I woke early, sore from sleeping on the folded sail. I stretched and scratched, and looked for something better than river water to drink, but found nothing. Soon, I thought, I would return to the sleeping woman and embrace her again. The east grew bright-I saw the prow of the boat that bears the sun, and watched. Then I saw the falcon-headed man with his steering oar, and the other gods, and knew that I must write of them, as I have. MYT-SER'EU AND I lounge in the shade. No one works now but the steersman, who must keep our ship turned so that our sail catches the wind. Our sailors talk, argue, lay bets, and wrestle for sport. I could wet my pen with sweat, but it leaves a black mark on my chest.

I have had my head shaved, and that is why I write. Neht-nefret saw me scratching and examined it. I had lice-she showed me several. Myt-ser'eu says I got them in an inn, but I do not recall an inn. She cut my hair as short as she could, and Neht-nefret oiled it and shaved it with her razor. The two of them made a hundred jokes at my expense and laughed merrily, but I could tell they were dismayed by the scar they found there. They guided my fingers to it.

Neht-nefret and Myt-ser'eu shave each other's heads, Neht-nefret said, and said too that I had seen them do it but that I can remember nothing. That is not quite true, yet true enough to sadden me. They wear wigs.

Between kisses, Myt-ser'eu is sewing a headcloth for me such as the men of her people wear. (I know that this is so because I saw one on the riverbank not long ago.) It is simple sewing, a circle large enough for my head at one end, another a little larger at the other. MY HEADCLOTH IS finished. It protects my shaven head and my neck and ears from the sun. Muslak laughs and says no one will know I am foreign. Neht-nefret insists we do not speak well enough for men of Kemet and teaches us both.