A’a-mnek, by virtue of long service
First Among Those Upon Whose Prostrations
Falls the Gaze of A’a,
sits on a ledge against a wall
and awaits the latest initiate. Hours ago
they left the public part of the temple—
painted walls in swaying lamplight,
scuff and rattle, bay of prayer—
for this quiet passage of brick and stone.
No ornament even upon the door
of the innermost chamber,
where A’a-mit is closeted now with the first
and holiest image of A’a.
He laid his sandals on the floor,
straightened his shoulders, and entered
ready for unimaginable glory.
A’a-mnek watches the sandals curl
slightly around their emptiness,
dark cups impressed by the toes. Few votaries
come to this temple; in wartime
more pledge to Hasht in his lion-drawn chariot,
in peace, to the pleasurable rites
of golden Eppi, and always the courts of Nummis
are raucous with petitioners.
But A’a is oldest, shown to the people
only in the form of a pillar, hung about
with fronds and vines, beasts and birds,
and necklaces of men.
In a chamber scarcely ample enough
for a man to prostrate himself, the novice
stands without an offering
for the first and last time,
forbidden to bow down or avert his eyes.
Before him three channels
lead to three drains in the floor,
one brown with dry dove-blood,
one slick with oil, the third
bare, touched by nothing
but purified water. Beyond them stands A’a,
a rough, slumping finger of stone,
almost the height of a man.
No limbs, no mouth. The eyes
two wide dark pits,
one lower than the other.
A’a-mnek shifts to ease his bad hip.
The time approaches to set out baskets
of pease and bird-meat for the afflicted
who come, almost unobserved, at night.
But first he must greet the initiate,
whenever A’a-mit thinks to turn
and stumble out, like each one before
abashed and silent,
new priest of a god without hands.