Naguib Mahfouz - Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

This is how Destiny smiled upon Zaya after a great reversal of fortune, and the world offered her a new life entirely, after her disaster.

Here was the palace that the Fates had determined would be the childhood home of Djedefra. For the first three years — as was the custom in Egypt in those days — he did not leave his mother's embrace unless it was time to sleep. During those three years, he touched Zaya's heart in a way that would not be erased for the rest of her life. Mothering and nurturing him filled her with fondness and compassion, yet we can do no more than scratch the surface when we discuss Djedef ‘s early upbringing. After all, it was — like all childhoods — a locked-away secret, a kind of ecstasy in a bottle — whose essence is known only to the gods, and which they guard. The most that one could say is that he shot up quickly, like the trees of Egypt under the rays of her resplendent sun. His personality blossomed to reveal its goodness, like the rose when the warmth of life pierces its stalk, breathing into it the soul of beauty. He was Zaya's happiness, the light of her eyes, and it was the favorite game for Nafa and Kheny to snatch him away from one another and kiss him, and to teach him names, how to speak, and how to walk. But he finished his early childhood with knowledge that should not be dismissed lightly, for he knew how to call to Zaya, “Mama!” and she taught him to call Bisharu “Papa!” The man heard him say this with joy. He took as a good omen the boy-child's beauty, blessed with the splendor of the lotus. His mother also incessantly taught him to love the name of Ra. She demanded that he say it before going to bed, and when he awoke, in order to make the Lord's feelings flow for His dear son.

At three years of age, Djedef abandoned Zaya's embrace and began to crawl around his mother's room, and to walk, leaning on the chairs and couches, between the reception hall and the private chambers. An impulse to examine the pictures on the cushions, the decorations on the furniture legs, the paintings on the walls, the exquisite works of art strewn about, as well as the hanging lamps, guided him. His hand reached out for whatever it could grab, as he kept extending his grasp for the precious pleasure of it until, tiring of the effort, he would cry out, “Ra!” Or he would exhale a deep “Ah!” from his tiny chest, before resuming his mission of search and discovery. The inspector gave him a great wealth of toys: a wooden horse, a little war chariot, a crocodile with a gaping mouth. He lived with them in a little world of his own, where he made life as he wished it, where he would say that something would be — and it would be. The wooden horse, the war chariot, the gaping-mouthed crocodile each had its own life and ambitions. He spoke to them — and they spoke to him. He gave them orders — and they would obey, all the while sharing with him the secrets of inanimate things normally hidden from grown-ups.

At that time, a puppy named Gamurka was born in the palace to pedigreed parents of the old, venerable breed from Armant. Djedefra loved him at first sight, and brought him into his own room to live. The bond between them became indissoluble in that early age. Indeed, it was fated that Djedef would love Gamurka so much that he would actually grow up in his embrace, and that Djedef would watch over him in his sleep like his shadow. And that he would say his name, “Gamurka,” sweetly on his tongue, and that the puppy's first bark was in calling out to him, and the first time that he wagged his tail was in greeting him. But sadly, Gamurka's own infancy was not quite free of troubles — for the crocodile with the gaping mouth was lying in ambush for him. When Gamurka saw this monster, he would begin to bark, his eyes flashing, his body stiff with fright as he ran back and forth, not calming down until Djedef put his fearsome toy away.

The two hardly separated, for when Djedef went to bed, Gamurka would lay by his side. If Djedef sat quietly — which happened rarely — the puppy, legs akimbo, stretched out across from him. Or he would keep licking his companion's cheeks and hands, as his love required. He followed the boy about in his walks in the garden, or rode with him in the boat if Zaya carried him to it to tour about the palace pond. They would raise their heads over the boat's rim to gaze at their reflections in the water. As they stared, Gamurka would not stop yapping, while Djedef delighted at the beautiful little creature that looked so much like him, — who dwelt in the pond's depths.

When spring came, the heavens were filled with the hymns of the birds, cleaving the heavy mantle of winter that had cloaked the joyous sun. The universe donned the festive garb of youth — the trees in brocades of silk, the shrubs with colorful flowers and their fragrances. Love was in the air, and many couples amused themselves by boating, while children were left to run about all but naked. Kheny and Nafa leapt about in the water, swimming and throwing a ball back and forth to each other. Djedef would stand with Gamurka, watching them enviously — and would ask his mother if he could do what they were doing. Then she would lift him up from under his arms, setting him in the water up to his waist, and he would kick with his feet, shouting with glee and happiness.

When they had sated themselves with frolic and games, they would return all together to the summer garden. Zaya would sit on the couch and in front of her would be Djedef, Kheny, and Nafa, and before them would lie Gamurka, again with his legs akimbo.

She would tell them the story of the shipwrecked sailor who floated over the crashing waves on a plank of wood to a lost island. She told them how the giant serpent who ruled the island had appeared to him, and how it would have killed him — if it hadn't realized that he was a faithful believer of praiseworthy conduct, as well as one of Pharaoh's subjects. The serpent looked after him, giving him a ship filled with precious treasures, with which the sailor returned to his homeland safe and sound.

Djedef didn't really understand these tales, but he eagerly followed their telling with his two beautiful dark eyes. He was happy and well loved, for who could not adore Djedef for those two deep black orbs, his long, straight nose, and his light, laughing spirit? He was loved when he spoke and when he did not, when he played and when he sat still, when he was content and when he was restless. He lived like the immortals, never worried about tomorrow.

But — when he reached his fifth birthday, life began to reveal to him some of its secrets. At that time Kheny turned eleven years old, and Nafa, twelve. They finished their first level of schooling. Kheny chose to enter the School of Ptah to progress through its various levels, studying religion and morals, science and politics, because the youth — who had a natural leaning toward these subjects — aimed someday for a religious post, or perhaps a judgeship. Nafa, however, did not hesitate before enrolling in Khufu's school of fine arts, for he loved to fill his time with painting and engraving.

There came the time for Djedef to enter elementary school, and for four hours each day, the world of dreams in Zaya's room with Gamurka would be banished. He spent these hours with children and strangers, learning how to read and write, how to do sums, how to behave, and to love his homeland.

The first thing that they all heard on the first day was, “You must pay attention completely. Whoever doesn't should know that a boy's ears are above his cheeks — and he listens very closely once they've been smacked.”

And for the first time in Djedef's life the stick played a part in his instruction, even though he got off to a good start by appearing well prepared to learn. He avidly applied himself to the beautiful language of the hieroglyphs, and quickly excelled in addition and subtraction.