“Your hands?”
“No, stupid. Fists. I’ll box him until he pukes out his guts and then kick him in the stomach. Let him know I could kill him.”
“If you killed him, you’d be cursed like Cain.”
Kush snorted. “You ever seen Jehovah or even seen His footprints? He’s a fairy tale, Menes.”
“Grandfather doesn’t lie.”
“Listen. No one is going to kiss Deborah but me. If I catch Gomer doing it, he gets a boxing lesson.”
“What’s boxing?” Menes asked.
Kush squinted. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Kush hesitated, and then he told his brother how father had taught him boxing.
Menes’s eyes shone.
Later that evening, Menes and Aurora, Japheth’s daughter, went to the river with water buckets for their mothers. They chatted like monkeys until Aurora said, “Did you know that Gomer kissed Deborah?”
“No he didn’t,” Menes said.
“Did too,” Aurora said. “Gomer told mother about it yesterday.”
“Gomer is a liar.” Menes scratched his head. “Unless Gomer is missing a tooth.”
“Kissing doesn’t do that, stupid,” said Aurora.
“I know that. But a fist in the mouth does.”
Aurora set down her pail and pushed Menes. “What a liar.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Who would dare hit Gomer? You know he’s going to be a king someday.”
Menes finally remembered his promise to Kush and shook his head.
“Ha. I’m right,” Aurora said. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to say.”
“Hmm.” Aurora studied her older cousin. “I bet you’re talking about Kush.”
“Can’t say.”
“Oh, it’s a secret, eh? That’s no problem. I swear by my father’s beard not to tell anyone.”
“Really?” Menes asked, wide-eyed. “You’d risk your father’s beard?”
Aurora made an easy gesture.
“He’ll beat you if his beard falls off.”
“You don’t think I’ll keep my promise?”
“Well…” Menes glanced about, then grinned and leaned near Aurora, telling her how Kush, as a trained boxer, would destroy Gomer if he dared kiss Deborah.
Aurora nodded sagely, drinking in the information.
“Remember,” Menes said, “you swore not to tell anyone.”
“You’re worse than my brothers,” Aurora said. “Don’t you trust me?”
“A promise is a promise.”
“I know that,” said Aurora. “So why don’t you shut up about it already?”
“Hey, you’d better watch it,” Menes said.
Aurora laughed, but before Menes could get angry about it, she said, “Race you to the river.”
“Go!” Menes said, leaping and running as hard as he could, the pail banging against his knees.
“Hey! No fair!” Aurora shouted, who sprinted after her fleet-footed cousin just the same.
12.
A day later, the air seemed charged just as when storm clouds piled over Ararat. Wind rustled the leaves as the children marched to the river to fish. Deborah and Kush led the way, with Gomer hanging back and whispering with his brother, Magog.
The conversation between Deborah and Kush turned heated. Finally, Kush said loud enough so everyone heard, “I’m warning you.”
Gomer looked up. At the same time, they came upon a man-sized boulder where they usually stopped. Moss grew on the rock’s northern side. Gomer glanced at Magog. Magog nodded, with his eyes darting to a pile of leaves clumped at the boulder’s base. Some of the leaves seemed to have been overturned recently, maybe even pushed together.
“What are you warning her about?” Gomer asked.
Kush stopped, turning, with his face like flint. “I don’t remember talking to you.”
“But I’m talking to you,” Gomer said, the other children jumping out of his way. “What were you warning her about?”
A terrible joy leapt upon Kush’s blunt features. Gomer was taller, but he was broader, already with the heavier muscles of his father, Ham. “What do you care what I tell her?”
“You know I care,” Gomer said. “What did he tell you, Deborah?”
Deborah smiled as she brushed back her curls. “He said you can’t kiss me again. That he’ll beat you if you do.”
All merriment drained from the other children. In silence, they watched the tableau. Only Menes, Aurora and Magog seemed eager.
Gomer forced a laugh. “Oh, is that so?”
“Yes!” Kush shoved Gomer and then raised his fists. “Or do you want to fight about it?”
Gomer blanched. “So, it’s true. Your father taught you to box.”
Surprise swept over Kush. He glanced at Menes. Menes blushed and opened his mouth to protest, then turned and stared at Aurora. Nine-year-old Aurora thrust her hands in her pockets, her gaze elsewhere.
“It isn’t fair you know how to box, and I don’t!” Gomer shouted.
“That’s right,” Magog said.
Kush glared at Gomer, who slid sideways toward the boulder. “If you’re afraid to fight, just say so. But then you have to promise never to kiss Deborah again.”
“It isn’t fair Kush knows how to box,” Magog told the other children.
“You could wrestle instead of box,” Deborah suggested.
“I’ll fight how I want to,” Kush shouted. “Unless you’re afraid, Gomer. Admit it. You’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not going to promise a thing,” Gomer said.
Deborah clapped her hands and then blushed when everyone glanced at her. “I’m not saying anything. I didn’t start this.”
Kush wiped a fist over his mouth. “You are afraid. That’s why you’re running away.”
Gomer stopped at the base of the rock. “Afraid? When you’ve been training to fight for weeks. When you’ve bragged how you’re going to kick my stomach so I’ll vomit blood?” Gomer shouted, “Your wanting to fight here is unfair. You’re a cheater! But if you know how to box and I don’t, I’m going to even us up.” He brushed aside leaves and picked up a club. Then he roared and rushed Kush.
Kush’s eyes went wide, and several of the children screamed. Gomer tripped over a stone, let go of the club and staggered, recovering himself near Kush.
Kush laughed brutally. “Now we’re even again, cheater.” He advanced. Snap-snap-snap, boxing as taught. Blood spurted from Gomer’s nose, and he staggered back, dazed from the jabs. Kush kept coming, throwing straight-armed jabs and crosses, his knuckles cutting Gomer’s cheeks.
“Stop!” the children screamed. “Stop it! You’re killing him.”
Kush snarled as Gomer dropped to his hands and knees. “I told you to promise never to kiss her again.”
Blood dripped from Gomer’s nose, and he panted. He seemed incapable of speech.
Kush kicked him in the belly. Gomer flopped onto the ground, groaning. Kush kicked harder.
“No!” Magog shouted, only a year younger than Gomer. He grabbed the fallen club. “Stop it, Kush! Stop it!” He rushed into the fray and the club whistled. With an awful crack, it connected with the back of Kush’s head. Kush’s eyes rolled up, and he dropped to the ground beside Gomer.
The children stared, open-mouthed.
“No, oh no,” Deborah moaned. “What if they’re both dead?”
“I’ll get grandma.” And Aurora took off running for the tents, certain that the one who brought Gaea here would earn praise as the good child.
13.
Kush lay unconscious in his parents’ tent. On the back of his head rose an ugly knot. He breathed shallowly and, at times, his eyelids fluttered.
The flap brushed aside and Gaea entered, followed by Ham and Europa.
Rahab already knelt by her son and dabbed his cheek with a damp cloth.
Europa hugged herself, her eyes wide, and she turned away.
Rahab sat back on her heels. “That was a dirty trick, your boy using a club.”
Startled, Europa faced her. “My son’s face is cut up, and he complains of stomach cramps. Kush might have killed him if Magog hadn’t thought fast.”
Gaea looked up from where she studied Kush. “None of that matters now. We must save Kush and patch up this quarrel.”
Rahab couldn’t match Europa’s imperious stare. She wilted, turning back to her unconscious son.
Gaea rolled back her sleeves, exposing strong forearms. She pulled back one of Kush’s eyelids. Her frown deepened, making her worn features even more wrinkled.
“What’s wrong?” Rahab asked.
Gaea laid a hand on Kush’s forehead and mumbled under her breath.
“Are you praying?” Rahab whispered. “Is it that bad?”
“Shhh,” Ham said, kneeling behind his wife, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Rahab peered over her shoulder. “Why did you teach him boxing, Ham, why?”
Ham kept his face impassive as he studied his son.
“We can’t worry about that now,” Gaea said. “Europa, do you have any bellegarde in your tent?”
“No,” said Europa. “Should I?”
“Rahab?”
Rahab shook her head.
“Neither do I,” Gaea said. She pursed her lips. “Ham, tell Noah I need bellegarde.”
“What’s that?” Ham asked.
“Hurry, child. Do as I’ve said.”
Ham ran from the tent.
“What is it, Mother? What’s wrong with him?” Rahab asked.
“It could be a number of things.” Gaea touched the knot on the back of Kush’s head. He twitched but remained unconscious. Gaea bared her teeth. “I need chicken broth and bits of bark.”
“What kind of bark?” Rahab asked.
“Europa,” Gaea said. “It’s the same bark I used when Magog was sick.”
Europa silently departed.
Gaea put her hands on Kush’s shoulders and prayed. Then mother and daughter-in-law held hands. “Hatred and battles are upon us,” Gaea said. “I had hoped it could be different this time. I’m afraid that was a dream.”
“It’s a good dream, Mother.”
“But just a dream,” Gaea said.
“Maybe not. Maybe we can all learn from this.” Rahab turned thoughtful. “Help me make peace with Europa. I don’t want a feud.”
Gaea patted Rahab’s hand. “I’m glad you married Ham. He needs you. He’s hard-headed at times and too quick with his notions.”
“I’d wish for no one else as a husband,” Rahab said.
Gaea smiled sadly, as she set Rahab’s hands on her oldest son. “Come, let us continue praying.”
Later that evening, Gaea mixed bark with chicken soup and crushed bellegarde into it. She spoon-fed Kush, having Rahab hold her son’s head. He gagged and coughed, but other times his throat convulsed, as if he drank.
“I’ll give it to him again tomorrow,” Gaea said. “Rahab, you must speak with him during the night. Try to get him to wake up.”
“What if he does?” Rahab said. “Then what?”
“Keep him talking, and get me.”
“I’ll do that,” Ham said.
“Good,” Gaea said. She took her leave.
Rahab and Ham glanced at one another. “We’ll talk about it later,” Ham said. Rahab looked as if she would speak, then she nodded and they attended to their son.
14.
The bellegarde worked. Both boys survived their blows, although Kush was laid up for over two weeks and had headaches for over a year. It embittered him against his cousins. He vowed to pay Magog back one of these days when they were alone, when he had a good reason, so no one could accuse him of vengeance. The fact that he might have kept on kicking Gomer until…no, he would have stopped. That stubborn mule Gomer, who thought he was so smart—laying clubs along the trail to cheat—he could have simply promised never to kiss Deborah again if he didn’t want to get beaten to death.
Soon after the incident, Shem, Ham, Japheth and their wives talked. Noah and Gaea did, too. It had been fifteen years since they left the Ark.
“We should spread out,” Japheth said. “Move apart so we each have more elbow room, and so our sons don’t have to bump into each other on a daily basis.” They spoke in Noah’s tent, at a table. Outside, in the darkness, an owl hooted.
“No,” Gaea said. “That’s too drastic.”
“I think Japheth is right,” Ham said.
“Here is a first,” Japheth said. “My youngest brother and I agree, even if it was his boy that started this.”
“Mine?” Ham asked. “Yours was the one hiding clubs.”
“I see,” said Europa. “He should have submitted to a trained killer?”
Ham stood. “Boxing isn’t killing. Braining others with clubs…” He glanced at the others. “Isn’t that attempted murder?”
Rahab plucked at Ham’s sleeve, urging him to sit down.
“Should I fashion clubs for my boys then?” Ham asked. “For protection against Japheth’s schemers?”
“Ha!” Japheth cried, while slapping the table. “A schemer is anyone who plans not to be bashed about by a thuggish brute.”
“At least mine don’t slink about with shifty glances,” Ham said, “plotting how to murder their cousins.”
Noah rose, with a stern glance. “I didn’t call you here to bicker.”
“Please, Ham,” Gaea said. “Take a seat.”
Ham finally noticed Rahab pulling at his sleeve. He scowled at Japheth drumming his long fingers on the table, Europa whispering into his ear. Ham sat hunched-shouldered, refusing to look at his oldest brother or his wife.
In the silence, Noah cleared his throat. “One thing is certain. Despite the accusations—on both sides—Gomer and Kush must stay apart. I’ve talked with each of them. They hang their heads, but the hatred is deep-rooted. Nor have you, my sons—either of you—done well in some of your family policies.”
Japheth opened his mouth to retort, but Europa put a restraining hand on him.
Ham licked his lips, not allowing himself to speak. That Gomer had tried to attack with a club… It showed the others feared Kush, a man that had sprung from his loins.
Ham wasn’t aware that Europa had told her boys how proud she was of them in using their brains to overcome Kush’s brawn. “You don’t square up against a trained fighter,” Europa had said. “You even the odds. You better them if you can. Which was exactly what you two did—but don’t tell anyone I said that. This is a family matter, strictly among ourselves.”
“I think the issue now is who will marry Deborah,” Rahab said.
“Yes, exactly,” Gaea said.
“I think Deborah should have some say in the matter,” her mother, Ruth, said.
Noah agreed. “But Deborah must wait before she shows a preference.”
“Is that wise, Father?” Ruth asked. “My daughter’s blood runs hot. Marriage is what she needs to keep her from sin.”
“She’s only fifteen,” Gaea said. “That’s too young to be married.”
“This is a New World,” Ruth said. “We’ve all said that many times. The Earth needs filling.”
“The problem,” Noah said, “is that when Deborah chooses one, the other might become enraged enough to murder his rival.”
“Father!” Japheth cried. “Perhaps…” He glanced at Ham. “Perhaps others would stoop to such base deeds, but you can’t believe that my boy would—”
“Enough!” Noah said. “Listen to me. Murder is the consequence of hatred. That most brutal, vicious act lies very near the surface once the powerful emotion of hate has been unleashed. Perhaps there was nothing we could have done to banish it forever. Mankind lies awash in sin, after all. It is the consequence of Adam’s fall in Eden. What we must do is ensure against murder by realizing that it may happen over Debo
rah’s marriage. Either boy is capable of it. They’ve both shown so. We must give the boys time to cool down.”
Japheth drummed his fingers on the table. He wore a fine gold ring with a ruby stone, fashioned from the Antediluvian world. “Whether all our boys are capable of murder or not, I won’t argue. But we must move apart, at least move the tents several leagues from one another. We need elbow room, as I’ve said.”
“Must you move?” Gaea asked. “I hate to see the family broken up over this.”
Her answer was silence. Ham brooded, while Rahab fretted, stroking his arm from time to time. Europa kept whispering advice to Japheth, while Shem and Ruth watched, wide-eyed.
“Yes,” Noah said, “perhaps moving the tents is a good idea. It will be a pledge of earnestness, of our future splitting as we carry out Jehovah’s plan of filling the earth.”
It was soon agreed that Noah and Gaea would remain in their location, while Japheth and Europa would move downhill, Shem shift his clan west and Ham settle several leagues to the east.
As they left the tent that evening, walking home by starlight, Ham asked Rahab, “Did you see Japheth grinning?”
Rahab cast him a worried glance. “When do you mean?”
“When they spoke about the coming marriage to Deborah, he grinned like he knew a secret.”
“Are you sure it was a grin? Maybe he thought you’d leap across the table to clutch his throat, and he tried to brave it out.”
“Do you know what I think? He learned somehow that I’d trained Kush. He knew that even if his boys could box Kush would thrash them. He probably counseled them to hide clubs.” Ham stopped. “The sly fox. I bet that’s exactly how it happened.”
“Ham, how can you say that? How awful to even think it.”
“No. How awful to be brained by a club.” A wolfish grin spread across Ham’s face. “He means to see Gomer wed to Deborah. But I’m not going to let that happen.”
“That isn’t our decision. You heard Noah. Deborah is to choose.”
Ham grunted and resumed the march home, with Rahab hurrying beside him. As he entered the tent, he decided that it was time to teach his sons how to fight with a quarterstaff. Fists were good, but not when a man might pick up a rock or hide a club in a pile of leaves. But a quarterstaff now…
People of the Flood (Ark Chronicles 2) Page 5