millions of lizard eyes that stared like
mummies on All Saints’ Day.
And unlike the trick and requests for candy,
there was nothing childish about this journey. There was only a
frozen force that had been processed by the hands of evil, which
started with a holy omnipresent force; it felt as if such a thing
had emerged in their very own souls.
No matter how hard they sought cover in this
eternal game of hide and seek, something had found them and it
flowed into their hearts like the poison sting of a spider. They
felt despondent because no amount of conversation, no kidding, not
even a prayer could drive it away.
However, the man destined by the Creator to
be the two most difficult things in the world—a saint and someone
who is loved—will not find any convenient alcoves in life, only
anguish.
And the men walking on him just hope that
the end will be worth it.
Thus, whether walking or sailing in boats
that they made for themselves, with that compressed time that
occurs equally, they traveled hundreds of miles inside the jungle.
And somewhere out there, a stone’s throw away, barely protruding
its head, ranging, risen, and perched upon by flocks of crows, were
the ruins of a city.
Chapter
Seventeen
The reeds trimmed each other at their stems
and made noise like locusts.
Before them, the sapphire-blue waters were
dragging and being cut by dozens of small fish that deviated here
and there, scared away by the herds of hippos that were entering to
chill themselves.
Slightly further, like a dozen venflons,
Archimedean screws were mounted in the water. Like an insatiable
creature they were pumping it out, creating systems of irrigation
facilities.
They were like blood vessels invigorated by
liquids that they then poured into the black as bitumen soil,
giving it life—and what a life!
Emerging beside the gateways that guided the
water, the fields were growing with abundant fruits that were
harvested, threshed, crushed, and served “as food for man and his
children,” a statement that would appear in one manuscript from
another era.
And among that grace that sprouted green
leaves all the way up to the horizon, ending in the Nile, there
stood obelisk-yellow fishing villages. They were filled with people
stretching their nets like sails on a ship. Nearby other activity
was plastered everywhere. Barns and cowsheds stood among frayed
canvas workshops that were courted by foreigners who had come from
overseas islands and even from the Faiyum Oasis. Step by step
Tammuz, Sharukin, and the others proceeded on to the threshold of
what historical geographers would call Lower Egypt.
They had heard much of this country, so
probably just as you, dear reader, they now admired its beauty
since they stood before it.
For this reason, but perhaps also somewhat
from those precautionary measures taken by foreigners coming from
abroad, they presented to the vendors abundant fragrances, making
expeditions within commercial districts. They even went to the
countries of Kush and Punt, into the marketplaces located next to
the large temple complexes.
And in front of each stall covered with
samples of that attracted flies, sun-baked pots with a capacity of
up to several hundred pounds stood filled with various spices,
freshly caught and slaughtered pink birds, livestock, poultry and
fish, heaps of grain, clusters of garlic, and leeks—I would say the
environment was similar to Scheherazade’s stories. Everything was
available to the company, along with the buggies that were carrying
straw to the ships that sailed through the thousand miles of the
Nile.
They refused to be pulled in by the
frequently shouting vendors. Instead, they gave such people a
copper penny, and the traders, stunned for a moment, would then
press them to take a cargo of goods.
Strange in abundance, the man thought of
scarcity, but here in almost every corner, counting the songs with
beating breasts, were singing beggars huddled in rags. Some leaned
on a stick and
mummies on All Saints’ Day.
And unlike the trick and requests for candy,
there was nothing childish about this journey. There was only a
frozen force that had been processed by the hands of evil, which
started with a holy omnipresent force; it felt as if such a thing
had emerged in their very own souls.
No matter how hard they sought cover in this
eternal game of hide and seek, something had found them and it
flowed into their hearts like the poison sting of a spider. They
felt despondent because no amount of conversation, no kidding, not
even a prayer could drive it away.
However, the man destined by the Creator to
be the two most difficult things in the world—a saint and someone
who is loved—will not find any convenient alcoves in life, only
anguish.
And the men walking on him just hope that
the end will be worth it.
Thus, whether walking or sailing in boats
that they made for themselves, with that compressed time that
occurs equally, they traveled hundreds of miles inside the jungle.
And somewhere out there, a stone’s throw away, barely protruding
its head, ranging, risen, and perched upon by flocks of crows, were
the ruins of a city.
Chapter
Seventeen
The reeds trimmed each other at their stems
and made noise like locusts.
Before them, the sapphire-blue waters were
dragging and being cut by dozens of small fish that deviated here
and there, scared away by the herds of hippos that were entering to
chill themselves.
Slightly further, like a dozen venflons,
Archimedean screws were mounted in the water. Like an insatiable
creature they were pumping it out, creating systems of irrigation
facilities.
They were like blood vessels invigorated by
liquids that they then poured into the black as bitumen soil,
giving it life—and what a life!
Emerging beside the gateways that guided the
water, the fields were growing with abundant fruits that were
harvested, threshed, crushed, and served “as food for man and his
children,” a statement that would appear in one manuscript from
another era.
And among that grace that sprouted green
leaves all the way up to the horizon, ending in the Nile, there
stood obelisk-yellow fishing villages. They were filled with people
stretching their nets like sails on a ship. Nearby other activity
was plastered everywhere. Barns and cowsheds stood among frayed
canvas workshops that were courted by foreigners who had come from
overseas islands and even from the Faiyum Oasis. Step by step
Tammuz, Sharukin, and the others proceeded on to the threshold of
what historical geographers would call Lower Egypt.
They had heard much of this country, so
probably just as you, dear reader, they now admired its beauty
since they stood before it.
For this reason, but perhaps also somewhat
from those precautionary measures taken by foreigners coming from
abroad, they presented to the vendors abundant fragrances, making
expeditions within commercial districts. They even went to the
countries of Kush and Punt, into the marketplaces located next to
the large temple complexes.
And in front of each stall covered with
samples of that attracted flies, sun-baked pots with a capacity of
up to several hundred pounds stood filled with various spices,
freshly caught and slaughtered pink birds, livestock, poultry and
fish, heaps of grain, clusters of garlic, and leeks—I would say the
environment was similar to Scheherazade’s stories. Everything was
available to the company, along with the buggies that were carrying
straw to the ships that sailed through the thousand miles of the
Nile.
They refused to be pulled in by the
frequently shouting vendors. Instead, they gave such people a
copper penny, and the traders, stunned for a moment, would then
press them to take a cargo of goods.
Strange in abundance, the man thought of
scarcity, but here in almost every corner, counting the songs with
beating breasts, were singing beggars huddled in rags. Some leaned
on a stick and
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