The Ten Commandments Page #5

he will come to know it and fulfill it.

Come, gather your things, quickly.

Quickly.

I shall see you want for nothing.

You and your children

shall be given freedom.

Has my mother forgotten?

Only the Pharaoh can free a slave.

Moses! Do not enter.

There is only sorrow here.

Are you comforting it, my mother?

I followed you here

to find this woman, Yochabel...

You were the woman

who was caught between the stones.

- Until you came.

- My son, if you love me...

I love you, my mother,

but am I your son?

Or yours?

No, you are not my son.

If you believe that men and women

are cattle to be driven under the lash,

if you can bow before idols of stone

and golden images of beasts...

...you are not my son.

My son would be a slave.

His hands would be gnarled

and broken from the brick pits,

his back scarred

from the taskmaster's whip,

but in his heart would burn

the spirit of the living God.

Does this god demand

a scarred back and broken hands

as the price of his favor?

This desert god

is the hope of the hopeless.

Your place is in the palace halls.

You have mounted

to the sun on golden wings.

You belong to me, to Nefretiri,

to Sethi, to all those who love you.

Do they love less who have no hope?

Will you swear in the name of this god

that you are not my mother?

We do not even know his name.

Then look into my eyes

and tell me you are not my mother.

Oh, Moses, Moses! I cannot, I cannot.

I am your brother Aaron.

I am Miriam, your sister.

- I am your brother Moses.

- No! Get ready to leave. Hurry!

They're going away, Moses.

The secret's going with them.

No one need ever know

the shame I brought upon you.

Shame?

What change is there in me?

Egyptian or Hebrew, I am still Moses.

These are the same hands,

the same arms,

the same face

that were mine a moment ago.

A moment ago, you were her son,

the strength of Egypt.

Now, you are mine, a slave of Egypt.

You find no shame in this?

There is no shame in me. How can I

feel shame for the woman who bore me?

- Or the race that bred me?

- God of my fathers.

Moses, what will you do?

This is the binding tie...

...and here I will stay.

- Moses...

- To find the meaning of what I am.

Why a Hebrew, or any man,

must be a slave.

Put back your things.

You are not leaving.

Moses?

Has she done more for you than I?

Will the life she gave you be more

useful in the black pits of slavery?

Cannot justice and truth

be served better upon a throne

where all men may benefit

from your goodness

and strength?

I do not know

what power shapes my way,

but my feet are set upon a road

that I must follow.

Forgive me, Bithiah.

God of our fathers,

who has appointed

an end to the bondage of Israel,

blessed am I

among all mothers in the land,

for my eyes have beheld thy deliverer.

Thou shalt not muzzle the ox

that treadeth out the com,

making straw for the bricks of Egypt,

nor spare the arms that endlessly

winnow the grain in the wind

to separate the wheat from the chaff

wheat borne stolidly

on the backs of countless slaves

from the heavy-laden Nile boats

to the teeming shore.

Endlessly they plod

beneath the sheaves of wheat

and endlessly return for more.

A golden harvest to the threshers,

a grain safe to feed the masters,

bitterness to feed the slaves,

and to feed the brick pits, straw,

carried on the bowed backs of women

down into the never-ending valley

of toil and agony,

stretching mile after mile.

An inferno of mud-soaked bodies,

where the treaders' feet

churn clay and straw

into the mixture

for the Pharaoh 's bricks.

And everywhere the lash

of watchful taskmasters

ready to sting the backs of the weary.

Blades chopping straw.

Mattocks chopping clay.

A ceaseless cycle of unending drudgery.

From the mixing feet of treaders

to the pouring hands of brick molders

moves the constant stream of mud,

the lowly seed of tall cities,

day after day, year after year;

century after century.

Bondage without rest,

toil without reward.

These are the children of misery,

the afflicted,

the hopeless, the oppressed.

And he went out unto his brethren

and looked on their burdens.

Water girl!

Here, here's water.

That's a hard dance you do, old man.

We've been dancing it for 400 years...

...to grim music.

And the only deliverer

that has come to us is death.

Back to work, you braying mules.

You're strange to the pits.

Your back is unscarred.

You bring a warm smile

with your cool water.

My smile is for a stonecutter.

- The water is for you.

- I thank you.

Your voice is not strange.

- You are...?

- One of many who thirst.

You there!

Come here.

That is Baka, the master builder.

- Does he call me or you?

- You! Water girl! I'm thirsty.

He does not thirst for water.

Beauty is but a curse to our women.

- Water, noble one?

- No, wine... the wine of beauty.

What beauty can my lord find

in these mud pits?

The lotus flower blooms

in the Nile's gray mud.

Dathan, she will do well

as a house slave.

Do not take me from my people!

There would be danger.

Danger from such lovely hands?

There are other hands,

strong enough to kill.

Our mud flower has a thorn.

Oh, please, Lord Baka, I beg you.

Tears..-

When you have been bathed

in scented water,

when your limbs have

been caressed by sweet oils

and your hair combed with sandalwood,

there will be no time for tears.

She is not worthy of your magnificence.

Let my eyes...

Your eyes had best find the deliverer,

Dathan, or you will have no eyes.

Bring the girl.

May the hand of God strike him.

Dance, you mud turtles, dance!

You rot our bodies,

steal hope from our souls.

Must you also

shame and defile our women?

Dance, you squealing goat!

We are not animals, we are men,

made in the image of God.

This will change your image.

Dance, you.

Get that straw cutter.

Leave him,

or you'll be murdered with him.

I'll not leave a man

to die in the mud.

Thank you, my son.

But death is better than bondage,

for my days are ended

and my prayer unanswered.

What prayer, old man?

That before death closed my eyes

I might behold the deliverer

who will lead all men to freedom.

What deliverer could

break the power of Pharaoh?

You, mud-carriers,

throw this carrion to the vultures.

You, take his place.

And dance the straw

into the mud, you dogs.

Clear a path there!

Clear a path!

Stand aside, you. Make way.

Clear a path.

Come on, get back. Out of the way!

Keep your eyes on the ground.

I need another oarsman

for my barge, a strong slave.

- Your word is our will, great lady.

- The large one there.

- You, come up here.

- No, not that one.

The very dirty one there.

Yes, that one.

He may serve my purpose.

You!

You! Out of the pit!

Out of the way!

Back to work!

Clear a path!

Stand aside, you.

Back to work!

Clear a path!

First friend of the Pharaoh,

keeper of the royal seal,

Prince of On, Prince of Memphis,

Prince of Thebes,

beloved of the Nile god,

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