“He arrived in the past two hours, and he's waiting for you.”
Djedef hurried to the room of the priest, whom he had not set eyes on in years. He saw him sitting as he did during the days gone by, book in hand. When Kheny saw him he stood up and said to him with joy, “Djedef! How are you, O gallant officer!”
They clasped each other around the neck for a long while, as Kheny kissed his cheeks and blessed him in the name of the Lord Ptah. Then he said, “How fleetly the years pass, O Djedef! Your face is still as handsome as ever… but you have grown into something quite spectacular. To me you look like those intrepid soldiers that the king blesses at the end of great battles, and whose heroism he immortalizes on the walls of the temples. My dear Djedef, how happy I am to see you after all these long years!”
Filled with joy, Djedef said, “I too am very happy, my dear brother. My God, you've turned out the faithful image of the men of the priesthood, in the leanness of your body, the dignity of your presence, and the sharpness of your expression. Have you finished your studies, my dear Kheny?”
Kheny smiled as he sat, clearing a space for Djedef next to him.
“The priest never stops learning, for there is no end to knowledge,” he expounded. “Kagemni taught, ‘The learned man seeks knowledge from the cradle to the grave — yet he dies an ignorant man.’ Nonetheless, I have finished the first stage of study.”
“And how was your life in the temple?”
Kheny turned dreamy eyes upon him. “Oh how long it has been!” he replied. “It's as though I were listening to you ten years ago, when you would hurl a question at me — do you remember, Djedef? You shouldn't be surprised, for a priest's life is spent between question and answer — or between a question and the attempt to answer it. The question is the summary of the spiritual life. Pardon me, Djedef, but what interests you about life in the temples? Not all of what is known is uttered. Suffice it that you be aware it is a life of inner struggle and purity. They habituate us to making the body pure and obedient to our will, then they teach us the divine knowledge. For where does the good seed grow except in the good soil?”
“And what are you busying yourself with, dear brother?” asked Djedef.
“I shall soon work as a servant of the sacrifices to Lord Ptah, exalted be His name. I have won the sympathy of the high priest, who has predicted that it will not be ten years before I am elected one of the ten judges of Memphis.”
“I believe that His Holiness's prophecy will come true before then,” Djedef said with passion. “You are a great man, my brother.”
Kheny grinned in his quiet way. “I thank you, dear Djedef. And now, tell me, are you reading anything useful?”
Djedef laughed. “If that's how you count military strategy, or the history of the Egyptian army, then I'm reading something useful!”
Then Kheny inquired empathetically, “Wisdom, O Djedef! You were listening to the words of the sages with zeal in this very place, but ten years ago!”
“The truth is that you planted the love of wisdom in my heart,” Djedef said. “But my life in the military leaves me little free time for the reading I crave. Be that as it may, the distance between myself and liberation has been shortened.”
Disturbed, Kheny said, “The virtuous mind never dismisses wisdom even for a day, just as the healthy stomach does not renounce food for a day. You should make up for what you have already lost, O Djedef. The virtue of the science of war is that it trains the soldier to serve his homeland and his sovereign with his might, though his soul does not benefit at all. And the soldier who is ignorant of wisdom is like the faithful beast — nothing more. Perhaps he would do well under an iron hand, but if left to his own devices, he is unable to help himself, and can help only others instead. The gods have distinguished him from the animals by giving him a soul, and if the soul isn't nourished by wisdom then it sinks to the level of the lesser creatures. Don't neglect this, O Djedef, for I feel from the depths of my heart that your spirit is lofty, and I read on your handsome forehead splendid lines of majesty and glory, may the Lord bless your comings and your goings.”
The conversation flowed between them sweetly and agreeably, closing with the subject of Nafa's marriage. Kheny learned of it for the first time from Djedef, calling down blessings on the husband and the wife. Then a thought occurred to Djedef and he asked, “Kheny, won't you marry?”
“Why not, Djedef?” the priest said to the young man. “The clergyman cannot remain sure of his own wisdom if he does not marry. Can mortal man ascend to heaven with a soul still yearning for the earth? The virtue of marriage is that it takes care of one's lust and so purifies the body.”
Djedef left his brother's chamber at midnight, and repaired to his own room. He had started to remove his robe while recalling his talk with the priest, when sorrow assailed him as he remembered his day, and the frustration it had brought him. But just before dropping onto his bed he heard a light tapping, and he bid the person knocking to come in.
Zaya entered, her face distressed.
“Did I awake you?” she asked him.
“No, Mama, I hadn't gone to sleep yet,” he said, feeling afraid. “Is everything alright?”
The woman hesitated, trying to speak, but her tongue would not obey. She gestured for him to follow her, and he did so apprehensively until she halted at her bedroom. She pointed at the floor — and Djedef saw Gamurka sprawled out as though wounded by a fatal shaft. He could not control himself as he cried out in alarm, “Gamurka… Gamurka… what's wrong with him, Mama?”
With a choking voice, the woman said, “Have courage, Djedef, have courage.”
His heart torn out of his chest, the soldier knelt by the dear dog, which did not greet him as normal by leaping about with joy. He stroked his body but Gamurka did not stir.
“Mama, what's the matter with him?” he asked again.
“Be brave, Djedef, for he is dying.”
The fearsome word horrified Djedef. “How did this happen?” he said in a protesting tone. “He came to see me this morning, the way he always does.”
“He wasn't like he always was, my dear. Even though his love for you obliterated his pain at the time, he's now very old, Djedef, and the final feebleness has been clear in him these last few days.”
Djedef's pain intensified; he turned to his faithful friend and whispered into his ear in deepest grief, “Gamurka… don't you hear me? Gamurka!”
The trusty dog lifted his head with difficulty, looking at his master with unseeing eyes, as though he was bidding the final goodbye. Then he returned to his heavy sleep, and began to moan hoarsely, as Djedef called to him time and again, but without any response at all. He sensed that the force of death was gathering around his loyal comrade, watching as he opened and closed his mouth, panting heavily. He crouched helplessly as Gamurka shuddered weakly just once, before journeying quietly into Eternity. He called out to him from the depths of his heart, “Gamurka,” but the plea was futile. For the first time since becoming a soldier, the tears flowed from his eyes as he wept in farewell for the companion of his childhood, the dear friend of his boyhood, and the comrade of his youth.
His mother lifted him up before her and dried his tears with her lips, then sat him down next to her on her bed, consoling him — with tender — words — but he did not hear. Nor did he open his mouth all that night except — when he told her, “Mama, I want to embalm him and lay him in a sarcophagus. Then I — want to put him in the spot in the garden where he and I used to play — until he's moved into my tomb — when the Lord calls me to Him.”
And so ended that tragic day.
18
Djedef's sixth and final year in the war college had finished. The school held its traditional annual tournament in — which the graduates contended with each other before being assigned to the various branches of the army. A vivid liveliness dawned that day on the mighty academy, its walls adorned with the standards of the military divisions, the air resounding with the rousing strains of music.