Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “She’ll have to live somewhere else,” Taphaph declared.

  In her thoughts, Annah could almost see Taphaph tossing back her long, thick hair, certain of her power over Yerakh.

  Tsillah spoke, impatient with her daughter. “If Yerakh has managed to train her to work the gold, then you could train her to pound spices and grains. She could be useful to you.”

  Annah grimaced, trying to imagine being useful to Taphaph. Pressing her lips together firmly, she shifted the club between her hands and continued the rhythm of beating the gold, her thoughts chanting, bride-gold-for-Taph-aph, bride-gold-for-Taph-aph.

  As she worked, she could hear children screeching in the main room of the lodge. Men were arriving now also: Yerakh, Naham, K’nan. Annah could hear them arguing.

  Marriage portions, she told herself. What else could they be discussing? I don’t want to hear it. But the mother of my beloved will arrive before too long. I should go into the main room; she will want to see that I’m safe.

  Wearied, dreading the evening, Annah set her club down next to the bride-gold, then pulled her veil over her head. She slipped into the main room of the lodge and settled against the wall, not far from the men.

  Gammad joined their circle. Belligerent, he faced Yerakh. “You’ll have to hire another man to tend your herds and plow your fields. I can’t do it all myself. And if Haburah and Ayalah marry and leave, you’ll need to hire two more men.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” Yerakh answered harshly. “And I don’t need you to tell me what I will and won’t do!”

  Gammad’s eyes kindled dangerously. “One day, Yerakh, you’ll have to listen to me. You’ll have to listen to all of us!”

  Yerakh grabbed him by the throat, but Naham asked. “Yerakh, do you want to kill your only workman?”

  Furious, Yerakh released Gammad and sat back, glaring. Gammad gave him look for look, while Annah held her breath. At last, Gammad looked downward in reluctant submission. Yerakh still held power over him.

  Now Taphaph approached Yerakh, smiling. Her skin, hair, and eyes shimmered in the filtered afternoon light. She fanned herself delicately with her hands, then pulled her glossy black hair away from her neck, her movements graceful, lingering.

  The men all stared at her, but Taphaph’s smiles were for Yerakh alone. “Tell me that you’re finished arguing, Yerakh, please. I want to sit near you, but my mother won’t let me if she thinks you’re going to fight.”

  “We’ve finished arguing,” Yerakh told her, suddenly smiling and genial.

  Taphaph knelt beside Yerakh, sure of herself. Yerakh reached behind her back with sly, secretive fingers and began stroking and caressing her hair.

  Annah was disgusted. They acted as if this were a marriage feast instead of a mourning feast. A soft murmur arose from the others. Annah presumed it was in response to Taphaph’s flirtation—until she looked up and saw the mother of her beloved entering the lodge, carrying an intricate oblong basket heaped with grain cakes.

  Her graying hair rich and heavy with gold talismans, she moved quietly through the crowd and set her basket on the mats with the other dishes brought by the women of the settlement. Everyone was watching her, but she seemed oblivious to them all. She straightened, completely dignified, her hands clasped respectfully, displaying a fine pair of matching gold cuffs on her wrists. Turning toward the seat of honor, held by Yerakh, she said in calm, carrying tones, “Yerakh of the Lodge of the Tsaraph. I am Naomi of Those-Who-Carve-Wood. We live north and west of the boundaries of your settlement.”

  Naomi, Annah thought, clinging to this bit of information.

  Yerakh inclined his dark head. Naham, K’nan, and Gammad all moved away, allowing her to approach. Taphaph, however, stayed beside Yerakh. He frowned slightly, focused on the elaborate gold cuffs adorning Naomi’s wrists. At last he said, “Welcome. How do you know me?”

  “My family was acquainted with your father,” she answered, lifting one dark eyebrow.

  Annah caught her breath at this; it was precisely the way her beloved lifted his eyebrow when questioning her at the river.

  Naomi continued, saying, “I have come to express my sorrow for the death of your mother.”

  “How do you know she’s dead?” Yerakh demanded, astonished, almost rude.

  “There are ways of knowing,” she told him firmly, her tone allowing no questions or doubts. “I also wish to conduct business with you before all these witnesses, though I ask your forgiveness for speaking of it, today of all days. This will be my only chance to meet with you, and I must have your answer immediately.”

  Yerakh studied her, then indicated one of the mats set before him. Naomi knelt formally, her hands calmly folded in her lap. As if remembering his manners, Yerakh straightened, his tone cool, polite. “Will you have something to eat?”

  “Two of my sons are waiting for me; we have only a short time to conclude our business,” she answered, her words soothing. “I do not wish to offend you.”

  Yerakh turned, glaring at Haburah. Ducking her head obediently, Haburah selected a small dish of dry grain cakes and brought them forward. Annah held her breath, wondering if the mother of her beloved would refuse this offering of food; to accept food in the house of a stranger was to acknowledge peace between host and guest. Naomi smiled politely at Haburah and took a grain cake. They watched as she broke off an edge of the cake and ate it, accepting Yerakh’s courtesy. Annah relaxed slightly.

  Finished with her piece of grain cake, the mother of her beloved straightened, purposeful again. “I have come to ask you for one of your sisters; my second son has seen her and desires to have her as his wife.”

  Annah’s heart pounded hard and fast. It was difficult to keep still; her hands were sweating. As she expected, Yerakh frowned. “You’ll have to tell your son to look for a wife elsewhere. My sisters have no marriage portions.”

  Waving one dismissive hand, her gold wrist-cuff glittering, catching light, Naomi said, “It is not our custom to accept marriage portions. My son has seen your sister and he desires to have her as his wife. He asked me to offer you five hundred of his finest animals and half the grain from his fields for this year.”

  Yerakh sat back, visibly stunned. There was not a sound in the lodge; every member of the settlement was trying to absorb the shock of having one of their most basic customs overturned by a stranger. Yerakh shook his head as if he did not understand. Carefully, he asked, “Your son is willing to pay five hundred of his finest animals, and half his harvest, for one of my sisters?”

  He looked at Haburah and Ayalah, who were staring at their guest, speechless. Annah gaped beneath her veil, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  Naomi waited patiently, watching Yerakh. As if to encourage him, she said, “My son has harvested and threshed his grain; it is ready to be used.”

  Yerakh swallowed. Annah shut her eyes, feeling his greed. To offer a man grain, already gathered and threshed, was to offer him ease. Grain was the basis of every meal, difficult to raise, more satisfying than the sweetest fruits or beans. She could only think of all the days her beloved had worked in his fields, sweating, fighting the thorns and his own weariness to gather his harvest, merely to offer half of it to Yerakh for her. Annah longed to protest against this sacrifice.

  “He measured out the containers this morning,” said the mother of her beloved. “His brothers had to help him; the grain fills two handcarts.”

  Yerakh stared. “Why should he offer this much?”

  “Because our fields have prospered and he wants a wife.”

  Glancing at Taphaph, then at his sisters, Yerakh smiled. “I accept. But which of my sisters could be worth all this?”

  “The veiled one.”

  Yerakh’s smile faded. Like a man condemned, he said, “Your son won’t want her; she cannot speak.”

  “Then she cannot argue. And my son will have peace in his lodge. As for myself, I say if she can bear him children, then nothing else matt
ers.”

  Naham growled at Yerakh. “Fool! Accept her terms!”

  Everyone laughed, and Yerakh smiled, obviously enjoying the conspiratorial looks of all his family and friends. “I accept.”

  Annah clenched her hands in her lap, overcome, struggling to maintain her composure.

  Naomi stood, dignified. “My sons will bring the herds and grain throughout the day tomorrow. Have her ready tomorrow evening.” As if remembering something trivial, she said, “Please, forgive us. This is a place of mourning. We do not expect a wedding feast; it would be inappropriate. And your sister should bring only what she can carry in her arms. Nothing more.”

  Inclining her head respectfully to Yerakh, and to all present, she departed. Annah watched her go, as stunned as everyone else. I don’t believe this, she thought, numbed. This did not happen. She felt everyone staring at her now, trying to see her in the shadows. Their sudden interest terrified her. Be nothing, Annah told herself. A nothing-creature.

  His eyes narrow with suspicion, Yerakh stood and crossed the short distance between them. Reaching down, Yerakh dragged Annah to her feet, pulling her veil away. She gazed at the floor, keeping her face slack, her eyes vacant, seeing something that didn’t exist. Yerakh grabbed her jaw, turning her face toward his, bellowing, “Look at me!”

  Annah looked past him vaguely, now fixing her eyes to a point somewhere beyond the roof of the lodge. Disgusted, Yerakh let her go. Annah slouched down again beside the lattice-and-grass wall. Slowly, absently, she gathered her veil to herself and pulled it over her head, then leaned into the wall and shut her eyes, as if nothing was more important than a nap. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the others staring at her. Some of the young men snickered.

  “What did she do to make him desire her?” Tseb-iy asked, expressing everyone’s disbelief. He laughed softly, the sound full of unspoken, lascivious imaginings.

  How can you laugh, Tseb-iy? Annah almost shook with rage. My mother died last night, bearing your child, and you stand in her lodge now, and you laugh and think of vile things.

  “Now, we’ll talk!” Naham announced loudly, rumbling, jubilant. “This worthless creature has brought more wealth to the lodge of the Tsaraph. So, Yerakh, no more excuses. You’ll give K’nan one hundred animals for Ayalah’s marriage portion.”

  “One hundred and fifty,” K’nan argued. “Because he’s kept me waiting for so long.”

  “And one hundred fifty animals for Haburah,” Naham agreed, accepting K’nan’s terms as his own.

  “Then you owe me at least one hundred fifty animals,” Gammad said menacingly. “That leaves you with all the grain, fifty new animals, and the promise of a marriage portion from Taphaph. You have no reason to disagree with us now, Yerakh.”

  Curious, Annah opened her eyes to peer through the veil. Yerakh looked murderous. Taphaph was pulling away from him in response to fervent signals from her mother.

  Tsillah, thin and imperious, spoke as if alarmed. “Nothing has been decided for my daughter, and I’m not ready to part with her yet!”

  “I’ma!” Taphaph protested. But Tsillah steered Taphaph out of the lodge, lifting her high-arched brows at Tseb-iy. Sullen, he stalked after them.

  “Get out!” Yerakh ordered Gammad. “You’ve caused enough trouble for tonight. You can sleep in the pen with the sheep!”

  Gammad hesitated, then snatched several handfuls of grain cakes and stomped outside. Yerakh scowled, watching him go. Still angry, he looked at Naham. “You won’t give me any peace until you have Haburah, will you?”

  “None,” Naham agreed.

  “Then you may have her, and the animals you requested from the five hundred. And K’nan will have the one hundred fifty animals he requested for Ayalah.”

  Hearing this, Ayalah screamed with delight, while Haburah closed her eyes. All the women whispered among themselves, amazed.

  Yerakh ignored them. He beckoned Naham quietly. “I’ll pay you an extra fifty animals, if you’ll do as I say.”

  Annah shuddered at the coldness in his voice. Hushed, Yerakh muttered instructions to Naham, who smiled and narrowed his eyes, pleased. What is Yerakh planning? Annah wondered. She watched the two men for the remainder of the evening, but their words and actions revealed nothing.

  At the end of the evening, Yerakh called to the wives of Naham. “I’ll give you each a talisman of gold if you’ll guard that creature tonight in your own lodge, and prepare her for her marriage. Be sure she doesn’t run away in the morning. Haburah, Ayalah, go with them. Naham will stay here with me.”

  The other guests were leaving now, and the wives of Naham stopped to gather some remnants of the feast to take back to their lodge. Grimly, Haburah grabbed Annah by the elbow and pushed her toward the doorway of the lodge. My bag, Annah thought, suddenly anxious, halting in the doorway. My comb, my shell carving. She had left them in a corner of Yerakh’s workroom.

  “Go!” Haburah shoved her out into the dusk. Ayalah and the wives of Naham followed them, gossiping. Stars sparkled in the violet-red evening sky. Annah focused on them, calming herself.

  “Don’t think that I’ll spend the entire night with the four of you,” Ayalah told the wives of Naham. “I’m going to find K’nan!” She paused, listening to sounds in the distance. They all turned, hearing the low, protesting calls of sheep and the sharp whistles of approaching herders. “It must be Annah’s fool—he’s too impatient to wait until tomorrow.” Ayalah laughed at the thought.

  The sounds of the sheep and the whistles of two herders roused the men of the settlement. They were coming from all directions now; among them Yerakh, Naham, Tseb-iy, K’nan, Gammad, and Tseb-iy’s father—the portly, gray-haired Bachown, who was the settlement’s expert in testing metals. Already the men were quarreling about how to divide the herd. Annah guessed there were at least a hundred animals. Yerakh was talking to the lead herder, whom Annah recognized as the older brother of her beloved.

  I wish you were here, she thought to her beloved, knowing he had deliberately stayed away. It would comfort me to see you again.

  As she stared at the gathering of men and at the sheep, Annah saw Gammad arguing with K’nan, then with Yerakh. Naham stepped between Yerakh and Gammad, then very pointedly turned his massive back on Gammad, cutting him off from the others. Annah felt chills of fear creeping downward from her scalp.

  “You can forget about seeing K’nan now,” Haburah taunted Ayalah. “The men will be arguing for the rest of the night. Come. Let’s leave them to their stupid sheep.” She gripped Annah’s shoulders and turned her toward the lodge of Naham. Annah resisted, longing to scream out a warning to Gammad. But her sisters dragged her away, and fear kept her silent.

  Ten

  IN THE late-morning sunlight, the wives of Naham immersed Annah in the river, then scoured her with sand and rinses of cleansing herbs. Finished, they led her and her sisters back to their lodge. There they rubbed scented oils into Annah’s hair and skin. Haburah and Ayalah were indifferent to Annah’s appearance, but the wives of Naham were unhappy. The first wife, Shuwa, slim and meticulous, was especially displeased.

  “This is like trying to bring a stone to life!” Shuwa complained, combing Annah’s hair. “It can’t be done. Does your brother expect me to make her appear to be a normal woman, with her eyes staring away like that?”

  The second wife, Qetsiyah, laughed curtly. “From what you’ve said, sister-wife, you must have looked exactly like this creature the day you married Naham.”

  Shuwa stopped combing Annah’s hair. “Well, from what I saw, the day you married Naham, you did look like a stone.”

  Clearly impatient, Ayalah plucked the comb out of Shuwa’s fingers. “I’ll do this. We’ve been working on Annah since this morning; I’m sick of looking at her. K’nan’s waiting for me.”

  “May he always be waiting for you,” Shuwa muttered, but her words sounded more like a curse than a blessing.

  Kneeling on the mat beside her, Haburah sla
pped an oblong basket of cakes in front of Annah and the wives of Naham. “I wouldn’t concern myself with Annah’s appearance. A man offering anything for a dumb creature like her can’t have much of a mind himself.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Perhaps I’ll become as mindless as Annah the day I marry Naham.”

  “You’ll survive,” Qetsiyah answered, subdued.

  Shuwa and Qetsiyah evidently lived from day to day, dealing with Naham. Oddly enough, both wives had the same build as Haburah: slender, hinting at elegance. Annah wondered if Haburah eventually would become like Shuwa or Qetsiyah; an almost-nothing woman, her elegance and spirit crushed by Naham’s brutality.

  “I don’t want to just survive him,” Haburah said, snatching a grain cake. “I want to kill him.”

  Silent, the wives of Naham perused the basket of cakes. Annah recognized the oblong basket and the cakes made by the mother of her beloved. Pretending nothingness, she took a cake and nibbled it. The taste was sweet, faintly spiced, and delicate, crumbling gently in her mouth.

  “At least she can feed herself,” Shuwa sighed.

  “Her tunic is old,” Qetsiyah said. “We should persuade Yerakh to let us find some other garment among the belongings of his wife or mother. We wouldn’t want that fool-of-a-man to receive his wife in an old tunic.”

  “You can’t use one of I’ma’s beautiful garments on her,” Ayalah protested.

  “You’d give her one of your own?” Qetsiyah asked, skeptical.

  “It’s well past midday,” Shuwa interrupted, addressing Haburah. “Will your brother allow us to return to his lodge and search for proper marriage attire?”

  “I’m beyond caring what Yerakh thinks!” Haburah declared savagely. “Or Naham!”

  “Naham’s other wife—the one before me—used to speak in such a way,” Shuwa told Haburah somberly. “Naham broke her bones, then buried her alive because she argued with him.”

  “He showed me her grave,” Qetsiyah added. “He laughs about her death.”

  “Let him try to break my bones.” Haburah stood, brushing the crumbs from her tunic. “He’ll have to catch me first. Come, let’s take Annah to our lodge.”