sun.
Tacking against a wind from the north, we slowly move across the lake of islands and wine. Upright in the prow, Salome and I strain for our first sight of Alexandria. We see nothing but more islands, nothing but water birds rising above us, nothing but the blue flash of a kingfisher in the reeds beside us, nothing but strange fish gliding below us, and around us nothing but other boats laden with wine from the rich estates on the lakeshore. Where is Alexandria?
Where is Alexandria?
We shall fall in a faint if it does not show itself in all these reeds and all this water. But there is nothing, nothing, nothing, and then—a dark line between the blue of the sky and the blue of the lake. And then—tiny boats, tiny docks, tiny buildings.
Salome seizes my hand. We are almost there, almost at Alexander’s great city set at the edge of the sea. A moment later, there is movement in the distant streets. A moment after that, and the whole city lies clear before us. It is almost more than our hearts can bear.
As we said we would, Salome and I have come to Egypt.
THE FIFTH SCROLL
Alexandria
I
walk under
a golden gate in a golden wall of golden towers and stand awestruck. How to speak of what is entirely flat and entirely wonderful? Everywhere is the yellow of sand in the sun. Or the blue of the great green sea. Between sky above and salted sea ahead and the vast southern lake of sweet water behind me, there stretches an arm of land from east to west, no more than twenty stadia wide, but on it sprawls such a stupendous display of temples and theaters and baths and palaces and shops, that it stops the breath. It is all of it so large, so tall, so wide, so spacious, so imposing, so grand, so ordered, so many, so
much.
Already our barge is off-loaded at a customs checkpoint. (What Ananias had to say at the hefty fee I will not repeat.) Already he’s sent off the bearers along with the cargo of oils. These were followed by the three criers Ananias hired at the docks who shouted to one and all of the olive oil newly arrived from Palestine. They extolled its Galilean quality, pulling along a growing crowd eager to buy, at the sight of which, I saw Ananias put aside thoughts of his hefty fee only to gather in thoughts of his hefty profit.
And now we push through utter chaos along the wide and bustling street running from the fresh water harbor of Lake Mareia to the saltwater harbors of the Egyptian Sea, until we come on a synagogue so large Ananias says someone must signal with a flag so that those in the back can know where the ceremony has come to for those in the front. Further, says he, here there is no sacrifice and no ritual; here there is only prayer.
But out in the streets, how all the people shout! Our eyes and our ears and our noses are assaulted by the entire world in one city. There are not only Jews and Egyptians, but there are Greeks and Romans and Syrians, Libyans, Cilicians and yet others from farther countries: Ethiopians, Arabs, as well as Bactrians, Scythians, Persians, even Indians! Here, Helena of Tyre’s color is no more than all other colors, one color among every color. Ananias announces there are a million souls around us and as many more below us in the City of the Dead. I stare at Salome and she stares at me—the dead have their own city? Ananias, catching our wonder, explains that if we were to walk into the shadow of the Gate of the West, then summon nerve to pass through that gate, we would find ourselves outside the city walls and in the Necropolis, the vast city of Hathor, she who guards the newly dead. The embalmers are there, shop after shop of them, for although the Greeks would cremate and the Jews entomb and then bury, the Egyptians still think to take their bodies with them wherever they go. Our merchant of sponges and oil tells us that more than one sorry soul has lost himself in the labyrinth of tombs or fallen into holes meant to light the maze of underground catacombs, and was never
Tacking against a wind from the north, we slowly move across the lake of islands and wine. Upright in the prow, Salome and I strain for our first sight of Alexandria. We see nothing but more islands, nothing but water birds rising above us, nothing but the blue flash of a kingfisher in the reeds beside us, nothing but strange fish gliding below us, and around us nothing but other boats laden with wine from the rich estates on the lakeshore. Where is Alexandria?
Where is Alexandria?
We shall fall in a faint if it does not show itself in all these reeds and all this water. But there is nothing, nothing, nothing, and then—a dark line between the blue of the sky and the blue of the lake. And then—tiny boats, tiny docks, tiny buildings.
Salome seizes my hand. We are almost there, almost at Alexander’s great city set at the edge of the sea. A moment later, there is movement in the distant streets. A moment after that, and the whole city lies clear before us. It is almost more than our hearts can bear.
As we said we would, Salome and I have come to Egypt.
THE FIFTH SCROLL
Alexandria
I
walk under
a golden gate in a golden wall of golden towers and stand awestruck. How to speak of what is entirely flat and entirely wonderful? Everywhere is the yellow of sand in the sun. Or the blue of the great green sea. Between sky above and salted sea ahead and the vast southern lake of sweet water behind me, there stretches an arm of land from east to west, no more than twenty stadia wide, but on it sprawls such a stupendous display of temples and theaters and baths and palaces and shops, that it stops the breath. It is all of it so large, so tall, so wide, so spacious, so imposing, so grand, so ordered, so many, so
much.
Already our barge is off-loaded at a customs checkpoint. (What Ananias had to say at the hefty fee I will not repeat.) Already he’s sent off the bearers along with the cargo of oils. These were followed by the three criers Ananias hired at the docks who shouted to one and all of the olive oil newly arrived from Palestine. They extolled its Galilean quality, pulling along a growing crowd eager to buy, at the sight of which, I saw Ananias put aside thoughts of his hefty fee only to gather in thoughts of his hefty profit.
And now we push through utter chaos along the wide and bustling street running from the fresh water harbor of Lake Mareia to the saltwater harbors of the Egyptian Sea, until we come on a synagogue so large Ananias says someone must signal with a flag so that those in the back can know where the ceremony has come to for those in the front. Further, says he, here there is no sacrifice and no ritual; here there is only prayer.
But out in the streets, how all the people shout! Our eyes and our ears and our noses are assaulted by the entire world in one city. There are not only Jews and Egyptians, but there are Greeks and Romans and Syrians, Libyans, Cilicians and yet others from farther countries: Ethiopians, Arabs, as well as Bactrians, Scythians, Persians, even Indians! Here, Helena of Tyre’s color is no more than all other colors, one color among every color. Ananias announces there are a million souls around us and as many more below us in the City of the Dead. I stare at Salome and she stares at me—the dead have their own city? Ananias, catching our wonder, explains that if we were to walk into the shadow of the Gate of the West, then summon nerve to pass through that gate, we would find ourselves outside the city walls and in the Necropolis, the vast city of Hathor, she who guards the newly dead. The embalmers are there, shop after shop of them, for although the Greeks would cremate and the Jews entomb and then bury, the Egyptians still think to take their bodies with them wherever they go. Our merchant of sponges and oil tells us that more than one sorry soul has lost himself in the labyrinth of tombs or fallen into holes meant to light the maze of underground catacombs, and was never
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