The Feast of The Tail Ch. 14

"Sitamun?" Dhjutmose walked across the balcony, his sister kept her face hidden from him, but he could still see tears falling down her cheeks. "Why are you crying?"

"It's nothing." Her wig covered her face, she kept her head still, turned firmly away from him.

"Alright." He put a hand gently on her shoulder. "You don't have to tell me."

She sniffed quietly. He stood behind her looking out over the palace grounds. The moon was full, the air was warm. There were voices down below. People talking and laughing in the courtyard, the sound of ceramic cups clinked together as friends drank irep long into the night, clustered around the fire.

"Look," whispered Djhutmose, pointing to the sky, "a benu bird."

"Mut used to tell me stories about the ancient benu bird, when she had more time, before the others were born." Sitamun sighed. "I miss those days."

"Me too." He smiled. "She used to say the benu of old were taller than men, its wings wider than a date palm. If you see the Benu it is a sign that a traveller will come home, a sign that what was lost may still be found. The Benu is the ba soul in physical form who flies into the moon."

"Do you think that benu could be the soul of my child, flying back to the Neterworld to be reborn?"

Djhutmose looked at her again, she looked back at him, her eyes an endless darkness, swallowing the light of the moon. "Oh." He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say, "You were...?"

"I was." She broke eye contact, cutting him off from the weight of her grief, and looked back up to the sky. "Not anymore."

He wasn't used to this kind of talk, none of his sisters really spoke to him about their feelings, especially not Sitamun. They had never been close, and she had always been calm; composed; self controlled. Djhutmose tried to remember any time he had caught her crying before, but he couldn't think of any, not even as children. He felt almost honoured to have seen her at such a vulnerable moment, and he dealt with it the way he dealt with the rest of his life, by telling stories, and with good humour.

"Look at that sky, Sita. Isn't it beautiful?"

She looked up. It was. The sky was full of stars, the air was fragrant. It was the Season of Emergence, and everything was ripe and fruitful, you could smell it in the sweetness of the air. Yet it only filled Sitamun with bitterness, that she could not grow life, that she could not bear fruit.

"You see all the stars up there, Sita? They are all held up by goddess Nut. She holds them all within. She stretches herself above us, her fingers and toes planted on the earth, she watches over us, her children curled up under her belly. And all the stars in the sky are lanterns lit up by our ancestors, who guide us with their light. Your child is up there, too. A pure neverending light, a bird in flight, the breath in your body and the North Wind that blows. Your child has simply become all things again, pure energy that changes form, and so they will return to you again, and be reborn as new love."

Sitamun looked at him, and she smiled. "Dua ek, Djhuti." Then she looked sadly again up at the night sky. "Do you think I'll have another child?"

"Of course. You just need to relax. Aunt Petepihu says that the worst thing a woman can do, if she wants children, is to worry. She didn't have children for years and years. When she got married everyone started asking her, when will the child come? When will it come? Is it not time yet? Pharaoh asked her, Mutemwiya asked her, her husband's parents asked her. All they ever asked her was when will the baby come. It went on and on like that, at every festival, and every dinner. As soon as she went to Suten-henen for five months with Uncle Metjen, escaped the relentless questioning of the family, and actually relaxed, she got pregnant."

She frowned and faced him, "What makes you think I'm not relaxed?"

He met her eyes and raised a brow. "Sitamun, do you know yourself?"

A laugh escaped her lips. "You're right." She hummed to herself, leaned over the cool stone of the balcony and rested her head in one hand. "Maybe I can be a little serious sometimes. But someone has to be, you never were."

"Yeah," Djhutmose ran a hand through his hair, "I guess--I guess it's a lot of responsibility to be Pharaoh, and I knew that one day that part of me would die. The part of me that can be careless, and make jokes and tell stories. I'd have to be serious, I'd be responsible for everyone. For the family. For the Two Lands. That's a lot."

"It is." Sitamun's fingers grazed her wrist, fiddling with her gold bracelets. "I didn't realise."

"What? That I think about the future?"

"That you think." She laughed again, a full, musical laugh. "I'm only joking."

"This isn't like you, Sita. You never joke." He wasn't offended. He liked this version of her. More vulnerable. More real. "You should be like this more often."

She turned towards him, the moon shone down on them and she smiled slightly. "It's not easy, you know, being the serious one. It's not like I mean to be, it's just--well, one of us has to be. Don't be offended, I like that you make us laugh, all of us."

He looked at her, as if really seeing her for the first time, wondering how his actions had shaped her, and whether we are born one way or we mould ourselves into something. To fill the empty spaces. To set ourselves apart from the ones around us. Perhaps all families needed someone serious, a djed pillar, a lighthouse in the storm. And perhaps all families needed someone who told jokes, who made everyone laugh when they felt low.

"I'm not offended." He moved next to her and leaned back against the stone railing. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

Djhutmose paused, unsure of how she'd react. "Do you love Pharaoh?"

"Of course. Don't you?" Her eyes gave nothing away.

"I mean, are you happy that you're married? Do you love him as a husband?"

He looked at her, into her dark eyes that seemed to stretch on for eternity, and she looked back at him.

"I am." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I do."

He frowned, "I can't tell if you're telling the truth."

She smiled again, "Good." Her eyes twinkled playfully. "I will say one thing, weigh my heart, for this isn't a lie..." A long pause. Djhutmose waited, afraid of what she might say. Wondering if he had done any wrong that she would now choose to bring up. "I always fantasised about running away with a young farm boy. Someone strong, and handsome. To live a life far away from the palace. To just be a farm girl, and live by the river, and listen to the water. It's easy for you, to sow your wild seeds, to leave the palace and love a stranger. It's not the same for me. A royal daughter of Egypt could never be given to a foreign man."

Djhutmose was surprised, he nearly laughed, and then stopped himself. "I don't think you'd really enjoy being a farmer's wife, or the wife of a foreign man."

"Maybe not. Anyway, it's just a fantasy. We all dream of what we cannot have and wonder."

Her words stirred something in him, but he didn't know how to respond. Instead he walked across the balcony and began to fiddle with the leaves of a potted plant, pulling off some of the new growth and crushing it between his fingers.

Sitamun decided to fill the silence. "You know Mutemwiya told me a different story about the bennu. The Benu had red feathers and is always reborn in fire. The parents sing one last love song to make the egg before they burst into flame, the egg hatches from the ashes of its parents. The fire is no ordinary fire. It is the creative fire of the sun, it is the fire of life, the energy that animates all things. It is the song the heart sings in the silence, when you stop to listen. I always liked that story, even if the Benu had to make the ultimate sacrifice for their children. I liked that. And I always wondered what that final song would sound like."

Djhutmose was struck by the implication of her words. The egg hatches from the ashes of its parents. Sitamun hadn't meant it that way, but he couldn't help thinking. 'Is this what I am supposed to do? Is this a sign? That I might rise from the ashes of my father?'

"Dua ek for tonight. I needed to talk to someone. You're a good listener." She kissed his cheek. "Goodnight Djhutmose."

"Goodnight senet." He replied softly. The coolness of her lips on his cheek was pleasant and sweet. She parted the linen drapes and walked back into the palace, leaving him on the balcony alone with his thoughts.

*

Notes for this chapter

Benu - The heron

Dua ek - thank you (to a male)

Senet - sister