Heavens Before

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  “Finish eating,” Naomi scolded mildly. “You are supposed to be resting today, not working. You’ll be tired of well water soon enough.”

  “Mother of my Husband,” Annah began tentatively, “if you have wells for water, why do you use the river so often?”

  Smiling, Naomi said, “We rarely go to the river. The first day my son saw you, he and his brother decided they would enjoy using the river to soak the fibers for ropes. Of course it was the will of the Most High that my son see you there; we know that now.”

  “Oh.” Annah blinked, grateful, but wondering at the will of the Most High. Why should He notice her?

  Using a thin, fine metal blade, Naomi peeled the bulbs and edible tubers, humming beneath her breath until a sharp whistle sounded from outside the lodge. Her dark eyebrows lifted. “That’s Noakh. Something’s wrong.”

  Annah scrambled to her feet, clutching her food. Noakh entered the lodge, raising his grizzled eyebrows at his wife. “We have visitors from the settlement.” He turned to Annah. “Child, please go look through the lattice in the storage room and tell us who these people are. Why should they visit us twenty-two years after forbidding us to enter their lands?”

  Sick with dread, Annah went into the storage room and peered through the lattice of the far wall. In the distance, she saw one man and two women. Bachown, Tsillah, and Taphaph. Slowly, Annah faced Noakh and Naomi, who had followed her. “They are Bachown and Tsillah and their daughter, Taphaph. My brother, Yerakh, wants Taphaph as his wife. But I think her parents would rather have you offer grain and sheep for her, as you offered them for me. That’s why those men pursued us yesterday, and why Bachown and Tsillah are coming to visit you now. I’m sure Tsillah will offer Taphaph to Yepheth or Khawm.”

  Fingering his beard thoughtfully, Noakh said, “Then Yerakh will make trouble for us if we take his beloved. We must be rid of this family without giving offense.”

  “I wish you could tell them that you’ve chosen wives for Yepheth and Khawm,” Annah whispered, deeply distressed, hugging her bowl of food.

  “That would be a lie,” Naomi sighed.

  But Noakh’s eyes shone, suddenly mischievous. “Thank you, daughter, for your concern. Now listen; go out the back of our lodge to the pen. Don’t be afraid, but run up inside that big door and hide there. We will come for you when this family is gone.”

  Annah offered the dish of cakes, fruits, and nuts to Naomi, but Naomi flapped her hands vigorously. “No, take it with you; I expect you to eat it all by the time our guests have departed. Hurry. And don’t spill your food!”

  Impossible! Annah thought. But she slapped one hand over the food and scurried out the back of the lodge. She heard Noakh chuckling as she ran.

  Twelve

  ANNAH PAUSED to summon her courage before approaching the formidably vast structure her husband and father-in-law called the pen. The door of the pen was actually a long ramp of dense, multilayered wood stretching from the ground up to the inner level of the structure. Each layer and surface of the ramp was permeated with hardened black resins. Annah stepped on the ramp, testing its feel with her bare foot; it was warm, smooth, rock-solid, and not at all sticky. Reassured, she trotted up the ramp, her toes gripping the narrow holds built into the surface of the wood.

  Reaching the top of the ramp, she crept inside the pen, wondering if Bachown or Tsillah and Taphaph had seen her. Not that it matters if they did, she thought defiantly. She resented their intrusion into the lodge of Noakh. Why had she believed she could be rid of the members of the settlement just by crossing a river? O Most High, she begged, please make them go away peaceably!

  As her eyes adjusted to the filtered light inside the pen, Annah forgot about Bachown, Tsillah, and Taphaph. To her left and her right were endless rows of wooden stalls of varying heights and widths, built in orderly formations throughout this level of the pen. Each row of stalls was separated by long rows of what appeared to be covered water troughs. The trough covers were cut open at carefully spaced intervals, to allow the would-be occupants to drink comfortably. Above, long resin-blackened reed pipes hung suspended by ropes from the rafters; the ends of these pipes were jointed and turned downward—seeming ready to spill water into the troughs at any time. There were also open bins beneath each trough—feed bins, Annah decided. At the rear of each row of stalls, shallow gutters were built into the floor, as if to catch and contain animal waste. Annah frowned at these.

  Do they really plan to keep their animals here? she wondered, perplexed. This pen is too elaborate for that, and these different-sized stalls don’t make sense. Her feet pattering over the bare floor, she inspected large baskets and tall bins, also placed at convenient intervals near the stalls. These held an overwhelming abundance of coarse grains, seeds, pellets, dried fruits and vegetables, oddly dark grain cakes, twigs, dense bundles of bark, and countless varieties of dried grasses, leaves, and pine needles—all weighted by stones to pack them down tight within their containers.

  Seeing this abundance, Annah remembered her dish of food. Randomly pushing the fruits, nuts, and bits of grain cake into her mouth, she chewed avidly while exploring several large herding areas. Apparently, these would allow selected animals freedom from the stalls. As if they won’t go outside, Annah thought. There were also numerous large cages—barred with metal and built against the walls—completely separated from the more open stalls. Annah touched one of the chilling metal bars, baffled. Why metal?

  Turning from the barred cages, she studied the far walls of the pen. Here she found endless rows of stacked reed cages. Each cage had its own slanted board beneath, to propel animal wastes into long communal pits behind the cages. These cages are for very small animals, Annah decided. And there are hundreds of them. Why should my father-in-law and my husband keep small animals of no practical use?

  Curious, Annah approached the ramp near the center of the pen. This ramp led upward into the next level. Near it was a rail, guarding an opening in the floor. Another ramp leading downward, Annah realized. There are three levels. Why?

  Annah crept up the ramp to the higher level. Here she paused, sucking in her breath, awed. This level was much brighter, lit by a high, double row of raised, continuously roofed, open-shuttered windows, which extended the entire center-length of the pen’s gradually peaked ceiling. The clear, restful pink of the sky and the distant calls of birds filtered through the windows; Annah admired them while she finished her snack. Full now, she explored the upper level.

  There were more cages and bins here. Annah gaped at the enormous netted enclosures at each end, hung with countless dried tree branches and more water pipes. These are beyond understanding, she told herself, gazing at the massive netted enclosures. I’m sure I don’t want to know their purpose. Near the enclosures, Annah noticed ladders built into the wall. The ladders, stout and sturdy, extended to the high windows and also descended through the floor, accessing the lower levels.

  Reluctant to try the ladders, Annah retreated, still exploring the upper level. She discovered several small cubicles built into the walls, equipped with open-holed seats—waste pits for humans. There were also four comfortably spaced rooms in this upper level, set far apart from each other like a vast lodge. Does my husband’s family intend to abandon their lodge and live here? Annah wondered. There is no other explanation for all these supplies. Even so, why should they keep so many types of animals and foods? Have they stored food for themselves too?

  Suspicious now, she eyed row after row of large, coiled storage baskets; the same sort of storage baskets her beloved had used to convey his payments of grain to Yerakh. But there are so many more baskets here, Annah thought, stupefied. It will take years to eat all this food. She peeked into basket after basket, bin after bin. All of them were filled with grains, beans, spices, dried fruit cakes, dried vegetables, gourds, dried olives, huge quantities of seeds, nuts, and—to her amazement—large clay jars of oil and wooden vats of honey. There were also large quantities of dri
ed honeycombs. In addition, many bins contained scented resins and huge stacks of dried, fragrant wood, obviously intended for burning. Wondering, Annah looked for the hearth.

  She found it just beyond the ramp—a small hearth, encircled by stones lined, paved, and mortared with clay. Oddly, the sight of the hearth shocked her. She sat beside it, staring, trying to make sense of this entire pen; it had no logical, normal explanation. Annah bit her lip, thinking, Perhaps my husband’s family is more than a little strange.

  As she sat beside the hearth, staring, she heard footsteps coming up the ramp. Not Naomi’s quick, brisk footsteps, but the calm, deliberate footsteps of Noakh. Why? She thought to him, sensing his quiet presence. Why?

  He emerged from the ramp and turned, obviously sensing her near the hearth. His face was peaceful, but somber, as if he knew she would question him. Slowly, he approached the hearth and sat a proper distance away, facing her.

  “It’s safe for you to leave now, if you wish, child,” he said, giving her the option of a swift retreat to the normality of the lodge. His eyes were gentle and dark, like Shem’s, and he smiled—a patient, waiting smile. He seemed willing to answer any questions she wished to ask.

  “Father of my Husband,” she began hesitantly. “Why? This pen doesn’t make sense. Why all these supplies and this hearth?”

  He released his breath quietly, gazing up at the long row of windows, contemplating his answer. At last he looked at her. “Child, do you love your husband?”

  Startled, she said, “Yes.” Why do you ask?

  “How much do love your husband?” Noakh persisted. “How would you measure your love?”

  A measure of my love? Pondering this, Annah remembered her first glimpse of Shem at the river: the intensity of his eyes, the sunlight shining on the darkness of his hair. She could still feel the shock of realizing that he would not hesitate to follow her into the river; it was nothing to him then—or now—to risk his life for her sake. Drawing on this memory, she said, “I would give my life to save my husband’s life.”

  Noakh smiled approvingly. “That is the true answer of love. But what if your husband turned against you? What if he ignored your words and despised your love and your beauty? What if he actually laughed in your face and spoke of you with scorn and contempt when from the beginning you have only wished to share with him the treasures of your innermost heart?”

  Annah felt the blood draining from her face, unable to imagine such a possibility. Swallowing, she said, “I would try to reason with him and be patient and hope his feelings might change.”

  “What if you gave him years upon years of perfect love and patience, and he refused to change? What then? What if his feelings turned to violence against you and against the people and the things you love? What if his hatred began to destroy things that were precious to you? What if he began to destroy the lives of others? What then? Would you finally feel compelled to turn from him and seek another way?”

  “Yes, but … Shem wouldn’t …”

  “He wouldn’t,” Noakh agreed, smiling sympathetically. “But this is how men have turned against the perfect love of the Most High.” Serious, Noakh pursed his lips, his long work-stained fingers smoothing his graying beard. “Now, daughter, think of when you go out to the fields and the trees, where the animals and birds live. You sense them and they sense you. They know if you’re pleased and if you’re angry. Am I right?”

  Annah considered the reactions of the birds, the field mice, the fruit-eaters, and even the fish. “When I’m happy and at peace, they come to me. When I’m angry, they become agitated. They flee.”

  Noakh nodded. “This is how the Most High created them: to respond to man. This is how He also created man and the earth. When man is at peace with himself and with the Most High, then the earth itself is at peace. When man is full of violence and shuns all good—including the Most High—then the earth, too, is corrupted and given to violence.”

  Annah shivered, the first hints of horror gripping her. “Then the earth shakes.”

  “The shaking of the earth is only the beginning,” Noakh answered gently. “Tell me, daughter, have you met any man, woman, or child in the settlement—ever—who has called upon the Most High, and who has not been filled with rage, but with lovingkindness?”

  “No.” She could not help staring at her father-in-law.

  “Nor have I. Through the years I’ve met countless people, in your settlement and far beyond. None will believe in the Most High. And none call on the Most High who loves them, though I’ve tried to reason with them, to warn them. I tried to warn the people of your settlement years before you were born.”

  Annah frowned. “Warn them? Of what?”

  Taking a deep breath, Noakh said, “Because of the violence and evil of mankind, the earth will turn upon itself with violence, bursting open, creating a great flood—the most horrible destruction! No creature that draws breath through its nostrils will be left alive on the earth. Only those sheltered in this pen will be saved.”

  Unable to comprehend such devastation, Annah blinked.

  Noakh smiled at her reaction. “This is why my sons and I built this pen. This oversized storage chest is constructed as the Most High commanded. This is how He has chosen to save those of us who love and obey Him.”

  “But,” Annah protested, “if the Most High created the earth, then can’t He restore it? Can’t He prevent the earth from turning upon itself?”

  “Child, listen.” Shaking his head firmly, Noakh said, “Understand me. For almost one hundred and twenty years now, it is only the merciful hand of the Most High that has prevented the earth from turning upon itself. He has extended every sign of love to men, but men despise Him. He has granted them all these years of mercy to give them the chance to turn toward Him again—away from the violence of their desires—to prevent this destruction. But they laugh and deny His very existence. He grieves, child. Soon, He will be compelled to lift His hand from the earth. Yet, He will be merciful; some day, He will send us the Promised One to bring us into harmony with Him.”

  “The Promised One?”

  “Child, what stories do you remember of Adam and his Havah, Mother of All?”

  “I know that Adam and Havah were tempted by that Serpent, then forced from the Garden of Adan by the Most High because they neglected His commands,” Annah offered, uncertain.

  Noakh’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “There is more to the story, child—and one day you will be able to recite it in whole. But, simply told … after the rebellion in Adan, the Most High promised that one day a man born of woman will crush our Adversary, that Serpent adored by the Nachash and her whisperers.”

  Annah leaned forward, pleased that the Serpent—and possibly the Nachash—would be crushed. “May I ask one more question? Who will be this Promised One? How will we recognize him?”

  “Two questions!” Noakh teased. “But listen, daughter. This Promised One will make himself known at the proper time as one of the sons of my son Shem. We will recognize him by his unfailing love and obedience toward the Most High—and because he will restore us to harmony with the Most High, as it was in Adan.”

  Taken aback, Annah struggled to form the words, “Then one of the sons of my husband … a child I will bear …”

  “Will be—or be a father of—the Promised One,” Noakh finished quietly.

  “But I’m a nothing.”

  “Am I any better?” asked Noakh, smiling. “No one, daughter, including me, deserves anything but punishment from the Most High. But He loves us enough to send the Promised One. Who are we to argue?”

  “We don’t deserve such mercy,” Annah murmured, overwhelmed. Wondering, she said, “You went to the settlement before I was born. You spoke to the men there. Did you see my father and tell him all this?”

  Looking away, Noakh said, “When the Most High warned me of the coming destruction, I also knew that I should marry my beloved, Naomi. Our mothers had spoken to one another ma
ny, many years before.” Smiling faintly now, gazing up at the high windows, Noakh said, “It is not a pleasing or flattering thing for a woman to be kept waiting by her pledged husband. And I confess, I did keep her waiting far too long: Her childbearing years were almost gone. To soothe her feelings, I sought out a renowned goldsmith: Zahar of the Tsaraph. I asked him to create a pair of bracelets for her; gold is soothing to the heart of the wearer.”

  Annah nodded in silent agreement. She didn’t like it that her father-in-law was avoiding her gaze.

  Noakh hesitated. “I spoke to your father, child. He was a kind man. He listened politely when I spoke of the Most High. Then he spoke of the gold.”

  When her father-in-law fell silent, Annah realized that there was no more to tell. Her father had rejected the Most High. Her throat and eyes burning, her chin quivering, Annah said softly, “My father was merely polite to you. I’m sorry. Undoubtedly … he would have also scorned me.”

  Noakh sat looking down at his hands, his brow troubled, his mouth working this way and that. Annah could not bear his distress. She choked down her tears. “Thank you. At least I know you spoke to him.”

  Noakh looked up, and Annah was astonished to see telltale glints of moisture in his dark eyes. Smiling mournfully, he said, “I’ve had countless men, women, and children laugh at me, spit on me, turn their backs on me… It was nothing compared to having to tell you this now. And, excepting my wife and sons, you are the first ever to listen to me or to question me without mockery. Thank you, daughter.”

  Annah wiped her face, sighing ruefully. “I should stop asking questions. I rarely like the answers, even when I agree with them.” Hearing footsteps, quick and certain on the ramp, Annah turned. Shem appeared, his hair in damp, wild curls as if he had recently emerged from the river. The very sight of him revived her.

  Seeing Annah, he lifted his eyebrows, obviously concerned: Are you well?