Chapter Twelve
For several days Nut makes bricks out of mud and straw. He presses them in a mold and sets them in the sun to dry. The bricks are to build a new bathhouse for the King. Nut does not look at the women who walk by. He does not want to get his manhood cut off. Yet he still thinks of Inni.
Ben-jah comes to the bathhouse. He inspects Nut’s poorly made bricks and his cracked and bleeding hands. “This will not do,” he says. “Follow me.”
Ben-jah leads Nut down a long hallway. Then another. Nut follows blindly through corridor after corridor. Eventually they pause at a doorway.
Ben-jah says, “From now on, you will sleep here. Tomorrow I will come for you. You will work in the King’s gardens. There will also be times when you will serve at the King’s festivals. You will find this more pleasant than making bricks.”
Ben-jah slides the bolt on the door and opens it. He points inside. “You will sleep in here with Ali-Ganj.”
Nut looks inside. It is a small, square room with a tall ceiling. The afternoon light filters down from a single window high on the far wall. There are two straw-covered pallets on the floor. There is little else, other than an unusual object hanging from a peg on the wall. Nut asks, “What is that?”
“It is called a lyre,” says Ben-Jah. “Ali-Ganj is one of the King’s musicians. But mostly he tends to the King’s gardens. There he will tell you what you need to know. In my absence, you will obey him.”
Ben-jah grasps Nut’s shoulders and looks him squarely in the eyes. He speaks quietly, deliberately. “Ali-Ganj is from beyond the land of Elam, far to the east. At times he may say strange things to you, but take no heed. He is harmless. Mostly.”
* * *
The gardens are breathtaking. Flower petals drift down from the trees and carpet the winding paths. Elegant bridges span canals with manicured banks. It is all wonderfully arranged. Everywhere that Nut turns he sees amazing plants. There are bushes that look like fire. Tall grasses wave like fluffy foxtails. Trees groan beneath bulbous clusters of fruit. Vines are adorned with blossoms in colors beyond understanding. And everywhere water trickles from the corners of the terraces, while high overhead towering palms with their immense fronds shade out the blazing sun. It is a paradise in the desert.
Ali-Ganj teaches Nut how to maintain the ditches and canals. And how to divert the sluices to keep the cisterns full. And how to operate the waterwheels. But mostly he talks about the plants. He shows Nut what is good to eat — figs and grapes and dates, of course, as well as quince and pear and plums, and almonds and pistachio nuts, and many more. But he is quick to point out those seductive fruits that are attractive but are poisonous. In solemn moments — Ali-Ganj, or simply Ganj as he prefers to be called — takes Nut aside and reveals the secret, mystical names of various plants and their personal magic.
Nut understands the lives of plants and he learns quickly.
* * *
Each evening as the sun is setting, after working in the gardens all day, Nut and Ganj return to their quarters. They sit on their pallets and eat from a pot of barley gruel.
Ganj takes the lyre from the pegs on the wall and strums. Nut lies back on his bed of straw. He looks up at the window high above. The horned moon comes into view.
Nut asks Ganj why the world is both marvelous and terrifying.
* * *
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[Go to Part Four​]