A Memoir of Egypt

[Guest guest]

Land of Immortality

by Betty Rawlinson

 

YOU AWAKE IN A LAND FAR AWAY, knowing that its ancient culture is

still admired, still veiled. This is Egypt, its treasured past

preserved by its dry climate, or perhaps by the sun god, Ra. Its

history is written on great pillars of stone, buried deep in the

barren hills. All tell of the driving desire for immortality. The

desire is evidenced by the great pyramids of Gizeh, in the tombs at

Luxor, in the elaborate temples along the Nile. These wondrous works

of art cry out, " Don't forget. We rocked the cradle of civilization.

We are immortal. "

 

As you trudge through the endless ruins, your guide will attempt to

explain their complicated religion - a religion enmeshed in their

history, true to the believers of old, and not yet buried under the

sands of time.

 

You will feel the mystery of the parched sands, see the magic of the

mighty Nile - the Giver of Life - be eager to follow its thin green

line the length of this great Country. You will long to be part of

it; something forbidden to you - you, with all the body comforts of a

wealthy nation are still only a fledgling in this ancient world. You

are very much aware that you lack something these people possess.

 

As you move away from the city into the country, you find a proud

race of handsome, intelligent people who neither reject nor welcome

you. In Luxor - ancient Thebes - many of the citizens retain the

regal bearing of their ancestors - the Pharaohs, although they now

await your commands in the lobby of a shabby hotel built by outsiders

centuries after their temples began to empty.

 

From the veranda of your hotel you look into the bustling street

below, a street teeming with horse-drawn carriages which will take

the visitors to walk the Avenue of Sphinxes. They will gaze at the

papyrus and lotus-crowned pillars, colors dimmed, their beauty

lasting. They will study the hieroglyphics chiseled into the great

stelae and imagine the bright banners which once fluttered from their

heights. They will stare, unblinking, at their own reflections in the

stagnant waters of the temple's sacred pool. Here, when the moon is

silver and the gods are willing, the Pharaohs can be seen gliding

across the smooth surface in boats of burnished gold. Now, only a few

of the giant stone rulers stand, still guarding their kingdom,

dwarfing the mere humans who pass below.

 

As you await your turn, your eyes scan the wide, blue Nile, move on

to the green shores of the other side, to the backdrop of hills where

the colors change with the changing sun. Tomorrow you will walk on

this sacred ground with other curious intruders, and will become more

baffled than ever for these temples and tombs are no longer pictures

in a book, but real and waiting for you.

 

You are more confident than ever that these hills still hold untold

secrets, hold wealth far greater than that taken from the tomb of the

child Pharaoh, Tutankhamen. You sense that these secrets are still

protected by some great force and that they will lie, undisturbed,

for centuries more.

 

Yet, you believe that you are special, that this force would share

with you knowledge that would astound the world if you were but

alone, silent, waiting among the gray hills in the rays of the sun.

The sun's very power would enlighten you, reveal dark hidden answers

that would change all mankind. You are aware of an overpowering

thrill, a desire to escape into sphere, unknown to the people around

you. You will stay with your group as you always have, comfortable in

your conformity, safe on known ground.

 

On the next day, with the crowds, you will explore the tombs of the

noble dead, marvel at the still brilliant colors of the paintings, be

puzzled, at times by their meaning, not quite understanding the

reason for it all, yet grasping a fragment of the Pharaoh's need. You

will be aware that you share with these ancient people a desperate

desire for immortality. A strong compassion for these souls will

overwhelm you. You desire to defend their beliefs from all scoffers.

Perhaps you will remember this desire and never again doubt any man's

religion. Maybe the experience will take on a dream-like quality when

you return to the busy traffic of your life. It has had its effect,

and, at times, something deep inside you will stir, and you will

remember.

 

You will share only the lighter, more humorous happenings - the

lukewarm Coca Cola, the man with the bucket of water, ready to flush

your toilet for a few coins, the donkey named Whiskey Soda, the

protected cat in the busy airport. You will recall the waiter's

amazement at your request for coffee with your meals and his polite

refusal, his kind humor when you asked him to pull the sunshade, his

pride when he said, " Our sun will turn your fair skin as dark as

mine. " There was a vague offer of acceptance in his tone, and your

smile came from deep inside.

 

In the dining room all about you are people from many nations - their

language not the only thing foreign to you. For a brief moment you

want your God, with powers far greater than those of the sun, to

change more than color of skin, to make them all aware of the

necessity, the rewards of accepting each other - only a fleeting

thought. You leave the table. Your friend's vile cigar smoke can no

longer be tolerated.

 

After you return home, pushing buttons will cause you to recall the

black-robed women washing clothing, dishes and babies along the bank

of the Nile. The sight of a combine cutting a wide swath across a

field will remind you of farmers in a land far away harvesting three

crops a year from a small patch of thirsty land with only hand tools.

You will see again their muscles bulging as they pump water with a

sahdoof, see the graceful shepherds in long galabyas protecting their

sheep. A picture from the past of Moses' time? No, real, and still

necessary for their survival.

 

You will recall dark-faced children with heavy bundles of sugar cane

balanced on their heads, see small hands mixing straw and dung to

make fuel for the family fire. Some will be smiling, waving

greetings; others angry, throwing rocks at your passing bus, and

always the insistent begging for baksheesh. You will remember the

children with gentle sympathy, with genuine admiration, and with a

grain of fear.

 

In this Country of contrasts - luxuriant growth and barren sand, -

you understand the melting together of past and present. The future

of Egypt, like the past, is shrouded, but you hope their ancient gods

will grant her immortality and that her gods will always listen when

the people pray, whether their prayers be to the God of Christ or of

Mohammed.

 

posted April3, 2006........bob