Joseph and His Brothers, page 126
"Presuming," Eni answered in a faint voice, "I had one, what
would it profit me to name it to you? All your goodness and sympathy still could not rid me of it, and apparently all that is left for me is to die of it."
"So then it is true," they cried, "and it is indeed such a sorrow that has exhausted you?" And in their loftiest tones the ladies marveled at how that could be possible. A woman like her—from the cream of society, rich, enchantingly beautiful, the envy of the women of the kingdom! What could she lack? What wish must she deny herself? Mut's friends could not understand it. They pelted her with questions—some sincerely, but some out of curiosity, schadenfreude, and a love of excitement—and for a long time the exhausted woman evaded them, refusing in a dull and hopeless voice to give an answer, since that could not help her in any case. Finally, however— well, all right—she declared she would give them an answer, all at once, all together, on the occasion of a small, informal reception, a ladies' party, to which she would soon be inviting them one and all. For if, though she had no appetite, she could eat a little something, the liver of a fowl and a bit of vegetable, she would, she hoped, find the strength to rise from her bed for the purpose of disclosing to her friends the cause behind these changes and her exhaustion.
No sooner said than done. At the very next quarter of the moon—only a short time before New Year's Day and the great Feast of Opet, when decisive events were to take place in Potiphar's house—Eni did in fact invite the ladies to assemble within the walls of Potiphar's house of women for a gathering that has been celebrated often, but not always accurately: an afternoon affair on a rather grand scale, to which the presence of Nes-ba-met, the consort of Beknechons and first among the women of the harem, lent a still greater brilliance, and which lacked for nothing, not flowers, or ointments, or cooling drinks, some intoxicating, some merely refreshing, or all sorts of pastries, preserved fruits, and sugar-spun sweets, served by young women in delightfully scanty attire, with black braids falHng to their necks and veils at their cheeks—a nuance that had never been seen before and found great approval. A charming orchestra of harps, lutes, and double flutes—all played by women in diaphanous, wide-cut, flowing garments, the embroidered sashes round their waists visible beneath them—played in the fountain court, where the great majority of the ladies were either seated in casual groupings on chairs and stools placed among the heavily
laden tables or had knelt down on brightly colored mats. But they also occupied the familiar porticoed chamber—from which, by the way, the statue of Atum-Re had been removed.
Mut's friends were a gracious and exquisite sight to behold. Fragrant oils set atop their heads melted to anoint their hair, whose wide tresses ended in a twisted fringe and through which the rims of the golden disks at their ears could be seen; their limbs were deliciously brown, their shining eyes had been extended to their temples, their little noses suggested nothing but pride and haughtiness, and the patterned faience and gemstones of their collars and bracelets, the gossamer fabric that was draped across their sweet breasts and seemed woven of the sun's gold or of moonshine, were all of the latest fashion. They sniffed at lotus blossoms, they passed each other delicacies to sample, and chatted away not only in high chirping voices but also in the deep, rasping tones that are likewise to be heard among women in these latitudes—Nes-ba-met, for example, Beknechons' spouse, had such a voice. They spoke of the coming Feast of Opet, of the great procession of the Holy Triad in their barques, of their shrines, both on land and water, and of the reception to be prepared for the god in the Southern House of Women, where as Amun's consorts they would have to dance, shake their rattles, and sing in beloved voices before him. It was an important and fascinating topic; and yet it was only a pretext, a way of keeping tongues wagging for now, of filling time until the eagerly awaited hour arrived and Mut-em-enet, their hostess, would answer their question and excite them by naming the reason behind her exhaustion.
She was sitting among them, a figure of suffering beside the basin, a feeble smile on her anguished serpentine mouth as she waited for her moment. She had gone about making her arrangements for instructing her friends as if in a dream, had patterned them after her dream, and was likewise dreamily certain that the proceedings would have to be a success. Her moment came at the high point of the banquet. Splendid fruit stood at the ready in garlanded baskets: fragrant orbs of gold, that concealed an abundance of refreshing juice beneath their bumpy skins, so-called blood oranges, China oranges, a great rarity, were now served, and lying at the ready beside them for peeling were charming little knives with inlaid lapis lazuli handles and highly polished bronze blades, to which the lady
of the house had paid particular attention. For she had had them whetted and honed very sharp—indeed so sharp that probably never before in history had little knives known such sharpness. The things had been whetted so thin and razor-sharp that a man could easily have used one to shave his beard, no matter how dense and wiry— though he needed to be advised to be extremely careful, for if he jiggled or lost himself in dreams for only a moment, it was certain to inflict the nastiest wound. Such was the edge these knives had been given—an absolutely dangerous edge; one had the feeling that one needed only to bring the tip of a finger close to the blade and blood would start spurting. And was that the end of her preparations? Certainly not. There was also a costly wine from the harbor, Cypriot wine, which with its sweet fire was well-suited for desserts and would be served with the oranges; and for embracing it, beautiful goblets made of hammered gold and pewter-glazed, painted earthenware were the first items to be dispensed throughout both the fountain court and porticoed chamber, on a signal from the hostess to dainty waitresses who wore nothing but colorful sashes about their hips. Who, however, was to pour the island wine into the goblets? The same dainty girls? No, that, the hostess had decided, would not give due honor either to her hospitality or to those to whom it was extended—Mut had decreed it be done differently.
She signaled again, and the golden oranges and the charming little knives were distributed. Both were a cause for delighted chitchat: the women praised the fruit, praised the elegant utensils—though only for their elegance, since no one was aware of their special property. And they all at once began peeling to get at the sweet flesh—but almost immediately were diverted from what they were doing and lifted up their eyes.
Mut-em-enet had given another signal, and the person who now appeared upon the scene was the cup-bearer—it was Joseph. Yes, the woman who loved him had ordered him to perform this service, had demanded he pour the Cypriot wine for her friends, without disclosing to him any of the other arrangements she had made, so that he did not know the instructive purpose he was to serve. It had pained her, that we do know, to hoodwink him by this deception and to misuse his image for her purposes; but she was far too intent upon instructing her friends and explaining her heart to them. That
is why she had demanded this of him, but also because once again he had, with all due deference, refused to lie with her.
"Will you then at least do me a favor, Osarsiph," she had said, "and pour the ninefold good wine from Alashia at my party for the ladies the day after tomorrow, as a token of its quality, and further as a token that you at least love me a little, and finally as a token that I am of some importance in this house, so that he who stands at its head waits upon me and my guests?"
"But of course, mistress," he had answered. "I will do it gladly and will pour the wine with greatest pleasure, if that is your wish. For I am at your service, body and soul, and am at your disposal in all things, except sin."
And thus, dressed in his finest white holiday attire, Rachel's son, Petepre's young steward, made his unexpected appearance in the fountain court; carrying in his arm a colorful Mycenaean wine jug, he wandered among the ladies still peeling their fruit and, bowing to each, began to fill their goblets. At the sight of him, however, all the ladies—both those who had previously chanced to see him and those who did not yet know him—not only forgot what they were doing, but also forgot themselves, so to speak, and could think of nothing but of gazing upon this cup-bearer, with the result that those cunning little knives did their work and, one and all, the ladies cut their fingers terribly—without being in the least aware of their gory misfortune right off, since one hardly even feels a cut from a blade sharpened to such keenness, particularly if one is as thoroughly distracted as Eni's friends were at that moment.
This frequently described scene has been judged by some as apocryphal, as not belonging to the story as it happened. They are wrong, for it is true and every probability speaks for it. When one considers that on the one hand we are dealing with the most beautiful young man of his time and place, and on the other with the sharpest knives the world had probably ever seen, it is clear that events could not possibly have proceeded any differently—that is, less bloodily—and that Mut's dreamy certainty of how they would turn out had been fully justified. With a face full of long-suffering, a mask of serpentine gloom, she watched the mischief she had wrought, the silently unfolding bloodbath that she alone noticed at first, for the eyes of the ladies followed the young man with lascivi-
ous rapture as he slowly moved off in the direction of the porticoed chamber, where, as Mut was convinced, and rightly so, the exact same scene would be played out. Only after her beloved had vanished from sight did she break the silence, asking in a voice of malicious concern, "My dears, what is this, what have you done? Look how your blood is flowing."
It was a horrible sight. In some cases the nimble little knives had skidded an inch deep, so that blood was not just seeping but gushing and streaming; Httle hands and golden apples were inundated and smeared with the red liquid that soaked into the petal-white fabric covering the ladies' laps, dying it red, forming little puddles, dripping down onto their small feet and the floor. What wails of woe, what lamentations, what a screeching and rolling of eyes there was once Mut-em-enet's remark of insincere amazement made them realize what was happening. Some of those who could not stand the sight of blood, especially their own, were close to fainting and were kept barely conscious only by vials of zedoary and pepper oil carried by dainty serving girls who leapt about among them. Emergency measures in general were now taken, and the dainty maidens were soon dashing about with basins of water, cloths, vinegar, lint, and Unen bandages as well, so that at this point the gathering looked like a field hospital, a station for the wounded—both in the court and in the porticoed chamber, to which Mut-em-enet withdrew for a moment to make certain that everything was swimming in blood there as well. Renenutet, the spouse of the Chief Steward of the Bulls, was among the most seriously wounded, and in order to stop the flow of blood her pale yellowish hand had to be more or less deadened by brutally tying it off from the flow of Ufe for a while. Nes-ba-met, Beknechons' deep-voiced consort, had also wounded herself badly. Her gown was ruined, and she scolded away loudly at whoever was to blame, while two maidens—one black, one white— dressed only in sashes comforted her as they attended to her.
"Dearest head of our order and all my darlings," Mut-em-enet said sanctimoniously when something like peace and order had been restored, "how could it happen, how can it be that you did yourselves such harm in my home and that this crimson misfortune has disgraced my party? Your hostess finds it almost unbearably painful that this could happen to you in her home—but how was it possible?
There are surely occasions when one or two people may cut themselves when peeling fruit—but all of you at once and some to the bone? That has never happened before, from what I know of the world, and will probably remain unique in the social history of the Two Lands—at least one must hope so. But comfort me, my sweet friends, and tell me how this could possibly have happened."
"Never mind," Nes-ba-met replied in her bass voice on behalf of the rest of them. "Never mind, Eni, for things seem to be all right now, even if red Seth has ruined our afternoon gowns and some of us are still pale from the bloodletting. But do not fret. We assume you meant well, and your reception is fashionable in every detail. But you did manage a serious piece of thoughtlessness in the midst of it, my dear—I speak frankly here for all of us. Put yourself in our place. You invite us in order to reveal to us the reason for your exhaustion, which has mocked the skill of the physicians, and keep us waiting for the revelation, so that we are already nervous as it is and hide our curiosity behind idle talk. As you see, I am presenting the whole affair in the name of us all, frankly and in accordance with simple truth, without any prudishness. You serve these golden apples— very good, very splendid, even Pharaoh does not enjoy them every day. But just as we are about to peel them, you arrange for this cupbearer to appear here in our susceptible ranks—whoever he is, though I assume he is your young steward, whom people upon highways and waterways call Nefernefru, and it is humiliating enough for a lady to be forced to agree with the judgment and taste of people upon the dikes and canals. The issue here, however, is not one of taste and contention, for he is indeed a heavenly young man, both in countenance and form; but since it is, in and of itself, a veritable shock for a young man suddenly to appear among so many already anxious women, even were he somewhat less charming—how could you think it would not strike a person to the quick and cause tears to well in her eyes when such a divine scamp comes into view and bends low with his jug over her goblet? You cannot demand that one pay attention to the business at hand and prevent one's fingers from looming disaster. We have caused you embarrassment and considerable bother with our bleeding, but I cannot refrain from the charge that you yourself, Eni with the beloved voice, are to blame for this vexation because of the shocking arrangements you made."
"That is so," cried Renenutet, the chief stewardess of bulls. "You must accept the rebuke, dearest, for having played a trick on us with your orchestration of things, which we shall all remember—and if not in anger, then only because in not being affected by it you surely thought nothing of it. But that is the problem, my darling, that you completely failed to give it careful consideration and, if you are just, you must assume the blame yourself for this crimson calamity. Is it not clear that the aggregate femininity in a gathering of so many ladies has, in turn, its effect on the feminine nature of each individual, raising it to a level of highest sensitivity? In such a circle, then, you suddenly allow a male person to appear—and at what moment? At the very moment we are peeHng oranges! My good woman, how could that not result in blood—judge for yourself. And then who was it but this cup-bearer, your young steward, a truly divine scamp. The mere sight of him made me feel so odd—I'm telling you exactly how it is and am not mincing words, for this is a moment and a situation when one's heart and mouth overflow and one feels permitted to say everything quite candidly and all at once. I am a woman with much regard for men, and since all of you know it in any case, I will merely mention that besides my own consort, the Steward of Bulls, who is himself a man in his best years, my house is also visited by both an officer of the bodyguards and an attendant from the house of Khonsu—but everyone knows that already. But that does not prevent me from being on the alert, so to speak, for male persons at all times or from allowing them to easily charm me—but I have an especial weakness for cup-bearers. There's always something divine about a cup-bearer, or the favor of the divine, though I don't why I find it so—it has to do with the office and the demeanor. But then here's this Refertem, this blue lotus, this honeyed youth with his jug—it was all over with me, good ladies. I most definitely thought I beheld a god and in my pious delight did not know where I stood upon the earth. I was all eyes, and while eyeing him, I sawed into my flesh and bone with this peeling knife, ignored how my blood was flowing in streams, was not even aware of it, that's how odd I felt. But that is not the entire calamity, of that I am certain. The moment I start peeling fruit in the future, the image of your damned scamp of a cup-bearer will reappear to me, and in my reverie I will saw into my bones again, so that I will never again dare let myself be served fruit that must be peeled, though I am passionately fond of it—that
is what you have accomplished, my darUng, with your unconsidered arrangements!"
"Yes, yes!" all the ladies cried, including those in the porticoed chamber, who had come out during Nes-ba-met's and Renenutet's speeches. "Yes, yes!" they cried all at once in voices high and low. "So it is, so it was, those who have spoken have spoken well, we all almost committed bloody suicide in the sudden confusion that the sight of this cup-bearer caused us, and instead of telHng us the reason for your exhaustion, as you intended in inviting us, Eni, you have played us this trick."
But then Mut-em-enet lifted her voice in its full alto power and cried out, "Fools! I have not simply told you it—I have shown it to you, the reason for my deathly exhaustion and all my misery. And so have an eye to me as well, since you were all eyes for him. You saw him for only a few heartbeats and injured yourselves in your reverie, so that you are all still pale from the red distress into which the sight of him plunged you. Whereas I must and may see him daily and hourly—where do I turn, then, in my unending distress? I ask you: Where shall I flee? Ah, blind women, whom I have made to see but all in vain, this boy is my spouse's steward and cup-bearer—he is my plight and my death, he has injured me fatally with his eye and mouth, my sisters, so that my red blood spills only in my anguish for him, and I shall die if he does not stanch it. For you merely cut yourselves in the finger at the sight of him, but love for his beauty has slashed my heart and I am bleeding to death." This was the song that Mut sang in a choked voice, and sobbing madly she fell back into her chair.
