“Stay or go now as you wish,” one of them said mockingly.
“Perhaps, soldier boy, this is your first defeat,” said another, maliciously.
“The battle is not finished yet,” he answered in utter pique. “I'll follow you even if you go to Thebes.”
But the one — who first bit him said, “We will spend our night here.”
17
The next month that he spent in the academy — was the longest and crudest of all. At first he was in great pain over his sullied honor and pride, asking himself wrathfully, “How could I have suffered such a setback? What do I lack in youth, good looks, strength, or wealth?” He would gaze a long time into the mirror and mutter, “What's wrong with me?” What, indeed, had driven the gorgeous creature away from him? What had brought down insult after insult upon him? Why had she fled from him as though he were a leper? But then his intense desire to pursue her and capture her would return, and he would wonder, if he persisted in wooing her day after day, would he be able to curb her defiance and win her heart? What girl can be cruel forever? But this came to him while he was a prisoner for a month behind those huge walls that could withstand any siege.
Despite all this, he remained under her spell, her portrait never leaving his vest; he gave it all his attention whenever he found himself alone. “Do you see who this enchanting tyrant is?” he thought to himself. “A little peasant girl? Incredible… and what peasant girl has such luminous, magical eyes? And where was the modesty of the peasant in her arrogance and her stubbornness? And where was the peasant's simplicity in her biting sarcasm and her resounding scorn?” If he had surprised a true peasant girl that way, perhaps she would have run away — or surrendered contentedly — but that is hardly what happened here! Could he ever forget her sitting there among her companions like a princess with her servants and ladies-in-waiting? And could he ever forget how they defended her from him, as though unto death? And would he ever forget how they stayed with him — after her flight — not running away, afraid that he would follow them to her? Instead, they resigned themselves to the cold and dark. Would they have done all those things for a peasant girl like themselves? Perhaps she was from the rural aristocracy — if only she was. Then Nafa could not taunt him again that he was likely to fall in a broken-down hut. If only he had succeeded with her, so that he could tell Nafa about it. What a pity!
Be all that as it may, the month that he imagined would never end, finally did. He left the academy as one would leave a fearful prison, and went to the house with a pent-up yearning for something other than his family. He met them with a joy not equal to theirs, and sat among them with an absent heart. Nor did he notice the stiffness and listlessness that had come over Gamurka, as he waited with an empty patience, when minutes seemed like months. Finally, he made off for the pure place of Apis where his eyes would seek out the beloved face.
This was the month of Barmuda — the air was humid and mild, taking from the cold a pinch of its freshness, and from the heat a lively breath that stirred playfulness and passion. The sky was tinted a delicate, translucent white, a pale blue gleaming beyond.
He looked tenderly at the dear spot, and asked himself, “Where is the peasant girl with the bewitching eyes?” Would she remember him? Was she still angry with him? And was his desire still so daunting for her? Could it be that his love would find an echo within her?
The empty place did not reply, the rocks were deaf to his call — and a spirit of pessimism, longing, and solitude possessed him.
And time — first hope tempted him to believe that there was still enough for her to appear, so it passed slowly and heavily. Then despair made him imagine that she had already come and gone, and time flew like an arrow, while the sun seemed to be riding a speedy chariot racing off into the western horizon.
He kept wandering around where he saw her for the first time, peering into the green grass, longing to see the tracks of her sandals or the drag-mark of her skirt. Alas, the grass preserved no more trace of her body than had the waters retained the shape of her legs!
Does she still visit this place as she did before, or did she give up her outings to avoid seeing him? Where could she be? And how could he find her? Should he call out, but without knowing the name to call? He kept on meandering around the beloved place in confusion, his patience running out, battered back and forth by optimism and dejection. In the midst of these musings he looked up at the sky, and saw the fire of the sun going down. His eye looked upon it as though it were a human giant humbled by old age and infirmities. But then he turned his face toward the sprawling fields and saw the outline of a village. Not knowing what he was doing, he set out to reach it, and midway he met a peasant returning home after his long day's labor, and asked him about the place. The peasant answered him, staring at his uniform with respect, “It is the village of Ashar, sir.” Djedef nearly showed him the picture snuggled against his breast to ask him about its mistress, but did not.
He resumed his aimless journey. Yet he found relief in the traveling that he did not find in stopping and walking around. It was as if the disappointed hope that had beguiled him on the bank of the Nile had fled into the precincts of this village and he was following its trail. It was an evening he would not forget, for he crisscrossed all the hamlet's lanes, reading the faces of those that he passed, stopping to ask at each house. As he did so, his searching look aroused curiosity, and his good looks attracted stares, with eyes locked on him from every side. Nor was it long before he found himself ambling amidst a throng of girls, boys, and older youths. The talk and clamor began to rise, while he found not a trace of the cherished object of his quest. Soon he shunned the people of the village as he left it quickly, speeding his steps toward the Nile in the gloom of his soul, and the darkness of the world.
Though grieving, his ardor burned within him, while the sense of loss tore him apart. His condition reminded him of the ordeal of Goddess Isis when she went looking for the remnants of her husband Osiris — whose body evil Seth had scattered to the winds. Mother Isis had been more fortunate than he was. If his own beloved were a phantom that one sees in dreams, then his chances of finding her would have been much stronger.
Handsome Djedef was in love, but his was an odd infatuation, one without a beloved, a passion whose agony was not from rejection or betrayal or the vagaries of time, or from people's wiles. Rather, his torment was the absence of a sweetheart altogether. She was like an errant breeze borne by cyclone — winds which took it to a place unknown to man. His heart was lost, not knowing a place of rest. He knew not if it was near or far, in Memphis or in the farthest parts of Nubia. How cruel — were the Fates that turned his eye toward that picture that he kept next to his heart — ruthless Fates, like those spirits — who take delight in the torments of men.
He returned to his house, — where he met his brother Nafa in the garden.
“Where have you been, Djedef?” the artist asked. “You were gone a long time — didn't you know that Kheny is in his room?”
“Kheny?” he asked, taken aback. “Is it true what you say? But I didn't find him when I came.”