Lunar eclipses were a celebrated
thing in Egypt. It meant that the sun god Ra was prevailing in its ongoing
struggle with the lesser deity of the moon. Solar eclipses, on the other hand,
were considered a bad omen. They demonstrated that Ra had weakened and almost
succumbed to the assaults of his enemy. The former indicated good fortune for
the empire, the latter was a harbinger of evil things in the world. While an
exact system of calculating the occurrences of these cosmological phenomena had
yet to be perfected, the royal astronomers, the most elite scholars in their
field, knew that Ra only lost on an infrequent basis.
Thus, the unexpected appearance of
a solar eclipse at this particular point in time, so soon after another that
happened a few years beforehand, was a terrifying thing to behold. Even more
so, given the fact that the eclipse did not clear up within a few minutes as
eclipses had always done in the past.
At midday, the time period
normally associated with the hottest, most scorching temperatures of the spring
season, the sun started to grow dim. A wave of cool air blew throughout Egypt,
and the collective shiver of the populace was palpable around the entire
empire. Confused at the unexpected drop in temperature, everyone ran outdoors
to discover the source of the disturbance. To their shock, what normally would
have been a bright noontime, with the sun hovering at its apex, was a quickly
becoming more akin to dusk when the sun set at the end of each day. The sun
wasn’t descending to its usual resting place, but it was very visibly losing
strength at an alarmingly rapid rate.
Soon the sun had vanished from the
sky, and the stars became visible as though it were the middle of the night.
Though the unforeseen astronomic occurrence was bewildering, the shock began to
wear off, and the people figured the sun would shine again in a short while.
Then the stars began to die.
One by one, the bright specks
glittering throughout the night-like sky flickered and vanished. The people
gasped with every luminary that winked out of existence. It seemed as though a
cloud of black miasma was swallowing the heavens. Lastly, the moon itself
wavered and was consumed by the spreading darkness.
Panic quickly set in, and the
people stumbled over one another in their haste to return to their homes to
fetch any candles or torches they had available. Of course, the upper class
were least affected by this turn of events, since their wealth allowed them to
purchase large amounts of high quality sources of artificial light. Pharaoh
Ramses II quickly stepped in, decreeing an official government imposed
rationing of candles. The Royal stock of candles was distributed among the
poorer Egyptians, and large amounts were confiscated from aristocratic families
and reallocated to needier residents of the empire.
Of course, as the unnatural
blackout continued, candle supplies dwindled and began to run out. As the week
went on, all the remaining artificial light dried up like ephemeral puddles of
water following a transient desert rain storm. The Egyptian people began to
descend into the pit of despair. Without any means of identifying one another
or their very surroundings, paranoia quickly set in. Men and women across the
empire locked themselves in their homes, afraid of who – or what – might
trespass their private dwellings under cover of the inky darkness.
Increasingly, an attitude of self-preservation infected their minds. Trust
broke down entirely, and soon everyone retreated to whatever personal quarters
they had, avoiding all possible contact with any other human being. How could
you believe that the disembodied voice in the room down the hall was really
your father, wife, or child? Perhaps there were murderers, vandals, and
criminals sulking about seeking mischief, or maybe the Hebrew leader Moses had
summoned some other monstrosity to kill Egyptians when no one could come to
their defense?
Eventually, the nightmares
generated by the waking minds of the Egyptian people were so terrifying that
they could not think of even lifting a finger, lest whatever was out there
detected the motion and attacked. Breathing became difficult, and the people
literally froze in place, wherever they were, unable to move whatsoever.
Just when things seemed to be at
their worst, the sounds of doors opening and rapid footsteps echoed throughout
houses everywhere. Many elderly Egyptians suffered heart attacks from fright
and died standing or sitting wherever they had hidden. The younger, heartier
members of the populace were treated to spectral visitors, noises and voices
that flitted about their homes, opening drawers and cabinets. Out of the gloom
questions were asked regarding their gold and silver, where it was stored, how
it could be accessed, and what it was worth. The interlopers remained but a few
minutes, then vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared.
Thankfully, the soul-consuming
shadows began to recede. Perhaps Ra had finally reasserted his light-giving
powers? Regardless of the reason, the Egyptians breathed a sigh of relief as
their sight and movement were slowly restored. Surprisingly, beyond the
disturbing visitations, no actual harm befell the survivors during their days
spent as statues. When full mobility returned, concerned homeowners ran to
their safes and jewelry boxes to check on their valuables. To their amazement,
nothing had been taken; everything was in exactly the same place as they had
left it.
However, the Egyptian people’s
patience with Ramses and his administration’s negotiations with Moses was
wearing thin. Having endured nine supernatural, punishing wonders thus far,
they had no desire to suffer through another. The Pharaoh’s public statements
began to transform from convincing arguments that drew on national pride in the
face of adversity to mindless assertions of dominance based on principle alone.
The people were not willing to face further bodily harm and possible death
because of Ramses “The Great’s” ballooning ego.
Sentiments of forming a popular uprising against the government began to
percolate throughout Egypt.
~~~
“Hello Egyptian Empire, and welcome to Plague
Watch 2448!” Tut-hak-bur announced.
“That’s right, Tut,” his
co-anchor, Qeela replied. “We’re counting down the minutes until the supposed
tenth and final plague that Moses, the Hebrew slaves’ self-appointed leader,
has proclaimed will befall Egypt.”
“Deeeeeeeath of the first
boooooorn,” Tut-hak-bur waggled his fingers, his voice warbling in a mocking,
spooky tone.
Qeela smacked him on the shoulder,
“Cut that out,” she whispered tersely.
Rubbing his arm, Tut-hak-bur’s
face was a mask of offense. “That hurt, you know.”
“Eet ees eemposseeble!” An
off-screen male voice declared.
Qeela arranged her cue cards and
refocused on the camera. “We sit here with the esteemed, world-renowned expert
and professor of comparative beliefs and religious science, not to mention
chief science advisor to Pharaoh Ramses II, Dr. Muthra Banjiz. The camera’s view shifted to the right, where
a special desk had been added for the live news segment.
A short statured man with a dour face
that was partially obscured by a large, thick monocle, sat ramrod straight at
his desk. He seemed to stare off into space at some point above and behind the
camera, giving him a haughty air of authority and aloofness.
“Eet ees scienteefeecally eemposseeble
for thee entire first born population to die out in a seengle moment. All thee
other so-called “plagues” this charlatan Moses has preedeected have perfectly
seemple scienteefeec explanations,” he pronounced in his high-pitched,
carefully articulated, academic drone.
Dr. Banjiz reached down and lifted a papyrus chart attached to a flat
piece of wood and propped it up on the desktop next to him. He pulled a pointer
from his breast pocket and gestured at the upper left corner of the diagram.
“Heere wee have thee eeneeshul
alleged plague, thee purported “blood” that contaminated thee Nile Reever,” he
indicated a long squiggle that shifted from blue to red as it progressed. “What
actually occurred was a natural happening, which has taken place many, many times,
as reecorded in scienteefic heestoree,” he jutted his chin outward in contempt.
“And what would be that
explanation, doctor?”
Dr. Banjiz turned his nose upward
and adjusted his monocle. “Eet ees extremely
compleecated and far beyond the understanding of thee average viewer,
but I will say een summation that eet has to do weeth the lifecycle of thee
noble barking weasel!” He pointed at a caricature of a small brown rodent
standing next to the pictured blood.
Tut-hak-bur and Qeela exchanged
confused glances.
“At any rate, based on my
scienteefeec background and eenormous level of eentelleegence, I am one hundred
percent certain that no such ‘final’ plague will befall thee Egyptian populace. Eet defies the very essence of science as we know eet.”
Somewhat unconvinced, Qeela smiled
at the camera, “And there you have it folks, straight from the expert!”
Tut-hak-bur coughed into a fist
nervously then turned to his co-anchor. “Well, Qeela, we’re now in the final
moments before the stroke of midnight…” He fell quiet. “By the way,” he said,
his tone perking up, “did I mention I’ve been thinking about converting to the
Hebrew faith?”
Qeela eyes widened and her jaw
dropped, “What are you talking about, Tut?”
“Well,” Tut-hak-bur twiddled his
fingers. “I heard rumors that there was going to be a group consisting of a
mixed multitude of Egyptians from various castes planning on joining up with
the Hebrews when they make their supposed big ‘exodus.’ It kind of sounds like
fun, if you ask me.”
“That ees the seelee-est theeng I
have ever heard!” Dr. Banjiz quipped from off camera.
“What are you afraid of, Tut, are
you a first born or something?” Qeela asked.
“Well,” Tut-hak-bur began, then
paused to take a sip of coffee from his mug. An abrupt “urk” sound emanated
from his mouth and the mug dropped from his grasp and shattered on the news
desk.
“Tut! I just got this back from the washing lady!” Qeela exclaimed in
disgust, dabbing at her wardrobe with a tissue.
Tut-hak-bur began coughing
violently and fell off his chair onto the floor where he writhed spasmodically
while grabbing at his throat. Qeela signaled the station manager who ran out
onto the set to see if Tut-hak-bur was alright. After a moment, he had the
fallen anchor sitting up and helped Tut-hak-bur back to his place at the desk.
“S-sorry!” He choked. “Went down
the wrong pipe.”
~~~
Numa woke up startled, and reached
over to feel the empty side of the bed next to her. Riqtun, her husband, wasn’t
there. She sighed and shook her head scornfully. He was probably in the kitchen
eating a midnight snack, just like the doctor told him not to. After his most
recent health report, Numa repeatedly begged her husband to cut out the
late-night treats. Even if he didn’t
care about his expanding girth, he should at least show some concern for her
sake so that he wouldn’t have a heart attack and leave her a widow.
Determined to nip this bad habit
in the bud, Numa got out of bed and wrapped a robe around her shoulders, tying
the fabric belt in a bow. She removed the small lantern from the alcove outside
their bedroom and crept down the hallway toward the kitchen. She hoped she’d
catch him in the act and get a chance to rub his nose in it a bit.
As she approached the doorway, she
caught a glimpse of the wide-opened pantry and a devious smile formed on her
lips. Numa waited for a moment to compose the wording of her reprimand and
stepped into the kitchen. Her eyes darted back and forth for evidence of her
husband’s proscribed snack. Several half-eaten pieces of bread, along with some
dried meat strips and a half-full mug of date beer sat on the table. Curiously,
Riqtun was nowhere to be found.
“Riq?” She asked, straining to
hear any sounds that might indicate his presence. “Riq, are you in here? Were
you disobeying the doctor’s orders again?” Numa’s voice echoed in the darkness.
As she peered around the room, she felt something compel her to lower her gaze
to the floor. At the edge of the unoccupied chair, she noticed a bare foot that
led to a leg concealed behind the rest of the chair and the table.
“Riq!?” She cried out, dropping
the lantern onto the table and rushing over to her husband’s prone form.
“Riq,
Riq! Are you okay?! What happened!?” His eyes were open, but vacantly stared
upward.
She patted him on the right cheek and was horrified to discover how
cold and clammy his skin felt. Numa jabbed her index and middle finger under
his jaw, but felt no pulse nor did she detect his chest rising or falling.
Gripped by a mixture of dread and
a mounting sense of grief, Numa stood up, grabbed the lantern and ran outside.
She raced to her older brother’s home two houses over to get help.
As soon as she opened the door,
Numa felt as though she had stepped in a mad house. Her sister-in-law Taki was
bawling uncontrollably, while their younger daughter Reja sat on the floor,
cradling the unmoving form of her older brother. Numa’s brother Proq was
collapsed across a couch, limbs splayed out in odd directions.
Numa spun on her heel and raced
back out into the street, sprinting the other way down the block and turned the
corner to reach her eldest son’s home. As she approached, she noticed a single,
sputtering lantern hanging by the doorway, its oil running low. She hurriedly
ducked inside and forced herself to confront the scene that she knew, deep
down, awaited her.
In the bedroom, her
daughter-in-law Bimat kneeled at the edge of the bed, arms spread across her
husband’s unmoving torso. Stricken with anguish, Numa knelt next to Bimat and
placed her shaking arm on the younger woman’s shoulder. They cried together for
a few moments before their sobs gave way to muffled sniffles as each covered
her own mouth with a hand in an attempt to stifle the tears. A mournful silence enveloped them both.
Then Numa heard it: The wailing.
She left her daughter-in-law and ventured outside, where she discovered that
cries are coming from every house on the block and even those beyond her sight.
A cold wind cut through her night robe and a piece of papyrus slapped against
her calf. She bent over to pick it up. It was a gossip newspaper, with hieroglyphs
depicting rumors that Moses claimed his Hebrew deity was going to wipe out the
first-born Egyptian population at the stroke of midnight.
Numa crumpled the papyrus in her
hand, releasing it to the grip of the biting breeze. She stared up at the
cloudless sky, a full moon shining like a ghostly demon, and her own weeping
joined the chorus of moans, cries, and screams filling the nighttime air.
~~~
Suddenly, both anchors held their
hands to their earpieces.
Tut-hak-bur cleared his throat,
“It seems we have a breaking story at the Royal Palace where Pharaoh Ramses the
Great will address the Empire.”
“Our roving reporter, Geg-kon-fil,
is on the scene ready to fill us in on all the details. Fil, are you there?”
“Indeed I am, Tut and Qeela, and I
have to say, the Pharaoh doesn’t look like he’s feeling too well.” The camera
shifted to show a podium affixed with the royal emblem on the front.
Ramses, dressed in crocodile skin
pajamas, looked frantic. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his breathing was visibly
erratic. After a moment’s hesitation, he wiped the perspiration with the back
of his hand and stared straight into the cameras.
“Moses, you win.”
“What did he say? Did he just say
what I think he said?!” Qeela asked, shocked. Tut-hak-bur shushed her.
Pharaoh took another labored
breath. “Do you hear me, Moses? You win. Your G-d has defeated me.” He again
dabbed at his face, this time with a kerchief provided by an attendant.
“Take your people. All of them,”
he spoke haltingly. “Just go,” he waved his hand weakly in a dismissive
gesture. Ramses swallowed hard and scanned the gathered reporters and their
crew.
Then Pharaoh’s eyes rolled upward,
flashing their whiteness, and he collapsed. The camera view became shaky as
people rushed in toward the fallen monarch
“It appears that Pharoah has
fainted!” Geg-kol-fil shouted above the clamor, as guards ushered in medical
team led by the royal physician. “The palace media supervisor is ordering all
cameras and microphones to be shut off, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep-”
the reporter’s voice gave way to static and the footage went dark.
Back in the studio, Tut-hak-bur
and Qeela seemed at a loss for words. The director waved at them from behind
the camera and cleared his throat noisily. Both of them looked up and regained
their focus.
“We’ll keep you updated on the
Pharaoh’s condition,” Qeela began.
“Along with the unfolding events
surrounding the Hebrews’ impending departure,” Tut-hak-bur interjected.
“…As soon as we receive more
information,” Qeela concluded.
Silence filled the studio, and no
one seemed to know what to do next.
“Well… goodnight,” Tut-hak-bur
forced his brightest smile. Qeela somberly nodded.
The broadcast faded to black.
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