He was taller than Djoser,
but not as athletic.  He spent his time in shadowy, lamp-lit rooms with scribes
talking about … Hetephernebti realized she had no idea exactly what her
half-brother did.  He never traveled with Kha-sekhemwy on military
expeditions.  He didn’t wear the leopard skin of a priest.  He wasn’t married. 
He didn’t hunt or fish.  He didn’t lead expeditions to Punt or Sinai.

I don’t even know him,
Hetephernebti
thought. 
He might be king and I might become his wife and he is my father’s
son and I don’t know him.

She walked over to the bare patch of ground where
she had planted the disappointing onion.  Saying a quick prayer to Renenutet,
goddess of harvest, Hetephernebti squatted over the onion and watered it. 
Then, standing, she turned toward the palace.

Somewhere in there Nebka was doing whatever he did.

She would find out what that was.