Ankh! Udja! Seneb!
Heru Wer glided over our fields effortlessly, suddenly swooping with outstretched talons. I silently prayed that he would see fit to spare our young goslings and the nearly grown ducklings, especially since he had no reason to punish our family. We served the gods faithfully and offered sacrifices at the temple.
I hardly envied sacred animals kept at temples or in homes where they were revered pets. They were offered so much food that they sometimes had to be force fed. I could only hope that when they were mummified after their deaths, either of natural causes or forced gluttony, they would no longer be captive in the Field of Reeds. No doubt they reigned as gods in the next world.
To my immense relief, as the falcon flew away, I saw that its quarry was a small mammal, still alive as it struggled in the talons that carried it to its demise. However, I saw the slightest movement in the grass, even though the victim was no longer on the ground. I was only too eager to set aside my spindle and distaff for the sake of solving this great mystery.
When I neared the area where Heru Wer had been, I was surprised to see three baby mongooses, little more than patches of brown fur with pointed noses and dark eyes that had barely been opened. Looking around, I saw no trace of the father or any other mongooses that might have been relatives. The babies were so tiny and helpless that I had no trouble catching them before they were able to reach their den. All three fit in one hand, although I cupped my hands together to carry them to make sure I wouldn't accidentally drop one.
"What are those creatures?!" Pelkha demanded as soon as I entered the house. "Did you finish the spinning like Mother asked?!"
"They'll keep the rats out of the granary," I explained.
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
"They're gifts from Heru Wer. He took their mother."
Although my sister was often impatient with me, she never argued against the will of the gods. As I held the babies on my lap, Pelkha brought me some milk.
"You mustn't be disappointed if they don't live long," she remarked. "They're far too young to survive without their mother. Are you listening, Anit?!"
Dipping a small corner of cloth into the milk, I offered it to the small mongooses. It took nearly half an hour to feed all three babies only a few drops at a time, but at last, their little tummies were finally full.
Meanwhile, Pelkha took up the spindle and distaff I had discarded, patiently finishing my chores for me. Even though I had been born first, my twin sister acted as if I were years younger than she was. Pelkha was always so practical and dutiful, as if already practicing her role as wife and mother.
The door opened, and Zahra entered the room, exhausted from her journey to the canal to wash our family's laundry. I felt ashamed of myself for losing patience so easily with spinning when Zahra carried heavy baskets of dirty clothing and risked crocodile attacks.
"Is Dhouti still working?" she queried.
"He is," I answered, smiling at my new companions.
I had been surprised when my brother had announced his plan to take a wife, but Zahra was a kind, industrious woman who told stories better than anyone else in Kemet. I spent many nights listening to her tales of the gods while Dhouti played board games with Father.
"What do you have there?" Zahra asked, crossing the room to where I was.
"Baby mongooses," I explained. "Their mother was taken by Heru Wer."
My sister-in-law nearly laughed. "Anit, not every falcon is Heru Wer."
"You're right," I agreed. "Some are Heru Sa Aset."
She smiled. "Then I guess we ought to make a bed for your babies."
Zahra arranged scraps of cloth into a comfortable pallet, and I lowered the young mongooses onto it. One opened its eyes momentarily before drifting back to sleep. They were all snuggled together in a small pile. I arranged one piece of cloth so it lightly covered them, enough to keep the babies warm without the risk of suffocation.
"We should start supper." Pelkha remarked. "I can't imagine what's keeping Mother and Father. Anit, go out to the dovecote and bring us a few."
I never cared for the task of wringing the necks of birds, even if it was necessary for us to be able to eat. The stench of the dovecote was nearly overpowering, even though we cleaned it as often as we were able, and the cooing of the doves was gentle, nearly melodic, a sharp contrast to the horrible deed I was about to commit. Just before its death, each bird would stare up at me with unblinking, frightened eyes, its frantic heart racing beneath my fingertips.
Furthermore, I had to examine each bird before killing it. If it was too fine of a specimen, it must be allowed to live so it could be sacrificed to the gods. Only scrawny birds with imperfections were fit for our table. I must also take care not to harm any birds on their nests, for we must have future generations to replenish the birds we consumed.
When I had finished my unpleasant task, I carried the small bodies back to the house, where Zahra and Pelkha helped me pluck them. The scent awakened the baby mongooses, who waddled over to investigate, but although the instinct to hunt was within each of them, they were still too young to act on it, so they soon lost interest.
After every feather had finally been removed, Pelkha seasoned the meat and placed it into the oven. She sighed wearily.
"Anit, go get us some mandrake fruits."
I turned to leave.
"Make sure they're perfectly ripe! They're poisonous otherwise!"
Did Pelkha honestly believe I had forgotten about the time we had nearly lost Dhouti when he had taken some fruit that was not yet ripe? He had fallen ill, unable to keep food in his stomach, which he complained felt like coiled knots of fire. His heart had slowed so greatly that we feared he was destined for the Field of Reeds.
The sewnu had delivered the news sadly. "I fear I can do nothing for this condition, but I will still try. Give him mint to settle his stomach."
While Mother had mixed mint in nonfermented wine for my brother, Father had immediately made offerings to Sekhmet and Nefertum. The gods honored our prayers, and Usir spared my brother's life.
Pushing aside such unpleasant memories, I began gathering the fruit. Was Pelkha simply too bossy, or was I truly irresponsible? Why couldn't I be more industrious like Zahra?
When I returned home, I saw Mother and Father had arrived. Mother beamed proudly when she saw me.
"Anit, your father met up with an old friend in the marketplace," she began. "They had quite the interesting discussion."
Father placed his hand on my shoulder. "Dearest daughter, it's high time you were married."
I was so startled that I dropped the fruit I had been carrying.
"I'm not in love with anyone," I protested.
I reminded Father that it was the custom among poor families for people to choose their own spouses after developing feelings of romance through courtship rather than having arranged marriages as people of wealthy families did. Dhouti and Zahra had come to love each other before they had been wed.
"My daughter," Father began, "falling in love is a wonderful thing, but sometimes, marriage comes before love. Your mother was your age when I signed the marriage contract with her father, and the arrangement has been blessed by the gods. We've come to care very deeply for each other over the years, and you can see we've had a happy home and a good life together."
"Hanif is a young man," Mother added, "about your age. His farm is prosperous, and he doesn't fear work. Merchants praise him for his honesty, and priests admire his piety. Furthermore, he is a kind man, gentle and patient. He will make a wonderful father for your future children, and he'll be an excellent provider for you. Is it not a wonderful match, Anit?"
I was speechless. Everything was happening too quickly. Although I had always known that my parents, especially my father, would arrange my marriage when I came of age, I had always assumed it would be to a man I already loved and had begged to ask my Father to make the necessary arrangements, not to a complete stranger.
"Have you met him?" I asked when I finally regained my ability to speak.
"Of course," Father assured me. "I wouldn't allow my daughter to go to just any man. Hanif's father was a dear friend of mine."
I was still in a daze when I ascended the steps to the roof for supper. I knew things could have been worse. I could have been paired with a man even older than my own father. At least Hanif didn't sound too awful. Perhaps we could at least be friends, and maybe in time, we could learn to love each other.