Thus the family spent a gorgeous day in entertaining chatter and other pleasures. Indeed, this visit became the model for each of Djedef's homecomings every month, that seemed to pass in the twinkle of an eye. Nafa's fears were dispelled, as the lad lost his stiffness, and his bold, playful self returned. His body reveled in its strength and manliness, as he progressed further and further on the road to developing his physical power and magnetism.
The summer — when the academy closed its doors — was the happiest time for Zaya and Gamurka. During these days, they became reaccustomed to the uproar of life and the activities that they all shared before the brothers split up into their different walks of life. The family often traveled to the countryside or to the northern Delta in order to go hunting, using a skiff to plow through the waves of lakes shaded by papyrus groves and lotus trees. Bisharu would stand between his boys Nafa and Djedef, each one holding his curved hunting stick, until a duck — not suspecting what Fate had in store for it — flew overhead, and each took aim at the target, throwing all his strength and skill into it.
An adroit hunter, Bisharu was twice as successful at it as his two sons combined. He would look sharply down at Djedef and say in his gruff voice, “Don't you see, soldier, how good your father is at hunting? Don't be so surprised — for your father was an officer in the army of King Sneferu, and was strong enough to capture a whole tribe of savages without fighting at all.”
These sporting trips were a time of exercise and enjoyment unmatched on other occasions. Yet Bisharu's mind would not be at rest until he took Djedef on a visit to the pyramid. His goal from the beginning — was to show off his influence and authority, and the kind of reception given him by the soldiers and employees there.
Meanwhile, Nafa invited Djedef to visit his gallery to show him his pictures. The youth was still working hard, with hardly any funds, hoping that he would one day be invited to take part in a worthy artistic project in one of the palaces of the wealthy or prominent. Or that one of his visitors should buy something. Djedef loved Nafa, and he loved his works of art — especially the picture that he drew of him in his white war uniform — which captured the essence of his features and the expression in his eyes.
At this time, Nafa was painting a portrait of the immortal architect Mirabu who had brought the greatest miracle of technical achievement into existence.
As he sketched the underlying drawing for the painting, he said to Djedef, “I have never put half as much into any painting as I have invested in this one. That's because, to me, the figure in this portrait has a divine character.”
'Are you painting it from memory?” Djedef queried.
“Yes, Djedef,” he replied, “for I never see the great artist except during feast days and official celebrations in which Pharaoh's courtiers appear. Yet that is enough to have engraved his image in my heart and mind!”
The year passed again, and Djedef went back to the academy once more. The wheel of time kept turning, as the life of Bisharu's family proceeded down its predestined path: the father into old age, the mother into maturity, Kheny into devotion to religion, Nafa into the perfection of his exquisite art. Meanwhile, Djedef made greater and greater strides toward an ingeniously superior mastery of the arts of war, gaining a reputation in the military academy never before attained by any pupil.
15
Djedef strolled down Sneferu Street as an unending stream of passersby stopped to gawk at his — white military uniform, his tall, slender body, and his clean good looks. He kept walking until he came to the entrance of the house of “Nafa son of Bisharu,” — with its license from Khufu's school of drawing and painting. He read the name plaque — with interest, as if he — were seeing it for the first time, and on his delightful face there — was a sweet, radiant smile. Then he passed through the doorway, and inside he saw his brother absorbed in his — work, completely unaware of what was around him — so he called out to him laughingly, “Peace be upon you, O Great Maker of Images!”
Nafa swiveled toward him, a surprised look on his dreamy face. When he realized — who had come, he rose to greet him, saying, “Djedef! What good fortune! How are you, man? Have you been to the house?” The two brothers embraced for a — while, then Djedef said, as he sat on a chair that the artist had brought to him, “Yes, I — was there, then I came to see you here — for you know that your house is my chosen paradise!”
Nafa laughed in his high-pitched — way, his face overflowing with pleasure. “How happy I am with you, Djedef! I was amazed at how an officer such as you could be so drawn to this calm, idyllic place for painting! Where is Djedef of the battlefield, and of the forts of Per-Usir and Piramesse?”
“Don't be amazed, Nafa, for I truly am a soldier. But one who loves fine art, just as Kheny loves wisdom and knowledge.”
Nafa's eyebrows shot upwards in shock, as he asked, “Imagine if you were heir apparent in the kingdom! Don't you see them grooming him for the throne, with education about wisdom, art, and war?” He continued, “A divine policy made Egypt's kings into gods — as it one day will make you a commander without peer.”
The blood rose in Djedef's cheeks as he said, smiling, “You, Nafa, are like my mother — you don't see me even though you ascribe to me all of the best qualities combined!”
At this, Nafa let out his high, piercing laugh, seeming to drown in it for a long — while, until he recovered his composure.
Astonished, Djedef asked him, “What's wrong with you? What's so funny about that?”
The young man, still giggling, replied, “I'm laughing, Djedef, because you compared me with your mother!”
“Well, what's funny about that? I just meant that…”
“Don't trouble to explain or excuse yourself, for I know what you meant by it,” Nafa interrupted. “But that's the third time today that someone has likened me to a female. First, this morning, Father told me that I was ‘as fickle as a girl.’ Then, just an hour ago, the priest Shelba said to me, while he was talking to me about my doing a portrait of him, ‘You, Nafa, are ruled by emotion, just as women are.’ And now you come along, and say I'm like your mother! Well, do you see me as a man, or as a woman?”
Now it was Djedef's turn to laugh. “You are indeed a man, Nafa. But you are delicate of spirit, with a passionate sensitivity. Don't you remember Kheny once saying that ‘artists are a sex between female and male'?”
“Kheny believed that art must borrow something from femininity — yet I feel that the emotionality of a woman is in absolute contradiction to that of the artist. For by her nature, a woman is utterly efficient in reaching her biological objectives using every means at her disposal. Whereas the artist has no objective but to express the essence of things, and that is Beauty. For Beauty is the sublime essence of that which creates harmony among all things.”
Again, Djedef laughed. “Do you think that by your philosophizing you can convince me that you're a man?”
Nafa fixed him with a sharp stare. “Do you still need proof?” he replied. “Well, then, you should know — I'm going to be married.”
“Is what you say true?” Djedef asked, the incredulity plain on his face.
Nafa was practically drowning in laughter — when he answered, “Has it reached the point where you would deny that I should get married?”
“Certainly not, Nafa,” said Djedef, “but I remember how you made Father mad at you, by your abstention from marriage.”
His face grown serious, Nafa placed his hand over his heart. “I fell in love, Djedef,” he said. “I fell in love — very suddenly.”