Death Comes as the End. Агата Кристи

for you, Kait, you have no courtesy, you don’t even listen to what I say—you do not reply—your manners are atrocious.’

      ‘The blue cushion has always been mine … Oh look at little Ankh—she is trying to walk …’

      ‘You are as stupid as your children, Kait, and that is saying a good deal! But you shall not get out of it like this. I will have my rights, I tell you.’

      Renisenb started as a quiet footfall sounded behind her. She turned with a start and with the old, familiar feeling of dislike at seeing the woman Henet standing behind her.

      Henet’s thin face was twisted into its usual half-cringing smile.

      ‘Things haven’t changed much, you’ll be thinking, Renisenb,’ she said. ‘How we all bear Satipy’s tongue, I don’t know! Of course, Kait can answer back. Some of us aren’t so fortunate! I know my place, I hope—and my gratitude to your father for giving me a home and food and clothing. Ah, he’s a good man, your father. And I’ve always tried to do what I can. I’m always working—giving a hand here and a hand there—and I don’t expect thanks or gratitude. If your dear mother had lived it would have been different. She appreciated me. Like sisters we were! A beautiful woman she was. Well, I’ve done my duty and kept my promise to her. “Look after the children, Henet,” she said when she was dying. And I’ve been faithful to my word. Slaved for you all, I have, and never wanted thanks. Neither asked for them nor got them! “It’s only old Henet,” people say, “she doesn’t count.” Nobody thinks anything of me. Why should they? I just try and be helpful, that’s all.’

      She slipped like an eel under Renisenb’s arm and entered the inner room.

      ‘About these cushions, you’ll excuse me, Satipy, but I happened to hear Sobek say—’

      Renisenb moved away. Her old dislike of Henet surged up. Funny how they all disliked Henet! It was her whining voice, her continual self-pity and the occasional malicious pleasure she took in fanning the flames of a discussion.

      ‘Oh well,’ thought Renisenb, ‘why not?’ It was, she supposed, Henet’s way of amusing herself. Life must be dreary for her—and it was true that she worked like a drudge and that no one was ever grateful. You couldn’t be grateful to Henet—she drew attention to her own merits so persistently that it chilled any generous response you might have felt.

      Henet, thought Renisenb, was one of those people whose fate it is to be devoted to others and to have no one devoted to them. She was unattractive to look at, and stupid as well. Yet she always knew what was going on. Her noiseless way of walking, her sharp ears, and her quick peering eyes made it a certainty that nothing could long be a secret from her. Sometimes she hugged her knowledge to herself—at other times she would go around from one person to another, whispering, and standing back delightedly to observe the results of her tale-telling.

      At one time or another everyone in the household had begged Imhotep to get rid of Henet, but Imhotep would never hear of such a thing. He was perhaps the only person who was fond of her; and she repaid his patronage with a fulsome devotion that the rest of the family found quite nauseating.

      Renisenb stood uncertainly for a moment, listening to the accelerated clamour of her sisters-in-law, fanned by the flame of Henet’s interference, then she went slowly towards the small room where her grandmother, Esa, sat by herself, attended by two little black slave girls. She was busy now inspecting certain linen garments that they were displaying to her and scolding them in a characteristic, friendly fashion.

      Yes, it was all the same. Renisenb stood, unnoticed, listening. Old Esa had shrunk a little, that was all. But her voice was the same and the things that she was saying were the same, word for word, almost, as Renisenb could remember them before she herself had left home eight years ago …

      Renisenb slipped out again. Neither the old woman nor the two little black slave girls had noticed her. For a moment or two Renisenb paused by the open kitchen door. A smell of roasting ducks, a lot of talking and laughing and scolding all going on at once; a mound of vegetables waiting to be prepared.

      Renisenb stood quite still, her eyes half closed. From where she stood she could hear everything going on at once. The rich, varied noises of the kitchen, the high, shrill note of old Esa’s voice, the strident tones of Satipy and, very faintly, the deeper, persistent contralto of Kait. A babel of women’s voices—chattering, laughing, complaining, scolding, exclaiming …

      And suddenly Renisenb felt stifled, encircled by this persistent and clamorous femininity. Women—noisy, vociferous women! A houseful of women—never quiet, never peaceful—always talking, exclaiming, saying things—not doing them!

      And Khay—Khay silent and watchful in his boat, his whole mind bent on the fish he was going to spear …

      None of this clack of tongues, this busy, incessant fussiness.

      Renisenb went swiftly out of the house again into hot, clear stillness. She saw Sobek coming back from the fields and saw in the distance Yahmose going up towards the Tomb.

      She turned away and took the path up to the limestone cliffs where the Tomb was. It was the Tomb of the great Noble Meriptah and her father was the mortuary priest responsible for its upkeep. All the estate and land was part of the endowment of the Tomb.

      When her father was away the duties of the ka-priest fell upon her brother Yahmose. When Renisenb, walking slowly up the steep path, arrived, Yahmose was in consultation with Hori, her father’s man of business and affairs, in a little rock chamber next door to the offering chamber of the Tomb.

      Hori had a sheet of papyrus spread out on his knees and Yahmose and he were bending over it.

      Both Yahmose and Hori smiled at Renisenb when she arrived and she sat down near them in a patch of shade. She had always been very fond of her brother Yahmose. He was gentle and affectionate to her and had a mild and kindly disposition. Hori, too, had always been gravely kind to the small Renisenb and had sometimes mended her toys for her. He had been a grave, silent young man when she went away, with sensitive, clever fingers. Renisenb thought that though he looked older he had changed hardly at all. The grave smile he gave her was just the same as she remembered.

      Yahmose and Hori were murmuring together:

      ‘Seventy-three bushels of barley with Ipi the younger …’

      ‘The total then is two hundred and thirty of spelt and one hundred and twenty of barley.’

      ‘Yes, but there is the price of the timber, and the crop was paid for in oil at Perhaa …’

      Their talk went on. Renisenb sat drowsily content with the men’s murmuring voices as a background. Presently Yahmose got up and went away, handing back the roll of papyrus to Hori.

      Renisenb sat on in a companionable silence.

      Presently she touched a roll of papyrus and asked: ‘Is that from my father?’

      Hori nodded.

      ‘What does he say?’ she asked curiously.

      She unrolled it and stared at those marks that were meaningless to her untutored eyes.

      Smiling a little, Hori leaned over her shoulder and traced with his finger as he read. The letter was couched in the ornate style of the professional letter writer of Heracleopolis.

       ‘The Servant of the Estate, the Ka servant Imhotep says:

       ‘May your condition be like that of one who lives a million times. May the God Herishaf, Lord of Heracleopolis and all the Gods that are aid you. May the God Ptah gladden your heart as one who lives long. The son speaks to his mother, the Ka servant to his mother Esa. How are you in your life, safety and health? To the whole household, how are you? To my son Yahmose, how are you in your life, safety and health? Make the most of my land. Strive to the uttermost, dig the ground with your noses in the work. See, if you are industrious I will praise God for you—’

      Renisenb