Annah felt the blood draining from her face. “All the animals of your herds?”
“Virtually all, yes.”
“That will take longer than just one day,” Annah said, reluctantly forcing another unwilling admission from her husband’s lips.
“Yes, it will take more than a few days.”
Sickened, Annah swallowed hard. To cut into flesh, over and over for days. No, I can’t do this. She wavered and turned away.
But Shem caught her and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “Listen to me,” he whispered. “You know I would never ask such a thing if it weren’t necessary. We can’t depend upon my father’s cousins to help us, and we know that Ghinnah and Tirtsah will consider this as further proof that we’re mad. Most likely, it will be just the six of us doing all the work. We need your help, beloved, please.”
Annah sucked in a quick breath. It was ridiculous of her to be squeamish. Her garments were of leather, and whenever she worked the gold, she worked with leather and membranes. And she had seen death already: useless, senseless, bloody death. This would be different; the deaths of these animals would have a saving purpose. Their flesh would give life to other animals. Bracing herself, she nodded. But as her husband bent to kiss her, she clutched at him again, begging, “Please don’t ask me to kill any of the animals.”
“You’ll stay with my mother and help her,” Shem promised. “You won’t be near the animals when we take them.”
They ate a quick morning meal. Then Annah helped Shem gather what they needed: cutting tools—blades of stone, bronze, and iron—a sharpening stone, a bucket, cleansing herbs and pale, coarse, dried gourd fibers for scrubbing their hands. Annah also packed some food in a basket, though she was certain that she would be unable to eat anything. Silent, they walked through the misty fields, toward the herds, away from the rising sun. Noakh, Naomi, Yepheth, and Khawm were already at work, separating the herds, urging them into small, woven-wood enclosures, despite the protests of three angry, leather-clad men, Noakh’s cousins.
As they approached his family, Shem spoke to Annah beneath his breath. “I don’t need to tell you to stay away from my father’s cousins. They are wild men. The two with the graying hair are brothers, Pathal and Akar. The younger one is another cousin, Othniy. Don’t speak to them, even if they speak to you. Stay with I’ma.”
Naomi greeted Shem and Annah first. She was quiet and tense, her eyes flicking back to the herds, where Noakh was trying to placate his cousins. The two brother-cousins, Pathal and Akar, were almost as old as Noakh, wiry and sharp-eyed, their hair grizzled and thick with curls, their beards flowing and rumpled. Noakh’s third cousin, Othniy, was much younger and, to a startling degree, resembled Shem. His eyes were large, dark and intense, and his features were strikingly handsome, but he was completely lacking in manners. He was now screaming at Noakh, gesturing wildly with his hands, his voice hoarse, raging.
“You’re a fool! You’ve always been a fool! And now you’ll ruin us all—that’s what you want to do, isn’t it? Why should you cut down perfectly healthy animals?”
“Othniy, listen to me,” Noakh answered mildly, reasonably. “I will pay you as we agreed when you returned from your last journey. If you prefer, you may take one hundred animals now and leave. But if you stay to help us, you may save one hundred twenty animals for yourself.”
“Why should I help you destroy my livelihood? ” Othniy sputtered. “No, I’ll take my hundred and leave! The death of that old man gave your weak mind another turn!”
“That old man was the father of your father,” Noakh reminded Othniy firmly.
But Othniy refused to be concerned with any familial respect. “Father of my father or not, that Methuwshelakh was an old storytelling idiot. And his idiocy has been passed from you to your sons. No wonder your sons had to pay bribes to get wives. You’re all insane.”
Hearing this, Annah put a quick hand on her husband’s arm. Shem was angry, his eyes glittering, his lips pressed together hard. Annah met his look swiftly, shaking her head, silently reminding him: Be calm. Your cousin is speaking in rage. We know the truth.
But Khawm was obviously stung, and snarled at Othniy, “Your hatred of us hasn’t kept you from demanding our food and work all these years, when you’ve lost everything and we’ve had plenty. Who is truly the fool, cousin?”
Infuriated, Othniy charged at Khawm, but the two older cousins held him back while Yepheth grabbed Khawm, restraining him. Othniy bellowed, “I’ll kill you now! Let me go! I’ll dash his brains all over this field!”
“You’ll take your animals and go,” Noakh told him, so harshly that Annah barely recognized his voice.
Shem already was moving toward the herd to help his father count out one hundred animals for Othniy’s wages. Freed now, Othniy glared menacingly from Noakh, to Shem and his brothers, then to Naomi and Annah. Othniy paused and stared at Annah, his expression voracious.
Annah looked down at her feet, scared. My husband could have been just like this Othniy. They are of the same family, and their features are the same. The only difference between them is that my husband loves the Most High, while this Othniy shuns Him. Annah longed for the secrecy of her veil. More than anything, she wanted to hide from Othniy’s cruel, staring eyes.
“Daughter,” Naomi whispered, putting an arm around Annah, “come with me to the well. We can prepare our work area while my husband and sons deal with these men.”
Annah followed Naomi obediently, but she was still frightened, watching the men anxiously from beneath her lashes. Noakh’s cousins were quarreling with each other as Noakh, Shem, Yepheth, and Khawm goaded one hundred animals away from the herd. At last, Othniy picked up his staff and his pouch, then strode away, driving the animals before him. They were reluctant to go, but Othniy hissed and whistled sharply, chasing the animals onward, Annah thought, by the sheer force of his rage.
In contrast to Othniy, the two older cousins, Pathal and Akar, seemed willing to stay and help, apparently lured by Noakh’s promise of extra animals in return for their work.
I wish they would go too, Annah thought, feeling sick, watching the brother-cousins prepare their blades by sharpening them against stones. I wish they didn’t have knives.
To keep herself busy, Annah brought water from the nearby well, then helped Naomi to unpack their own cutting blades. Almost before she knew it, Shem and Yepheth came toward her, carrying a gutted, skinned, decapitated carcass.
As they set the once-living form in front of Annah, she shut her eyes, willing herself not to retch. This is necessary, she told herself firmly. It has to be done. Slowly, she picked up a knife and moved with Naomi to kneel beside the still-warm carcass. Annah let Naomi make the first cut, then she followed her motions numbly. Don’t think about this, Annah told herself. Just work.
Moving quickly, Annah cut slice after slice of the flesh, her fingers becoming sticky and stained with blood. Like a mindless creature, she worked until she heard Naomi release a low, sobbing breath. Startled, Annah looked at her mother-in-law. Naomi continued to slice at the flesh of the carcass, but tears were coursing down her cheeks. Her own misery forgotten, Annah whispered, “I’ma?”
Naomi sniffed and swallowed hard. “It’s nothing, child.” She sighed and continued. “I can’t help but think of all the nights my husband and my sons have spent out here, tending these animals. Now, to do this is horrible. I have to tell myself that this is necessary.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself.”
Taking a deep breath, Naomi said, “We should keep telling this to each other.”
They worked as quickly as possible, stopping only to rinse their hands and sharpen or exchange their cutting blades. Several times, Shem and Noakh came to help them.
“Look,” Shem told Annah once, his voice soft and concerned as he took her knife in his bloodstained fingers. “You’re trying too hard. The flesh doesn’t have to be cut perfectly, or evenly; just thin enough to be su
re it dries well.” Almost inaudibly, he said, “Thank you, beloved.”
Annah nodded, biting back the tears. It’s necessary, she reminded herself again. It has to be done.
“I made Yepheth tell me where you were,” Ghinnah said to Annah the next morning. Her eyes were fierce as she knelt beside Annah. “At first I didn’t want to believe Yepheth when he said they were harvesting the herds, but there was blood all over his tunic. Even so, I’d rather be out here with you and I’ma-Naomi than closed in the lodge one more day with that sulking, bad-mouthed Tirtsah.”
As Ghinnah spoke, Yepheth and Shem dropped two more carcasses in front of them. Sitting back, Ghinnah looked at Annah, her eyes huge, horrified. “You did this all day yesterday?”
“All day,” Annah agreed, her muscles aching, her fingers swollen. She pressed a knife into Ghinnah’s hands. “Tell yourself that it’s necessary. Don’t think too hard. And sometimes, you have to put down the knife and just tear the flesh with your bare hands. When we’re finished with this one, we’ll hang the flesh on the cordage between those poles.” Annah motioned to numerous rows of cordage slung between narrow reed poles, set a short distance away.
“But you’ve ruined your tunic,” Ghinnah said, as if this was more important than anything else.
For the first time in two days, Annah smiled. Her tunic was stained and stiffened with blood. It looked the way she felt: as if she would never be clean again. “Dear Ghinnah,” she said, keeping her words gentle and agreeable, “I am far beyond caring about my tunic.”
“We will make new tunics for ourselves when this is done,” Naomi said, kneeling beside them. Too tired to smile, she greeted Ghinnah wearily. “It’s good to see you, daughter, and good to have another pair of hands working with ours.”
Ghinnah said nothing, but her fading color and troubled expression betrayed her doubts. Watching her, Annah thought, Now you are sure that the father of your husband is mad. And, most likely, you are even wondering about your husband’s sanity. And mine. Perhaps I should wonder as well.
Annah demonstrated her carving skills for Ghinnah. Though nauseated and wincing at first, Ghinnah learned quickly. Soon she was slashing into the carcasses, her movements almost ruthless, as if she were taking her rage and fears out on the lifeless flesh before her. Annah could almost feel her inner turmoil.
But what can I say to comfort her, when I can’t even comfort myself? Praying now, she thought, O Most High, comfort me! Remind me that Your plans—Your infinite, loving plans—will someday include the death of Death—as it was in the Garden of Aden. Assure me that some day the Promised One will destroy Death. How I long for that day! Now, however, I must live in this day. Thoroughly miserable, she continued to work in silence.
Near midday, Annah sat back and stretched briefly. She was about to offer to prepare the midday meal when one of Noakh’s cousins, Pathal, let out a piercing yell. He was working near the woven enclosures, but Annah heard him raging at Noakh.
“See, I’ve cut my hand! I’ve had enough! I want my animals now. I’m done with you and your accursed family!”
Noakh tried to reason with his cousin, but Pathal waved him off. “I’m going now! Give me my animals, and I’ll leave you to your Most High! You’ll get whatever you deserve, fool!”
Even as Pathal was screaming, Shem, Yepheth, and Khawm went to count out the animals—obviously, they were glad to be rid of him.
One cousin left, Annah thought, casting a sidelong glance at the grizzled Akar. I wish he would go too.
Sighing, disgusted, Naomi lifted her eyebrows at Annah and Ghinnah. “We’ll let that Pathal-child leave before setting out the midday meal. Why should we feed him? That rude thing … screaming at my dear one.”
As soon as the angry Pathal had departed, Naomi urged everyone to scrub, then eat. But Noakh’s remaining cousin, Akar, took handfuls of grain cakes and fruit and flung himself down in the scanty shade on the northern side of one of the woven enclosures, clearly shunning Noakh and his family.
Apparently disturbed by Pathal’s departure, Noakh ate standing, watching Pathal goad his flock through the distant northwestern edges of his fields.
Touching Annah’s arm, Shem gave her a grim little smile. “I’m amazed Pathal stayed as long as he did. We gave him two extra animals for his cut hand.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” Annah said, her voice low. “This hasn’t been easy work.”
Shem nodded somberly, caressing her cheek. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to run away. This isn’t the sort of work I’d ever wish for you to do.”
Suddenly Noakh cried out, alarmed. “What am I seeing?”
They all stood and followed his gaze northwest toward the departing Pathal. A trio of great lizards loped toward Pathal and his retreating flock.
“Those are monstrous carrion-eaters!” Ghinnah clutched at Yepheth.
Taller than men—their leathery long-necked heads and bodies counterbalanced by long tails—the carrion-eaters charged the distant flock and scattered it. Like children playing, Annah thought, stunned, unable to believe her eyes. Normally, carrion-eaters avoided humans, ignoring them—as if humans were mere gnats, or flies, or little nothing-creatures meant to be disregarded.
“That’s what my uncle was saying,” Ghinnah cried, distraught. “It’s as if the carrion-eaters are too impatient to wait for the carrion to become carrion!”
Even from this distance, Annah could see the sheep of Pathal’s herd being flung about like sticks. The carrion-eaters were amazingly agile, snapping at their victims with their teeth and razing them with great hooklike claws. Annah stepped back, as if she could retreat from the scene. Catching her by the arm, Shem said, “Hurry! We need to move the herds closer to our lodge.”
Akar, Noakh’s last remaining cousin, screamed a death wail. “Pathal, my brother! How can he survive against those terrible monster-lizards? He’s dead! He’s dead!”
“The carrion-eaters must smell the blood of the herds on him,” Yepheth said, as he helped the terrified Ghinnah gather their supplies.
“The carrion-eaters have departed from their purpose,” Noakh said, grieving. “The violence of the earth has affected them—as man is affected.”
Appalled and silent, they hastily decamped to the lodge of Noakh.
“Am I supposed to accept this?” Tirtsah’s beautiful face was ferocious as she confronted Annah and Ghinnah amid the flocks, which now surrounded the lodge. “Am I supposed to be silent while my husband and his family destroy their wealth?”
“Yes, please be silent!” Ghinnah retorted. “I’m sick of your complaints. I had enough of you yesterday. Even cutting flesh today was preferable to listening to you again. And the only reason we’re here now is to save ourselves from those terrible lizards—though I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if they killed all of us!”
Undeterred by Ghinnah’s hostility, Tirtsah challenged Annah. “Do you accept this madness? This cutting down of the herds?”
Exhausted and frustrated, Annah said, “Yes. I accept it. And whether you like it or not, you must accept it as well. Now, you can help us, or you can go tend the lodge. But please, sister, don’t say another word against your husband and his family.”
Annah marched back to her task of cutting and drying flesh. She could feel Tirtsah staring after her in disbelief. You’ll have to make your decision soon, Annah thought to Tirtsah. Will you go or stay?
Entering the lodge the next afternoon, Shem knelt beside Annah and pulled her into his arms. Softly, he said, “We found Pathal’s body and buried him. He was crushed and torn almost beyond recognition. At least those carrion-eaters have not acquired a taste for the flesh of humans.”
Absorbing the full impact of his words, Annah shuddered and pressed a hand to her mouth. Don’t think about it, she commanded herself. Carrion-eaters chewing the flesh of a man, then spitting him out. Overwhelmed by nausea, she ran out of the lodge.
“Today we rest,” Noakh said quietly, his dark ey
es sweeping over them all as they sat together for their morning meal. “There’s nothing more to be done. Tomorrow we will move into the pen and prepare ourselves. In seven days, the waters will come.”
Naomi lifted her eyebrows. “The Most High has told you it is time?”
“It is time,” Noakh agreed, without enthusiasm.
Annah felt Shem’s warm, callused fingers curling around her hand. Clearing his throat, he said, “Then we should all go to our shelters and pack everything.”
“No. You must rest today,” Noakh commanded them sternly. “Enjoy the sun, the earth, and the skies. This will be our last day of calm and freedom. Do nothing except rest and pray. By tomorrow evening, we should have all our belongings inside the pen. Everything else will be destroyed—as the Most High has said.”
Annah and Shem left the lodge, accompanied by Yepheth, Ghinnah, Khawm, and the sullen Tirtsah. Unsettled by Tirtsah’s smoldering expression, and by Ghinnah’s obvious unhappiness, Annah slowed her steps. Shem, Yepheth, and Khawm went onward, engrossed in their own subdued conversation. Ghinnah and Tirtsah lingered to talk with Annah.
Ghinnah spoke first, her vivid color rising with exasperation. “Do you still agree with them, Annah? Should we leave everything and move into that pen tomorrow?”
“Ma’adannah, you have to agree that this is madness,” Tirtsah spat, siding with Ghinnah. “They’ve cut down all but a handful of the sheep, the oxen, and the goats. And now, we’re to abandon our own dwelling places? No, I won’t do it!”
“What could possibly happen if you do?” Annah asked, staring at them, unyielding. “You don’t agree with your husbands. But they are your husbands, and unless you intend to leave them, wouldn’t it be better to go into the pen for at least seven days? At the end of that time, you’ll know who is right—the two of you or your husbands. And if you are right, you can laugh about it for the remainder of your lives. Now, I’m going to rest and enjoy my day of peace.”
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