“I have an idea,” said Bib-useka, with a quiet, conspiratorial air. Reaching into his sack, he withdrew a pair of thumb-sized figures crudely carved from palm wood and even more crudely painted. One purported to be a soldier, the other a hippopotamus, and neither was capable of living up to its aspiration without a substantial investment of on the part of the observer. They were, in fact, Djamose’s two and only toys.

“Here,” he smiled, holding them out to his son. “Put these on the altar.”

Djamose didn’t know what to think. The impulse to cry was quite extinguished now that his immediate problem was solved. On the other hand, the offering his father proposed posed an entirely new and no less dire one.

“Those are mine,” said Djamose.

“Yes, they are.”

“They’re my toys.”

“Yes.”

Just as desperately as Djamose wanted to present something, anything, to Bibleb, he didn’t want to part with those shoddy figurines. The citizens of Bibleb-Akhet liked possessions as much as anyone else, they just came by them far less frequently. Fact is, the misshapen soldier and unrepresentative hippo were the first items Djamose had ever owned that he couldn’t wear. Bib-useka had presented his son with the playthings, neatly wrapped in fish-grass, the night before as the family was settling down to sleep. Djamose had begged for a few intimate minutes alone with the toys, but his father had merely laughed, set them aside and blown out the lamp. Come morning they’d been fully occupied preparing for their journey to Ta’ y-Sobek. That moment before Bibleb’s altar was exactly the second time Djamose had laid eyes on his first private property, and it seemed impossible to him that it could also be the last.

“I haven’t even played with them yet,” said Djamose, unable to prevent a pleading note from creeping into his voice. In his distress he didn’t think to wonder why his father was carrying his toys around in his bag.

“Then Bibleb will like them even more.”

At another time, in another place, Djamose might have been inclined to dig in his heels and defend his claim to those precious trifles, but there in the presence of his expectant god, with his father and priest demanding tribute be paid and Ta’ Sobek beckoning to him from the east, he simply couldn’t summon the will. He felt caught like a gull in a net.

“Go ahead,” Bib-useka patiently urged. “Offer them to Bibleb.”

His face still mashed in the dry earth, Djamose reached up without a word and accepted the little statuettes from his father’s hand. He was achingly aware of how superb they felt in his own – clean, smooth, and humming with stories beyond telling.

“Now, without getting up, see if you can put them on the altar.”

Djamose crawled forward as slowly as he thought Bib-useka would permit, pathetically trying to delay the inevitable. All too soon he reached the base of the altar and, reaching up as high as he could, just managed to push the objects over the edge and onto its weathered surface.

“Now say what I say,” his father instructed. “O Bibleb, I am your servant.”

“O Bibleb, I am your servant,” echoed Djamose. He fleetingly wondered if he should take a stab at a priestly tone, but found he had no heart to try, or even to care as much as he probably should.

“Your servant brings precious gifts, O Lord.”

“Your servant brings precious gifts, O Lord.”

“Accept these gifts from your servant.”

“Accept these gifts from your servant.”

“Your servant comes in prayer. Look with favor upon your servant. Your servant journeys to Ta’ y-Sobek. Your servant enters the land of his enemies. Protect your servant in the land of his enemies, O Bibleb. Hold your shield before your servant. With your spear strike down your servant’s enemies. Bibleb’s servant asks this. Life, health, strength to Bibleb.”

“…Life, health, strength to Bibleb,” concluded Djamose. He heard his father rise, but decided it better not to follow suit without orders and kept his face to the ground. Worship, he thought, was somewhat more complicated than he’d formerly believed. Bib-useka bowed low toward the sanctuary and clapped his hands together four times, and then twice, and then four more times. Then he collected his son’s toys and from the altar and placed them back in his sack. He would sell them at the market in Hawat-ha, as he’d planned when he carved them, and they would fetch a better price for having not been pawed by a child’s grubby fingers. It was a shabby little trick to play on his first-born son, but, among the Children of Bible, shabby little tricks often meant the difference between sufficiency and want.

“You can stand up now, Djamose.”

Rising, Djamose immediately noticed the figurines missing and his heart leapt into his throat.

“Where did they go?”

“They’re Bibleb’s now,” said Bib-useka.

Djamose was dumbfounded. Clearly the god had emerged from his sanctuary and taken possession of the figurines while he’d been groveling in the dirt. The wonder of it left him stunned, and hugely disappointed.

“Did you see him? What does he look like?”

“Our eyes can’t behold Bibleb’s unless he chooses to reveal himself,” Bib-useka instructed. “He didn’t choose to reveal himself today.”

Djamose felt better, and a little relieved. He wasn’t sure he was up to beholding the god’s terrible majesty just then.

“But why didn’t he take the food?”

“He did take the food. He had a very nice breakfast.”

“But it’s still there.”

Bib-useka laughed. Djamose thought his father to be in rather high spirits considering the personally calamity that had just befallen his only son.

“Gods don’t eat like you and me, with hands and mouths. Bibleb ate the smell of the bread, and the flavor of the meat, and the spirit of the offering. The offering itself is his food. Do you understand?”

“No.”

Bib-useka laughed again and stuffed the food parcel back into his sack.

“You will. Now do what I do.”

Facing the shrine, Bib-useka bent at the waist and held his arms over his head, palms forward, which pose Djamose mimicked awkwardly, but acceptably. 

“O Bibleb, your servants depart. Be pleased with your servants’ gifts. Look upon your servants with favor. Protect your servants. The servants of Bibleb depart. Life, health, strength to Bibleb.”

Djamose had made his first offering to his god. He hoped it had been worth it.