THE BOAT OF RA
Tua, Star of Amen, opened her eyes. For some time already she had lain
as one lies between sleep and waking, and it seemed to her that she
heard the sound of dipping oars, and of water that rippled gently
against the sides of a ship. She thought to herself that she dreamed.
Doubtless she was in her bed in the palace at Thebes, and presently,
when it was light, her ladies would come to waken her.
In the palace at Thebes! Why, now she remembered that it was months
since she had seen that royal city, she who had travelled far since
then, and come at last to white-walled Memphis, where many terrible
things had befallen her. One by one they came into her mind; the snare,
Pharaoh’s murder by magic, the battle, and the slaughter of her guards,
the starvation in the tower, with death on one hand, and the hateful Abi
on the other; the wondrous vision of that spirit who wore her face, and
said she was the guardian Ka given to her at birth, the words it spoke,
and her dread resolve; and last of all Asti and herself standing in
the lofty window niche, then a flame of fire before her face, and that
fearful downward rush.
Oh! without a doubt it was over; she was dead, and these dreams and
memories were such as come to the dwellers in the Under-world. Only then
why did she hear the sound of lapping water, and of dipping oars?
Very slowly she opened her eyes, for Tua greatly feared what she might
see. Light flowed upon her, the light of the moon which hung in a clear
sky like some great lamp of gold. By it she saw that, robed all in
white, she lay upon a couch in a pavilion, whereof the silken curtains
were drawn back in front, and tied to gilded posts. At her side, wrapped
in a grey robe, lay another figure, which she knew for Asti. It was
still, so still that she was sure it must be dead, yet she knew that
this was Asti. Perchance Asti dreamed also, and could hear in her
dreams; at least, she would speak to her.
“Asti,” she whispered, “Asti, can you hear me?”
The grey figure at her side stirred, and the head turned towards her.
Then the voice of Asti, none other, answered:
“Aye, Lady, I hear and see. But say, where are we now?”
“In the Under-world, I think, Asti. Oh! that fire was death, and now we
journey to the Place of Souls.”
“If so, Lady, it is strange that we should still have eyes and flesh and
voices as mortal women have. Let us sit up and look.”
So they sat up, their arms about each other, and peered through the open
curtains. Behold! they were on a ship more beautiful than any they had
ever seen, for it seemed to be covered with gold and silver, while sweet
odours floated from its hold. Their pavilion was set in the centre of
the ship and looking aft, they perceived lines of white-clad rowers
seated at their oars in the shadow of the bulwarks, and on the high
stern--also robed in white--a tall steersman whose face was veiled,
behind whom in the dim glimpses of the moon, they caught sight of a wide
and silvery river, and on its distant banks palms and temple towers.
“It is the Boat of Ra,” murmured Tua, “which bears us down the River of
Death to the Kingdom behind the Sun.”
Then she sank back upon her cushions, and once more fell into swoon or
sleep.
Tua woke again, and lo! the sun was shining brightly, and at her side
sat Asti watching her. Moreover, in front of them was set a table spread
with delicate food.
“Tell me what has chanced, Nurse,” she said faintly, “for I am
bewildered, and know not in what world we wander.”
“Our own, Queen, I think,” answered Asti, “but in charge of those who
are not of it, for surely this is no mortal boat, nor do mortals guide
her to her port. Come, we need food. Let us eat while we may.”
So they ate and drank heartily enough, and when they had finished even
dared to go out of the pavilion. Looking around them they saw that they
stood upon a high deck in the midst of a great ship, but that this ship
was enclosed with a net of silver cords in which they could find no
opening. Looking through its meshes they noted that the oars were
inboard, and the great purple sails set upon the mast, also that the
rowers were gone, perchance to rest beneath the deck, while on the
forecastle of the ship stood the captain, white-robed and masked, and
aft the steersman, also still masked, so that they could see nothing of
their faces. Now, too, they were no longer sailing on a river, but down
a canal bordered by banks of sand on either side, beyond which stretched
desert farther than the eye could reach.
Asti studied the desert, then turned and said:
“I think I know this canal, Lady, for once I sailed it as a child. I
think it is that which was dug by the Pharaohs of old, and repaired
after the fall of the Hyksos kings, and that it runs from Bubastis to
that bay down which wanderers sail towards the rising sun.”
“Mayhap,” answered Tua. “At least, this is the world that bore us and no
other, and by the mercy of Amen and the power of my Spirit we are still
alive, and not dead, or so it seems. Call now to the captain on yonder
deck; perhaps he will tell whither he bears us in his magic ship.”
So Asti called, but the captain made no sign that he saw or heard her.
Next she called to the steersman, but although his veiled face was
towards them, he also made no sign, so that at last they believed either
that these were spirits or that they were men born deaf and dumb. In the
end, growing weary of staring at this beautiful ship, at the canal and
the desert beyond it, and of wondering where they were, and how they
came thither, they returned to the pavilion to avoid the heat of the
sun. Here they found that during their absence some hand unseen had
arranged the silken bed-clothing on their couches and cleared away the
fragments of their meal, resetting the beautiful table with other foods.
“Truly here is wizardry at work,” said Tua, as she sank into a
leather-seated ivory chair that was placed ready.
“Who doubts it?” answered Asti calmly. “By wizardry were you born; by
wizardry was Pharaoh slain; by wizardry we are saved to an end that we
cannot guess; by wizardry, or what men so name, does the whole world
move; only being so near we see it not.”
Tua thought a while, then said:
“Well, this golden ship is better than the sty of Abi the hog, nor do I
believe that we journey to no purpose. Still I wonder what that spirit
who named herself my Ka does on the throne of Egypt; also how we came on
board this boat, and whither we sail.”
“Wonder not, for all these things we shall learn in due season, and for
my part, although I hate him I am sorry for Abi,” answered Asti drily.
So they sat there in the pavilion watching the desert, over the sands
of which their ship seemed to move, till at length the sun grew low,
and they went to walk upon the deck. Then they returned to eat of the
delicious food that was always provided for them in such plenty, and at
nightfall sought their couches, and slept heavily, for they needed rest.
When they awoke again, it was daylight, though no sun shone through the
skies, and their vessel rolled onward across a wide and sullen sea out
of sight of land. Also the silken pavilion about them was gone, and
replaced by a cabin of massive cedar wood, though of this, being sated
with marvels, Tua and Asti took little note. Indeed, having neither of
them been on an angry ocean before, a strange dizziness overcame them,
which caused them to sleep much and think little for three whole days
and nights.
At length, one evening as the sun sank, they perceived that the violent
motion of the vessel had ceased with the roaring of the gale above,
which for all this while had driven them onward at such fearful speed.
Venturing from their cedar house, they saw that they had entered the
mouth of a great river upon the banks of which grew enormous trees that
sent out long crooked roots into the water, and that among these roots
crouched crocodiles and other noisome reptiles. Also the white-robed
oarsmen had appeared again, and, as there was no wind, rowed the ship up
the river, till at length they came to a spit of sand which jutted out
into the stream, and here cast anchor.
Now Tua’s and Asti’s desire for food returned to them, and they ate.
Just as they had finished their meal, and the sun was sinking suddenly,
there appeared before them two masked men, each of whom bore a basket
in his hand. Asti began to question them, but like the captain and
the steersman, they seemed to be deaf and dumb. At least they made no
answer, only prostrated themselves humbly, and pointed towards the shore
where now Tua saw a fire burning on a rock, though who had lit it she
did not know.
“They mean us to leave the ship,” said Asti. “Come, Queen, let us follow
our fortunes, for doubtless these are high.”
“As you will,” answered Tua, “seeing that we should scarcely have been
brought here to no end.”
So they accompanied the men to the side of that splendid vessel, for now
the netting that confined them had been removed, to find that a gangway
had been laid from its bulwark to the shore. As they stepped on to
this gangway their masked companions handed to each of them one of the
baskets, then again bowed humbly and were gone. Soon they gained the
bank, and scarcely had their feet touched it when the gangway was
withdrawn, and the great oars began to beat the muddy water.
Round swung the ship, and for a minute hung in midstream. There stood
the captain on the foredeck, and there was the steersman at the helm,
and the red light of the sinking sun turned them into figures of flame.
Suddenly with a simultaneous motion these men tore off their masks so
that for a moment Asti and Tua saw their faces--and behold! the face of
the captain was the face of Pharaoh, Tua’s father, and the face of the
steersman was the face of Mermes, Asti’s husband.
For one moment only did they see them, then a dark cloud hid the dying
sun, and when it passed that ship was gone, whither they knew not.
The two women looked at each other, and for the first time were much
afraid.
“Truly,” said Tua, “we are haunted if ever mortals were, for yonder ship
has ghosts for mariners.”
“Aye, Lady,” answered Asti, “so have I thought from the first. Still,
take heart, for these ghosts once were men who loved us well, and
doubtless they love us still. Be sure that for no ill purpose have we
been snatched out of the hand of Abi, and brought living and unharmed by
the shades of Pharaoh your sire, and Mermes my husband, to this secret
shore. See, yonder burns a fire, let us go to it, and await what may
befall bravely, knowing that at least it can be naught but good.”
So they went to the rock and, darkness being come, sat themselves down
by the fire, alongside of which lay wood for its replenishment, and near
the wood soft robes of camel-hair to shield them from the cold.
These robes they put on with thankfulness, and, having fed the flame,
bethought them of and opened the baskets which were given to them when
they left the ship. The first basket, that which Asti held, they found
to contain food, cakes, dried meats and dates, as much as one woman
could carry. But the second, that which had been given to Tua, was
otherwise provided, for in the mouth of it lay a lovely harp of ivory
with golden strings, whereof the frame was fashioned to the shape of a
woman. Tua drew it out and looked at it by the light of the fire.
“It is my own harp,” she said in an awed voice, “the harp that the
Prince of Kesh, whom Rames slew, brought as a gift to me, to the notes
of which I sang the Song of the Lovers but just before the giver died.
Yes, it is my own harp that I left in Thebes. Say, now, Nurse, how came
it here?”
“How came _we_ here?” answered Asti shortly. “Answer my question and I
will answer yours.”
Then, laying down the harp, Tua looked again into her basket and
found that beneath a layer of dried papyrus leaves were hidden pearls,
thousands of pearls of all sizes, and of such lustre and beauty as she
had never seen. They were strung upon threads of silk, all those of a
like size being set upon a single thread, except the very biggest, which
were as great as a finger nail, or even larger, that lay wrapped up
separately in cloth at the bottom of the basket.
“Surely,” said Tua, amazed, “no Queen in all the earth ever had a dower
of such priceless pearls. Moreover, what good they and the harp can be
to us in this forest I may not guess.”
“Doubtless we shall discover in due course,” answered Asti; “meanwhile,
let us thank the gods for their gifts and eat.”
So they ate, and then, having nothing else to do, lay down by the fire
and would have slept.
But scarcely had they closed their eyes when the forest seemed to awake.
First from down by the river there came dreadful roarings which they
knew must be the voice of lions, for there were tame beasts of this sort
in the gardens at Thebes. Next they heard the whines and wimperings of
wolves and jackals, and mingled with them great snortings such as are
made by the rhinoceros and the river-horse.
Nearer, nearer came these awful sounds, till at length they saw yellow
eyes moving like stars in the darkness at the edge of the forest, while
cross the patch of sand beneath their rock galloped swift shapes which
halted and sniffed towards them. Also on the river side of them appeared
huge, hog-like beasts, with gleaming tusks, and red cavernous mouths,
and beyond these again, crashing through the brushwood, a gigantic brute
that bore a single horn upon its snout.
“Now our end is at hand,” said Tua faintly, “for surely these creatures
will devour us.”
But Asti only threw more wood upon the fire and waited, thinking that
the flame would frighten them away. Yet it did not, for so curious, or
so hungry were they, that the lions crept and crept nearer, and still
more near, till at length they lay lashing their tails in the distance
almost within springing distance of the rock, while on the farther side
of these, like a court waiting on its monarch, gathered the hyenas and
other beasts.
“They will spring presently,” whispered Tua.
“Did the Spirits of the divine Pharaoh your father, and of Mermes my
lord, bring us here in the Boat of Ra that we should be devoured by wild
animals, like lost sheep in the desert?” asked Asti. Then, as though by
an inspiration, she added, “Lady, take that harp of yours, and play and
sing to it.”
So Tua took the harp and swept its golden chords, and, lifting up her
lovely voice, she began to sing. At first it trembled a little, but by
degrees, as she forgot all save the music, it grew strong, and rang out
sweetly in the silence of the forest, and the great, slow-moving river.
And lo! as she sang thus, the wild brutes grew still, and seemed to
listen as though they were charmed. Yes, even a snake wriggled out from
between the rocks and listened, waving its crested head to and fro.
At length Tua ceased, and as the echoes died away the brutes, every one
of them, turned and vanished into the forest or the river, all save the
snake that coiled itself up and slept where it was. So stillness came
again, and Tua and Asti slept also, nor did they wake until the sun was
shining in the heavens.
Then they arose wondering, and went down over the patch of sand that was
marked with the footprints of all the beasts to the river’s brink, and
drank and washed themselves, peering the while through the mists, for
they thought that perchance they would see that golden ship with the
veiled crew which had carried them from Memphis, returned and awaiting
them in midstream.
But no ship was there; nothing was there except the river-horses which
rose and sank, and the crocodiles on the mud-banks, and the wildfowl
that flighted inward from the sea to feed. So they went back to the
ashes of their fire and ate of the food in Asti’s basket, and, when they
had eaten, looked at each other, not knowing what to do. Then Tua said:
“Come, Nurse, let us be going. Up the river and down the river we cannot
walk, for there are nothing but weeds and mud, so we must strike out
through the forest, whither the gods may lead us.”
Asti nodded, and, clad in the light warm clothes of camel-hair, they set
the baskets upon their heads after the fashion of the peasant women of
Egypt and started forward, the harp of ivory and of gold hanging upon
Tua’s back.
For hour after hour they marched thus through the forest, threading
their path between the big boles of the trees, and heading always for
the south, for that way ran the woodland glades beyond which was dense
bush. Great apes chattered above them in the tree tops, and now
and again some beast of prey crossed their path and vanished in the
underwood, but nothing else did they see. At length, towards midday, the
ground began to rise, and the trees grew smaller and farther apart, till
at last they reached the edge of a sandy desert, and walked out to a
little oasis, where the green grass showed them they would find water.
In this oasis there was a spring, and by the edge of it they sat down
and drank, and ate of their store of food, and afterwards slept a while.
Suddenly Tua, in her sleep, heard a voice, and, awaking with a
start, saw a man who stood near by, leaning on a thornwood staff and
contemplating them. He was a very strange man, apparently of great age,
for his long white hair fell down upon his shoulders, and his white
beard reached to his middle. Once he must have been very tall, but now
he was bent with age, and the bones of his gaunt frame thrust out his
ragged garments. His dark eyes also were horny, indeed it seemed as
though he could scarcely see with them, for he leaned forward to peer at
their faces where they lay. His face was scored by a thousand wrinkles,
and almost black with exposure to the sun and wind, but yet of a
marvellous tenderness and beauty. Indeed, except that it was far more
ancient, and the features were on a larger and a grander scale, it
reminded Tua of the face of Pharaoh after he was dead.
“My Father,” said Tua, sitting up, for an impulse prompted her to name
this wanderer thus, “say whence do you come, and what would you with
your servants?”
“My Daughter,” answered the old man in a sweet, grave voice, “I come
from the wilderness which is my home. Long have I outlived all those of
my generation, yes, and their children also. Therefore the wilderness
and the forest that do not change are now my only friends, since they
alone knew me when I was young. Be pitiful now to me, for I am poor, so
poor that for three whole days no food has passed my lips. It was the
smell of the meat which you have with you that led me to you. Give me of
that meat, Daughter, for I starve.”
“It is yours, O----” and she paused.
“I am called Kepher.”
“Kepher, Kepher!” repeated Tua, for she thought it strange that a
beggar-man should be named after that scarabæus insect which among the
Egyptians was the symbol of eternity. “Well, take and eat, O Kepher,”
she said, and handed him the basket that contained what was left to them
of their store.
The beggar took it, and having looked up to heaven as though to ask a
blessing on his meal, sat down upon the sand and began to devour the
food ravenously.
“Lady,” said Asti, “he will eat it all, and then we shall starve in
this desert. He is a locust, not a man,” she added, as another cake
disappeared.
“He is our guest,” answered Tua gravely, “let him take what we have to
give.”
For a while Asti was silent, then again she broke out into remonstrance.
“Peace, Nurse,” replied Tua, “I have said that he is our guest, and the
law of hospitality may not be broken.”
“Then the law of hospitality will bring us to our deaths,” muttered
Asti.
“If so, so let it be, Nurse; at least this poor man will be filled, and
for the rest, as always, we must trust to Amen our father.”
Yet as she spoke the words tears gathered in her eyes, for she knew that
Asti was right, and now that all the food was gone, on which with care
they might have lived for two days or more, soon they would faint, and
perish, unless help came to them, which was not likely in that lonesome
place. Once, not so long ago, they had starved for lack of sustenance,
and it was the thought of that slow pain so soon to be renewed, that
brought the water to her eyes.
Meanwhile Kepher, whose appetite for one so ancient was sharp indeed,
finished the contents of the basket down to the last date, and handed it
back to Tua with a bow, saying:
“I thank you, Daughter; the Queen of Egypt could not have entertained
me more royally,” and he peered at her with his horny eyes. “I who have
been empty for long, am full again, and since I cannot reward you I pray
to the gods that they will do so. Beautiful Daughter, may you never know
what it is to lack a meal.”
At this saying Tua could restrain herself no more. A large tear from her
eyes fell upon Kepher’s rough hand as she answered with a little sob:
“I am glad that you are comforted with meat, but do not mock us, Friend,
seeing that we are but lost wanderers who very soon must starve, since
now our food is done.”
“What, Daughter?” asked the old man in an astonished voice, “what? Can I
believe that you gave all you had to a beggar of the wilderness, and sat
still while he devoured it? And is it for this reason that you weep?”
“Forgive me, Father, but it is so,” answered Tua. “I am ashamed of such
weakness, but recently my friend here and I have known hunger, very sore
hunger, and the dread of it moves me. Come, Asti, let us be going while
our strength remains in us.”
Kepher looked up at the name, then turned to Tua and said:
“Daughter, your face is fair, and your heart is perfect, since otherwise
you would not have dealt with me as you have done. Still, it seems
that you lack one thing--undoubting faith in the goodness of the gods.
Though, surely,” he added in a slow voice, “those who have passed yonder
lion-haunted forest without hurt should not lack faith. Say, now, how
came you there?”
“We are ladies of Egypt,” interrupted Asti, “or at least this maiden is,
for I am but her old nurse. Man-stealing pirates of Phoenicia seized us
while we wandered on the shores of the Nile, and brought us hither in
their ship, by what way we do not know. At length they put into yonder
river for water, and we fled at night. We are escaped slaves, no more.”
“Ah!” said Kepher, “those pirates must mourn their loss. I almost wonder
that they did not follow you. Indeed, I thought that you might be
other folk, for, strangely enough, as I slept in the sand last night, a
certain spirit from the Under-world visited me in my dreams, and told
me to search for one Asti and another lady who was with her--I cannot
remember the name of that lady. But I do remember the name of the
spirit, for he told it to me; it was Mermes.”
Now Asti gave a little cry, and, springing up, searched Kepher’s face
with her eyes, nor did he shrink from her gaze.
“I perceive,” she said slowly, “that you who seem to be a beggar are
also a seer.”
“Mayhap, Asti,” he answered. “In my long life I have often noted that
sometimes men are more than they seem--and women also. Perhaps you have
learned the same, for nurses in great houses may note many things if
they choose. But let us say no more. I think it is better that we should
say no more. You and your companion--how is she named?”
“Neferte,” answered Asti promptly.
“Neferte, ah! Certainly that was not the name which the spirit used,
though it is true that other name began with the same sound, or so I
think. Well, you and your companion, Neferte, escaped from those wicked
pirates, and managed to bring certain things with you, for instance,
that beautiful harp, wreathed with the royal _uræi_, and--but what is in
that second basket?”
“Pearls,” broke in Tua quickly.
“And a large basket of pearls. Might I see them? Oh! do not be afraid, I
shall not rob those whose food I have eaten, it is against the custom of
the desert.”
“Certainly,” answered Tua. “I never thought that you would rob us, for
if you were of the tribe of thieves, surely you would be richer, and
less hungry than you seem. I only thought that you were almost blind,
Father Kepher, and therefore could not know the difference between a
pearl and a pebble.”
“My feeling still remains to me, Daughter Neferte,” he answered with a
little smile.
Then Tua gave him the basket. He opened it and drew out the strings of
pearls, feeling them, smelling and peering at them, touching them with
his tongue, especially the large single ones which were wrapped up by
themselves. At length, having handled them all, he restored them to the
basket, saying drily:
“It is strange, indeed, Nurse Asti, that those Syrian man-stealers
attempted no pursuit of you, for here, whether they were theirs or not,
are enough gems to buy a kingdom.”
“We cannot eat pearls,” answered Asti.
“No, but pearls will buy more than you need to eat.”
“Not in a desert,” said Asti.
“True, but as it chances there is a city in this desert, and not so very
far away.”
“Is it named Napata?” asked Tua eagerly.
“Napata? No, indeed. Yet, I have heard of such a place, the City of Gold
they called it. In fact, once I visited it in my youth, over a hundred
years ago.”
“A hundred years ago! Do you remember the way thither?”
“Yes, more or less, but on foot it is over a year’s journey away, and
the path thither lies across great deserts and through tribes of savage
men. Few live to reach that city.”
“Yet I will reach it, or die, Father.”
“Perhaps you will, Daughter Neferte, perhaps you will, but I think not
at present. Meanwhile, you have a harp, and therefore it is probable
that you can play and sing; also you have pearls. Now the inhabitants of
this town whereof I spoke to you love music. Also they love pearls, and
as you cannot begin your journey to Napata for three months, when the
rain on the mountains will have filled the desert wells, I suggest that
you would do wisely to settle yourselves there for a while. Nurse Asti
here would be a dealer in pearls, and you, her daughter, would be a
musician. What say you?”
“I say that I should be glad to settle myself anywhere out of this
desert,” said Tua wearily. “Lead us on to the city, Father Kepher, if
you know the way.”
“I know the way, and will guide you thither in payment for that good
meal of yours. Now come. Follow me.” And taking his long staff he strode
away in front of them.
“This Kepher goes at a wonderful pace for an old man,” said Tua
presently. “When first we saw him he could scarcely hobble.”
“Man!” answered Asti. “He is not a man, but a spirit, good or bad, I
don’t know which, appearing as a beggar. Could a man eat as much as
he did--all our basketful of food? Does a man talk of cities that he
visited in his youth over a hundred years ago, or declare that my dead
husband spoke to him in his dreams? No, no, he is a ghost like those
upon the ship.”
“So much the better,” answered Tua cheerfully, “since ghosts have been
good friends to us, for had it not been for them I should have been dead
or shamed to-day.”
“That we shall find out at the end of the story,” said Asti, who was
cross and weary, for the heat of the sun was great. “Meanwhile, follow
on. There is nothing else to do.”
For hour after hour they walked, till at length towards evening, when
they were almost exhausted, they struggled up a long rise of sand and
rocks, and from the crest of it perceived a large walled town set in a
green and fertile valley not very far beneath them. Towards this town
Kepher, who marched at a distance in front, guided them till they
reached a clump of trees on the outskirts of the cultivated land. Here
he halted, and when they came up to him, led them among the trees.
“Now,” he said, “drop your veils and bide here, and if any should come
to you, say that you are poor wandering players who rest. Also, if it
pleases you, give me a small pearl off one of those strings, that I may
go into the city, which is named Tat, and sell it to buy you food and a
place to dwell in.”
“Take a string,” said Tua faintly.
“Nay, nay, Daughter, one will be enough, for in this town pearls are
rare, and have a great value.”
So she gave him the gem, or rather let him take it from the silk, which
he re-fastened very neatly for one who seemed to be almost blind, and
strode off swiftly towards the town.
“Man or spirit, I wonder if we shall see him again?” said Asti.
Tua made no answer--she was too tired, but resting herself against the
bole of a tree, fell into a doze. When she awoke again it was to see
that the sun had sunk, and that before her stood the beggar Kepher, and
with him two black men, each of whom led a saddled mule.
“Mount, Friends,” he said, “for I have found you a lodging.”
So they mounted, and were led to the gate of the city which at the word
of Kepher was opened for them, and thence down a long street to a house
built in a walled garden. Into this house they entered, the black men
leading off the mules, to find that it was a well-furnished place with a
table ready set in the ante-room, on which was food in plenty. They ate
of it, all three of them, and when they had finished Kepher bade a woman
who was waiting on them, lead them to their chamber, saying that he
himself would sleep in the garden.
Thither then they went without more questions, and throwing themselves
down upon beds which were prepared for them, were soon fast asleep.