The cubit ruler of Maya from about 1200 BC, and a diagram of the Turin cubit rod. They are about 21.75 inches long, and are divided into 28 ‘fingers’. The most noteworthy feature of these rods are the logarithmic hash marks of fractions of a finger, from 1/2 finger to 1/16th of a finger, which is a length of about 0.05 inches or 1.25 millimeters.

Khety’s Screed

This is the beginning of the teaching of the man from the eastern Delta, in Sile. Khety Duaf has made this for his son Pepy, soon to travel to the capitol and attend the scribal school, alongside the children of ministers and royalty. He says to him:

Some jobs are brutal, but books are gentle. Watch as they free you from toil. Trust me, nothing is gentler than writing. It’s like floating on a boat. The Kemit book of wisdom has a saying, 'A scribe anywhere in town will never suffer if he satisfies the clients who need things written. He will be rewarded handsomely.'

I see no other profession of which these verses could be said. 'You will love writing more than your mother, creation itself will be in your hands.' 

It’s the best profession. There’s nothing else like it. The scribe begins to thrive before puberty. He is welcomed, and sent on all sorts of missions. As soon as you know it he’s a gentleman.

I’ve never seen a sculptor who got to stand where his statues do. Do goldsmiths get to meet the gods? I’ve seen the smith working at the mouth of his furnace. His hands are like the claws of the crocodile, and he stinks more than rotten fish.

The lumberjack who swings an axe is more worn out then a farmer. His fields are forests, his plow is an axe. The work never ends, it’s more than his arms can take. The upshot is he can burn the wood at night to stay warm.

The stonemason chisels into all types of hard rocks. After he’s bored out the mortise joints, his own joints rattle like skeleton bones. The sun sets, he sits. His knees and spine are shot.

The barber shaves into the night, having flown into town, working busy busy from street to street in search of unkempt dandies. He works his hands to fill his belly, like a bee grubbing in the sticky blossoms.

The manufacturer of arrows must trudge to the Delta to harvest shafts. His arms are worn out with the work, then the mosquitoes are slaying him, and the gnats are eviserating him. See, he’s the one who’s getting shafted.

The potter is underground, as happy to be alive as a gravedigger, grubbing in the clay like a pig. When he fires up the kiln his clothes stiffen into the statue of a blowhard. But if he sucks at blowing the flames will go up his nose. And he must be so gentle, lest the pottery piles come crashing down. Then he has to go door to door hawking decorative pots!

I’ll tell you about the mason. His back hurts like hell, every day sandblasted by the desert winds, the sun burning him to a crisp. His loincloth is a coiled rope, with a plumb bob between his butt. But the pace of construction projects is overwhelming and guaranteed he does nothing but mixing the concrete, eating while he works, and bathing with the tools.

There are plenty of poor carpenters who do fancy ceilings. A ceiling for one room, fifteen feet long and nine feet wide. A month after the beams are laid it’s still not done. The down payment of barley is not even enough for his children.

The gardener is yoked to the water buckets, his shoulders sag like an old mans, and he has an abscess on his neck thriving just as much as the plants. He waters the vegetables in the morning, missing his dinner because the coriander still needs watering, and lunch was also spent in the orchard. Well, once he dies he will have all the time in the world, the vegetative profession being the best for preparing a cozy grave.

The farmer is more territorial then a sage grouse, screeching louder then a raven, and his green thumb smells like manure. He’s pooped, I mean the Delta is huge. He farms in rags. But, who else farms among lions? The hippos are the real problem, they triple his work. Dawn to dusk, backbreaking labor.

The weaver in the sweatshop, is more miserable than a prostitute. His knees push against his stomach, and he’s hardly able to breath. If he skips a day of work, he gets fifty lashes. All his barley wages go to rent, for the dream of being the designer.

The arrowhead harvester exhausts himself on long journeys into the desert. All the while his donkey is eating up the profits, and he has to pay the locals for directions. When he finally returns home late at night he’s dead tired.

The courier travels to foreign countries, and already his children have inherited his estate. He’s afraid of lions and Asians, and only feels safe in Egypt. Every night on the road is miserable, that much walking is hard on the feet. It doesn’t matter if his bed is in a tent or a castle, he never feels comfortable.

A man who tends to the ovens, his work is disgusting, scraping putrid grease, his eyes inflamed by ash. The stink gets under the skin. Then he’s sent out to the fields to collect tinder, but the stench of rotting meat never leaves him.

The sandal maker is a sickly fellow, among his vats of toxic preservatives. He’s as healthy as an embalmed corpse. Chew on that!

The clothes washer sets up on the riverbank, and has to watch out for crocodiles. “Father, don’t get washed away!” plead his children. Is this work fit for a man? Well, it’s really no different then anything else. You need food, so you put up with shit. But he will never feel clean after this job. He washes womens underwear, who are having their period, he weeps as he washes. He’s a man with a rock who works in the river. Hes told, “Hey, get over here, you have more clothes to wash.” Suicide begins to sound appealing.

The fowler is overwhelmed setting snares to trap the birds. Overhead he watches the huge migrations, and says, ‘if I only I could fish them with nets!’ But God will not allow it, and he grumbles at his plight.

I’ll tell you about the fisherman. He has the worst job of all, working in the river, alongside crocodiles. When his net is full of fish, he’s full of fear. He can’t see where the crocodile waits, being blinded by fear. At any moment the croc might pounce like the vengeance of God.

Look around, every job has a task master except the scribe’s, he himself is the author. If you know how to write all will be well. Much better then these other professions I have shown you. Look at them, they all suck! An indentured servant is not a man. Don’t let that happen.

Do you see that I have brought you to the capitol? I do it for love of you. The teachings of this school will resound for eternity. It’s papyri are pyramids.

The laborers I have described are always short on time, waking early and working late. Now let me give you some different advice, so you will be wise. Such as, if you see a fight don’t get too close, don’t get involved. If you become involved in a quarrel, and it get’s nasty, just stop! Call some mutual friends over, and explain the situation to them.

When you are among the managers and masters, be respectful, you are starting at the bottom. When you are brought to the lord of the house, and he’s busy finishing up other work, wait and stay quiet. Don’t ask him for favors, but only do what he says.

Do not rush to speak. Hold yourself together, be respectful. Do not divulge secrets! Your discretion is your shield.

Do not lose your temper when you encounter a hostile person.

If you leave the school grounds in the afternoon to roam the busy streets you will soon become street trash.

If a high official sends you off with a message, recite it as he spoke it. Do not delete or alter a word. The man who neglects this, his name will not endure.

If your are skilled in all you do, and are honest, you will never be dismissed from any position.

Never lie, that is the worst thing to do.

If you smell food, pinch your nose.

The father of the future is the son of the past.

Do not associate with the decadent, they satisfy themselves like animals. If you have eaten three meals, and drank two mugs of beer, and are still desirous, resist it! If someone else begins eating, leave them and do not rush to meals.

It is good to be sent on tasks and to see all the great men, then you can learn to act like them, following in their footsteps.

The scribe is praised on account of listening. Only by listening will you learn what to do. You should rise when called, hurry when dispatched, and be careful who you trust.

Associate with men of distinction, and be friends with your peers.

Look, I’m showing you how to walk God’s path.

A scribe shoulders his own destiny on that first day of independent work, and if you keep at it you will soon be in the royal residence.

No scribe is short on food, and they wear good clothes.

The learning of a scribe will advance him among the councillors.

Thank God for your father and mother who put you on the path of life.

Look over the advice I have given you, and pass it down to your children and their children.

So it ends, from start to finish, a complete scroll.