Collected Poems by Anthony Burgess (best e ink reader for manga txt) 📕

of slavery.’ An elder shook his head:

‘If you say there is one God, then it is this

One God that has sold us into slavery.’ And another:

‘Or else one could say that there are at least two Gods –

One to enslave and one to free. And to have two Gods

Is the beginning of having many gods. So we are back where we started.’

Aaron cried: ‘No. Not that. Cannot you see

That our God may have let the wicked work on the innocent,

The enslavers enslave the enslaved? God will in no wise

Interfere if he sees not fit to do so.

Is this our bondage not perhaps a test,

A proving of our right to be the

Chosen of God?’ An elder said: ‘Unconvincing.

I am unconvinced.’ Caleb, another of the young,

Spoke boldly: ‘There are weapons other than

Bows and battering-rams and pitchballs.

There are bricks and mattocks. There are muscles.’ –

‘Fools, fools’, cried Aaron. ‘Egypt is the world.

Only the maker of the earth and sun and stars

Can prevail over Egypt. God is our way, God.

And our way to God is through him.’ Head-shakings.

‘His that is come.’ Wistfully one old man said:

‘Free to leave Egypt. We are all, I fear,

Growing too old for that kind of freedom.’ But Joshua,

A trumpet to that plaintive piping, said: ‘We

Will help you to courage. None is too old to be free.

We, the young.’ Head-shakings still: ‘I am not convinced.’ –

‘Nor I. Very far from convinced. Convinced. Nor I.’

In the house of Aaron, at sunset, a ceremony,

A celebration: the bathing and clothing of Moses

For his visit to the Pharaoh. It was women’s work,

And they sang, bringing water from the well, a song of water,

How water would yield to man, but only so far,

Water as flood or river or sea, never yield.

And Moses, smiling in a fodder-trough turned to a bath,

Was laved by his sister, who said, clucking: ‘So dirty.

It seems you carry the dirt of a twelvemonth journey.’

And Moses: ‘Dirty or not. You knew that. It was I.’

Nodding, ‘I knew. I will always know. Remember your name:

It means I have brought him forth. And the I means I.’ –

‘And yet you do not’, he said. ‘Know me. We have had

No youth together. Have not rejoiced. In each

Other’s marriage. Or children. Though I can rejoice in

Your children now. If only I can find out

Which they are. Ah, I know. You are Lia.’ –

‘No’, said the child. ‘I am Rachel.’ Miriam said:

‘There, that is Lia.’ And then: ‘My husband died

Soon after she was born. Soon after our mother…’

And Moses, sighing: ‘Yes. Before I had time. To know them.

Both dead. Too many dead. Before the promise.’

Miriam, brisk to his sudden melancholy: ‘When do I meet

Your wife? Your son?’ Moses, brightening: ‘They will be

Waiting for us. On the way. To the land. A long

Long journey. And we,’ in gloom again, ‘are not yet even

In the way of being able. To start on the journey.

My first. Door out of Egypt. Is a door into the

Very core and temple and shrine. Of Egypt. Pharaoh

Must be asked. Then begged. Then entreated. Then

Threatened. Then the threats. Must start to be

Fulfilled.’ Miriam said softly: ‘It will be a hard time.’ –

‘Ah’, said Moses, brightening, ‘you are Elisa.’ –

‘No’, the child said, ‘I am Rachel. I

Told you I was Rachel.’ Moses begged graceful pardon,

Then said: ‘Hard? It will, I fear, be a hard time

For all the innocent. It is always the innocent who

Must suffer first. We sacrifice a lamb.

Not a crocodile. One of the great mysteries.’

Then he turned to women’s noises of pride, pleasure,

And saw what they had drawn forth from a hiding-place –

Cleaned but worn, ravagings of moth and white ant

But poorly disguised, that former princely robe,

Robe of a lord of Egypt. The smiles turned to pain

And puzzlement when he thundered ‘No’ at them.

‘No’, he thundered, ‘I go as an Israelite.

I go. As what I am.’ And so he went

In the summer evening, in a pilgrim’s jerkin,

His old rough cloak, carrying his staff, to the palace.

At first they tried to beat him away but he said:

‘Moses. My name is Moses. Formerly a prince.

And still cousin to the king. I am expected.’

So he was half-bowed in, in puzzlement, and was expected

In the room where the models of treasure-cities,

Grain-cities, were built. A new rich project gleamed

Among torches, candles, gold effigies, effigies,

Rich on the walls. Then Pharaoh entered, softly,

Alone, with the face Moses remembered, a clever face

Though hard (and it must learn, he sighed, to soften),

And Pharaoh said: ‘Is it you? Is it really you?’

Moses smiled. ‘I fear. I can give you. No

Proof of. Who I am.’ But Pharaoh: ‘The voice is enough.

Everything else has changed. But the voice, no.

That sudden cutting off between phrases, as if

Speech were sometimes being whipped out of you.

Moses. Cousin Moses. You look,’ smiling, ‘like a

Very poor relation, if I may say so.’ Moses said:

‘You summoned me back to Egypt. I did not come.

Now I am come in my own time. But tell me why

You summoned me.’ Pharaoh said: ‘Simple. I could not

Forget you easily. Others I forgot –

Streams of courtiers, glorying in self-abasement,

Wise men, men who were called wise, sycophants,

Relations, none of them poor relations. A time came

When I felt homesick for you – you, the cousin

Who taught me, against his will, how to hunt gazelle.

The enigmatic prince of my boyhood. I must have been

A most unlikely boy. I was, of course,

Too young to use you.’ Moses said: ‘And now

You are old enough.’ – “Old enough. Also, smiling,

‘Master of the world, of the sacred blood of Horus,

Blood that, the poets write, is knitted from the stars.

Divine and holy, wholly divine, cousin Moses.

Gods work through men. And gods need men

Who know what godhead is. Do you still listen

To the voices of bats at nightfall?’ Moses said:

‘In the desert there are many voices. Voices

I had not. Heard in Egypt.’ – ‘You did not hear

My voice calling you? Or any voice

That spoke of me?’ Moses said: ‘Yes. I did.’ –

‘A human voice?’ said Pharaoh. And Moses: ‘No.

No human. Not a. Human voice.’ Pharaoh fingered

An ornament, gold-chained, dangling from his neck, saying:

‘Voices of the desert.