Then The Deluge Comes (The Generations Book 2)

by Caryl McAdoo

Seemed to Lamech in such an evil place, a thief didn’t stand much chance of reaching a hundred, much less any ripe old age. With as little regard as he had for life, who would care about his?

  Next morning, he sat upright, shook off the night vision, then rolled out from under the wagon. A pinkish tint colored the eastern sky, a new day dawning. But instead of heading home as he planned, the Lord bid him go.

  Into the city. See.

  Though unsure exactly what the Almighty wanted him to witness, Lamech never doubted the author of his dream.

  Laurel wouldn’t be happy.

  He shook his head. Obedience better than sacrifice indeed. Was traveling into the City why God had revealed that? He sighed.

  What purpose would it accomplish?

  Goat’s cheese with sun-dried grapes and hard bread, not his breakfast of choice, filled his stomach all the same. He located the horses, grained them, then headed toward the city on foot.

  As the sun peeked over the treetops, a good furlong out, the smell hit him. Too great a wad of humanity crammed into too small a place stank as bad as he remembered, if not worse.

  He pulled his robe tight and flipped his hood over his head, filtering the air he breathed as much as he could and doing his best to shield himself from the filth.

  Not too many folks milled about, not early risers those city dwellers. Quite a few slept outside on the brick walks, curled next to stone buildings. Empty jugs next to several of them, probably new wine.

  He avoided stepping in the vomit and other disgusting piles. The deeper into the city, the more activity stirred.

  A little ways off, a trump sounded, higher pitched than the shofar, but louder. A small boy ran past, followed by two bigger ones.

  Men and woman scurried from their tiny homes on top of each other, tying sashes and lacing sandals. They all hurried past him as though he were invisible, toward the sound of the trump.

  What could it mean?

  Lamech followed, but at a leisurely pace. He turned a corner, and entered an enormous square filled with smelly people everywhere. No room remained. Over a hundred men, all dressed similarly, stood facing the crowd that swelled with each heartbeat.

  Behind the hundred, on a raised platform, one large man stood, also facing the people. Four others, hands bound behind their backs, knelt before him.

  Something yanked his sleeve. “Lift me up! I can’t see.”

  A boy, maybe four or five years old, glared. He grabbed the child and hefted him onto his shoulder, then turned his attention back to the man on the platform.

  Shortly, he raised both hands, palms down, and the crowd’s buzz faded then died completely.

  “Citizens of Enoch, we return victorious!”

  Cheers erupted. Every hand in the square went skyward. The boy on his shoulder pumped his fists into the air, bouncing with much vigor.

  The leader quieted the crowd again. “Here I have brought to you.” He motioned dramatically toward the four putting on a fine show. “The chief men of our neighbors!”

  The mass yelled and hollered, but their leader didn’t quiet them; he only screamed louder. “I bring to you our enemies!”

  They roared, and a fight broke out to his right. Perhaps he should take his leave.

  The man up front motioned for silence once more. “What is your pleasure?”

  “Burn them all,” one howled. The people cheered

  “Skin them alive,” another bellowed. More shouts of approval went up.

  “But give them to us first!” yet another screeched. “No reason for them to go to waste before they die!”

  Lamech’s chest hurt. The hate in the place was palpable. Unbelievable.

  For too long, different men called for all manner of gruesome deaths. The mob grew more riotous with each suggestion, but no consensus developed.

  The leader pulled one of the captives to his feet, stripped off his tunic, then kicked him off the platform. The men in front parted and the crowd fell in on him.

  The child squealed in delight, kicking Lamech’s chest hard in rhythm. “Put me down, let me go! Now!”

  Grabbing an arm, he barely kept the boy from falling as he slid down and worked his way through the throng toward the front. From nowhere, a scantily-clad woman appeared and wrapped her leg around his with an arm on his chest. “You’re new, aren’t you? Where have you come from, handsome?”

  Lamech’s stomach soured. Bile rose in his throat. He disengaged himself and pushed her hand away. Shaking his head, he turned and headed out. Her forwardness, the savagery….They appalled him. Beyond imagination.

  Oh, Lord, how long will You tolerate such evil?

  Chapter Ten

  Hattimas stopped at the edge of her grandfather’s shop. The old dear bent over his waterwheel, to power his new saw. Having three sons growing in one huge belly certainly might uphold Grandfather Jared’s predictions. God rest his soul.

  A kick to her mid-section drew her hand to rub her extended waistline.

  She cleared her throat.

  The sweet and ancient man looked up and smiled. “Oh, good morning, Daughter. Come and help me with this measuring line.”

  “Always for you, Grandfather.” She returned his smile. “What do I do?”

  “Nevermind.” He chuckled. “With that swollen belly, you couldn’t reach the wheel’s middle.” Standing erect, he stretched his back. “So what brings you all the way out here?”

  “Well...it’s been twenty-one days, and…we…uh….”

  “He’s fine, baby girl. Enoch stayed longer many times. Noah has a very special relationship with Abba.”

  “Oh, Grandfather….” She stopped the complaining whine the minute she recognized the tone. It hadn’t worked on him since she was a little girl, probably a five-year-old. She cleared her throat again. “I need him home.”

  Stepping over to the bucket, he dipped out a drink of water, drank it empty, then filled it again and extended it toward her. “I need him, too, but seems to me, the Lord needs him more than both of us.”

  “But.” She sipped then returned the dipper to its hook. “Surely the Lord Himself knows how my heart aches.”

  “I’m certain he does, however be it, I will not traipse onto the mountain uninvited.”

  She covered her mouth. Tears wet her cheeks. He was her only hope. “But Grand, he didn’t take any food or water. Not even a cloak.”

  Her grandfather stepped to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Sweetheart, your great-grandfather always returned from walking with God renewed and refreshed, no matter how long he’d stayed. He told me of his days with the Lord, that they seemed liked only a few heartbeats.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Noah walks with Abba. Rejoice in the Lord and forget not His benefits.”

  Her hands moved to rest upon her midsection, and she sighed. “I will try, but a wife in my condition needs her husband.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “And this old man needs his best helper.”

  How many times had he done that over the years? She kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

  “And I you. Come. Let’s see if your grandmother can spare some grape juice and cheese. We can watch the mountain from my patio, perchance today, Noah comes home.”

  Always the voice of reason, once more, he settled her fears. She wiped her cheeks, hoping he’d never sleep with his fathers, though she knew one day he would. Still, only the Almighty numbered his days on Earth.

  One thing had to be sure though. When he died.…

  She wondered again what the deluge might be.

  She loved the old man, and yes, sitting outside with him and Gran sipping juice and sharing cheese comforted her soul, so much better than being home alone. Her eyes searched the mountain paths looking for movement, but even before she located the eagle or his mate that lived near the summit, her mother’s squeal brought her to her feet.

  She jumped up, grabbed her belly and ran toward the front of the
house. The sight warmed her heart, her parents hugging and kissing. She loved them so much. If only her husband would get himself home.

  The praise song of a thousand thousand voices—maybe more—built to a crescendo then softened to less than a whisper, as though the song itself was their very breath. Noah wanted to float on the melody in the Lord’s presence for all eternity.

  WHAT DO YOU SEE

  He opened his eyes. “Two trees, Abba.” He stepped closer; neither looked particularly special, old but not nearly as magnificent as the gopher trees. Realization struck him.

  He trod the exact spot the first man stood when Eve ate of the forbidden fruit. “Oh, Lord, why have you brought me here?”

  Instead of an answer, in a heartbeat, the Lord and His choir vanished. Noah knelt before the center altar, then cold, with no sweet aroma lingering. Three names rested in his soul.

  “Thank you, Father.” He stood, gathered his prayer shawl, and headed down God’s Mountain.

  At the big rock, he spotted his father’s wagon and hurried his pace, but why had he turned back from his journey to Nod?

  At the closest field, green with first-growth wheat, it astonished him to see it tillered nicely, almost filled in. How could it be? Soon it would need to be dunged. How had that happened in one day?

  Hattimas trotted toward him holding her belly. “Husband, bless the Lord! You’ve come home.”

  The urgency in her voice spurred Noah to gird up his loins and run to her. He stopped short, and she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”

  He smiled. Mercy, he’d only been gone a few full turns of the waterwheel. “I love you, wife.” His father and grandfather strode toward him. He eased Hattimas to his side and walked in lockstep with her toward his elders. “Is something wrong?”

  His father shook his head. “No, everything is great. What did the Lord tell you?”

  Noah filled his lungs. “A lot, but tell me, Father, why did you decide not to go for the pitch?”

  His wife leaned out and looked at him, her eyes wide. “He did go, sweetheart. He left the same day you took the lamb up to the high place.”

  Noah closed his eyes. Could it be? Bless the Lord. “How long have I been gone?”

  “Twenty-one days.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “Seemed like just a few turns of the waterwheel. I never knew a night passed over me.”

  Methuselah nodded. “Same with my father, always surprised when I told him how long he’d been with the Lord.”

  Lamech looked toward the big house. “Come, Noah. Your mother and grandmother have prepared a feast.”

  “Yes, you can tell us all about what the Lord showed you over a meal.” Hattimas squeezed him from the side. “You’ve lost weight. I was so worried.”

  “Almost a full moon’s cycle passed. Amazing. I never saw a one. But I tell you at the very mention of food, my mouth watered!” His stomach confirmed what they’d told him. He’d not eaten for too long.

  Three different types of bread, each better than the other, fresh and dried fruit, new combinations of herbs and spices to flavor the garden’s bounty, all blessed his mouth and sated his belly. How did his mother continue to surprise him? He’d never tell Hattimas, but if only she could cook like their mother, she’d be about perfect.

  Especially since her mourning had been turned to joy.

  His father handed him the jug. “Tell us, Son, now that we’ve chased hunger away, what did the Lord show you?”

  Noah filled his glass—oh, how he loved his grandmother’s wine—then his wife’s goblet. “He spoke of the tall tree that He blew over. We need to dress it and roll it down to that flat shelf just west of the fountain.”

  “Did He say why?”

  “No, but He showed me. We’ll put it on notched blocks, one every four cubits.”

  “Formidable task.” His grandfather reached across the table and took the wine. “Did Abba show you how we were to accomplish this feat?”

  “I saw not, but with the Lord’s help, we can accomplish all things.”

  “Well said, Son.” Lamech leaned back. “The double pulleys worked great gathering the pitch. What if we fashioned two heavier wheels with an extra strong axle then station a tripod on each side above the log with the double wheels?” He looked off as though seeing his contraption then smiled.

  Those at the table started exchanging glances.

  “Father?”

  “Oh, sorry. With strong ropes braided as one—like Mother braided Hattimas’ hair when she was young—it might be strong enough.”

  “But how could we lift it?”

  “If the wench were geared right, I believe we could raise the log and slide the blocks under, then move the contraption along as needed.”

  Methuselah held up his cup. “Seems to me, we should start tomorrow.”

  “Agreed.” Noah looked to his father, who smiled.

  “Good! Now what else did the Almighty reveal?”

  Noah took a sip. “He showed me the two trees in Eden, then gave me the names of our three sons.”

  Hattimas grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Tell me! What are their names to be?”

  “Japheth, Ham and Shem.”

  “Did He say why?”

  “No, but I found myself in the center of the garden and I knew that was the exact spot Padam stood when Meve ate from the forbidden tree. Then like I’d been knowing the boys for years, their names lived in my heart.”

  Hattimas squeezed harder. “Did you see the winged men or the flaming sword?”

  “No, but I heard them sing.” He stared into her eyes. “It was awesome. The melody and harmonies, simply exquisite.”

  His father’s idea worked exactly as he’d seen, but the task consumed so much of each day. The crops still needed tending, and the animals fed and led to pasture.

  Past a few light chores and watching the herds, Hattimas wasn’t much help. His grandmother, though fifty-two years younger than Methuselah, hadn’t done much more than groom the grapevines and make wine for decades.

  Cooking filled the largest portion of Laurel’s days. The rest spent making tiny new gowns for her grandsons—as though all the baby clothes hadn’t been saved for the past fifteen hundred years.

  Would he ever understand woman?

  The fullness of days found Hattimas of two minds. Joy unspeakable filled her mostly and nothing or no one could quench her smile. But in the blink of an eye, she’d turn on Noah and fuss until he hurried out and got as far away as possible from her wicked tongue. Then she’d cry and go to her mother.

  The wise woman, who’d been through what Hattimas feared, explained a dread of the pain to come. The thought of it nipped at her heels like a weaned wolf pup hunting attention.

  Still, she hated herself after lashing out so bad at her dear kind and patient husband. One thing no one had to tell her. If her belly grew any bigger, surely it would split open.

  Then finally, praise God, it happened.

  With the Lord’s help, she was delivered of her three sons. The first two looked identical. Grandmother tied different-colored ribbons to each baby’s ankle. Japheth, the oldest, wore blue, and his twin, green.

  Third born and smallest, Shem came feet first and got a white ribbon, soon turned red with blood. His head not coned like his brothers, Hattimas thought him the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen in her four hundred and forty years.

  Bless the Lord!

  A mother at last! With three fine sons.

  Love filled her heart so full, it pushed tears from her eyes. She placed Shem and Japheth to her breasts. Poor little Ham, but what could she do?

  Oh, Abba, please send my daughters one at a time.

  As tradition compelled, her husband Noah, with his father Lamech and his father’s father Methuselah standing on each side of him, held each son in turn and named the boys and blessed them.

  Then he faced her with a weak smile. “I’m sorry, my love, but the Lord bids me co
me to the high place.”

  She took her babies back. “No, don’t feel bad. Go. Obedience is better than sacrifice.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fire sprang from God’s finger and consumed Noah’s offering. He backed away, fell to his knees, and worshiped. Without moving, he suddenly stood looking out over a large meadow.

  On one side, hundreds of men marched in place dressed in leather vests and short tunics. Each carried a staff with a long knife bound at the top and wore iron hats on their heads.

  Someone hollered, and they stopped in unison.

  At the other end, not as many—maybe half or less—dressed in long robes tied with a sash at the waist over their tunics. Some bore the same staffs with knives, but most carried pitchforks or shovels; a few only knives in their hands.

  A man on horseback shouted. Someone blew a trumpet, then the two groups ran at each other.

  In the middle of the meadow the groups clashed. They stabbed, cut, and hacked at each other. One man with a knife swiped, and his enemy’s severed head fell to the ground. On and on they fought. Dark red blood stained the green grass before soaking into the earth.

  “Oh, Lord. Why have you shown me this horror?”

  But He never spoke.

  Instead, Noah found himself standing between buildings almost as high as a gopher tree. More brick and mortar structures stood in front and behind him. Men, scantily-clad women, and children—some naked or near so—hurried about in every direction.

  Unmentionable acts, men with other men, took place in the open square.

  Curses and angry words flew. The citizenry shoved and fought each other. Statues of animals’ heads on the bodies of men were everywhere. Some waved candles and chanted before them.

  The women draped over the bases seemed to enjoy being openly groped. The pagans bowed before their gods of wood and stone. They ripped babies from their mother’s womb to sacrifice to the evil gods.

  Children rose against their parents, spilled their blood then went about all serving their own pleasures.

  The aroma of roasting flesh, familiar from the sacrificial lambs, filled Noah’s nostrils, but not with a pleasant and sweet fragrance as on God’s Mountain. He wrapped his cloak tight, covering the lower half of his face. But the evil shrouded him. He hated this place, hated seeing the sons of Cain treat each other such.