“She said much more than yes and no the day before yesterday. She said that she despises our entire family. And yesterday, while we were combing the sheep to gather fibers, she wouldn’t even look at us. I dread facing her today.”
Shem tightened his arms around Annah, caressing her. “What will you do today?”
“I’m going to work on Ghinnah’s hair bindings this morning, then we’ll go down to the river to wash the fibers we’ve combed from the sheep.” Feeling Shem tense, Annah straightened defensively, sitting up again. “Ghinnah insists that it’ll be easier to work at the river. She knows you don’t want us going down there, so she wouldn’t insist if we could do this work some other way. We’ll try to finish quickly and return to the lodge as soon as possible. I promise we’ll be careful. Actually, I’m more afraid of Tirtsah now than anyone. Even Yerakh or Naham.”
Groaning in apparent disgust, Shem sat up, pushing one hand through his loose, heavy curls. “What has Khawm’s impulsiveness brought into our family? I heard my parents talking the first night Tirtsah came to our lodge. They were displeased with Khawm’s rebellion, but my father said that Khawm should have his way and accept the consequences for himself.”
“But those consequences might affect us as well.”
“Yes,” Shem conceded reluctantly. “And I’m afraid that some day Khawm’s impulsiveness will anger my parents so much that they’ll send him away.”
Annah’s stomach tightened in agitation. “Khawm is impulsive, but there’s so much joy in him too. I can’t bear the thought of having to part ways with him.”
“I pray that day will never come.” Leaning forward, Shem kissed Annah’s lips, then wrapped his arms around her. “Speaking of prayers, if we sit here much longer, we will miss the dawn.”
From the first morning of their marriage, it had been their custom to walk out into the fields surrounding their hut to watch the stars, see the sky brighten, and listen to the songs of the birds. To Annah, it seemed the most perfect time to pray. Everything was peaceful and lovely at dawn. And she needed that peace now.
As they walked outside together, Annah asked, “What about Tirtsah? I don’t want to tell your parents. That might make things worse.”
“Let’s be patient, and trust the Most High,” Shem murmured, taking her hand as they walked together. “And you are right; don’t tell my parents, not yet, anyway. Though I suspect they understand her nature already. I almost wonder if Tirtsah was placed before Khawm by the Adversary—our enemy, the Serpent.”
Annah blinked, startled. The presence of that Serpent—beloved of the Nachash—is trying to use Tirtsah to divide us. Shivering, she said, “Then let the Most High deal with the Adversary, and with Tirtsah—and let Him save us from her hatred.”
“According to His will,” Shem agreed. “But we shouldn’t shun Tirtsah, unless she forces us to do so. For Khawm’s sake, I hope she doesn’t.”
“I agree.” Sighing, Annah leaned comfortably into her husband’s embrace as they stopped to look up at the sky at the first hints of dawn.
Later, when the sun was shining warm and full in the early morning sky, Annah watched Shem leave to go help his father work in the pen; then she went to work on Ghinnah’s hair bindings. Ghinnah had requested a starburst pattern instead of flowers, and Annah was secretly relieved. A starburst required less skill, but reflected light more brilliantly, dazzling the eyes of onlookers. To create it, she had cut six intersecting lines into one of the tracings on her work-stone. Each line was delicately etched in the center, then deepened and broadened toward the outer edge of the talisman.
To form the talismans, Annah placed a beaten, tabbed disk of gold—cut from the bar sent to her by Yerakh—into the carved stone etching. Now, pressing her father’s smallest leather-padded hammer over the gold, Annah pounded it with another hammer until the gold assumed the design cut in the stone. Then she pierced the tab and worked it into a suitable shape so it would dangle lightly from Ghinnah’s hair bindings.
Lifting the talisman from the stone, Annah studied it, dissatisfied, thinking, This would look so much better if I had a refiner’s pit, with foot bellows for the fire, and the proper tools to manage the heated gold. Then I could just pour the gold into the stone carvings, and each edge would be sharp and perfect. But this is what I can do now; Ghinnah will have to understand. Perhaps I’ll etch the back of the talismans for her. Then the talismans would look more finished and presentable.
Deeply engrossed, she continued to work until mid-morning, when she sensed the approach of another person. Two people: Ghinnah and Tirtsah. Ghinnah was swinging two empty buckets in rhythm with her stride, while Tirtsah followed her reluctantly, carrying four puffy, netted bundles of unwashed wool.
“Have you finished my hair bindings?” Ghinnah called.
Smiling, Annah waited until her sisters-in-law were near enough that she didn’t have to raise her voice. “You have seven talismans, Ghinnah, but whether I’ve finished them or not depends upon you.”
“I don’t care what they look like,” Ghinnah responded. “I’m wearing them now.”
“I’d like to finish the edges and the backs for you.” Annah tipped the seven loose, sparkling discs of gold into Ghinnah’s outstretched hands.
“No,” Ghinnah said, lifting her chin, pleased and willful. “I have them now, and you won’t get them back. If I know you, you won’t be satisfied with them for another year. Even then, you’d change your mind. You can play with Tirtsah’s bindings. If she wants any.”
Annah looked at Tirtsah wonderingly. But Tirtsah turned away, seeming unsettled. Khawm had sent word to the lodge last night that he expected to have Tirtsah’s dwelling place ready this afternoon. He would take Tirtsah away with him tonight after the evening meal. Feeling a reluctant pang of compassion for the unhappy girl, Annah said, “If you decide that you want hair bindings, then tell me. I’ll do what I can for you.”
While Annah was talking, Ghinnah was busy knotting the seven talismans to the thin black leather cords of her hair bindings. Finished, she tied them in her hair and stood, triumphant. “My aunt—that Etsah—would choke with envy if she could see me now. Qeb-al used her gold as payment for a wager. Annah, thank you!”
Ghinnah kissed Annah’s cheek enthusiastically, then hugged her, saying, “Let’s go wash these fibers, and then we can play for a while. I’ma-Naomi isn’t expecting us back before the midday meal, so we have plenty of time. Do you have one more bucket? And perhaps an extra roll of leather or a hide?”
Tirtsah trailed after them as they left the clearing around Annah’s hut. Under Ghinnah’s direction, Annah picked various scrubbing plants as the three of them walked through the cool green of the trees and undergrowth down to the river. There, she noticed Tirtsah staring at her. What are you thinking? Annah wondered, watching her beautiful, unmoving face. I wish I knew.
Ghinnah was in full command as they pounded out the cleansing plants, soaked the fibers clean and rinsed them, then allowed them to dry on the clean rolls of leather Annah had provided. To Annah’s surprise, Tirtsah seemed willing to work near them today—although she refused to speak as they worked.
They were just rinsing the last of the fibers when Annah sensed the presence of another person watching them from the trees across the river. Ghinnah and Tirtsah also looked up, frowning.
“Is someone hiding over there?” Ghinnah demanded, irritated.
Annah studied the opposite shore. They were not far from where the women and children of the settlement bathed and worked. But who would care to linger and hide while watching them? In answer to her unspoken question, Tseb-iy emerged from the undergrowth on the opposite shore. He was staring at them like a man enchanted, as if they were the most fascinating women in the world.
“Who is he?” Ghinnah asked. “Annah, you must recognize him.”
“He is Tseb-iy,” Annah said softly, keeping her voice neutral. She wondered what her sisters-in-law would think of the charming, presumably i
rresistible young man.
Still staring at him, Ghinnah said, “He’s handsome. Not as handsome as our husbands, of course, but it’s as if …”
“As if he’s the most perfect man?” Annah suggested. “As if he could adore you forever?”
“Yes,” Ghinnah agreed, obviously discomfited by her own reaction. Tirtsah was also gazing at Tseb-iy, seeming entranced. Annah smiled at their expressions. But she was glad to have the river between Tseb-iy and her sisters-in-law, just as Tseb-iy was probably regretting this same river—though he might choose to walk to the bridge.
“I will tell you about this beautiful man,” Annah said, her voice conveying a calm she did not feel. “There’s not a woman in that settlement who doesn’t desire him. They all want to marry him, but he hates the thought of marriage and avoids choosing a wife.”
“Did you love him, Annah?” Ghinnah demanded, still gazing across the river. By now, Tseb-iy was sitting on the opposite shore, watching them, smiling at them, then leaning on one elbow as he stretched out and made himself comfortable in the sand beside the river.
“At one time, years ago, I was as captivated as any of the young women,” Annah told Ghinnah. “You see how he is—how his smile and his eyes implore you to look at him. But he didn’t notice me. I was the least desirable and least valued of all the women in the settlement. I was nothing to him.”
Tirtsah stared at her, openmouthed. “You? The least desired? How could he not look at you?”
“As I said, I was nothing.” Annah secretly marveled at Tirtsah’s stunned expression, wondering if the young woman was not as hardened as she seemed. Sighing, Annah continued, “Also, he has taken lovers from every lodge, all of them willing. My mother was the one he chose from our lodge. She was very beautiful. And she loved him more than anyone else in her life.”
“Your mother?” Tirtsah asked, surprised.
Annah spoke smoothly, as if she had not been interrupted. “Tseb-iy made my mother very happy. For a short time. But he gave her a child, then abandoned her for the attentions of others, because that is his way.”
As Ghinnah and Tirtsah stared at her in disbelief, Annah said softly, “My mother died bearing his child. And he laughed as he helped to bury her. He was able to enjoy himself on the day of my sorrow—this man you think is so wonderful. He is like death to the women who love him. He helped to kill my mother.”
Despite her resolutions, Annah felt the tears burning her eyes. Unable to speak, she removed the last of the fibers from the rinsing bucket and placed them on the protective layer of leather.
Ghinnah stood and spat vehemently into the river toward Tseb-iy. He jumped and looked startled, which made Annah feel somewhat better.
“We’re leaving,” Ghinnah announced firmly. They gathered the buckets, the leather, and the dripping fibers, then departed into the trees without looking back at Tseb-iy on the other side. Annah hoped she would never see him again.
As they walked along the path through the trees, Tirtsah said, “When you make my hair bindings, I want them to be shaped like leaves, long and slender.”
“Gladly,” Annah agreed, staring at Tirtsah’s masklike beauty, wondering for the hundredth time what she was thinking.
“It was as if she cast a spell on them,” Tseb-iy complained to Taphaph, as he sat beside her in the lodge of Yerakh.
Busy slicing tubers for Yerakh’s midday meal, Taphaph smiled at her brother’s chagrin. “Obviously it was that Annah. Poor, dear Tseb-iy. Perhaps you are simply not as attractive as you once were. You should marry before you lose your charms altogether.”
“How could this woman be Annah?” Tseb-iy asked, still fuming. “She looked nothing like that creature.”
“She hid herself well, didn’t she,” Taphaph agreed, curling her soft, full lips contemptuously. “Your loss, dear brother. If you’d paid any attention to her at all, she might still be here now. Just think; you might have married her.”
“Let’s not talk about marriage,” Tseb-iy muttered. “The way she turned those other women against me with just a few words … she’s dangerous. We should have killed her and buried her with her mother and her brother. Is Yerakh still afraid of her?”
Taphaph stared down at the tuber in her hand. “Yes,” she said at last. “He’s still afraid of her. She changed him completely; he’s not the man I married.”
“Someone should kill that Annah,” Tseb-iy told his sister. “We’d all be better off for her death.”
“Would you kill her for us?” Taphaph asked softly, not looking at her brother.
“No.” He grimaced and took a piece of the raw tuber from her hand to eat it. “I won’t kill others with my hands, unlike your husband.”
Her eyes glittering furiously, Taphaph thrust the thin iron blade toward her brother. “Get out, before I cut you!”
“She’s gotten to you as well,” Tseb-iy sneered, leaning away from the blade. “Perhaps you should kill her yourself.” Still eating the raw tuber, he stood and sauntered outside.
Taphaph threw down the blade and burst into tears.
The stalks of grain were heavy, coarse, and tawny. Annah loved the look of them as she worked with Ghinnah and Tirtsah to bind the stalks into sheaves. This crop was beautiful, surpassing all their expectations—as if the Most High had released all His blessings upon this particular harvest.
Time has gone so quickly. Standing, holding some sheaves, she glanced at Ghinnah and Tirtsah. They were sweating beneath the late afternoon sun, but they didn’t complain. The grain was as precious to them as it was to Annah.
Even Tirtsah seemed pleased today. The past few months of marriage to Khawm had made her a little less sullen. But any improvement was welcomed to Annah. And Khawm loved Tirtsah. He followed her with his eyes whenever she was near. Annah suspected he could deny her nothing.
As Annah was stretching, she saw Naomi running toward them from the lodge. Naomi was panting for air, her expression fearful, stricken. “I’ma!” Annah dropped the sheaves she held and ran to her mother-in-law. Holding out her hands, she cried, “I’ma, what’s wrong?”
Naomi clutched her, in tears. “Daughter, go tell your husband and his father and brothers … I can’t wake our Methuwshelakh. He’s dying.”
Twenty
GENTLY, FOLLOWING Naomi, Annah cast a handful of sand into the grave, scattering it over Methuwshelakh’s leather-shrouded body. It pained Annah that she had been unable to tell the ancient man anything in his last hours; he had never once opened his eyes. But she had comforted herself by giving Methuwshelakh one last token of her affection; she had struck a small disc of gold, patterned after Ghinnah’s starburst, then tied it about his neck as they were preparing him for the burial. Now she watched as Noakh slipped the first shovelful of dirt into the grave.
Standing beside Annah, Ghinnah cried softly. Tirtsah, however, remained unmoved. Methuwshelakh’s presence had never touched her as it had touched the other two. Annah studied Tirtsah, resenting her lack of emotion. I think that the grief of your husband’s family hasn’t affected you at all.
Now Yepheth, Shem, and Khawm were helping Noakh cover the ancient Methuwshelakh’s grave, their expressions wearied and sorrowful. Shem shoveled dirt steadily, but he paused once and looked at Annah. His expression was despairing, telling Annah silently: This is the end. And the beginning of our sorrows.
Moved by her husband’s pain, Annah lowered her head. Tears stung her eyes. I will miss you, she thought. Methuwshelakh. Man-of-the-darts. He-who-departs-before-the-waters. Now that you’re gone—if my husband and his father believe the truth—the waters will come to sweep everything away. Thinking of this, Annah begged silently, O Most High, if there is a way to avert this destruction …
She stopped suddenly, feeling the prayer fall back upon her like a stone; it would change nothing. Noakh had been praying and speaking to others for more than a hundred years, hoping this calamity might be averted. And yet, because of the unchanging evil and violence of men,
ruin was approaching. Annah sensed heaviness in the air about her. Unnerved, she looked at Noakh, trying to discern his thoughts.
Her father-in-law was carefully shoveling the loosened earth over his grandfather’s grave, but his eyes were distant and deeply troubled. When the grave was covered, he turned away silently, walking off into the trees lining the river. Annah gazed after him, understanding his need for solitude.
Later, when Noakh returned to the lodge to share their midday meal, Annah and the others looked at him, waiting for him to speak. Slowly, as if forcing out the words, he said, “From this day on, we harvest everything. Everything.”
Annah watched Ghinnah and Tirtsah’s reaction. Both young women looked confused, obviously thinking, But we’ve been harvesting everything already. How can we possibly need so much?
Seeing their rebellion, Annah shut her eyes. We are to harvest everything, she thought. The father of my husband means more than just grains and fruits. And if he is so reluctant to face this harvest of “everything,” then I’m sure I don’t want to know what “everything” means.
“We need your help today,” Shem said quietly, looking away from Annah, toward the dawn. The sunlight barely showed above the mist-filled clearing before their reed-and-grass hut. “We will be working with the herds.”
Hearing an unspoken meaning in his voice, Annah stepped in front of her husband, facing him, willing him to look at her. “Please, tell me what you mean. You and your father and your brothers have been coming and going from the herds for three days already. And when you come to me at night, you say almost nothing. You obviously don’t like what you have to tell me, so I want to hear it now.”
“We’re going to harvest the herds,” Shem answered bluntly. “I’ve been helping my father and brothers set up enclosures to hold the animals while we butcher them. Their flesh will serve as food for the carrion-eaters while we are together in the pen. I’ma will help us. But we also need your help to cut the flesh and set it out to dry.”
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