As I ran, I wondered if that was what had happened the other day, when I followed the irrigation canal. While I’d veered off to the west, my dear friends continued straight down the river, and our paths failed to cross. That mustn’t happen again! I cast anxious looks to the east, eager to see the shining face of Aten’s sun-disk high enough in the sky. I groaned when I realized I’d hidden my tracks too well and that the grove of trees sheltering me also blocked my view.
I’m sure that enough time’s passed, I told myself. It has to be safe for me to go back now. I rushed toward the river.
I reached the shore in a spot where the water was shallow and the round pads of blue lotus floated on the surface. Their fragrance entranced me, reminding me of our beloved garden at home. As tempting as it was to slip into memories, I forced myself to be alert to the here and now, scanning the river for any sign of Idu and his uncle. Praise Isis, there wasn’t a trace of them, and I was able to turn my attention to seeking my lost dear ones.
I looked upstream, across the river. Once again, the sacred waters were teeming with boats and ships, but if I strained my eyes, I could just make out a last glimpse of Thebes, the city’s great buildings no more than slivers of gold in the distance. From there, I let my eyes move slowly along the eastern bank, trying to find some familiar landmark—even if it was only a remembered grove of trees—that would let me gauge where I was. I concentrated, trying to recall the sights I’d seen in the moments before the hippo attacked us and what the far shore had looked like from the hunters’ campsite.
I’m a little farther down the river from where I was last night, I told myself. That is … I think that’s where I am. Idu said he saw Nava and Amenophis moving downstream, but he didn’t tell me if he and his uncle were sailing in the same direction. I thought about it some more. A reed boat has no sail. It can’t catch the wind and go against the current. Idu’s no weakling, and his uncle’s not that old; he’s got a farmer’s hard muscles. Still, I doubt they had the strength to get that boat upstream with only one oar. They’d’ve been exhausted! So maybe they began their hunting trip by bargaining with the master of a larger ship for a tow upstream; then they just rode the current the way we did, which means—my eyes swept the river again—they’d have passed Nava and Amenophis going downstream, and that means my best chance of finding my friends again lies that way. With that confident thought, I turned my steps south, backtracking against the flow of the sacred river.
My certainty lasted as long as my first burst of energy. I’d been walking since before Ra’s sun-ship had showed itself fully above the horizon, and I hadn’t had a lot to eat since the day before. I thought of Amenophis’s worries about making our supplies last and only allowed myself half of one of the small loaves Idu had encouraged me to take. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the rising hunger I felt.
When hunger gnawed at my belly, doubt gnawed at my mind. Is this really the right direction? What if they’re downstream? What if they’ve turned away from the river? What if they came across a friendly boatman and crossed back to the eastern shore? What if they’ve returned to Thebes? What if, what if, what if … Tears of exhaustion prickled the corners of my eyes, but I pressed my lips together and wouldn’t let them fall. I knew that as tired and hungry as I was, if I wept now, it would stop me in my tracks and I’d lose precious time.
I’ll only go upstream as far as those trees, I decided, picking out the farthest thicket I could see. Then I’ll turn around.
The grove of palms didn’t seem to be such a great distance from where I stood, but as I approached it, I saw that the riverbank along my way was a series of obstacles, large and small. In one place, I pushed aside a clump of reeds just in time to see a huge bull crocodile drowsing right where I was about to tread. I retreated and made a large circle around him. Next I encountered a deep channel—the silted remains of an abandoned irrigation ditch—and had to watch my step climbing into and out of it. My bare feet sank into the warm mud well past my ankles, holding me back. Insects swarmed around my head, biting my face and arms viciously. When I couldn’t stand the cruel itching anymore, I had to stop and slap more mud onto the bites for relief.
I was just stumbling back onto my feet when I heard a distinct rustling from a stand of green bulrushes. The plants grew thickly all the way to the water, completely covering the bank. The only direct route for me was to beat a path through them, but what were they hiding? What was making that sound? It was too loud to be the movement of a bird. Could it be another crocodile or, worse, another hippo?
I should go around again, I thought, but my heart sank at the idea of yet another wearying, time-devouring detour. Or maybe—maybe I should go as close as I can and see if there’s anything there that I need to avoid. If I’m careful—
Then I heard another sound through the rustling in the bulrushes: the soft sound of a child’s tears.
I plunged into the reeds heedlessly, joyously, my arms sweeping them out of my way left and right. How foolish I was, and how far beyond listening to the lonely, abandoned voice of reason that begged me to slow down, to mind my footing, to question whether I was sure I’d heard those small, miserable sobs or if it was an illusion. I had no more time or desire for questions; I was caught up in knowing that my happiness lay just a few steps ahead of me, hiding among the rushes.