Yoela gasped, “Is it true?”
“Yes. Malah and I will bear children at nearly the same time. Strange, isn’t it, to think there is another soul growing within me?”
Peering down from behind a boulder, Hur saw Noa guide Yoela’s hand. And this is how he learned he would become a father.
LED BY THE Levites, the people set their faces east and left the mountain of God, tribe by tribe, they and their children and their maidservants and their manservants, with their camels and their asses, their goats and their sheep, and all their goods.
The Ark of the Covenant led them, carried by the Levites and marked by a column of cloud that rose pure and white. Snaking slowly across the dry plain, the mosaic of people could always see the strangely shimmering cloud-column ahead, rising to the heavens.
Bursts of song rose up from the men of Asher, answered in song by their women. A shoving match between two groups of boys broke out among the tribe of Reuben. Knots of men discussed direction, wondering if Moses knew the way.
As they walked, Noa sought Malah. Finding her, she linked arms with her sister and said, “I am now like you.”
Malah turned to her. “What do you mean?”
Noa ran her free hand over the small bulge in her belly. “You know.”
They turned to each other, smiles creasing their faces.
“Have you told Hur?”
“Not yet. Like you, I want to be sure this child will hold.”
Farther ahead, Hur walked with his father, Gaddi ben Susi. Gaddi wished that his own sons, rather than Gamaliel’s, held Manasseh’s banner. Like most, hewalked dully in the waning day, hearing the flinty rhythm of animal hooves striking rock. Bone-dry plains edged by low hills. The same views all day. They might have been walking in place.
“They say there is no food to gather along the way,” Gaddi said. “Already many are grumbling as loudly as their stomachs.”
Hur had been thinking about Noa and Yoela. They seemed sisters of the heart, nothing more. Still, there was talk. Now that he knew his child grew within Noa, he tried to clear his mind of idle talk.
“Have you heard me?”
Hur quickly caught up. “There are always complainers.”
“‘Moses talks only with God, not with us,’ they say. There is truth in that. Korach says we have substituted Moses for Pharaoh.”
“Is Korach correct?”
“If you count the stripes on my back, the new rules are less painful than the old,” Gaddi laughed. “But people want safety, not wilderness.”
“My friends and I, we want to hunt. We want action, not safety.”
“Action, safety. Between the two is balance. That’s what we need,” Gaddi said.
“Balance. Balance is when a spear sits light and easy in your hand.”
Efram, a young kinsman, charged up alongside Hur.
“Come with us,” he said. “People groan for meat. We’ll bring them wild goat.”
“Father . . .” Hur began, all thoughts flying out of his head.
“Haddad and a few others of Yitro’s clan are going to hunt. They asked us to join them.”
“Yitro, a Midianite . . .” said Gaddi.
“We learn the desert from them,” said Hur.
“They know enough to trap animals, and perhaps you, too.”
“They are like us . . .”
Hur backed away from the line of Israelites, toward Efram and another young kinsman, both pulsing with anticipation.
“You will not know where we go . . .” Gaddi called after Hur.
“The tracks of the tribes are as broad as a river. We will catch up. A leopard outpaces a line of turtles.” Hur laughed as he and his two kinsmen turned and ran toward a small group of Midianites waiting for them halfway to the horizon.
“May luck reward you,” Gaddi called into the wind. “And keep you safe,” he added under his breath.
Hur and his companions raced each other toward the Midianites. They exploded, laughing and shouting challenges. Feeling free and light, they burned for the hunt. They would sniff the wind, pounce like leopards, tear meat from bone, and feel the blood rise in their young, life-loving bodies.
Gaddi watched, anxious but with a shred of envy, as Hur and his companions reached the Midianites and the mingled group trotted toward the hills.
The tribes plodded until shadows seeped across the desert. When Gaddi’s second son saw Manasseh’s banner raised high as a sign to halt, he pulled a curved ram’s horn from a sling and blew three loud blasts.
Exhausted by heat and dust, the people threw down mats and sank onto the desert floor in large and small patches, like heaps of rags.
Feeling alone among strangers, Noa made a rough bed alongside the women of Hur’s clan, lying just close enough to feel protected. Hur had said nothing to her of leaving and no one spoke of it.
In the middle of the night, Noa was awakened by whispered fury.
“My eldest son . . . he is gone. Gone!” Tamar raged at her husband. “He runs off with some thieving Midianites and you do nothing to stop him.”
SEVEN HUNTERS HID their cloaks in a hollow among the rocks, upwind from the spring-fed pool at the base of high, red scarps. The sight of fresh water was as tempting as a woman. They longed to throw themselves in and let the cool water caress their sun-cracked skin. Instead, they gulped quickly, anxious not to leave their odor on the water. Hiding behind a screen of reeds and boulders, they waited in twilight, knowing yael, the ibex, must drink.
Hur crouched to the right of Haddad, a young prince of the house of Yitro, their spears in their hands and their knives sheathed at their waists. Hur and his two companions were still schooling their muscles to the ways of free men: to stalk, to heft a spear, to throw, to kill. They had become acquainted with Haddad as Moses’s marriage to Yitro’s daughter, Zipporah, had created a bond between Israelites and Midianites.
Haddad had taught Hur how to tell the recency of an ibex’s passing by the dryness of its droppings, to know that water lay below purple-flowered tamarisk trees. Hur told Haddad of the Great River, of buildings that reached the sky, and stone pharaohs tall as ten men. They each had something to offer and a friendship formed.
As the men’s eyes adjusted to the dark, a small band of ibex, females and their young, stepped cautiously toward the water. The ewes bent their heads to sip, all but one. She stood guard, on the lookout for leopards.
The men watched, their breath shallow and tight. Haddad rose from his crouch, soundlessly cleared the concealing boulder, and cocked his spear.
The scout ewe, spotting Haddad, bleated and charged toward a steep rockslide, followed by the rest of the band. Haddad had already loosed his spear, striking the side of an old ewe. She arched in pain, then ran heavily with the rest toward the rocks. The clatter of hooves and yelling men shattered the quiet of the pool.
“To her,” Haddad cried.
He sprinted toward the stricken ewe, mindless of sharp rocks spiking his sandaled feet, pulling his knife from its sheath as he ran. The ewe slowed for a moment, trying to shake off the spear. Haddad, his lungs bursting, flung himself forward. Avoiding her short, sharp horns, he plunged his hand into the loose skin at the nape of her neck and jerked the ewe’s head back hard. He sliced across her jugular vein, her blood arcing dark red, staining the desert floor.
The others caught up and one of the Midianites cupped his hands under the rush of blood and drank, viscous red dripping from mouth to chin. He uttered praise to a Midianite god. As she bled out, the Midianites each drank from the fount of life.
“Drink,” Haddad urged Hur. “The gods will give you her strength.”
Hur dipped his finger in the now-trickling blood. His tribesmen followed his lead. None wanted to appear hesitant.
Seeing how little the Israelites took, Haddad offered, “Let me squeeze more for you.”
“It is not our custom,” Hur said, wiping his bloody finger on his thigh.
His hospitality rejected, Haddad s
aid, “Custom? What do slaves know of hunting customs?”
Realizing his unintended slur, Haddad hoped Hur did not understand the Midian word for “slave.”
“We are free men. No less than you,” Hur challenged.
Haddad grabbed the ewe’s forelegs and, looking at Hur, strove to drain the tension.
“Together, we can drag her to that slope. We’ll gut her . . . as free men do.” He grinned at Hur.
Haddad cut the ewe from belly to breast, then turned her on her side so her stomach and intestines slopped out. He reached inside and cut around her anus, where the large intestine was anchored, loosening a mass of soft organs. He sliced the large intestine from the coils of the small.
“Here,” he said, handing the large intestine to the youngest of his fellows, “slice and clean this.”
“Some day I will rise above the rank of shit-scraper,” the young man asserted, smiling to show he did not take offense.
“When your brother leaves the women’s side and comes out with us. Then he will scrape shit.” Haddad laughed.
“My brother is still too young to leave the women’s side,” said Efram. “So says my mother. And what he sees . . .”
“Ho! We have spies like that . . .” said a Midianite.
They cleaned their kill, boasting and joking. One of Haddad’s men—the silent one with the scar that wrinkled the right side of his face—chopped at a haunch with a hand axe, severing it from the ewe’s body.
Two made a fire as the rest worked on the body, severing, washing, coiling, and tying. The stomach would serve as a bag. Sliced into long lengths, the intestines would be used to sew tent sutures.
A rising moon looked down upon young men too busy to notice the dark. They suspended the haunch above the fire on a pair of forked sticks. They laid the heart, kidneys, and liver on a bed of coals. Haddad parceled out the cooked organs, saving the heart for himself. He bit in, satisfaction suffusing his face.
“Yes,” agreed Hur, through a mouth full of liver, “food from God.”
“Delivered by my hand,” Haddad reminded all.
When the haunch was ready, they gorged some more, goat grease ringing their mouths and running down their fingers. When they were finished, they retrieved their robes and wrapped themselves for sleep, their bellies distended in painful pleasure. Someone burped.
Hur turned to Haddad. “You were wise to take the old ewe.”
“Past her best breeding years,” Haddad agreed, warmed by Hur’s praise. “The health of the herd, like the health of the tribe.”
Finally, the only voice was that of the fire, crackling as it was left to die.
CHAPTER 12
HIS OWN KILL
HUR AWOKE BEFORE the sun. He remembered the ibex and the grace of Haddad’s kill, years in the making. He wanted his own kill.
Rising silently, he shed his cloak and climbed upward. He hoped to find a pool above, where ibex might come, sensing that their usual watering hole was occupied. Squeezing between boulders, he tried to stay low and out of sight. The bite of morning on his skin and the thrill of ascent nearly caused him to forget his purpose until he reached a place where hill met sheer scarp. There erosion had carved a small basin filled with water.
Secreted between a saltbush and a boulder, Hur waited, watching the basin as the rising sun painted the sky pink and gold. Hearing nothing, he dozed.
The clink of hooves woke him. Three ibex picked their way down what looked like sheer rock. Squinting in the pink light, Hur watched the lead animal leap down from one hidden ledge to another, scattering gravel. The other two followed.
Three young males, two with half-arched horns. The lead animal was larger, with horns fully arched, like the eyebrows of Asherah. Hur wanted him.
He moved to the edge of the saltbush and crouched, with his spear ready. The large male raised his head, sniffing the air. His arched horns nearly met his withers and his nose was shiny with moisture.
As the three bent their heads to drink, Hur rose and pulled back his spear, aligning it with the side of the big male. One of the younger ibex moved, obstructing his shot. As he refocused on the younger ibex, he heard a rumble of rocks behind him. The ibex heard, too, and looked up, spotting Hur and his intent. Quickly, Hur cast his spear. It pierced the young male, but did not hold, falling off as the ibex fled in a haste of escape.
A second spear parted the air next to Hur’s head, so close he felt the long shaft’s breath.
“You son of a slave . . .” someone screamed behind him. “I knew you would fault the shot.”
Hur was already bounding after the goats as he realized it was Haddad’s surly, scar-faced companion. He did not care. His aim was the ibex. The Midianite’s spear had glanced off the now-panicked animal. The three ibex clattered down the dry, narrow streambed issuing from the basin. Behind them, Hur lobbed rocks at the injured male, barely noticing he had scraped his shin raw while pushing past a boulder.
The streambed gullied down the hill, stopped suddenly at a ledge, then continued a few feet below. The large male took the drop easily. The other two followed, the injured goat catching a hoof on a rock and stumbling, just enough to give Hur hope. As Hur leaped down from the ledge, a protruding branch ripped the skin under his left arm. He felt blood wetting his side, but his need was fierce. He hurled rocks as he slid down the slope, one of the rocks hitting the ibex on the back of head, squarely between the horns. The ibex stopped, shook its head as if trying to remember something, then staggered on. Hur whooped at his success. Farther behind, the Midianite growled.
Gaining on the slowed animal, Hur reached for his knife. He wanted to avoid the ibex’s small, sharp horns, but could wait no longer. From a few feet behind, Hur launched himself onto the animal’s back. With his left hand, he grabbed the nape of the ibex’s neck, as Haddad had done. He slashed with his right, feeling the knife bite flesh. Then he lost his grip, slid off, and rolled away to avoid the ibex’s hooves. All he was left with was the rancid smell of the goat and its fear.
He cursed, throwing rocks after the animal as he watched it limp hurriedly down the hill. “May a leopard eat your liver,” he shouted.
“The same to you, you stupid tool of an Egyptian taskmaster,” said the Midianite. “I knew you would lose him. That was my animal to take.”
“So. The voiceless one can talk.” Hur turned to the Scarface. “And what comes out? A stream of shit.”
The Midianite, seeing a bloodied foreigner before him, snarled. “Spawn of a dog, cast your eyes down when you talk to a man.” He did not see how crazed Hur was at his loss. “You come into our lands. You try for our game. Next you will try for our women . . .”
Inflamed with rage, because of the goat and now because of the Scarface, Hur sprang at him, knocking him to the ground. They bashed at each other until Hur’s fire abated. He pulled himself away, showing the end of the fight was his choosing. He stalked off to find his spear, keeping an eye on the Midianite. The Scarface did the same, cursing under his breath.
Hur trudged into camp first, his gouged left arm throbbing with pain.
“What happened to you?” Haddad asked.
Hur jerked his head toward the hill. “Your companion happened to me.”
Efram led Hur to the edge of the pool, calling to the third Israelite, “Wet my cloak and bring it.”
With the wetted cloak, Efram dabbed away the gore, Hur grimacing at every stroke.
Haddad fetched something from a bag hidden among the folds of his cloak, then tore a strip of cloth from the hem. He drew a handful of felted leaves from the bag, dipped them in the pool, and matted the leaves together.
“Press this against the wound.”
Efram held the poultice against the wound while Haddad wrapped it tight to Hur’s upper arm. When he was finished, he pulled something else from the bag.
“Chew this.” He handed Hur a piece of willow bark. “It will ease the pain.”
As he chewed, Hur offered his thanks, saying, �
��Your cloak . . .”
Haddad waved away the rest of Hur’s words and said, “My sister now has an excuse to bind a length of her excellent embroidery around the bottom.”
After binding the wound, Efram and Haddad walked Hur into the pool until the water reached his chest. Hur leaned heavily on the arms of his companions, the cold water stinging every cut and scrap as it cleansed.
“Aiyyeeee,” Hur howled, releasing his pain, his fight with the Scarface, and the loss of the ibex.
At that moment, the youngest Midianite interrupted, asking Haddad, “What should we do with the animal? Cut him or leave him whole?”
“Leave him whole,” Haddad answered. “Eh, I forgot,” he said to Hur. “Just before you appeared, a young ibex stumbled into camp. Just escaped a leopard, I’d say. Its throat ripped and its life leaking away. The gods took the ibex from the leopard and delivered it to us. A gift.”
Hur thought a minute, then realized what must have happened. A smile spread across his face.
“I am your leopard.”
Shaking off their helping hands, he slogged back to the water’s edge, anxious to see if he was correct. Gingerly, he clambered to the bank and asked Haddad’s young man to lead him to the ibex, then turned to beckon Haddad and Efram.
They followed the Midianite to the freshly gutted ibex. Hur searched the area behind the withers.
“Here . . .” He fingered a shallow wound. “My hit that did not hold.”
He began the story of his pursuit. Just as he reached the part where the branch scourged his arm, the Scarface sidled into camp, his eyes shifting to catch the mood of the scene. He saw that he had arrived too late. Hur had told his tale. But he struck a pose, arms akimbo.
“The stealer of other men’s meat. It was I who stalked that animal,” he challenged.
“It was you who frightened them off,” Hur returned.
“Stop,” said Haddad. “Hur has brought us wild goat. What is there to argue about?”
“You support his claim above mine?” He looked to the other two Midianites. “Our leader’s son is leaning to the side of the stranger, the side of the weak.”
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