But Khawm pretended indignation, his dark eyes dancing in evening firelight. “I’m not doing his work! Do you hear, Shem? We’re saving all your work for you. You’ll be so tired next week you won’t be able to move—not even to kiss your wife!”
“I’ll remember that when you marry,” Shem threatened, swiping Khawm lightly.
“No wrestling!” Naomi scolded. She filled a basket with cakes, nuts, olives, and fruit from their evening meal, and presented it to Shem. “Carry this for her; be sure she eats enough.”
Before they left, Noakh said, “Wait.” He went into the storage room and reappeared with a resin-soaked torch. “You need this.”
As Shem thanked his father and lit the torch at the hearth, Annah kissed Naomi again, whispering, “I’ma, thank you for being concerned about me. And when I come back next week, you will let me help you with your work.”
Naomi nodded and patted her, teary-eyed. Fearing she would cry too, Annah snatched her grass bag and followed Shem outside. Then, realizing she was still holding her veil, she hesitated. Shem chuckled. “You have to keep it now; it was part of our marriage blessing.”
“You’re right,” Annah sighed. She wadded the veil into her bag, then walked with him, taking the path toward the river. The flaring torch was comforting. And the stars and the moon were glowing now, luminous in the deep violet sky. Annah stared up at the heavens, remembering the last time she was out at night: The Nachash screaming at her, staring at her with those white, sightless, knowing eyes …
Shem scattered her unwelcome thoughts, saying, “I’ma put half her storage room in this basket.”
“I’ll carry it for you,” Annah offered worriedly; the torch was wavering as he shifted the basket onto his shoulder.
“No, I have it. I’ma wouldn’t want you carrying this heavy thing.”
“She’s been feeding me constantly,” Annah told him.
“That’s I’ma.” Turning his head slightly beneath the burden of the basket, Shem studied her face. “You look as if you feel better; perhaps you do need to eat more.”
“Perhaps. I was never able to enjoy meals with my family, but I do now.”
“In spite of our bad manners?” Shem asked, grinning. “I’m glad. Also, it was good to see you playing in the water today. You looked happy, almost like a child.”
Annah smiled. “I thought you looked like a child.”
“Oh?” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “Well, if I hadn’t been so eager to finish our shelter, I would have come into the water to play with you. But never mind that. Look there.” Lowering his chin, he indicated the dark outlines of a small hut, set a short distance from the shadowy trees lining the river. Apologetic, he added, “It’s small; we won’t need a lodge of our own for a few years.”
“It’s enough,” Annah said, following him into the clearing surrounding the dark reed hut. A small, stone-enclosed hearth was outside in front, its wood and resins neatly arranged and ready to be lit. Shem carefully lowered the basket from his shoulder, then lit the hearth with the resin torch. As he tended the fire, he said, “I brought some water from our well; it’s in that container near the doorway. And the waste pit is just behind those trees. I covered it so you wouldn’t fall in.”
“As if I would fall in!” she said, feigning outrage. But she went to visit the pit. When she had returned and washed her hands, Shem gave her a flickering clay oil lamp.
“Go inside, beloved; see if I’ve forgotten anything.”
Entering the low reed and grass hut, Annah looked around. As Shem had said, it was small, sheltering only a wooden storage chest and a sleeping area of pallets covered with fleeces and two pillows. Annah set the lamp on the chest and inhaled softly. Shem had placed evening flowers in each corner of the hut. Cut from a bush, the evening flowers had glossy tapering oval leaves edged in yellow, framing delicate clusters of rosy, four-petaled flowers, which were the deep violet-pink of the evening sky. Their fresh, sweet fragrance permeated the air. Smelling them, Annah relaxed and sat on the edge of the fleece, hugging her grass bag. Everything was soothing and peaceful. She sighed. Thank you.
Shem came in, carrying the basket, his face solemn and handsome in the light of the lamp. Quietly he said, “I’ll check the hearth once more tonight. If you were wondering, I put some dishes and cooking pots in the storage chest. Did I remember everything?”
“Yes, thank you. Everything’s perfect.”
Silent, he placed the basket next to the storage chest, then approached Annah and sat just behind her on the fleece. Very softly, gently, he caressed her hair, smoothing it away from her neck. Annah flinched inwardly, closing her eyes, struck by the unwelcome memory of Naham’s massive hand in her hair, his huge fingers curling possessively against the back of her neck. But Naham had wanted her without loving her. And Naham would have never kissed her neck the way Shem was kissing her now, his lips warm, ardent, stirring an equal response from her innermost being.
Folding his arms around her, Shem kissed Annah’s cheek, whispering, “What are you thinking?”
Trying to think clearly, Annah said, “I never expected this … to be here with you. I always thought Yerakh would kill me as he killed my father.”
Shem tipped her back slightly, gazing down into her eyes. He smiled, his wonderful, radiant smile. “No, beloved, forget Yerakh! Listen to me: We are going to live to be very, very old. And we will have many … many … children.” He started to kiss her again, but then he paused, his lips just above her own as he whispered, “You know, I could be jealous.”
Jealous? Of the children? Annah stared at him, confused. But he smiled again, murmuring, “I wish you would hold me the way you’re holding that bag.”
Captivated by the thought, Annah dropped her grass bag and let her husband lower her down onto the softness of the fleece.
Her gold talismans dangling against the back of her neck, and her grass bag looped over her shoulder, Annah left the lodge of Noakh. In her arms she carried a light, netted bundle of long, dried, husklike sheaths that Naomi had stripped from the giant grass canes growing near the river, north of the lodge.
I should use water from the well, Annah thought, making excuses. But I’d rather go to the river. Shem was working in the fields between the lodge and the river, and Annah hoped to catch a glimpse of him. I won’t interrupt him. I just want to see him, and then I’ll go to work on these sheaths.
She walked along the edge of a recently turned field. Khawm was in the far fields with the sheep today, but Yepheth was here with Shem. Their backs were toward her as they slowly worked through the greening field, hacking a profusion of weeds and creeping thorns out of the stubborn earth. Both brothers were stripped to their waists, and both wore bands of soft leather around their heads to prevent the sweat from trickling down into their eyes. Also, both had tied back their long, curling dark hair to keep it out of the way. The strong resemblance between the two brothers might have been confusing, except that Shem now had the neatly trimmed beginnings of a black beard, marking him as a married man.
As Annah walked past them along the edge of the field, both Shem and Yepheth turned, sensing her presence. Without breaking her stride, Annah smiled at her husband, lifted her bundle of sheaths slightly, then tilted her head toward the river to convey her intent.
She could feel him watching her as she walked all the way down to the trees. Annah smiled. It was wonderful to see her husband, but it was even more wonderful to know that he was watching her so intently—equally infatuated. Blissful, daydreaming, Annah made her way through the trees down to the riverbank. There, just north of the bridge, she chose a calm, moist, sandy area marked with large, deep, webbed footprints.
A giant lizard, Annah thought, measuring her feet against one of the webbed imprints. Her feet were nothing beside these prints, which were fairly fresh. She must have just missed seeing the creature.
Regretful, Annah went to work. She pushed the netted sheaths down into the cool, gently lappi
ng water, using several stones to prevent them from drifting away. Now, sitting cross-legged on the sandy bank, she rummaged through her grass bag. Touching a coil of finely plaited cordage, created from the sheaths, Annah pulled it from her bag and slipped the coil over her left foot to hold the plaiting taut. The four strands composing the plait trailed lightly over and between her wrists as she folded them tightly back and forth. Later, as she needed more plaiting materials, she would cut them from the damp, husk-like sheaths, using the blade Naomi had given her. Just as she fell into a steady rhythm with her plaiting, Annah paused. Someone was behind her.
Looking back, wide-eyed, Annah saw Shem coming out of the trees. His expression was peculiar; smiling, but disgusted as well. Alarmed, Annah asked, “What’s wrong?”
“You,” he said, kneeling to kiss her neck. “You are the most terrible distraction!”
“I didn’t mean to distract you, but I had to see you, just for an instant.” Slipping the coil of plaiting off her foot, she turned to face him.
Shem pulled away. “You shouldn’t touch me; I’m covered with dirt and sweat.”
“One kiss won’t matter,” Annah said, edging closer. “But even if I were to touch you, I could wash off in the river.”
“Give me a kiss then, and we’ll both go back to our work. I just wanted to see you.” He leaned forward. Annah kissed him, wrapping her arms around him tight. His skin was warm, and he smelled of earth. Annah snuggled closer, and Shem objected, “I should go back to work. Yepheth is waiting.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Annah …” Sighing, he surrendered and put his arms around her. Then he laughed quietly, picking apart her talisman-decked hair bindings. As her hair fell around her shoulders, he said, “I hope my brothers find wives for themselves soon; they’ll begin to hate me.”
“They’ll forgive you eventually.” Annah reached up to unfasten his hair. When he raised his hands to stop her, she said, “You’ve pulled off my hair bindings.”
“That’s different,” he answered, grinning.
“How?” she challenged him, smiling in return. They sat unmoving, daring one another silently, her hands on his hair, his hands on her wrists. With a sudden growling laugh, Shem overbalanced them both, taking Annah with him down into the sand. Annah squealed and released his hair. Before she could gather her wits, he kissed her. Elated, she responded, kissing him in turn, winding her arms around his neck.
“Annah,” he murmured, “we should return to our work.”
“I know. It’s unfair to Yepheth that you’ve abandoned him.” She was suddenly uneasy, sensing that they were being watched. At first she thought it was Yepheth, but Shem sat up, pulling her with him, holding her protectively. His face tense and quiet, he stared over her head toward the bridge. Turning, Annah saw two women just coming off the bridge, both gaping, astonished.
Dazed herself, Annah thought, Haburah. And Ayalah. They are wearing talismans in their hair. And they’ve seen me kissing my husband and talking. She felt sick with fear. They had seen her talking. They would tell Yerakh, and he would come to find her. I’m dead, she thought, half-faint. Yerakh is going to kill me.
“Don’t be afraid,” Shem whispered. “I won’t leave you alone with them. But they’ve seen us now, and it’s too late to make them think anything but the truth.”
Slowly, willing herself to move, Annah reached for her bindings and tied back her hair. As Shem helped Annah to her feet, he said, “You have to speak to your sisters. Don’t worry about the sheaths, I’ll pull them out of the water for you.”
Still silent, Annah picked up her grass bag and the coil of plaiting. She hesitated, then walked to the bridge, keeping her eyes fixed on their faces, not their feet. The nothing-creature-Annah no longer exists, she thought to them and to herself. Haburah and Ayalah continued to stand and stare as if they were carved of wood. Annah wondered if they were thinking at all, they looked so utterly stunned.
Finally, Ayalah said, “Annah? You can’t be Annah.”
Annah took a breath. “Ayalah. I see Yerakh finally allowed you to marry K’nan. Haburah, welcome.” Unwillingly, she remembered her manners and said, “Please, come up to the lodge of my husband’s parents. They will be glad to welcome you.”
By now, Shem had pulled Annah’s bundle of sheaths from the water, and he approached. Haburah and Ayalah gaped at him, astonished. He gave them a long, level look and nodded briefly. He detests them, Annah realized, startled. He can’t even speak to them. Silent, carrying the dripping sheaths, Shem took Annah’s hand to escort her—ahead of her sisters—up to the lodge of Noakh.
Fourteen
ANNAH WAS aware of her sisters watching her—and Shem—all the way up the riverbank and through the trees. When they emerged from the shadows of the trees, she turned to watch their faces when they caught sight of the pen.
Haburah stared at the vast wooden structure without comment, her graceful profile unmoving, but Ayalah laughed. Haburah shoved her, snarling, “Shut up!”
“Don’t push me!” Ayalah snapped, aggrieved.
Annah bit her lip, her anxieties mounting. Her sisters weren’t even trying to be polite.
Turning to Shem, Annah saw his loathing. She tightened her fingers around his, urging him to look at her. When he glanced at her, Annah lifted her eyebrows, pleading silently: Don’t be angry. She needed him to be calm, to steady her own unsettled emotions. He smiled somberly, then lifted her hand, kissing her fingertips. Annah felt her sisters staring, fixated on his gesture of love. She doubted that K’nan was often tender with Ayalah, and knew that the best Haburah could expect was an occasional snort of condescending approval from Naham.
You’re furious with me now, Haburah, Annah thought. I can feel your rage. I think you want to tear my hair out.
By the time they reached the lodge, Noakh and Naomi were waiting in the doorway, their expressions formal and courteous. Noakh took the bundle of damp sheaths from Shem, saying, “I’ll put these in the storage room, my son, while you go wash.” As he spoke, Noakh gave Shem’s bare torso an oblique look, silently implying that Shem also should cover himself with a fresh tunic.
Shem nodded, but Annah knew he was reluctant to leave. She pressed his hand gently to reassure him. He responded by kissing her cheek and running a light hand over her bound hair before he left the main room. Again, he did not look at her sisters, but they watched him leave—Ayalah’s glance frankly appraising and admiring.
When her sisters turned toward her, Annah saw their unspoken accusations. She did not smile. This isn’t what you expected, is it, my sisters? You thought it would be amusing to come visit your nothing-creature sister, so you could laugh at her later. Instead you realize that I am happy here, and you are furious.
Reluctantly clearing her throat, Annah turned to Noakh and Naomi. “These are my sisters, Haburah, wife of Naham the Iron-breaker, and Ayalah, wife of K’nan, the tradesman.”
Noakh smiled at Haburah and Ayalah. “Welcome. Forgive me, but I’ll put these sheaths away before I sit down to visit with you.” He dropped the bundle of sheaths inside the storage room, then returned, pausing briefly to peer behind Methuwshelakh’s screen.
By Noakh’s quiet expression, Annah knew the ancient man was asleep. Please, let him stay asleep, Annah prayed. If Methuwshelakh met Haburah and Ayalah, he would probably mention the gold and tools Annah had brought from the lodge of the Tsaraph. Then her sisters would tell Yerakh. I would be dead by the end of the day, Annah thought, her stomach tightening.
“Daughter, please, come sit down,” Naomi said to Annah. “And you, Haburah and Ayalah, please.” Naomi indicated an array of finely woven floor mats, already spread and set with an assortment of fruits, cakes, and drinks. “Sit and rest.”
Seeming unimpressed, Haburah knelt, her hands folded stiffly in her lap. Ayalah was not so formal. She eyed the fruits and cakes hungrily—leaning forward until Haburah elbowed her in an unspoken rebuke. Furious, Ayalah glared at
Haburah. “Stop!”
Annah bit her lip, embarrassed by their rudeness. Mindful that she was expected to offer food to her guests, Annah knelt near Haburah and warily offered her a dish of fine grain cakes. Haburah took one, broke off a piece, and nibbled it disdainfully. Ayalah followed her lead. Annah felt Haburah’s bad temper and Ayalah’s peevishness. If they behaved at all, it would only be out of deference to Noakh and Naomi—now seated to Annah’s right, facing her sisters.
“This has been a long walk for the two of you at the height of the day,” Naomi said, pouring fruit juice from a plump, glazed clay pitcher into rounded, matching clay cups. She handed the filled cups to Annah, who passed them to her unhappy sisters.
Feeling obligated to speak, Annah asked the question foremost on her mind. “How is Yerakh? If you both are married now, then he must have the lodge to himself.”
Haburah remained obstinately silent, but Ayalah smiled, her delicate face alight with a secret, malicious pleasure. Looking at Noakh and Naomi, then at Annah, Ayalah said, “I doubt you know, so I’ll tell you; Yerakh is going to marry Taphaph tomorrow. Bachown offered Yerakh fifty sheep and the use of one field as her bride price, and Yerakh accepted. Now Bachown is complaining to everyone that he shouldn’t have to pay a bride price because Yerakh has so much already. But Taphaph is overjoyed; she told me she would have despised any other man.”
“I hope Yerakh and Taphaph will be happy,” Annah replied, hearing Naomi take a quiet breath of indignation at Ayalah’s blithe, indirect insult to the Lodge of Noakh. Annah was equally offended, thinking, What a wretch you are, Ayalah. You know that Bachown offered Taphaph as a wife to one of my husband’s brothers, and you just couldn’t resist cutting my in-laws with a spiteful little comment. If Noakh were as cruel as Yerakh, he would beat you and throw you out of his lodge.
Now Haburah stared at Annah, embittered. “You haven’t wished me well for my marriage, Annah. Naham took me to his lodge the day after your wedding.”
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