Shem’s lips pressed together in grim patience as he steadied himself. Meeting her gaze, he said, “We’re much better with all these turns than when they first began.”
“You mean I am,” Annah corrected him. “You never had much of a problem.”
“None that you knew of,” said Shem, smiling secretively. “There now, the turning has stopped. Let’s go eat.”
As they reached the top of the ramp, Annah felt a breath of light, cool air sweep over her face. The winds had been blustering outside the pen for many days now, and the air of the upper level was chilly and unsettled. As always, she welcomed the glow and warmth of the hearth. She also welcomed the scent of the food: the grain cakes, beans, and vegetables roasted in oil—until her stomach constricted in unexpected revolt.
That last changing of the water currents made me sick again, she thought, surprised. But why should I get sick after being well for so many days? She walked unsteadily toward the hearth and knelt on one of the grass mats, her stomach still churning. The scent of the roasted vegetables is making me sick, she realized. Swallowing hard, she looked away from the food.
By the time they had finished giving thanks to the Most High, Annah was thoroughly nauseated. And when Naomi passed the vegetables to her, she shuddered, quickly passing them to Shem.
Naomi lifted her dark eyebrows, surprised. “Child, don’t you want any vegetables? I thought you liked them.”
“I do like them, I’ma,” Annah assured her. “But …” She pressed a hand to her mouth, too nauseated to explain.
Seated across from Annah, Khawm cackled. “She spends the entire morning scraping manure, but she can’t look at the vegetables—I don’t believe it.”
Naomi’s dark eyes sparkled with a dawning joy. “I have been wondering, daughter. It’s been many weeks since your last time of seclusion. Now you are ill at the mere sight of those vegetables. Ma’adannah, you are carrying a child!”
They were all exultant, Shem embracing her, Noakh exclaiming happily, Ghinnah clapping her hands together, and Tirtsah calling out, “There, Ma’adannah! And all this time you’ve been worried.”
“Let me know when you’ve finished the vegetables,” Annah told them, scrambling to her feet, unable to endure the smell any longer. “I’ll eat later.” She hurried to her sleeping area and collapsed on the bed, sighing in relief. She could no longer smell the food. And it was good to lie down and rest. I’m exhausted. Am I indeed with child? She was almost too tired and too nauseated to care.
Annah was just dozing off when she heard Shem enter the sleeping area. He set something down on the storage chest, then crept into the bed, sliding his arms around her gently, nuzzling her. “I brought you some plain food. I’ma says you should rest.”
“Only for a while,” Annah murmured. “I have to finish feeding those little carrion-eaters.” Lifting one hand, she reached back to caress her husband’s bearded face. “I want our child to look like you.”
“Without the beard,” Shem suggested. “Particularly if we have a daughter.”
She swatted him, then laughed.
Carrying baskets full of seeds, dried fruits, and solid white cakes of rendered fats, Annah and Tirtsah entered the huge netted bird enclosure. To Annah’s amusement, Tirtsah scolded the birds, her voice husky and indulgent. “Back away, you silly things, and don’t you dare let loose any droppings while we’re here, or you won’t be fed.”
The birds responded by fluttering about on the branches, their eyes bright and watchful, some of them whistling sharply, others twittering as they darted from branch to branch. The larger earth-loving birds approached Annah and Tirtsah proudly, their iridescent plumes sweeping, glowing with every color imaginable. Annah was dizzied just looking at them. But it was better than looking at the disgustingly congealed, oily white cakes of rendered fat she carried in her basket.
Bracing herself against the nausea, Annah placed the cakes of fat and the grains, seeds, and fruits in various trays and troughs scattered throughout the huge enclosure. She would not allow her queasiness to disrupt her chores; it would not be fair to Tirtsah or the others.
As they were leaving the netted enclosure to refill their baskets, Tirtsah put a hand on Annah’s arm. Tirtsah’s face was claylike and she looked uneasy. Licking her lips, she asked, “When you feel ill because of the child, is it the sight of the food, or the scent of food, or both?”
“Both,” Annah said, staring at her sister-in-law. “It’s almost like being sick because of the motions of the water. Do you think you might be carrying a child?”
Tirtsah shut her eyes. “I think so. I hope so. Just now, while we were feeding the birds, I looked down at those cakes and felt sick. Don’t tell anyone yet. When I’m certain, I want to tell Khawm first. It would be amazing if—just once—I could say something that would leave him too shocked for words.”
“He will be so happy,” Annah said. She dared to hug Tirtsah. “I’m certainly happy, because if you are carrying a child, then I’ll have someone else who understands what I’m feeling. And I’ve been wondering … could you show me how to make some of that red spice-paste?”
Tirtsah’s lovely eyes widened, and she chuckled—a low, throaty sound. “You didn’t like my spice-paste before, but you want it now? Actually, it does sound good. Let’s finish caring for these birds, and we’ll make some.”
They hurriedly fed the birds, checked the water pipes and troughs, and poured out small, coarse rocks here and there throughout the enclosure to aid the birds’ digestion. As she was scattering fresh heaps of straw and grass over the floor of the enclosure, Annah felt a firm, jarring jolt. She looked at Tirtsah, who stared back at her, openmouthed. Trembling, Annah said, “I didn’t imagine that.”
“If you did, then I imagined it too. And the birds imagined it also.”
The birds were flapping their wings or darting through the branches; a few screeched in alarm. Then they settled again, some of them preening, some of them playing in the water and feeding, while others began to sing. Annah released a shaking breath. Her legs felt wobbly. She was used to the motions of the waters now, not this solid stillness. “We’ve come to rest on the land,” she whispered, almost to herself. “We’ve stopped moving. The waters are going down!”
“Perhaps we can leave this place before too many days,” Tirtsah added, some of her natural glow returning.
Tentatively, Annah made her way out of the enclosure, followed by Tirtsah. A long, piercing whistle sounded from the central ramp. Khawm, Annah thought. Peering through the filtered rays of sunlight streaming down from the windows, Annah saw him emerge from the ramp.
Immediately he yelled, “Tirtsah? Where are you?”
“I miss it that we can’t sense each other from a great distance anymore,” Tirtsah muttered to Annah. “The men yell so much more now.”
“I hadn’t noticed that, but you’re right.” Annah agreed, amused. She followed Tirtsah, faltering a little, unnerved by the pen’s lack of motion.
Khawm met them eagerly and kissed Tirtsah. “I’m going to check the windows.”
His gait remarkably steady, Khawm hurried toward the far wall, near the bird enclosure. There he climbed the ladder built into the wall. By the time he reached the top, Noakh and the others had emerged from the lower levels of the pen. They all stood near the base of the ladder, impatient. Hardly daring to breathe, Annah reached for Shem.
“Do you see anything?” Noakh called to Khawm.
Squinting a little, Khawm came down the ladder, his exuberance fading to dejection. “Nothing but too-bright sunlight, mists, and water.”
“No land anywhere?” Ghinnah asked, pleadingly.
“Only mists and water.”
Annah drooped, biting her lip, unable to hide her disappointment. One hundred and fifty days, she thought miserably. And still nothing but water.
“This is our two hundredth day,” Ghinnah groaned to Annah and Tirtsah as they led the goats, sheep, and oxen out to the central
enclosures to exercise them. “The water is still out there, and we’re in here. Forever.”
“No, not forever.” Annah fastened the enclosure, then stretched carefully. The muscles around her abdomen were easily strained now that her pregnancy had begun to show. The sight of Tirtsah, lovely and graceful in her first months of pregnancy, was particularly discouraging to Annah, who felt plump and clumsy by comparison. She tried to reason with Ghinnah. “We’re all impatient, but I suppose if all the mountains were covered enough to float this pen—as large as it is—then it will take a long time for the lands to drain and dry.”
“You sound like the father of my husband,” Ghinnah muttered irritably. “I’m sick of this place! I think I’ll be sick of you soon. Wait, I didn’t mean that.” Flushing deeply, Ghinnah burst into tears.
Annah hugged her, unable to speak, but full of sympathy.
Tirtsah sighed. “When we finally leave this pen, I’m going to run out and roll in the grass. And if there’s any water around, I’m going to dance in it!”
Snorting, Ghinnah wiped her eyes. “By that time, your belly will probably be so big and round, you won’t be able to move unless you roll.”
“You are such a joy today,” Tirtsah said, glaring at her.
Before they could say another word, shouts and screams arose from the other end of the second level.
“I’ma!” Annah gasped, turning away from Ghinnah. They ran toward the screams, toward the cages where the carrion-eaters were held. “I’ma? What’s happened?”
As Annah ran around the large wood food bins to help Naomi, she heard Noakh protesting in a pain-edged voice, “It’s nothing. Beloved, the creature was not attacking me; it just wanted the food.”
Seeing Noakh, Annah cringed. His leg, just above the knee, was torn and bloodied.
Naomi was crying, raging as she inspected his injury. “I could kill that creature! Attacking my dear one … Oh, this is going to be such a long time healing!”
Lifting one hand, Noakh interrupted, “But it will heal. Don’t blame the creature for my carelessness. Now, help me to stop this bleeding. I think my belt will do to bind the wound.”
Annah gave Ghinnah a firm nudge. “Please, go get our husbands. Tirtsah, go find I’ma-Naomi’s ointments. I will stay here to help her.”
“And boil some water for the herbs!” Naomi cried. To Annah, she said, “Child, come help me. That accursed creature—biting my dear one! I want to skin that lion!” While she talked, Naomi took her own soft leather belt and wrapped Noakh’s wound, then stripped some leather cordage from Noakh’s belt to tie the makeshift bandage securely. Annah helped her tie the knots.
“Too loose; it’ll fall off,” Noakh grunted. Fearful of hurting him, Annah held her breath as she tightened the knots. A mist of sweat broke out over Noakh’s face, and Naomi’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
“I’ma?” Yepheth called to Naomi as he climbed up a side ladder from the lower level. As Yepheth hurried to help his father, Shem and Khawm came running up from the lower level ramp, followed by Ghinnah.
“Don’t carry me,” Noakh told his sons through his firmly clenched teeth. “I can walk, with some help.”
Positioning themselves on either side of their father, Yepheth and Khawm helped him to stand. Shem pulled Annah and Naomi to their feet, then nodded at Ghinnah, saying, “Let’s go ahead of them and be sure things are prepared. How did this happen?”
“That accursed lion,” Naomi said, flinging a fierce look over her shoulder at the offending creature. “It was hungry and couldn’t wait for its food; it chewed on your father instead.”
While they were settling Noakh on a pallet near the hearth, he winced. “I think we have not fed that lion enough. Listen to me; we will no longer go into the cages with the carrion-eaters until after they have been well fed. We cannot be so careless, as I was. Beloved,” he sighed to Naomi, “you are right; this will be a long time healing.” To his sons, Noakh said, “I’m sorry; I’ll be useless for weeks.”
“The work is nothing,” Shem told him. “And you will never be useless.”
As she listened to them talk, Annah prepared the bowl of brewed astringent cleansing herbs, then helped Naomi untie their makeshift bandage. Gazing at her father-in-law’s wound, Annah longed to cry. His leg will never be the same; he will never walk straight again.
“Ick! How can you eat that?” Ghinnah demanded, watching Annah take a second helping of the red spice-paste during their midday meal.
“I crave it,” Annah told her, sucking in a quick breath as the fiery paste seared her mouth. Glancing at Ghinnah’s fading color, Annah said, “You liked this stuff until you began carrying a child of your own.”
“Well, now I know better,” Ghinnah said. “That paste will curl your child’s hair.”
“Is something wrong with curly hair?” Khawm asked Ghinnah, lifting his dark eyebrows in amusement.
Annah laughed as Ghinnah looked from Khawm to Yepheth, who was watching her quizzically, the light shining on his own dark curls. “You know what I meant,” Ghinnah replied, lifting her chin at them. “If Annah’s child had straight hair before, it’s curled now, with all the spice-paste she’s been eating.”
“Daughter,” Noakh interposed gently, chuckling at Ghinnah from the comfort of his pallet near the hearth. “It would be best if you stopped explaining; you are outnumbered by those of us who have curls. And”—he paused significantly—“I wanted to say that we should test the waters today by sending out a kind of spy.”
He had their attention now. Annah and the others leaned forward eagerly as Noakh said, “It’s been more than a month since the mountaintops were revealed. We should send out a bird to check the waters. Perhaps it will bring some sign to cheer us.”
“Which bird?” Khawm asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“A clever one,” Noakh mused. “One such as the raven.”
After their meal, Noakh insisted upon hobbling up a ladder himself to release the clever black bird from a high window. Fearfully anxious, Annah waited with the others in the upper level. Three times Noakh made his way painfully up the ladder, but the raven ignored him, flying back and forth across the waters near the pen.
At last Noakh descended, his patience gone. “I won’t go up there again today! That little carrion-eater is out there feasting on floating corpses and refusing to return to us. We’ll wait a few days and send out a more discriminating bird. A clean bird, not a carrion-eater. Now I’m going to write this down.”
While confined to his bed with his mending leg, Noakh had written his daily notations on a scroll of leather instead of carving them into the far wall. This scroll would be added to the written records already accrued by the fathers of his fathers. Births, deaths, murders, cursings, notations of the giants such as Naham the Nephyil, and their rebellious spiritual origins—as well as the creation of the earth and the assurance of mankind’s deliverance from the Adversary by the Promised One; all were noted within these scrolls. The scrolls carried the very breath of the Most High, the Word.
In the evenings, Annah begged Noakh to recite the stories of old contained within these scrolls. They are no longer mere stories, Annah thought. They are life. Hugging the full roundness of her belly, she promised her unborn child, You will hear all these things from the father of your father. And no one will laugh at you or despise you or threaten you for believing them. You will be free to call to the Most High and worship Him as He deserves. And we will tell you of the Promised One. Then you will always remember Him and tell your children.
A week later, they all watched as Noakh descended from the ladder again, a dove resting on his hand. “Nothing,” he announced resignedly. “She found nothing but barren crests of earth, and the water, as usual.”
Annah watched as her father-in-law returned the dove to its special cage. Seven pairs of doves and seven pairs of pigeons were held separately from the other birds, for they alone, along with certain oxen, sheep, and goats were co
nsidered worthy of offering to the Most High. By now, Annah knew the purpose of the sacrificial offerings: to cover the sins of mankind before the Most High. She had not yet witnessed such an offering. But each time she passed those seven pairs of creatures, she was filled with a sense of fearful mourning, and of wonder. It’s too much for me to understand, she thought to the Most High. It grieves me that blood must atone for our wickedness, so that we can approach You and call upon Your name. Perhaps the Promised One will save us from these sacrifices, though we don’t deserve Your love. Why should You desire to welcome us? I think that is the most wonderful question of all.
Seated on a mat just outside Yepheth and Ghinnah’s sleeping area, Annah concentrated on the soft puff of wool between her fingers. Pinching out just the right amount, she rolled it between her left thumb and forefinger to form a continuous twist of cordage while Ghinnah watched. Yepheth had recently constructed a weaving frame for her, and Annah wanted to help Ghinnah prepare the fibers. Discouraged, Annah grimaced. “At least your cordage will be useful. Mine will be odd.”
“Yours will do very well,” Ghinnah said placidly. “It will add texture to our work.”
Annah continued to twist the soft fibers between her fingers, only looking up when Noakh limped by them, heading toward the ladder near the bird enclosure.
Ghinnah said, “I won’t follow him this time. Nothing has changed.” Sympathetically, she added, “I’m afraid the father of our husbands will never walk properly again.”
“At least he can walk,” Annah said. Noakh was climbing the ladder, checking again for the dove that he had released that morning. Annah set down her fibers and the cordage. “I’m following him. I still have hope.” Pulling herself to her feet, Annah slowly trudged to the other end of the pen. Naomi, Shem, and Tirtsah were already waiting by the time she arrived.
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