Set and Nephthys's son, Anubis, puts in an appearance, scowling and brooding. Set nods to him. Anubis nods stiffly back, then moves off to stand at a distance from his parents, aloof, arms crossed. The Jackal-Headed One leads a solitary life. His dominion is death, and death is a lonely affair.

Following him comes his cousin and half-brother Horus, who winks at Ra with his one good eye, the left eye being covered by a patch. Horus has his four children in tow — Hapi, Imset, Duamutef and Kebechsenef — an unruly brood of godlings who scamper and brawl around the deck, paying little heed to their elders with whom they frequently and sometimes violently collide.

Set snaps at Horus, ''Can't you keep your damn offspring under control?''

Horus glares back at him. There's enough venom in his one eye to fill two. ''Want me to rip those balls of yours off again? I'll happily do it, you ginger freak. Come on.'' He clenches his hand at crotch height, gripping an imaginary pair of testicles. ''Just give me an excuse.''

''Try it and I'll gouge your other eye out,'' Set retorts.

''Loser.''

''Moron.''

''Liar.''

''Fool.''

None of them stays long. It's a courtesy call, a formality. Ra is the ancient relative they come to see once a day more out of duty than love. They stay a brief while, exchanging pleasantries, managing to mask the divisions between them. They seem ill at ease, however. Perhaps it is the effort of maintaining an illusion of cordiality.