Naguib Mahfouz - Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

Zaya's cheeks flushed a deep red with shame. The man stared lustfully at her for an instant, before saying, “Fine… from what town is your husband?”

“From On, sir, but he was born in Thebes.”

“And what is his name, madam?”

“Karda son of An, sir.”

The inspector called for a scribe, dictating an order to him in the imperious style that he had earlier relinquished for the sake of Zaya's eyes.

“Karda son of An from On,” he told him.

The scribe — went to search in the record books, pulling out one and unrolling its pages, looking up the sign “k” and the name “Karda.” He then returned to his chief, leaning into his ear and — whispering in a low voice, before going back to his work.

The inspector regained his former demeanor and looked at the — woman's face for some time, before saying quietly, “Madam, I am sorry that I must offer you my condolences for your husband. He died on the field of work and duty.”

When the word “died” struck Zaya's ears, a scream of horror escaped her. Dazed, she paused for a moment, then asked the inspector in agonized entreaty, “Is my husband Karda really dead?”

“Yes, madam,” he answered — with concern. “In these situations, one can only try to endure it.”

“But… how did you know it, sir?”

“This is — what the scribe told me, after he searched through the names of the — workers from On.”

“Isn't it reasonable, sir, that his eyes could have deceived him?” she remonstrated. “Names can be similar.”

The inspector asked for the scroll to be brought to his desk. He looked through it himself, then shook his head regretfully. He glanced at the woman's face, which terror had tinged with the pallor of death. Noting a final glint of denial in the reluctant widow's eyes, he told her, “You must try to bear up, madam — and submit to the will of the gods.”

The faint light of hope was extinguished. Zaya burst into tears, and the inspector demanded a chair for her. “Have courage, my good woman, have courage,” he kept telling her. “This is what the gods have decreed.”

Still, hope loomed before Zaya like a mirage to someone thirsting in the desert.

“Is it not possible, sir, that the deceased was a stranger who bore the same name as my husband?”

“Karda son of An — was the only one to be martyred among the workmen from On,” he said — with certainty.

The — woman moaned meekly and — with pain.

“How awful my luck is, sir — can't the Fates find another target for their arrows other than my poor breast?” she said.

“Don't take it too hard,” he urged.

“I have no other man but him, sir.”

The good-hearted inspector wanted to reassure her when he said, “Pharaoh does not forget his faithful servants. His mercy covers the victims and the martyrs alike. Listen to me: our lord the king has ordered that houses be built for the families of laborers who meet their fate in the course of their work. They were built on the slope of the plateau, and many women and children dwell within them, whom the monarch provides with a monthly stipend. His will has decreed the selection of men from among their relatives to serve in the guards. Do you have a male relation that you would like to have appointed to watch over the workmen?”

“There is no one for me in the world but this child,” replied Zaya, tearfully.

“You two will live in a clean room,” he said, “and you will not know the humiliation of being questioned about it.”

And so Zaya left the office of the pyramid's inspector a wretched widow, weeping for her husband's misfortune — and her own.

The houses that Pharaoh ordered built for the families of the martyred workmen were located outside the White Walls of Memphis, east of the Sacred Plateau. They were of modest size, with two stories, four spacious rooms on each level. Zaya and her child dwelt in one of these chambers. She grew accustomed to living among these widows and bereaved mothers and children, some of whom went on mourning their dead without ceasing. Others’ wounds had healed, time having treated their sorrows. As a group, they were busy. Everyone had something to do: the young boys fetched water for the workmen, while the women sold them cooked food and beer. The wretched quarter was transformed into a burgeoning, low-priced bazaar filled with the bustle of ceaseless construction that announced its future as a prosperous town.

Zaya had spent her first days in her new home in constant sorrow, weeping for her lost husband. Her grief did not lessen, no matter what material blessings or sympathy she received that Bisharu, inspector of the pyramid, gave her. What a pity! For if only those suffering from loss would remember that Death is a void that effaces memory, and that the sorrows of the living vanish at the same speed with which the dead themselves disappear, how much toil and torment they could avoid for themselves! Yet, she grew stronger as the hardships of life made her forget the bitterness of death. But because of all the grumbling in her new home, after a few months she became convinced that it was not the right place for her or her son. Seeing no way out, however, she endured it in silence.

During these months, Inspector Bisharu visited her a number of times, whenever he went to these residences to check on their conditions. In fact, he visited many widows, but showed Zaya a distinctive degree of warmth and compassion. Though it is doubtful that others were less unfortunate than Zaya, none had hot, honey-colored eyes like Zaya's, nor a lithe, slender form like hers. Reflecting on his interest, Zaya said to herself, “What a fine man! True, he's short and fat, with coarse features, and at least forty years old or more — but he's so good-hearted, and so deeply loving as well!” With her secret eye she saw that when he looked at her supple figure his heavy eyelids fluttered and his thick lips shook. He became humble in place of his old arrogance, and when she traded pleasantries with him, he would be nailed where he stood like a boar impaled on a pike.

Her ambitions awakened, she unsheathed her secret weapon to conquer the great inspector. This happened when she took the opportunity of his presence to bewail her loneliness and gloom in her unhappy home.

“Perhaps I would be more useful, sir, in some other place, for I served a long time in the mansion of one of the good families of On,” she told him. “I have great experience in the work of female servants.”

The inspector's eyelids ceased trembling. “I understand, Zaya,” he said, looking greedily at the gorgeous widow. “You don't complain out of indolence, yet — since you're used to the luxury of grander houses — your existence here must be dreadful.”

The sly one essayed a coquettish smile, as she exposed the beautiful face of Djedef. “Will this place do for so lovely a child?”

“No,” said the inspector. “Nor for you, Zaya.”

Blushing, she let her eyelids drop until their lashes touched the hollows of her cheeks.

“I have the palace that you desire,” the man said, “and — just perhaps — the palace desires you, too.”

“I await but a sign, sire.”

“My wife has died, leaving me two sons. I have four slave girls — would you, Zaya, be the fifth?”

On that very day, Zaya and Djedef moved from their squalid room to the women's quarters of the dazzling palace of Bisharu, inspector of the pyramid, whose garden went all the way out to the channel connecting to the Nile. She moved to his palace like a true slave girl — but with a status like no other. The atmosphere there was susceptible to her tricks and magical spells, for the house was without an effective mistress. Because the inspector's two sons were such little darlings, she used them to work on the sweet side of her master's character. Her campaign succeeded so well that she seduced him into marrying her. Soon the inspector's new wife took charge of the palace, and of raising his two boys, Nafa and Kheny. With no further need of deceit, once she rose to her high position, she swore to herself that she would give his two youngsters a proper upbringing, and to be for them a truly upstanding mother.