At that moment, a cry, which was more of a
hoarse whisper, broke from his lips.
"Body of Osiris! The river! the river!"
Masanath leaned on one hand and looked over the side of the raft. With
a bound and a shivering cry, Nari was cowering beside her, the little
craft tossing on the waves at the force of the leap. Instantly, Pepi
was at her other side, on his knees, praying and shaking. And together
the trio huddled, but only one, Masanath, was brave enough to watch
what was happening.
From the bottom of the Nile a turbid convection was taking place, as if
the river silt had been stirred up, but the fuming current was assuming
a dull red tinge. The action had been rapid. Already the stain had
predominated, streaks of clear water, only here and there, clarifying
the opaque coloring. The boat rode half its depth in red, the paddle
dripped red, the splashes of water within on the bottom were red, the
sun shone broadly into the mirroring red, a sliding, reeking red! A
lavender foam broke its bubbles against the drifting raft and a tepid,
invisible vapor, like a moist breath, exhaled from the ensanguined
surface.
Schools of fish, struggling and leaping, filled the space immediately
above the water, and cumbered the raft with a writhing mass.
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