Read Online THE GOD'S WIFE by Lynn Voedisch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynn Voedisch
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infernal nocturnal forays into an unknown world. It maddened yet fascinated her at the same time.
“I can’t help it,” she said to the tablecloth. “It won’t leave me alone.”
Sailor reached across and touched Rebecca’s chin, lifting it up as if to adjust her pose. She looked pensive, studying her young protégé’s features.
“Very well, I’ll have a look at this savant book. In English. And we will brighten the colors accordingly,” she waited a beat. “You don’t think you had a past life in Egypt, do you?”
“I don’t think I believe in past lives.” Actually, Rebecca didn’t know what to think about that person who looked through her own eyes at night. A past self? Well, it didn’t jibe with her Protestant upbringing. Too much at the fringes of reality for her.
“That’s good, because neither do I. The less New Age claptrap, the better.” She picked up her menu. “As long as this goes on my expense account, let’s live it up. These spinach things tasted like turds.”
Rebecca laughed in spite of herself. They ordered the planked salmon and each had a glass of Chablis.
“Now, let’s hear about those dreams. I’m sure we can incorporate them somehow.”
#
The cat wound around Neferet’s ankles as she posed at her vanity table, putting kohl on the rims of her eyes. She needed to feed little Mau-mau, the living incarnation of the goddess Bastet. The much-pampered animal had been searching through the grain stores of the Pharaoh for mice, but she must have come up short if she begged for food now. Neferet reached into a carved wooden box and pulled out some dried and salted meat. She put it on the floor and Mau-mau ran to pounce on it with her sharp teeth. The cat shook the food vehemently and then delivered a bite of death to this replacement mouse. Then she dragged her prize under her mistress’ chair. Neferet scratched the pet behind the ears as the feline nibbled on her fine treat.
Neferet breathed deep into her lungs, knowing that in a mere month she had grown to accept this life as an honored priestess. The fussing of the servants she tolerated with less frustration. She began to look forward to the daily baths and ritual massage of fragrant oils. She practiced her dance movements at set hours before the sun made the chambers too violently hot. And the visits to Amun, well, some were less fearsome than others. The idol had stopped coming to life long ago. She was only required to drink the sacred drink, didi, on special occasions, so she was able to keep her wits about her.
She peered into the mirror and remembered a slight buzzing in her head and the overpowering sensation of an unseen person accompanying her on these visits. She couldn’t explain it and certainly didn’t think it was a visit from a god. But there was the closeness of someone sympathetic looking over her shoulder, mimicking her dances, breathing the incense and saying her prayers. She would have been frightened had it not given her comfort. Anyone, even a specter, accompanying her into the austere Holy of Holies was a welcome relief. At least she wasn’t alone with the idol.
It was nearly time for the evening offering to Amun, and she waited until the hour when the high priests would bring in the food and re-arrange the statue’s clothing.
She closed her eyes and reflected on how childish these ministrations seemed in the beginning. With time, she began to learn from the hood-eyed chief priest Nebhotep that the Amun idol became a living — but not flesh-and-blood — entity due to the precise spells and incantations that had been handed down for millennia. The changing of the clothes and the uneaten food (devoured later by the priests) was ceremonial, an indication the people recognized the reality of Amun’s presence among them. Amun withdrew the living energy from the food, the priests said.
“Amun is with us, but even he is but a fragment of the One. The One who is millions,” Nebhotep once said,
“I can’t help it,” she said to the tablecloth. “It won’t leave me alone.”
Sailor reached across and touched Rebecca’s chin, lifting it up as if to adjust her pose. She looked pensive, studying her young protégé’s features.
“Very well, I’ll have a look at this savant book. In English. And we will brighten the colors accordingly,” she waited a beat. “You don’t think you had a past life in Egypt, do you?”
“I don’t think I believe in past lives.” Actually, Rebecca didn’t know what to think about that person who looked through her own eyes at night. A past self? Well, it didn’t jibe with her Protestant upbringing. Too much at the fringes of reality for her.
“That’s good, because neither do I. The less New Age claptrap, the better.” She picked up her menu. “As long as this goes on my expense account, let’s live it up. These spinach things tasted like turds.”
Rebecca laughed in spite of herself. They ordered the planked salmon and each had a glass of Chablis.
“Now, let’s hear about those dreams. I’m sure we can incorporate them somehow.”
#
The cat wound around Neferet’s ankles as she posed at her vanity table, putting kohl on the rims of her eyes. She needed to feed little Mau-mau, the living incarnation of the goddess Bastet. The much-pampered animal had been searching through the grain stores of the Pharaoh for mice, but she must have come up short if she begged for food now. Neferet reached into a carved wooden box and pulled out some dried and salted meat. She put it on the floor and Mau-mau ran to pounce on it with her sharp teeth. The cat shook the food vehemently and then delivered a bite of death to this replacement mouse. Then she dragged her prize under her mistress’ chair. Neferet scratched the pet behind the ears as the feline nibbled on her fine treat.
Neferet breathed deep into her lungs, knowing that in a mere month she had grown to accept this life as an honored priestess. The fussing of the servants she tolerated with less frustration. She began to look forward to the daily baths and ritual massage of fragrant oils. She practiced her dance movements at set hours before the sun made the chambers too violently hot. And the visits to Amun, well, some were less fearsome than others. The idol had stopped coming to life long ago. She was only required to drink the sacred drink, didi, on special occasions, so she was able to keep her wits about her.
She peered into the mirror and remembered a slight buzzing in her head and the overpowering sensation of an unseen person accompanying her on these visits. She couldn’t explain it and certainly didn’t think it was a visit from a god. But there was the closeness of someone sympathetic looking over her shoulder, mimicking her dances, breathing the incense and saying her prayers. She would have been frightened had it not given her comfort. Anyone, even a specter, accompanying her into the austere Holy of Holies was a welcome relief. At least she wasn’t alone with the idol.
It was nearly time for the evening offering to Amun, and she waited until the hour when the high priests would bring in the food and re-arrange the statue’s clothing.
She closed her eyes and reflected on how childish these ministrations seemed in the beginning. With time, she began to learn from the hood-eyed chief priest Nebhotep that the Amun idol became a living — but not flesh-and-blood — entity due to the precise spells and incantations that had been handed down for millennia. The changing of the clothes and the uneaten food (devoured later by the priests) was ceremonial, an indication the people recognized the reality of Amun’s presence among them. Amun withdrew the living energy from the food, the priests said.
“Amun is with us, but even he is but a fragment of the One. The One who is millions,” Nebhotep once said,
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