Ancient Evenings

  “To the surprise of most, the advantage was turning to Horus. A God, like a man, is never stronger than in the hour He discovers His valor. Horus was delivered of oppression—He was no longer afraid to fight. What uproar in Himself! He even enjoyed the intoxication of the pain. Each time Set’s teeth tore His hide, He roared with new ferocity, His torn eyes pulled back into the knotty little sockets of the boar, while two gems of fire looked out. His broken nose was like a red and bleeding mouth, and the teeth that cut through His lips glistened in a collar of spikes. Set fled. To the jeers of the onlookers He retreated far enough to gain time for the last transformation. When He turned back to the field, it was as a black bear. Such a choice was difficult to comprehend since Horus had more of the natural build of such an animal, but the pain of Set’s wounds was great enough to look for the thickest hide, and He buried Himself in the meats and folds and near-to-impenetrable substance of a bear. There, He undertook His defense.

  “This strife between the bears went on for a day, and then a night, and before They were done, it was three days and three nights. Horus held Set in a captive grip and made Him undergo a long and stubborn torment as He was bled of the great power of a bear. To sustain Himself in this pain, He had no more to call upon than the endless bitterness of His life, and it provided the fortitude not to surrender. It even enabled Him to withstand the exultation of Horus Who passed through all the intoxications of victory except victory itself, and so was exhausted finally of all enthusiasm, and merely lay with the bulk of His bear body upon the bear’s body of Set, and kept His teeth in the neck of Set until all the illumination He had tasted in His enemy’s blood was consumed and Horus lay at last with His caked face in the matted fur of the other.

  “On the morning of the fourth day, declared victor by the judges, He had ropes brought to Him, and in a creaking voice ordered His assistants to pinion Set’s limbs to stakes, and when they were finished, Set lay on His back, body lashed, looking at the sky. Slowly, like the change of light over the hours of the day, so did Set come back into the form of a wounded man lying near death on the field, but Horus was taken up on the shoulders of His friends and carried away to the river where They washed His wounds and cleaned the ravages of His face. Slowly, He, too, gave up the body of the bear. Then Horus slept for a day and a night in the joy of knowing that Set would not escape since guards trusted by Isis were in watch over Him.”

  And as if his words could be my words, my great-grandfather now became silent. His story, however, did not cease. Indeed, I do not think it lost one thought.

  FIVE

  Horus slept well. It was a night for celebration, and the Gods cheered every appearance of Isis and Osiris. For the first time in years, the Lord of the Dead offered the touch of two fingers to His wife’s elbow (an old gesture to tell of carnal desire in the midst of formal ceremony) but Isis felt a foreboding that had little to do with pleasure. “Do You know,” said Osiris, “the boy was better than I expected,” and decided one virtue of this victory was that it enabled Him to feel love for His son.

  “I am worried Set will escape,” Isis answered, and later, when They tried to sleep, She was restless and went off to walk in the night, while Osiris tried to meditate on the source of Her uneasiness. He saw the face of His first son, Anubis, and sighed as quietly as a leaf listening to the approach of a light wind. In that sigh was the recognition by Osiris that His mind might be as pure as silver, and luminous as the moon, but His talents for divination could never be applied to any matter concerning Set. He had lost that power on the night He made love to Nephthys. One did not torture the feelings of a brother without disturbing every composure of the deep.

  Now, when Isis reached the field where Set was pinioned in His bonds, She dismissed the guard and sat in the moonlight. Set made no sign at Her appearance. Exhaustion hung in tatters on His presence. So it was not easy to tell Him of His crimes nor the grim years He had caused. Instead, Isis found Herself brooding over the young and naked body of Her sister Nephthys next to the body of Osiris and felt Herself shaking with surprising rage. “I suffer,” Isis said to Herself, “for all those who are deadened by evil copulations,” and She could feel no wrath at Her brother, only the strength of the silence between Them. Now, She heard Set say, “Sister, cut My bonds.”

  She nodded. She felt meek. Beneath the light of the moon, Isis cut the ropes from Set, and He rose slowly from the ground, and, looking at Her, made the curious and childlike move of putting His thumb into His mouth. Sparks flew from His fingers and She saw His strength return. Then Set saluted and walked away.

  Now, Isis knew a little of what She had done. By this unforeseen generosity to Set, She had begun to pay for ignoring the sacrifice suggested by Maat. So, She could not return to Osiris, but wandered through the night, and did not care what happened to Her. And in the morning, awakening with bad thoughts of His mother, Horus crossed the field to find that His uncle was gone.

  Poor Horus. Until this battle, His emotions had tasted no better than the food of peasants who toil in caves: roots, grubs, and smoked beetles were the nourishment of His heart. Now, He had been to the feast of His own triumph. He was a man whose temper blazes for the first time in righteousness. “Where is My mother?” He roared in a voice to recall the worst voice of Set, and who did not hear? Nor did He have any trouble in finding Her. The eyes of those who had seen Isis pass, looked away. He could determine the direction She had taken by observing the back of everyone’s head, and in the woods, He soon found Her.

  “Who has released My enemy?” He asked.

  Then Isis was afraid, yet She answered, “Do not speak in such a tone to Your mother.”

  He heard the fear She hoped to conceal, and, on the instant, raised His sword, and cut off Her head. “Now that I am victorious, I will never hesitate again,” He started to say, but burst into tears instead, and wept with more grief than He had ever known. Picking up the head of His mother, Horus ran into the wilderness.

  On the instant, what was left of Isis turned into a statue of flint. In such a headless state would She remain.

  It is possible Osiris never knew a greater test of His understanding. While He could perceive His wife’s act as a godly response to some warp in the order of things, it could not be said He felt forgiveness toward Horus. I was right, thought Osiris, not to trust My Son. What savage temper! Conceived out of the chill of My corpse, He is wild as a weed. “The future Lord of the Living is wild as a weed,” repeated Osiris, and He was not given to repetition. But He did not know what to do. Hideous was the prospect of being wed forever to a headless statue. Indeed, how could one avenge such a wife? Yet, He could not leave Horus unpunished. That would invite chaos. So, Osiris gave word that His Son must be pursued.

  Set was the first to take up the chase. He went out as a middle-aged warrior hardly healed from His wounds. He had, however, regained confidence. For when Isis cut His bonds, He felt as if a great power was released from Her and given to Him, and He prayed for noble and exalted strength. To the Hidden One, He said: “Monarch of the Invisible, allow Me a magnification of this great power that Isis releases (by betraying Her Son). Let lightning be as five hands where once it was five fingers.” The heavens answered in a quiet voice, “Put the thumb that still belongs to You in Your mouth,” and Set did as He was told, and felt balm come into His wounds, and His eight free fingers gave off sparks. So He was confident when He went out to look for Horus.

  There was no battle, however. Set came upon a youth who sat in the stupor of grief. Set did not waste the opportunity. Immediately, He plucked out Horus’ eyes (and indeed they were still weak from the wounds of the war). As Horus ran about in a circle (for blindness came upon Him in a whirlpool of pain) a stroke of lightning more deranging than the fall of a great stone shivered the earth, and the blood-red sockets of Horus’ face showed as green as the brilliance of grass. Set felt a fear of the force given to Him by His prayer, and gave up all attempt to kill Horus. Instead, He grasped
the head of Isis and ran away. Horus, seeking to pursue, stumbled off a cliff at the edge of the wood, and wandered in blindness through the desert.

  By then, Set was far off. Having been granted this success, Set was not free of the awe He felt before these new powers. So, He took the eyes of Horus from the pouch in which He kept them, and planted those eyes in the ground, and even as He watched, they grew and became the lotus, which plant had never been seen before (and this lotus was soon to proliferate and become the royal plant of the Pharaohs). Watching, Set was tempted, however, to desecrate the head of His sister. The voice that had told Him to suck His thumb was now mocking Him. “You are too kind to Your enemies,” said that voice. “Do not weaken what lives in the roots of Your temper. Befoul Her. Pollute Her flesh.” From His anus to His navel, Set was one godly churn. The head of His phallus was a plum ready to burst. Lust was the purest impulse He knew—to paint semen on another. But in fear, He forced Himself away, and in a convulsion, masturbated over a field of lettuce. “Oh,” murmured the voice, “You have made a mistake.”

  Set did not listen. What masturbator does? Chilled, subdued, He quit those silent bespattered vegetables, and came back to Memphi, but on every day that followed, His hunger to gorge on lettuce had become as great as His taste for meat.

  So soon as He returned, Set presented the head of His sister to Her statue. Isis did not trust the gift. Mute, and incarcerated in stone, still She could feel that the head was contaminated. Thoth, Who had been serving as Her doctor, while other Gods were off in search of Horus, was also dubious. Thoth, with His thin arms and baboon face, might be the least virile of the Gods—He was married to Maat!—but He was also the Chief of Scribes and the Lord of Words. Of course, He would be the one to know how to speak to a statue. Having been alone with Isis for many hours, He began to put His hands on the flint with subtle strokes. So Isis began to converse. When it came to such matters, Thoth had the finest ears. After He laid a finger on the stone, He knew how to receive the reply. (It was in the quality of the silence. But how many have ears to distinguish between one silence and another?)

  Since the statue of Isis was without eyes to weep, tears could only flow from Her breast. That is to say, moisture appeared at each nipple. Thoth placed His hands there. During this vigil, He had grown familiar with Her shape, and if He knew nothing of the smoothness of Isis’ skin (which once was finer than the patina of marble) Thoth’s fingers enjoyed the rough flint. Like many a scribe to follow, He was not comfortable with the undulations of women. Irritation was more stimulating to His mind. Whenever some fires of incense were lit, His lungs would look for the harshest smoke—a small damage to the flesh improved His ability to think. Just so, His fingers even showed a blister here and there where they had fretted too long at the stone.

  While holding Her, Thoth would often place His forehead against Her thigh. He would ponder what He wanted to ask, and try to compose the question with such purity of mind that the thought could reach into the mute recesses of the flint. Then, Isis would sooner or later reply. Not, however, by words. Pictures would come instead into His mind, misty at first, but sometimes this fog would dissipate, and Thoth would see Her response in an unmistakably clear image.

  Now when He inquired if She would like the head returned to Her body, the flint presented no more than a muddy river to His mind, too muddy, that is, for vision until Thoth was given one wholly unpleasant view of the buttocks of Set in the midst of defecation. The flint had given its opinion of the head.

  This vehemence left Thoth unsettled. Still, He tried to let His next thoughts flow quietly. He suggested that while She might no longer desire Her own face, still the heads of many birds, animals, insects, or flowers might be satisfactory.

  Her reply made Him wait, but at last He was encouraged to wander in His mind down a jungle trail. Thoth, too sedentary for long marches, watched in wonder while strange animals and birds flashed in front of His closed eyes. He had never seen land so green, nor hills so steep. Huge insects crawled into his vision, and leaves of papyrus waved. Then He saw the horns of a gazelle, then a cobra. Now a herd of cows came forth to graze, and as He moved toward this herd, only one cow remained in sight. He could see nothing but the cow’s head, lovely and soft was this cow’s head, then Thoth heard the first sound ever to issue from stone. A ruminative voice full of the flavor of grass came forth, and as He opened His eyes, the flint was returning to flesh and Isis was before Him in all the beauty of Her own body, younger by years after this incarceration in stone. No longer headless, She had the small and comfortable horns of a fine cow. And the new name of Isis was Hathor.

  Thoth could not keep from touching Her. If He was never guilty of excessive fornication—dry as the feather of Maat had been His small itch—still He was now as unstrung as a cat in heat. So, Hathor, in recompense for His long labors, allowed Him to rub against Her. The touch of real flesh put a rent, however, in His sluices, and He spewed all over Her flank. She was kind, and wiped His face, offered one kiss of a massively lolling tongue, and departed in search of Her son.

  It proved no long search. The sound of Horus’ cries reverberated through the desert. Blind, bewildered, His heart bruised, He lay near a grove by a spring and moaned in a voice that seemed small to Himself, yet it was so pure in its burden that His mother could hear it from many hills away. And when She finally reached His sightless body, She had a seizure of pity as if Her blood had passed through His sorrow.

  Horus was surrounded by a field of lotus. It had flowered out of the first lotus that grew from His eyes, and a gazelle was feeding on the leaves. Isis, without hesitation, took milk from this gazelle. The animal never retreated as the Goddess approached for Isis was in the head of Hathor, and when did a gazelle have fear of a cow? Indeed, the animal barely knew she was being milked. She assumed this strange cow merely wished to pay homage, and did not know, poor cow, how to begin. Now, discovering that nothing was desired of her but milk, the gazelle (none so secretly vain as the gazelle) stamped her front paws on Hathor’s breast, then, in a panic at her daring, rushed off. Hathor went up to Horus, and licked His face, washing gazelle’s milk over those outraged sockets where His vision had been. Delicately, She uncovered His loincloth so that the breeze which rose from the spring might soothe His parts, even as the milk gave balm to His empty sockets, and indeed this tender wind on His loins offered peace to the harsh blood-crusted void above His nose. Horus, receiving these caresses, felt seeds beginning to germinate where once His eyes had been. He wondered if flowers could grow from His brow, and reached up to touch the petals, but, instead—through a waterfall of blood and tears and pearly milk—saw His own two hands, and cried aloud, “My mother has forgiven Me.” In the next instant, He saw the sad, luminous eyes of Hathor, and smelled Her great tongue with its odor of earth and grass licking at His brows. Then He could only say, “How can I forgive Myself?”

  She put a finger on His brow to convey the answer: Whatever He prized most had to be offered to His father. And Horus wondered what He could give up.

  Even as He asked Himself, He looked out on the desert and it was uncommonly beautiful. The rocks were the color of rose, and the sands a powder of gold. Wherever light gleamed on stone, He saw gems. Beholding a vision of such generosity, Horus no longer debated. “O Father,” He said, and His desire was to utter each word with dignity, “I, Horus, Your Son, have been returned My eyes in order that I may offer them to You.”

  The new vision of Horus fell into darkness, and the loss reverberated like boulders crashing in a gorge. When He opened His eyes once again, His sight was restored, but there was all the difference in His view. To His left eye, each color was still resplendent. Yet His right eye saw the depth of gray in every stone. When both eyes looked out together, the world did not appear beautiful nor hideous, but well-balanced. So He could see Isis in all the loveliness of Her body and the shock of Her broad cow’s head.

  “Let Us go back,” She said sadly, and They returned ho
lding each other’s hand.

  “I can tell you,” said Menenhetet in a sharp turn of voice, “that as soon as They entered the walls of Memphi, Horus’ eyes were put to a new test, and His simplicity of mind to a greater one. Osiris had decided that Horus and Set must stand before Him.”

  SIX

  “It is the passion of Osiris,” Menenhetet remarked, “to conquer chaos. That is why in Khert-Neter, He is quick to extinguish the mediocre. It is important that only the Ka of the finest should survive in the Land of the Dead. Otherwise, the human stock that heaven takes into itself would not be rich in courage, pleasure, beauty, and wisdom. Ruthless selection becomes, thereby, the kindness of good husbandry. On the consequence, Osiris is never merciful for too little. Yet He will always be lenient when it is a matter of forming agreement among Gods. Since They are eternal, great chaos can boil up out of prolonged dispute. So Osiris looks to make peace among Them. Maybe that is why He forgave so much when Set and Horus appeared before His tribunal.” Menenhetet now inclined his head as if to return me to the illusion that I could hear the story without listening to his voice.

  “Both of You,” said Osiris to His brother and His son, “have fought with courage and suffered much. Horus lost the vision to look on His life, and Set lost the eye of His loins. Out of the mercy of this Court which seeks for harmony among Gods, Set has been given back His loins, and Horus His eyes. Go now, both of You, and feast together. Those who have fought with the ferocity of gladiators should know one another as friends. Share in the virtues of Your battle. Discover the power of peace. Go in peace.”

  The Gods cheered. Horus looked with His rich eye upon Set, and saw the passion that may be found in a red complexion. He thought His uncle splendid. He could have employed His other eye, but for fear it would reveal such unpleasant sides of the uncle that He would wish to disobey His Father, Horus contented Himself with the fair view of both eves and they saw much suffering. In His gentlest and most courteous voice, therefore, Horus asked Set to come to His camp.