Employment - A story for Prompt 3 - Intaglio
EMPLOYMENT
I was choking on the darkness; it almost had texture despite the torches casting pitiful flickering light upon the walls. Torches had to be minimal in these lower chambers; the air would be unbreathable quickly if we had better lighting.
In the upper rooms, angled mirrors brought Amun Ra’s light into the depths. However, even the great God’s power could only move so far into the Underworld's darkness, and in the lowest chambers of the tomb, the darkness reigned, closing in on all sides. The sunlit fields of the afterlife seemed immeasurably distant from the reality awaiting those of us working in the tomb.
My assigned job is here, in the lowest chamber, and the mirrors had lost their power for light many ladders and barriers ago.
* * * * *
As a child, I had worked on the Pharoah’s tomb for multiple floodings, but the Foreman saw skill in my drawings on the riverbank and recommended my being sent to school to learn the craft of being a scribe. My family called upon their relatives and scraped enough together to allow me to journey to the capital and learn the art of writing. At my teacher’s feet, I learned to fashion the characters of the Gods and the various prayers written and used by the priests. They would recite the prayers for the devout, often leaving a copy of the prayer with them if their donations and gifts made at the altars were generous. Primary among these prayers were those for the dead, spoken to aid them in passing through the dangers of the Afterlife. The goal of the sacred words was to assist the deceased through the perils of the underworld until they finally arrived in the lands of plenty. There, their ushabti would do all of the work for them while they lived a well-deserved life of leisure.
While I worked by lamplight on scraped skins and finally on precious papyrus, my father worked as a laborer on Pharoah’s tomb, helping to carve each room out of the living rock, chip by chip. My father had been young when the first chambers were hewn from the rock. He died of the coughing sickness while a middle-aged man. I left my position and duties to return to the settlement of my birth. The Supervisor assumed, since I was the oldest son, I would take over my father’s position to help make Pharoah’s tomb a safe place for his khet to reside for eternity.
Indeed, helping to free rooms from the rock seemed to be my task, as assigned by the Supervisor of Construction. After a moon, however, one of the other supervisors discovered me at communal firelight after the evening meal, writing a prayer for one of the village men. He pulled me aside and questioned me. My answers must have satisfied him, because the next day I was no longer a member of the construction crew but was told to report to the Supervisor of the Lower Chambers. After descending and speaking with him, he asked me to chip a quick relief of Isis and Horus on a nearby flat stone. Based on that interview and carving, I was reassigned. My new position was to work in the lowest burial chamber. The walls and ceiling would be covered with prayers from the Book of the Dead, prayers that would assist Pharoah during his journey through the afterlife.
Pharoah has been great - extending our borders, bringing riches to our people, and fashioning a treaty of peace with our long-time enemies, a treaty allowing both peoples to prosper. The Gods looked upon his efforts with approval, bringing the annual floods in good time and with the proper amount of water, not too much, nor too little. During Pharoah’s long reign, there has been no famine nor natural disasters. I felt honored to assist such a great Pharoah in some little part.
* * * * *
I had trained for many years for this moment, but still I hesitated for a moment before gripping my chisel and hammer stone. After a deep breath and a silent prayer to Thoth and Seshat, I began my labor. I looked once more at the red outlines of the text the Priests had chosen to be carved into the living rock, raised my hammer stone and struck. I would honor and celebrate Pharaoh with each stroke and thank him for the opportunity to use my skills as a scribe on his behalf.
The long wall ahead of me is covered with images from the Book of the Dead. It stretches before me, seemingly never ending. I have found my own life’s work.
Author's Note:
The Egyptian beliefs of the early Dynasties told that the heart of the dead would be weighed in judgment overseen by Anubis. If the heart was heavier than the feather of Maat, a monstrous creature would eat the heart and death would be final and complete. If it was lighter than the feather of Maat, the soul would move on and attempt to cross to the land of the Undead, making it's' way through the dangers of the afterlife. It was a difficult journey, and many would not reach the beauties of the Underworld's end. If successful, the dead would live in a land of great beauty, wanting for nothing.
The ushabti mentioned above are small replicas of people, usually stylized from clay. They would volunteer to do any assigned work the deceased was responsible for. I've told my husband many times that I'd better have the full complement of ushabti with me when I die. I refuse to work my fingers to the bone in the afterworld. LOL
The highly decorated tombs of the well-to-do and of course, Pharaoh, were often decorated with intaglio carvings. Of course, they were not called that - Italian was not a language in the early BC years of this tale. The technique, however named, is stunning. The hieroglyphics and pictures from the Book of the Dead were carved into the rock walls and ceiling, then painted in bright, beautiful colors.
I was choking on the darkness; it almost had texture despite the torches casting pitiful flickering light upon the walls. Torches had to be minimal in these lower chambers; the air would be unbreathable quickly if we had better lighting.
In the upper rooms, angled mirrors brought Amun Ra’s light into the depths. However, even the great God’s power could only move so far into the Underworld's darkness, and in the lowest chambers of the tomb, the darkness reigned, closing in on all sides. The sunlit fields of the afterlife seemed immeasurably distant from the reality awaiting those of us working in the tomb.
My assigned job is here, in the lowest chamber, and the mirrors had lost their power for light many ladders and barriers ago.
* * * * *
As a child, I had worked on the Pharoah’s tomb for multiple floodings, but the Foreman saw skill in my drawings on the riverbank and recommended my being sent to school to learn the craft of being a scribe. My family called upon their relatives and scraped enough together to allow me to journey to the capital and learn the art of writing. At my teacher’s feet, I learned to fashion the characters of the Gods and the various prayers written and used by the priests. They would recite the prayers for the devout, often leaving a copy of the prayer with them if their donations and gifts made at the altars were generous. Primary among these prayers were those for the dead, spoken to aid them in passing through the dangers of the Afterlife. The goal of the sacred words was to assist the deceased through the perils of the underworld until they finally arrived in the lands of plenty. There, their ushabti would do all of the work for them while they lived a well-deserved life of leisure.
While I worked by lamplight on scraped skins and finally on precious papyrus, my father worked as a laborer on Pharoah’s tomb, helping to carve each room out of the living rock, chip by chip. My father had been young when the first chambers were hewn from the rock. He died of the coughing sickness while a middle-aged man. I left my position and duties to return to the settlement of my birth. The Supervisor assumed, since I was the oldest son, I would take over my father’s position to help make Pharoah’s tomb a safe place for his khet to reside for eternity.
Indeed, helping to free rooms from the rock seemed to be my task, as assigned by the Supervisor of Construction. After a moon, however, one of the other supervisors discovered me at communal firelight after the evening meal, writing a prayer for one of the village men. He pulled me aside and questioned me. My answers must have satisfied him, because the next day I was no longer a member of the construction crew but was told to report to the Supervisor of the Lower Chambers. After descending and speaking with him, he asked me to chip a quick relief of Isis and Horus on a nearby flat stone. Based on that interview and carving, I was reassigned. My new position was to work in the lowest burial chamber. The walls and ceiling would be covered with prayers from the Book of the Dead, prayers that would assist Pharoah during his journey through the afterlife.
Pharoah has been great - extending our borders, bringing riches to our people, and fashioning a treaty of peace with our long-time enemies, a treaty allowing both peoples to prosper. The Gods looked upon his efforts with approval, bringing the annual floods in good time and with the proper amount of water, not too much, nor too little. During Pharoah’s long reign, there has been no famine nor natural disasters. I felt honored to assist such a great Pharoah in some little part.
* * * * *
I had trained for many years for this moment, but still I hesitated for a moment before gripping my chisel and hammer stone. After a deep breath and a silent prayer to Thoth and Seshat, I began my labor. I looked once more at the red outlines of the text the Priests had chosen to be carved into the living rock, raised my hammer stone and struck. I would honor and celebrate Pharaoh with each stroke and thank him for the opportunity to use my skills as a scribe on his behalf.
The long wall ahead of me is covered with images from the Book of the Dead. It stretches before me, seemingly never ending. I have found my own life’s work.
Author's Note:
The Egyptian beliefs of the early Dynasties told that the heart of the dead would be weighed in judgment overseen by Anubis. If the heart was heavier than the feather of Maat, a monstrous creature would eat the heart and death would be final and complete. If it was lighter than the feather of Maat, the soul would move on and attempt to cross to the land of the Undead, making it's' way through the dangers of the afterlife. It was a difficult journey, and many would not reach the beauties of the Underworld's end. If successful, the dead would live in a land of great beauty, wanting for nothing.
The ushabti mentioned above are small replicas of people, usually stylized from clay. They would volunteer to do any assigned work the deceased was responsible for. I've told my husband many times that I'd better have the full complement of ushabti with me when I die. I refuse to work my fingers to the bone in the afterworld. LOL
The highly decorated tombs of the well-to-do and of course, Pharaoh, were often decorated with intaglio carvings. Of course, they were not called that - Italian was not a language in the early BC years of this tale. The technique, however named, is stunning. The hieroglyphics and pictures from the Book of the Dead were carved into the rock walls and ceiling, then painted in bright, beautiful colors.