She nodded faintly, motioning with her hands: Thank you.
His answering smile was radiant. As he approached, she gazed at him, enraptured. How I’ve missed you! No man alive can compare to you.
Glancing at Noakh, Shem said, “I’ma sent me. She said you are both so late for the midday meal that if you delay any longer it will be evening and she won’t bother to cook again today.”
“Then we must hurry,” Noakh answered agreeably. “I like my evening meal at the proper time.”
Shem helped Annah to her feet and kissed her. She sighed, welcoming the warmth of his touch.
Noakh watched them, his eyes gleaming, amused. “Yes, help your pretty young wife to her feet, my son, and forget that your father is an old man.”
Laughing, Shem pulled his father to his feet and kissed him. Noakh pretended to scoff. “Bah!”
Outside the pen, with the sunlight touching her face, Annah remembered Bachown, Tsillah, and Taphaph. I prayed that the Most High would make them go away, she thought, fearful of her own selfishness. Now, it seems that He will. But when?
Naomi was indignant. “That Tsillah is a proud, rude woman! And her daughter is no better. I wouldn’t have Taphaph in my lodge for anything in the world. She sulked, child. And she made such a face at her mother that I was amazed her mother lived. Here now, eat; Yepheth and Khawm left a little.”
Naomi uncovered the clay dishes containing the remnants of the midday meal: flat cakes of parched grain, olives, a thick paste of spiced beans, and boiled, mashed tubers, delicately seasoned with precious salt.
“I’m sorry they were rude to you, Mother of my Husband,” Annah said, eyeing the tubers uncertainly—Parah had always left tubers whole.
“Don’t apologize for them. It’s not your fault they were rude.”
“What did you tell them, I’ma?” Shem asked, spreading bean paste on his flat grain cake.
Naomi knelt beside Noakh, patting his hand fondly. “At the suggestion of your father, I told them that the wives of Yepheth and Khawm have been chosen and we are waiting for them.” Shem’s eyebrows lifted teasingly. Naomi became stubborn. “It’s true! The Most High knows who the wives of your brothers are, and we are waiting for Him to bring them to us. But even if it had been a lie—may the Most High forgive me—I would have said anything to keep that Taphaph out of my lodge and away from my sons.”
Turning to Annah, Naomi said, “I can guess how she would treat you, daughter! We’ll have no women from that settlement in this lodge. Here, child, eat some more.” Naomi scooped some of the mashed, seasoned tubers onto a flat, parched grain cake and presented it to Annah. “Don’t worry about being too tidy; after years upon years of watching these men eat, you can’t possibly disgust me.”
Annah ate self-consciously, certain that Shem was just waiting for her to drop her food so he could tease her. But she finished the cake and the mashed tubers neatly. And she liked them enough that she wanted more, which pleased Naomi. “It’s the olive oil and salt, and some of the savory bulbs,” she explained. “Not pretty, but good.”
Later, when Noakh went to work in the pen, Shem took Annah’s hand. “Come, walk with me to the edge of the trees.”
When Annah hesitated, Naomi shooed her off kindly. “Go with your husband.” But she scolded Shem. “Remember, she is supposed to rest today.”
“I haven’t forgotten, I’ma,” Shem promised. Lowering his voice, he added, “Though I’d like to.” His tone of intimacy brought a rush of warmth to Annah’s face. Shem led her out into the daylight, beneath the low, soft-pink sky. They walked together in silence, then Shem asked, “Did my father tell you why we built the pen?”
Reluctantly, she said, “He told me that the earth will be destroyed. I think I believe him.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” Shem explained. “I’ve always accepted it as the truth. But I suppose, to anyone else, the thought of such a flood—such destruction—would be more than they’d want to believe.”
“I don’t want to believe that the earth could turn upon itself, but your father is right; the earth is filled with violence. Ever since those first tremors, I’ve been wondering what could be strong enough to shake the earth.”
Shem exhaled, sounding relieved. “At least you’ve been wondering. None of the other people we’ve met seem to care. They all mock us.”
They turned onto the path leading down to the river. Birds sang from every direction, while ground hens, lizards, and rodents skittered around them. A snake, tawny and black, undulated over the path. Edging closer to her husband, Annah said, “Your father told me that he went to the settlement and spoke to the men there.”
Shem nodded. “Yes, when my father heard that Yerakh had murdered your father.”
Annah halted, staring at him. “He didn’t mention my father’s murder. When did he go to the settlement to speak of my father’s murder?”
“Twenty-two years ago. Didn’t you know? That’s when they banished him.”
“I didn’t know.” Twenty-two years ago, Annah thought. Three years after the murder. That year, I began to make the veil. Aloud, she asked, “What did your father say to the men in the settlement about my father’s murder?”
“He reminded them that murder was an offense to the Most High. He asked for justice on behalf of your father. Yerakh and that Nephiyl—that giant—shouted him down, and all the men took him out of the village. They brought him to this side of the river, destroyed his river craft, and threatened him with death if he ever returned.”
“I’m amazed they didn’t kill him. But how did he hear of my father’s death?”
“A food trader borrowed my father’s river craft to cross over to the settlement. When he came back, he told my father of the murder. At that time, I believe it was just hearsay. I think my father’s visit somehow confirmed the rumors; that’s why Yerakh was so angry and afraid.”
“Then someone did demand justice. I never heard a word of it. But at that time, Yerakh had me imprisoned in the workroom during his waking hours. He wanted to be sure I wasn’t a speaking, thinking creature—a threat.”
“You’re free of him now.” Shem pulled her close, hugging her as they walked again. “Let’s not talk about Yerakh or the settlement anymore. Listen, next week I have to return to the fields and help my brothers. But I think, in two days or so, I’ll have your dwelling place ready. Will you come with me then?”
Annah was amazed that he would even ask. She was his wife; he could command her as he pleased. But her husband and his family were not like other people. “When you have everything ready,” she agreed.
By now they had reached the edge of the trees. Shem led her into the shade, out of sight of his family. There, without a word, he enfolded her in his arms and kissed her, tenderly, passionately, thoroughly. Annah clung to him, shaken, yet elated by the dizzying rush of feelings his kiss evoked.
Before she could recover from this, he lifted her up and swung her around like a child at play, kissing her again, making her gasp before he set her down. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I look at you, and all I can think of is that I love you! I’ve loved you from that first instant I saw you at the river, and as long as I live, Annah, that will never change.”
Suddenly shy, Annah was unable to speak; she couldn’t even look at him.
Touching her face with his work-roughened hands, Shem said, “Never be afraid of me, Annah. You’re my dearest friend on earth. No one else will know me the way you know me. Above all”—Shem bent, making her look at him—“I need you to talk to me.”
“It’s still too strange,” she confessed. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to talk freely, to touch and be touched … to allow myself to look at others.” She dared to caress his face, warm and rough with unshaven whiskers. “I do love you. But you’ll have to remind me not to behave as if I’m still wearing the veil.”
“Gladly.” Smiling, he kissed her again, lightly this time. “I’d better finish my
work. And I’ma will be looking for you.”
Annah took his hand, reminding herself to look up at him. “Shem, this destruction of the earth … does your father know when it will happen?”
His smile faded. “We don’t know the exact day. When I first met you, it was about one year. Now we have perhaps eight or nine months. But the true indication will be the life span of the father of my fathers. Have you considered his name?”
Annah hesitated. Like so many others, Methuwshelakh’s name held a twofold meaning. Spoken one way, he was called Man-of-the-Darts. This had been Annah’s interpretation, until now. Methuwshelakh’s other, less obvious name, was He-Who-Departs-before-the-Waters. Annah caught her breath.
“You understand now,” Shem said quietly. “When he is gone, the waters will come.”
Thirteen
PROPPED UP on his pallet behind the woven reed screen, Methuwshelakh watched, bright-eyed, as Annah opened her father’s leather tool bag. She pulled out the tools one by one, staring at them, wondering if they had been touched since her father’s murder.
As she showed the tools to the ancient man, Annah kept a mental inventory, noting piercing awls, a tapering iron cylinder—used to make rings—scrapers, flat and curved working blades, hammers, pincers, wedges, and grooved rods for fashioning chains. There were also chisels.
Delighted, she held them up to Methuwshelakh. “These are carving tools! I can make my own molds and forms for casting and shaping the gold. My father had so many tools. No wonder they were so heavy.” Her elation faded as she stared at them.
It will be years before I learn to use all these tools properly, she thought, dismayed. But I know I can do this. I just have to be patient and practice.
Puckering his thin, lined lips, Methuwshelakh studied the tools. Tremulous, he said, “You need more than … these tools … to work the gold.”
Annah nodded. “I need a refiner’s pit, wooden forms, stone forms, salts to separate the impurities, and hides to protect the gold while beating it.” She frowned in disgust. “I forgot to bring my leather mitts.”
Methuwshelakh released a snorting laugh. “Ha! The bride can’t … mar her hands! You have … nothing else?”
To prove to the ancient man that nothing remained in the bag, Annah turned it over. There was something inside. Four plump, glistening pebbles of gold and a small leather bag fell out. Annah touched the gold and the bag in disbelief.
“Open it!” Methuwshelakh flapped one fragile hand toward the small bag, curious as a child.
Annah emptied it into the palm of her hand. It held another hoard of gold. Some had been clipped from the edges of previously worked items, but most of it was in natural pebbles. In addition, Annah found a bent talisman, cut from a hair binding.
“Humph,” Methuwshelakh grunted. “Now … you have gold … to pound!”
Studying Methuwshelakh, Annah realized that he was indeed proud to have a son of his sons marry a woman from a Lodge of the Tsaraph. She didn’t deserve such regard. Gold work was no more important than any other labor. But if it pleased this most ancient man to know that she worked gold, then she was glad.
As she inspected her small hoard of gold, Methuwshelakh watched her, his eyes becoming distant. He was falling asleep. Quietly, Annah slipped the loose gold into the pouch, then put her tools away, sensing Naomi’s approach.
“Child,” Naomi whispered, “you need to prepare yourself and gather whatever you need for tonight.”
Motioning her thanks, Annah smiled at Naomi, then tipped her head toward the dozing Methuwshelakh.
Naomi nodded her understanding and returned to the hearth, while Annah gathered her tools and crept out from behind Methuwshelakh’s sheltering screen. Softly, she knelt beside Naomi, who was patting out the spiced, scented dough Annah remembered from her wedding day. “Mother of my Husband, please, let me help you make these cakes.”
Still forming the cakes with her oiled hands, Naomi smiled. “Next time, child, you can make them all yourself! I’ll be glad to let someone else do this. But not today: This is a wedding feast, and you are the bride. Now, please, go do whatever you need to do to prepare for this evening.”
Annah hesitated. “I’ve been thinking …”
“And?” Naomi paused, raising one dark eyebrow.
Lowering her head, Annah said, “A blessing from Yerakh is more like a curse; my marriage ceremony didn’t feel like a marriage ceremony. Would it be improper to ask the father of my husband to bless us tonight?”
Chuckling, her fingers coated with sweet oil and dough, Naomi gave Annah a brief, awkward hug. “I will speak to my husband, child, but I’m sure he will be delighted to give you his blessing tonight—he would have anyway. Now, go wash your hair and rest, or do as you please. Go. No, wait! Take these.” Snatching up a small dish, Naomi shook some roasted nuts into Annah’s hands. “Eat.”
Obedient, Annah scooped up her grass bag and hurried out into the late-morning sunshine, eating the nuts quickly. She had already decided that she would go down to the river and wash her hair, following the custom of the women from the settlement. On her way to the river, she unearthed some pink-flowered stalks from a clump of cleansing plants. When rinsed and thoroughly beaten, the stalks, leaves, and roots of the cleansing plant produced a froth used by all the women of the settlement for scrubbing their hair and skin. At the river’s edge, Annah found a flat stone and rinsed and pounded the plants.
As she worked, she glanced at the opposite riverbank. Was I on that bank only a few days ago? It seems like a bad dream. This is like a good dream, and I don’t want to wake up. I wonder if Yerakh has given Haburah to Naham. Annah shivered. You killed Gammad, I know you did, she thought to Naham. Where did you hide his body? If I know you, Naham, you hid it where you didn’t have to work at breaking the earth.
Annah slowed her beating of the cleansing plant, appalled. O Naham, you buried Gammad’s body in the waste pit with Iltani. Then you hurried off to laugh with Yerakh. You are less than animals, both of you! Furious, she beat the cleansing plant into green-flecked foam. I hope your killing price of fifty sheep pleases you, Naham. I hope those fifty sheep are barren! And I have to stop thinking of you before I go mad.
Deliberately, Annah turned her thoughts from Naham, Yerakh, and everyone in the settlement. Careless of her old tunic, she waded into the river and scrubbed her hair, then enjoyed the water. Naomi was right; the work would come soon enough. This once, I’ll waste time and play with the fish. She let her hands rest weightless and motionless in the water, tempting the fish to approach. A massive gray berry-eater—almost as long as a man—slipped through the water, scented her fingertips, then glided away. But the minnows were more persistent, darting back and forth, touching her fingers over and over, until Annah pulled her hands back, sensing that she was being watched.
Where are you? Who are you? She scanned the nearby fringes of the trees. A small rock plunked into the water before Annah, splashing her, causing the minnows to flee. Shem. Smiling, Annah felt along the river bottom until she found a stone of the proper size. She threw the stone up at the riverbank and made an impudent face, telling her husband: Go away!
Emerging briefly, Shem staggered as if wounded, then he grinned teasingly and sauntered back up into the trees. You looked like a little boy, Annah thought as his presence faded away. Perhaps the Most High will bless us with a son just like you. And perhaps our son will be the father of the Promised One. That is a blessing I don’t deserve. She waded out of the river, smiling.
After the evening meal, Noakh beckoned Annah. “Daughter, please bring me your veil.”
My veil? Wondering, Annah went into the storage room and removed her veil from her basket of tools. She had intended to leave the veil here tonight; she saw no reason to take it to her new dwelling place. She had already folded her stiff-dried work tunic into her grass bag, with her comb, her gold hair bindings, her wooden needles, and Naomi’s gift of handwork tools. Why should I need the veil?
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br /> When she returned to the main room of the lodge, Shem was standing respectfully before his father. Methuwshelakh watched approvingly from his pallet while Naomi, Yepheth, and Khawm knelt around him, pleased witnesses to Shem and Annah’s marriage blessing.
Annah offered her veil to Noakh, still curious. He took the veil, smiled at her fondly, then shut his eyes, praying silently. Finished, he beamed at Shem and Annah. “As old as I am, children, this will be the first time I’ve performed such a ceremony, so you must be patient with me.”
Annah could not help smiling at him. Feeling Shem’s fingers curling warmly around her own, she turned her hand beneath his, palm to palm, twining her fingers with his. Shem winked at her, then they looked at Noakh.
Shaking out the veil, Noakh admired it aloud. “See what a beautiful thing the wife of my son made during her years of sorrow!” To Annah, he said, “You created this veil as a shield against the eyes of others. It protected you. It sheltered you. It was your comfort. Yours alone. But now …” He swept the veil over Annah and Shem, covering their heads but not their eyes. “Now, you must allow your husband to share this place with you. There will be no veil between the two of you, because the Most High has chosen to bring you together as one. There will be no hiding from each other. No turning away in times of anger or grief.”
His brown eyes glistening, Noakh said, “And may all your many children see that you are united by your love for each other. Then they will be filled with joy! May the Most High give you long lives together, and may you always turn to Him as your protection, your shelter, your comfort, to the last days of your lives.”
Her eyes filling with tears, Annah said, “Thank you, Father.”
Nodding as if deeply moved, Noakh kissed Annah’s cheek, then Shem’s, saying almost gruffly, “Kiss I’ma before you leave.”
Following Shem, Annah kissed Naomi, then Methuwshelakh. Yepheth and Khawm each kissed her shyly, before taunting Shem. “Now you’ll leave us with even more work,” Yepheth grumbled.
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