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By KateC (Katec) on Thursday, May 09, 2002 - 10:36 am
The sun was high when Aptahwe sat down to a breakfast of fresh hot bread with honey. There were juicy dates and slices of cheese and goat's milk in a pottery jug. She began her meal leisurely, dipping the bread into the honey and savoring the sweetness on her tongue. "Hurry," Nefer-re urged. "It's almost time for the teacher to come." Aptahwe noticed that she was wearing one of her most colorful dresses, a tight sheath dyed blue and green in a fish-scale pattern. Suddenly Aptahwe wasn�t hungry anymore. "What is he like?" "You'll see." Nefer-re smiled mysteriously. The teacher was waiting in the schoolroom and when they entered, he flung himself down at Aptahwe's feet. She stared at the groveling figure with its bony shoulders and jutting buttocks, and an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh swept over her. She turned her face away as she fought to swallow the giggles that kept threatening to escape her lips. "You may rise," she said when she was finally able to speak, and watched as the man uncoiled himself from the floor. He was very tall, and everything about him was narrow: his face, his body, his hands, even his feet. His brown eyes were narrow and sly, his nose thin and pointed, and the room reeked with the spicy unguent that he had applied too generously. He wore a cheap wig made of dyed animal hair. "Sobek, the humble scribe at your service," he murmured nasally. "All that I know, I will undertake to teach you, as your honored father has so generously requested." This was too good�he was long and thin like a lizard, and he had the name of a crocodile! "I am Aptahwe, and this is my nurse, Nefer-re." He turned to the nurse and whatever he had been going to say died on his lips as he gazed at Nefer-re in rapt admiration. Aptahwe glanced around to see what was making him stare like that, but there was only Nefer-re, her green dress clinging to every curve of her solidly built frame. Her hair shone like polished ebony, and as she looked humbly at the floor, green eyepaint gleamed on her eyelids. Aptahwe thought she looked very pretty, and apparently so did this crocodile of a scribe, for he suddenly bowed low again. "This is a great honor," he said. "I, too, am honored," Nefer-re murmured, bowing as well. Muti the washerwoman, who was quietly polishing the table instead of gathering the laundry, was suddenly all eyes, and her wet rag slid from her fingers and hit the floor with a plop. Nefer-re hastily straightened. "I must go," she said. "Pay attention and try hard, to please your father. I will come back for you at midday." Quickly she left the room and the door hanging swung shut behind her. Muti snatched up her cloth and hurried after her. For a moment, Sobek stared at the woven hanging, a dazed expression on his thin face, then catching himself, he turned to Aptahwe. "Now then," he said briskly, "We must begin." He strode to the table and opened a large wooden box. "What have you learned of writing? Anything at all?" Aptahwe shook her head. She shifted from one foot to the other, licking dry lips. "Well, it is no matter, we shall only have to start at the very beginning." He took out a wooden writing board, a cake of black ink, and a long cylinder that rattled. As he handled the implements of his profession, his face grew visibly arrogant. She watched as he poured water into a little jar and opened the cylinder, taking out a reed brush. He turned, eyeing her doubtfully. "It does not surprise me that you know nothing, even at your age," he remarked. "Girls do not ordinarily learn to write at all. It is usually considered sufficient for women to run a household and to bear children." His judgmental tone made it clear that he thought so, too. He dipped the brush in water, using it to moisten the cake of ink. Aptahwe looked on as he drew several symbols on the wooden board. "Now. Each of these pictures represents a sound," he told her. "The sound 'b' is written as a foot. This water line is 'n', this stool is 'p', and this horned viper is 'f'. He went over these several times until she knew them; then he gave her a writing board and brush and set her to copying them. |
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By Sarah (Sarah) on Tuesday, May 14, 2002 - 11:12 am
This is very intriguing! The POV was subtle and well done. There are more places in the first half of the piece where we get to hear Aptahwe's thoughts, than in the second half, but that was okay since I already knew to view the scene through Aptahwe's eyes. ...I was struck by how little is needed to guide the reader into a POV. I do hope that this story continues and I get to read it! |
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By KateC (Katec) on Thursday, May 23, 2002 - 03:11 pm
Nefer-re smoothed the sheer linen of her best green dress and tugged it down over her hips as she stood waiting for Aptahwe to finish breakfast. Squeezing into that dress had taken a real effort, and now she remained standing, afraid that if she sat down at the table, the seams might burst. I have grown fat, she thought for the hundredth time. Aptahwe, on the other hand, was slim, and would probably stay that way, like Meriptah, her mother. It was hard to believe that five years had passed since Meriptah had been laid in her tomb, and everything had changed. The quiet that reigned in all houses during the embalming period had gone on for years in this one. Sometimes Nefer-re wondered if they had all died when Meriptah had. Maybe they were all ghosts without knowing it, fated to wander silently through the pillared halls of the house for eternity. There had been no more visits, no more trips, no more house guests, just isolation and crushing boredom, until now. Aptahwe had come to supper bursting with news. An unheard-of thing had happened. Her father had summoned her. After years of neglect, he had hired a scribe to teach her to read and write! It was just criminal. After all this time, apparently, Ptahhotep had suddenly remembered that he had a daughter. But did it occur to him to open his house and provide the girl with friends? Or course not! He�d seen fit to torment her with a moldy old scribe. Muti the washerwoman had said that the scribe was still fairly young, and Nefer-re had hidden in a hallway storage closet until she�d seen him walk by. He looked sly, a little like a lizard, but what did that matter when you were lonely? So she had unearthed her best dress from underneath all the plain ones and struggled to squeeze into it again. �Hurry,� she urged Aptahwe. �It�s almost time for the teacher to come.� The poor girl looked scared. �What is he like?� �You�ll see,� Nefer-re said. And so will I, she thought. The teacher was waiting in the schoolroom. A spicy fragrance filled the air, and Nefer-re looked on as he groveled pathetically before Aptahwe. He�s as skinny as I am fat, she thought. I hope he likes large women. She glanced down at herself, making sure her dress had not hitched up again, and smoothed her hair with one hand. Now he had gotten up, and Aptahwe was saying, �This is my nurse, Nefer-re.� His narrow little eyes were upon her now, his gaze warm and appreciative as he drank in the sight of her. Suddenly, he bowed low again. �This is a great honor.� Nefer-re thrilled with excitement. �I, too, am honored,� she murmured, bowing slightly as well. Then she saw that Muti was also in the room, polishing the table, and had seen the whole thing. That nosy old washerwoman�before day�s end, the whole household would know that Nefer-re had gotten all dressed up to meet the new scribe��I must go,� she said quickly, turning to Aptahwe. �Pay attention and try hard, to please your father. I will come back for you at midday.� |
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