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.

“No, nephew,” said Set, “there We will be surrounded, and never speak alone. Come to My camp. I am deserted, and You will spare Me the company of silence.”

Affected by these sad words, Horus departed with Set, and They walked side by side down all the distance to the uncle’s camp, and Set slaughtered one of His captive boars and They roasted the carcass into the evening, drinking Their meat down with wine pressed from the grapes that grew in the blood of the devoured thieves. By the campfire, They paid great compliments back and forth, and spoke of the other’s great skill in combat. Finally, Set made a speech to the spirit of wine. “Some,” He said, “crush the grape with a wine-press, but I want my slaves to step on the grapes with their feet. For nobody has more desire to travel than a slave, and this wish gives flight to the spirit of the grape.” He raised His glass. “My wine will make You ready to do what You have never done,” and Horus applauded, and They drank a final toast, and fell asleep by the fire.

Out of this slumber, Set came awake with the memory of His erection on the first day of battle, and He fondled His nephew’s scrotum and tickled His backbone, and swore He would try to proceed no further. False vow. There is no rest at this place. Set remembered how His phallus had been ready to enter the bowels of His nephew, and that pumped Him up with the sweetest stinks, and He was full of greed.

Horus tried to stay asleep. The drops of gazelle’s milk that He had swallowed had put Him into the happiest tolerance and bliss, just the state in which to receive a few caresses. He was certainly getting ready to learn how much of Himself could be entered by another. What a nice balance that would give to the fires of His victory.

Set, however, was shaking to find Himself so close to the flesh of the son of Osiris. Set was squalling like a boar. The smell of the boy’s cheeks had Him wild. A spew of curses on the milk of Isis and the crotch of Osiris came out of His mouth with such a caterwauling of dead thieves’ screams that Horus saw before Him the sad eyes of Isis in the head of Hathor and freed His sphincter, and caught the semen in His hand, while Set, with a blind cry of exultation, crashed into sleep and the deepest snore.

Horus, befuddled from drinking thieves’ wine on top of gazelle’s milk, forgot at once what had happened. Much too generously had Isis bathed His eyes. The milk left Him with every docility of a fool. He went wandering out of Set’s camp with His wet hand held before Him as if pearls had collected there, and moonlight was on His face. He had not gone a hundred steps before He met His mother.

Isis had been waiting all night at the outskirts of Set’s camp. She knew the weakness of Her husband when it came to understanding His brother. Bathing the moonlight with Her silent prayers, She had been sending Her words of power into the swamp to roll like mist over Set.

“But how little,” said Menenhetet, “can magic offer when the heart of the magician is heavy with fear? It is the first paradox of magic, and the worst, that it is always least available when we are most desperate. On this night, Isis was working within a cow’s head not yet familiar to Herself. How could She measure the potency of a curse when instead of widening a delicate nostril, She now had to revolve a nose as large as a snout? With such unfamiliar instruments, the question is whether She was able to affect anything that night, at least until the moment She did. But, finally, She did. How else account for Set’s stupidity in so exploding, oink, oink,” said Menenhetet, “that He fell asleep without knowing His semen was left in the enemy’s hand. Can you believe it? He dreamed that His seed was taking knowledge, drop by drop, of the secret turns of Horus’ bowels. I can promise you that Set snored with raucous expectation of orgies of possession in years to come. He was certain that Horus could now keep no secret imparted to Him by Osiris. Sweet dreams!” said Menenhetet. “Isis took one look at the hand of Her son, and exclaimed, ‘The seed of Set is as dense as milk of silver,’ and all of Set that had collected in the palm of Horus now was heavy, and brilliant like the moon. That liquid silver became our first ball of mercury, no more (and no less!) than a distillation of the seed of Set. Isis, now in full recovery of Her wisdom, encouraged Horus to throw this gout of mercury into the swamp even if every weed in the marsh must turn poisonous. On the consequence, our native Egyptians, eating the meat of beasts who graze upon these weeds, have turned as spineless as mercury in their will, and so we are reduced from a great nation into one without character, yes, every ejaculation of our Gods that is not left in the body of another is the birth of a new disease. Much of Maat resides in this stern principle. Otherwise, Gods could sow Their seed everywhere.”

He took a breath and smiled. “Be certain that when Horus threw the milk of silver into the swamp, it took the skin of His hand along. Isis gave Him a new palm, however, by rubbing the sore flesh of His fingers in the liquor of Her thighs and that proved as beneficent as the milk of the gazelle—although we will not pause over such a caress. Indeed, I mention the gesture only to assure you that Horus was so excited by the velvet of His new skin that He promptly ejaculated into it, and such an outpouring, as He was told at once by His mother, would prove precious in a little while.”

Menenhetet nodded, even as I watched Isis lead Horus back to the camp of Set. Passing His snoring body, full of its harsh and carnal dreams, They wandered into the garden where lettuce now grew in abundance. Horus assured Her that during the feast of wild boar, Set had often stuffed just such a head of lettuce into His throat, and half-choking, eyes bulging, jaws near dislocated, had crushed the leaves, and swallowed it whole. (“No one,” said Horus, “can eat lettuce in a manner equal to Set.”) Now, at a sign from Isis, He cast the semen in His hand all over this field and it fell in many threads, and subtle sounds were uttered, altogether a curious music. Those long liquid strings shook with the life of the living, which is to say, all the shock of wars to come, even the sounds of horns and trumpets not yet blown. A sigh of music also came to Isis and Horus out on the edge of the field, but it was only the subtle murmur raised by the legs of an army of spiders who left the garden after the intrusion of Horus’ threads upon their webs. How the moonlight glittered. On the way home, Isis sang lullabies to Horus. “His development to manhood,” said Menenhetet, “has obviously been uneven, but two events occurred by morning. Set awakened and gobbled more lettuce, and Horus became Isis’ lover.”

When he saw how much interest arose in me at this remark, my great-grandfather held up his hand. “Of this affair, I will say a little, but only when we are done. For now it is enough to know that Horus was wise by morning, and Set stirred in His bed with all the pride of one who has made a conquest the night before. On His loins, He could smell the shame of Horus’ cheeks, and it mixed nicely with His own pride. So Set made great plans. Before Ra had even risen into the full height of noon, Set called the Gods together.

“Assembled in haste, and curious in the extreme, They heard a powerful speech. Set had put on robes of red, brighter than His skin, and in a voice of fire, He said, ‘On the day that Horus and I made battle, victory should have been Mine. His head was in the mud. But by the use of My lost thumb, He slipped out of My grip—a trick taught by His mother. He has blood like the milk of His mother. From that moment, no test was left but theft. You saw it. Yesterday, His Father—who pretends to be My judge—commanded Us to go away and feast. We did. Now, I tell You, I am the victor. For in the night, I rode in glory upon His back, and I was as large as the tree that grows from the nut. The flood that rose out of My loins was emptied into the contemptible backhole of the boy Horus standing here beside Me. May I say He bleated like a sheep and cooed like a pigeon. He was My possession. So I say: Do not make Him the Lord of the Living, or I will steal a secret each time I enter His bowels. It is better when great powers are given to the strong. Let Horus serve as My assistant. His hips are weak.’

“Set expected Horus to attack, and was ready. But Horus only threw back His head and laughed. To the judges, He said, ‘I have listened with a good and happy heart. My uncle is a thin little man with a loud voice. He squawks like a bird. He lies. It is I who had the onus of traveling up His withered crack, and I did it for nothing better to do. Try for all of one night, My judges, to listen to My uncle’s farts. I confess that I would have done better to hurl a spear into a swamp. Old men are dirty.’

“How much Horus had learned in His night with Isis! The oil of Her thighs must have offered more than the milk of the gazelle. Set had no recourse. He drew His sword. Horus, nimbly, darted away, and at a sign from Osiris, the warriors of the court held Set.

“In a bright, clear voice, Horus said, ‘Let the Gods summon Our seed from last night. Let the seed tell Who speaks the truth.’ Assent came from Set as quickly as from the others, and Thoth was ordered to stand between the disputants. ‘Put Your hand upon the buttocks of Horus,’ Osiris commanded, ‘and ask the voice that is in the semen of Set to declare itself.’ Osiris’ own voice was not confident. He doubted His son.

“ ‘I speak,’ said Thoth, ‘to this seed of Set. Tell Us where you are. Speak from the place where you find yourself.’ In the distance, out of the swamps, came a loud and heavy croaking of mercury. The full pestilence of the weeds was in the air, and the Gods murmured that the semen of Set—foul stuff!—must have been ejaculated into the swamp.

Then Thoth put His hand on the hips of Set, that is, so far as He dared, for Set was shaking with rage, but Thoth proceeded to make the same speech to the semen of Horus. Would it appear? A voice flew right out of Set’s buttocks. It was a full, sweet-smelling wind, and it said, ‘I am the transformation of the seed of Horus.’ This wind smelled sweet as lettuce. The Gods roared. For They knew Horus had buggered Set.

“It would not have been over, and Set might have plotted another revenge, but on His return to camp, le found out He was pregnant. A God may conceive a child by His mouth, or His anus, but if we know it was here by way of the mouth, Set did not. A miserable pregnancy! The creature was born half-man, half-woman, and soon died in the suffocations of attempting to make love to Itself. Set still serves as the Lord of Lightning and the God of Thunder, but He is bewildered, a heavy and near-motionless God who cannot be certain whether He told the truth, or was, indeed, buggered. So He is now mad. It is more difficult for a God to know peace of mind than a man.” Menenhetet sighed. With a sense of movement as deliberate and concentrated as an old hag untying a cloth of many knots, he rose, move by move, flexing one joint into another through a series of gestures forward and back until he was standing on his feet. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“You still have not spoken of the affair of Isis and Horus.”

“Nor should I. They remain among the most powerful of Them.”

“Yet I must know more. What if I encounter a God in the Land of the Dead?”

“You will not. They live in the summits. You do not know a God until you have seen a great mountain.” He sighed again. “Let me say that Isis and Horus had a long affair. It still continues. I whisper to you that cohabiting with Her son keeps the form of fidelity to Osiris. So He is calm, and blesses Them. Her act does not strip Him of honor, but maintains the stability of Their family. And the affair has given Horus much wisdom which He needs as Lord of the Living. It has also given Isis more satisfaction than a Goddess with the head of a cow can rightfully expect when She copulates with a hawk. For it is the shape of that fierce bird Horus has chosen for Himself. Now, He need never fear His weak legs, and every Pharaoh worships His wings. I can say that the God Horus, fully grown, is not at all like the boy, and has become as great as His Father. Such is the extent of the knowledge He has received from Isis.”

Now, my great-grandfather beckoned to me. “It is time to begin our travels in Khert-Neter,” he said. “Are you ready?”

I felt a childish fear of every force beyond the door of this tomb. Yet there was nothing to do but nod.

When we went out into the night, Menenhetet clapped his hands. Doubtless he wanted to signify the end of one spell and the commencement of another. I waited, but only the stench from his breath was remarkable. We were back in our alley of the Necropolis.