Judging Noa

by Strutin, Michel;

  Noa had shown Hoglah and Tirzah which fleece to give in payment, cautioning them not to let the shearers get away with the best the sisters had. Tirzah kept her eyes on the shearers.

  “I’m not going to let them get away with a thing,” she whispered to Adam.

  “We can play right in front of your old donkey and the shearers won’t be able to slip anything by you. Come on, Tirzah,” he cajoled. “I’ll even find stones for you while you spear those shearers with your eyes.”

  Tirzah liked the offer and the fierce image.

  “All right. But make sure you get round stones. Not ones with sharp edges that bounce off the mark.”

  “You’ll have them.”

  Adam slipped off the donkey and dashed off to find a set of dark stones. When he returned, he cut a circle in the hardpan as wide as a well cover.

  Tirzah slid off the donkey and opened her hand for the stones. Adam poured them in and she grinned. “Let’s go.”

  They stepped off seven paces from the circle where Adam scratched a “start” line into the dirt.

  “I go first,” Tirzah said.

  “Fine.”

  She took a quick look to make sure the shearers had not touched her sheep then threw. The dark stone hit near-center, then rolled to the far edge of the groove Adam had cut.

  “No! Too hard,” Tirzah cried. “I was thinking about the sheep. I’m taking that throw over.”

  “Oh, no. That was a fair throw. My turn.”

  Adam stepped to the line and lobbed his first stone. His bounced in the circle, then skipped over the grooved edge. He threw his hands up and groaned dramatically. Tirzah shook her head and smiled.

  “Too bad.”

  They took turns throwing, Tirzah glancing at the shearers, until they were down to one stone each. She threw, and her dark stone stopped at the edge of the circle. Adam’s last stone bumped hers into the groove, while it sat triumphant on the inner side of the circle.

  “Wait. You cheated. You stepped over the line.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did. I saw you.”

  Tirzah, furious, kicked all the stones out of the circle. Adam ran at her, dove, and knocked her down, shouting, “I won. I won again. You are the cheater.”

  As they wrestled on the dusty plain, Tirzah bit Adam in the fleshy part of his forearm. He howled and punched at her, but she rolled away, and he grasped his punctured arm. The old men hurried over to break up the scuffle.

  The redheaded shearer growled, “Keep those brats quiet. They’re making the sheep nervous.”

  Tirzah sat in the dirt with her knees up, looking at Adam. Blood dripped from his arm into the dirt. He cried, then dragged his good arm over his eyes to wipe away his tears, smearing dirt on his face.

  Chastened by Adam’s tears and the sight of his blood, Tirzah pleaded with one of the old men, “Please help me get him on my donkey. We can fix his arm at home. Adam’s my friend.”

  “Yes, friends, we can see.” One of the men laughed.

  “It’s just a cut, little mother,” said the other, derisively.

  But they helped Adam onto the donkey, and Tirzah grabbed the animal’s lead. She pulled the donkey home with guilty impatience, forgetting about the sheep. There, Noa packed a poultice of spider-flower leaves onto Adam’s forearm.

  Then she asked, “Are the sheep shorn?”

  Tirzah froze, then turned, and took off running.

  HOGLAH LED THE goats down to the shearing station halfway through the afternoon. Only a couple of shepherds remained, waiting for their sheep to be shorn. She found one of the shearers working on the second of her sheep, but did not find Tirzah. Horrified, she asked if they had seen a young girl with wild hair and sun-browned skin.

  “Wild hair? Ah, her. She bit her boyfriend’s arm, then took him home.”

  “I’ll wait for that one to reach ripeness,” sniggered the moonfaced shearer. “Fun comes in all forms.”

  Hoglah ignored him and asked the redheaded shearer, “Did she show you which fleece you may take for payment?”

  “No.”

  Bent over the sheep, he stopped cutting and twisted his neck to look up. He saw a tall young woman, picking at a fingernail. Hoglah quickly hid the hand with the ripped nail behind her skirt. With the other she pointed.

  “Those two, the one with the tan patch near its nose and the one just behind it. And that one over there with the curly rump. Those you may take.”

  “Not this one?” He ran his hand over the fine, soft wool.

  “No.”

  “Who’s telling me ‘no’? I ask you, Miss Pole.”

  Hoglah gasped, thinking she heard a slight of her height.

  “Ech. We are tired,” he said, excusing himself. “And you must be a clever maiden to know which sheep to choose.”

  “No, but my sister Noa . . . she is. And she will win our father’s promised land for us,” Hoglah boasted.

  “Who’s ‘us’?”

  “The daughters of Zelophechad.”

  The redheaded shearer turned back to his work and threw over his shoulder, “And your brothers? What will they get?”

  “We have no brothers.”

  “Ah.” He finished and rose, holding up the fleece. “Nice,” he said, stroking the wool, but looking directly at Hoglah.

  She raised her left shoulder, to straighten the line of her breasts, and looked right back at him, surprised by her boldness. Then a flurry of peripheral motion caught her attention.

  “Tirzah! What happened . . .”

  “IknowIknowIknow,” Tirzah blurted, out of breath. She darted out and grabbed the fleece from the shearer. “Not this one.”

  “Tirzah,” Hoglah admonished. “What will he think of you? They know which fleece is theirs. I told them, since you were not here.”

  “We know what to think of her,” the moonfaced shearer interjected. “She’s Moloch’s little sister.”

  “Who’s Moloch?” Hoglah and Tirzah asked.

  “Moloch,” he paused dramatically, hastily finishing off the sheep he was holding, “is the god that eats children. There’s a high place in the north with an altar raised to Moloch. A huge god with rams’ horns. When Moloch is hungry, the people build a fire in Moloch’s bronze belly. They throw a child in. Moloch eats the child and is satisfied. When Moloch is no longer hungry, he gives women babies and men victory in battle.”

  Hoglah and Tirzah sat on their haunches, listening, their eyes wide. Ignoring them, the redheaded shearer continued to work, as if he had heard all of this before.

  “The people who worship him feed them their babies?”

  “Oh no, they feed Moloch the children of their slaves or children they capture. Children like you.” He lunged at Tirzah.

  Hoglah shouted, “Stop, you’re scaring her. Make him stop.”

  “That’s enough,” the redheaded shearer ordered.

  “I was just having a little fun.”

  “Have fun on your own time. Let’s get this done.”

  When the girls’ sheep were shorn, they loaded the fleece onto the donkey. Tirzah jittered to tell of the terrible god Moloch and his meals. As they left, Hoglah looked back, hoping the redheaded shearer would say something to her. She was not disappointed.

  “Good luck to you, Miss Landowner.” He smiled at his half-formed idea.

  “IN THREE DAYS’ time you will be a married man,” Gaddi said to Hur.

  They sat in Gaddi’s compartment within the family’s tent. Alone with Hur, Gaddi had called for date wine, and now reclined against a stack of pillows. Hur sat bolt upright.

  “Yes,” said Hur. His mind full of questions about marriage and women, he could not think of more to say.

  His time in the company of women, even his mother, had become limited once he put on a long robe. He knew the maiden chosen for him only by sight.

  With an image of Noa prodding him, he released one of his questions.

  “How will I speak with her? How does one speak with
a woman?”

  “Laud her, but with truth. If her stews taste like mud, praise her weaving. If her wovens look like the wandering of a goat, praise her soft voice . . .”

  “But,” Hur broke in, “Noa is known as strong-willed and clever. What if . . . ?” he began, loath to demean himself in his father’s eyes. “What if she is more clever than I am?”

  Gaddi ben Susi leaned forward, putting his hands on his son’s shoulders. Hur was accomplished in so many ways that it touched Gaddi to hear his son’s concern.

  “Women know more than men in many ways. Husbands of any worth know this. Women understand matters of the heart. Your mother, she is as bright as the sun at managing the family and its relations with others. This is no small accomplishment. Her skills and duties mirror mine in the tribe. You will discover the gifts that Noa brings to marriage. Her beauty and intelligence are well known, but there are other qualities that can be more important.

  “With a maiden such as Noa, you must mean what you say. Women are sharp as knives at spotting falsehood.”

  “And during the marriage week, what should . . . ?”

  “Ah, the sweet week,” his father interrupted, remembering his own. “The sweets first, and they are sweet. Later, the full meal of marriage. Marriage can also have its famines. For the hard times between a husband and wife, one must store reserves, as Joseph did in Egypt.”

  “But, in the marriage booth, how to . . .”

  His father’s advice encompassed great scope, but Hur needed a narrow slice of information. Frustrated, he left his father’s compartment to bed down among his brothers, thinking only of how to perform in the marriage booth.

  He was full of questions. “This act . . . should it be fast? Or slow? Should we talk or be silent?” he had asked friends, but they were of little help.

  One had urged him to practice on sheep, saying that what one did with one’s hand was only a shadow of the act. Another mentioned places at the edge of camp where prostitutes sold their services for a pair of earrings or a small sack of wheat.

  The friend persuaded Hur and another of their companions to visit the prostitutes and purchase some valuable experience. They picked their way past traders and slaves who fled with the Israelites. The women they sought wore slovenly shifts and were dark with dirt. Hur saw children among them and wondered what kind of lives they suffered.

  As the three became silent at the sight of such squalor, a woman emerged from a tent. Her sudden appearance made them jump.

  “Not much to choose from,” she said. “Come inside. I’ll take care of you. The price is higher, but you get what you pay for.”

  She turned, showing off clean, well-formed merchandise.

  “Finally,” said one of Hur’s companions, as he headed toward her tent.

  “Go in, if you want, but I’m leaving,” Hur said, having lost the taste for this adventure.

  Not willing to enter the woman’s tent on his own, Hur’s friend caught up with the other two, while the woman called after them, demeaning their manliness. On the way back, the other companion told his cousin’s story.

  His cousin had met a Moabite woman at a well. She had given him signs and, after following her behind a stand of rocks, wonders. Later, as he dozed on their clothes, he heard her whisper, “Take him now. He will bring us a fine ransom.”

  He ran as fast and as far as he could, her furiousvoice echoing behind him. For days, his sisters had washed and applied ointments to his cut and blistered feet. His escape became the tale of the moment among his friends. When his feet had healed, he regaled them with what lay between a woman’s legs. Hur’s friend tried to explain, second-hand, what it was and what to do with it.

  Confused, Hur decided he would learn for himself.

  CHAPTER 9

  RELUCTANT BRIDE

  ON NOA’S LAST night as a maiden, female friends and relatives gathered to send her into womanhood with a celebration. Marriage to Gaddi’s first-born brought respect and large crowds, both to the bride’s tent and to the groom’s tent, where men and boys were celebrating Hur ben Gaddi.

  Her sisters had removed the wall dividing their tent and rearranged pillows and rugs. With evening’s approach, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah brought out platters of food for their guests: small rounds of bread sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds, date-honey cakes, dried grapes and dates, and other delicacies.

  Tirzah could not remember seeing so much food in her home. She carried a platter of roasted onions, each the size of an infant’s fist, balanced in a pyramid. Step by careful step, she moved toward the platter’s place next to a bowl of sour-milk dipping sauce. Hoglah followed her with a large jug of barley beer. As Tirzah set down the platter, the top onion rolled onto the rug. She was about to pop the errant onion into her mouth when Hoglah caught her.

  “Put that onion back,” she hissed.

  Women had settled themselves in groups along the sides of the tent. Newcomers anxiously scanned the room for a group to join. Noa sat at the middle of the long wall with her mother on one side and Malah on the other. Next to Malah sat Yoela and Bat-Sheva. After Hoglah served the beer, her mother made a space and pulled her down next to Noa.

  “Here you will receive more attention,” Ada whispered, already thinking ahead to the next marriage. Then she noticed someone entering and elbowed Hoglah.

  Hoglah followed her mother’s gaze and saw Seglit enter, her silver wrist and ankle bands clinking softly. Seglit tipped her head cordially toward Noa, Hoglah, and Ada. Seglit had been invited, but she entered with two of her cousins, who had not been invited. No one was willing to make the cousins’ presence an issue.

  As the party proceeded and the women consumed beer, some reached for drums and timbrels they had brought and began a thrumming beat. Two middle-aged neighbors pulled each other up and began swaying, slow-footed, their arms snaking sinuously to make up for their aging legs.

  One of them turned to face the family and called out, “Mother of the bride!” The woman beckoned, but the mother of the bride waved her away. The woman beckoned again, and the mother of the bride rose, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, “She insists. What can I do?”

  She joined the two women, and they danced in a small circle, she twitching belly and hip in small but effective movements as if to say “I am still here.”

  An older woman, a friend, shouted appreciatively, “Ayy, Zelophechad ben Hefer knew a few things. How to pick a woman.”

  Their mother smiled, acknowledging the compliment. Noa sat still, alone in the middle of things. Malah was mortified and looked around to see if any of her new friends were judging her mother with their eyes. She rose and moved to sit with the young wives group, consolidating her place among them.

  Tirzah, assigned to serve bread, set down the bread plate she had just refilled and ran toward her mother who reached out her arms toward her youngest daughter. Milcah dutifully picked up the tray and continued serving.

  Mother and daughter clasped hands and circled round as women clapped them on. The mother of the bride danced, forgetting her arthritis and every other ill of life. Others rose to dance and the beat became more insistent.

  Bat-Sheva turned to Hoglah, saying, “Come sit with my mother. She said to me, ‘Perhaps tonight we shall see the one for our Jacob.’”

  Hoglah jumped up, beaming, thinking her own mother the wisest of women, her dreams of marriage outpacing her dreams of the redheaded shearer.

  Yoela resettled herself just behind Noa and began plaiting her hair. The contrast was striking: Noa with brown eyes and hair, dark and glossy as a carob seed; Yoela with gray-blue eyes and a halo of golden hair.

  Yoela caught strands of Noa’s hair between her fingers and twisted one narrow braid, then another.

  “Gentle, please,” she cautioned. “I am not a donkey and my hair is not a harness.”

  “Hold still, donkey,” Yoela replied.

  More softly, Noa said, “I am not ready to be a wife, buried in everything a wife must
do.”

  “Ho,” Yoela said, giving the braid she was working on a gentle tug, “what about all of that ‘we shall secure our land if we marry within our tribe’?”

  “That is in the bright light of day. But the glow of my soul tells me . . .”

  “Glowing souls . . .” Yoela turned Noa’s words lightly. “I will tell you a story of glowing souls.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” Noa insisted.

  “Don’t worry, my heart,” Yoela said, masking the same fear. “See Malah and her friends. They are thick as a stew.”

  The image drew a grin from Noa as she shed her dark mood for the pleasure of Yoela’s company.

  “ . . . or, maybe like a flock of Nile geese,” Yoela continued.

  Noa blew a few low honks, causing them both to giggle.

  Her mother heard, shot Noa a warning look, then turned back to the dance.

  Neither spoke much as Yoela twined braid after narrow braid, looping them together in an intricate pattern, at ease in each other’s company, watching the dancers.

  The musicians and dancers paused to catch their breath.

  Seglit took her cue and rose. “I apologize for leaving early. I must attend to my husband. When they return from the groom’s celebration, they are full of expectations,” she said archly. One of her cousins tittered as they followed her out.

  Women turned to see how Malah would react, but Malah was suddenly engaged in a deep discussion of the best remedies for a sour stomach.

  The music began again. Hoglah and Milcah joined their mother and Tirzah and the four began a dance, twisting through the crowd, singing, “We are the ones who praise . . .”

  A young woman caught Hoglah’s hand, another linked onto the chain and another until a long line snaked around itself, women pulling each other along, breathing hard. Noa and Yoela sat silent, their own island.

  “Yoela,” Noa said, “I need a story. Please, take me away.”

  “And a story is what you shall have,” she answered, as she began in a soft, lilting voice:

  “A young man said to his father, ‘I want to become a man.’