Kepi stood in the basket, looking east out over the river, across the plains, to the distant limestone hills that ran from north to south as far as she could see. She turned her head west and saw the same thing in the distance. It seemed Egypt had stone walls down both sides, with the tops forming sand-covered plateaus. Every morning those western walls were flushed with sunrise; every evening those eastern walls were flushed with sunset. And all day long they were white white white. Though the sight was monotonous, Kepi loved those walls, for she imagined them working hard, trying to hold back the red desert. It was important to work hard to fight off things that would destroy you. Kepi looked to the walls for courage; her life was a constant fight. And it was only the stories about the gods that kept her sane. She cherished those stories.
Kepi hated living in the prison of this basket. But every day she reminded herself many times that it was worth it. This basket was carrying her to the capital. To the pharaoh.
That, too, would be a fight. No one could expect the pharaoh to just listen sweetly. Adults never seemed to do that. But Kepi would win; she had as strong a will as the god Ra; she would save her family.
She’d lost count of the number of days she’d been on the boat. Was it eight? Nine? It felt so long.
They’d stopped at two more cities.
The first was Ta-senet, where the crew picked up pottery again. Menes said they had to, because Ta-senet was the true home of pottery. The ram-headed god Heka had fashioned the very first humans from the Nile mud there by making pottery figures. In Kepi’s village the old potter still coiled and pinched pots, but his son used the modern potter’s wheel so he could make many more pots quickly. The god Heka made humans long before the potter’s wheel, though. It must have taken him years to make enough humans to start the whole world. Kepi wished she could have seen the god Heka’s kilns; she saw nothing of the cities from inside the basket.
But Menes told her Ta-senet was sacred to the goddess Nit. So Kepi had breathed in hope. She had been telling herself stories about all the gods, but she’d told lots and lots about Nit, in particular, since finding Babu in the first place had happened because of Nit’s click beetle. That meant Kepi felt especially close to the goddess Nit by then, and somehow she was convinced the goddess Nit felt the same way. While the crew did their trading in Ta-senet, Kepi sat within the dark confines of the basket and prayed to Nit, over and over. She’d prayed a lot in her life, but not like this. This was quiet, almost like talking to a dear friend. Please, great goddess Nit, please see me in this basket. Please help me get out of it. Nit didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter. She was listening; that conviction alone made Kepi feel better.
The second town was Inr-ti, nestled between two hills. They picked up even more pottery there, because the town was famous for its black-topped pots, and they stored them in the other big baskets, with long grasses cushioning them. Menes told her that the river made a big turn there, so the water slowed and crocodiles gathered. That’s why Inr-ti was sacred to the crocodile-headed god Sobek. What good news! All the gods were related to each other in one way or another, and the god Sobek was the child of the goddess Nit. Kepi had been thinking about this fact during her long hours in the basket. The click beetle had led her to the crocodile, and the crocodile had killed Babu’s mother, so that’s how Kepi got Babu. As she saw it, the goddess Nit and her son the god Sobek had worked together to give Babu to Kepi. Or if not that, then at least they knew that Babu was with her and they knew what good care Kepi took of Babu. So that had to mean the god Sobek was Kepi’s friend, too. While the crew traded in Inr-ti, Kepi found herself praying quietly again, to Sobek. Please help me when we get to Ineb Hedj. And help me now as we travel. Help me get out of this basket. I feel so sick. I feel sick almost all day long.
On the second night in Inr-ti, Menes told Kepi he had walked past a temple to the goddess Hathor. Kepi’s spirits leaped at that news. Things were getting better and better! Hathor was the goddess of music and dance and moonlight. She was the one with the wonderful tinkling necklace. Kepi had prayed to her once long ago, asking her to make Mother allow her to wear her jewelry into the fields. Hathor hadn’t answered that time. But much later, when Kepi first came into this basket, she had felt Hathor’s moonglow caressing her. She was in a poppy seedpod haze then, to be sure. But still, the glow she felt had to have come from Hathor. Hathor might somehow care about Kepi. So that second night docked at Inr-ti, Kepi hugged her knees to her chest, even the hurt knee, and sang to Hathor. Her songs were prayers in a way, not asking for anything specific, but just a hope for strength. Hathor understood, Kepi was sure.
They were now on their way to the town of Djerty, on the east bank. Menes hadn’t yet told her what god Djerty was sacred to, but as soon as he did, Kepi would pray to him. Even if she couldn’t see any particular connection to him, she’d pray. Prayer made her feel better.
Kepi had figured out the pattern of the crew. They’d travel in daylight, leaving one town early in the morning and arriving at the next by the afternoon. Then they’d dock for the night and trade all the next day, and stay at dock a second night. Then it was on to the next town. What that meant to her was a day with her poking out of the basket from the shoulders up, her face into the blessed wind carrying away the goat stink of the basket, then a night, a day, and another night closed in the basket, the only interruptions being Menes’s ugly head as he handed her food or refilled the water bucket. And Menes’s head was even uglier than it had been, because he’d gotten his hair cut short at Nekhen. He said the barbers there were particularly skilled. The crew must have agreed with him, for all of them had had their hair cut; all of them looked extra ugly.
The days when they were out on the center of the river, Menes let her sit on the deck. Sometimes, anyway. It was a relief to look at all the islands in the wide river, with their thick plant growth and singing birds. Now that Kepi’s knee had healed, she could walk around a bit, too. But the man with the half ear always made her get back in the basket before long, and it was taking its toll on her. The anticipation of having to go inside the basket, of being cut off from seeing anything, made her shake. The whole world shrank when she was inside the basket. She could hardly catch her breath.
“I’m sick,” she mumbled.
“Yes,” came a voice from nowhere. “You can’t stay in that festering basket.”
Kepi wiped at her mouth. “Who said that?”
But no one was looking at her.