Judging Noa

by Strutin, Michel;

  As they journeyed north and east, graveled deserts gave way to plateaus where gnarled terebinths stood sentinel near old wells. The terebinths spread heavy, green-leafed arms over the heads of men, sheltering them. The spies saw sacred stones piled near.

  “These must be the trees they call ela—the Goddess,” one said.

  They rested the night under the arms of the goddess trees and, before the sun rose, they rose and trekked along cliffs scoured by wind and water. In a small hollow, a single red tulip clung to the earth, its roots fertilized by animal droppings. Farther on, Igal ben Joseph picked up a dry turd the size of a grape.

  “Not camel. Not wild goat . . .”

  Ammiel ben Gemalli laughed. “You think you are a desert-dweller who knows the wild. You are still like us, the son of a poor slave of Egypt.”

  “And you still sound like one, with that Egyptian tongue of yours.”

  “At least I am not a handler of strange shit,” Ammiel returned.

  Gaddi ben Susi laughed. “So, Ammiel, you handle only well-known shit?”

  Ammiel stooped to pick up a dry turd, which he lobbed at Gaddi. Gaddi raised his shield to block it and the dry excrement crumbled and fell in grassy pieces.

  “May all our enemies be so,” Igal exclaimed.

  “Yai!” answered others, their voices relaxed, happy to be together, on the move, unburdened of people, beasts, and belongings.

  THE THIRD NIGHT, Malah again lay still, waiting for Boaz’s voice. When she heard him say “Make yourself ready,” she lay down on her bed and pulled her veil over her face as she had done the two nights before.

  Again the unseen man lifted her skirts and opened her legs as she lay still. Again, he felt for the place in which he would plant his seed. This night he was not quick. He played there with his hands and with his mouth until her legs quivered. He whispered, “thetaste of your honey.” Words that made her breath catch until he finally lowered himself into her. Malah, filled with him and his scent, momentarily stiffened with guilt before a low groan escaped from her throat as he began a slow, rocking camel’s gait and carried her away.

  MILCAH LONGED FOR the days when the center of camp was her life, weaving curtains with Rina, exchanging looks with Oholiav, which caused her face to flush even now. She asked Hur’s cousin, Uval, to escort her to the courtyard that surrounded the Tent of Meeting and asked Hoglah to accompany her. In case Oholiav happened to be there, she did not want her sharp-eyed older sisters with her, nor her sharp-tongued younger sister.

  In the spirit of the Sabbath, they dressed their hair, cleaned their nails, then made their way to the broad, linen-screened courtyard. For offerings, they brought fine flour in a small sack and a lidded basket holding a rock dove.

  “I will give the offerings to the priests. Then I will return,” Uval said.

  Hoglah looked around for maidens she might know, to announce her betrothal. She wondered if she was allowed to speak of something not holy. She feared she would be struck by an unseen hand if she did, so remained silent.

  Milcah took in the courtyard: people standing in small groups or alone in prayer, the stand for the lavers full of cleansing water, the tables of showbread, and the stone ramp leading to the horned, copper-clad altar. Near the far end stood the Tent of Meeting. Her eyes followed the column of cloud that rose to the heavens from the Holy Ark enclosed within. She recognized one of the Tent’s richly figured curtains as hers and felt filled and drained all at the same time.

  She heard the bawl of a young bullock and turned to the altar as the knife took its life as sacrifice. The bullock’s hindquarters draped one side of the altar and sticky ribbons of its blood oozed down to fill runnels in the stonework below. Levite priests clothed in white linen covered by purple tunics added balsam and frankincense to embossed incense censers. Tendrils of smoke rose from censers, masking the fleshy smell of sacrifice. As the Levites swayed over the altar, the gold bells that lined their robes chimed in time with their chants, holy and hypnotic.

  Milcah trembled, light-headed from the sensual deluge. Her eyes were drawn across the courtyard, to the eyes of another. Oholiav. The intensity of his gaze, rhythm of the bells, chants of the priests, pungent odors heated by the sun . . . Milcah slumped against her sister as she sank to the ground.

  Hoglah feared calling out for help in the holy place, so sank with her sister, holding her in her lap while she tried to think what to do. Oholiav came, asked Hoglah to lead, lifted Milcah in his arms, and carried her home.

  THE SPIES TRAVELED north into the hill country, crossing steppes brushy with purple thistle, blanketed with yellow mustards. Rising into the mountains where their ancestor Abraham had dwelt, they passed through oak forests and small valleys open to the sun, each centered on a winding stream. Like the deer they killed to fill their empty bellies, they moved stealthily along the forest edges. In some of the valleys they saw the crumbling remains of settlements, but no people.

  “What happened to the people who lived here?” asked one of the spies.

  “Perhaps God cleared them away to make room for us,” Joshua said, half-seriously.

  On a hilltop farther north, they passed a lightly fortified Jebusite town watered by a spring in the Kidron Valley.

  “This place would make a fine fortress,” Joshua said.

  They descended to the Great Rift and immersed themselves in a lake called the Salt Sea, marveling that they floated effortlessly in the salty, lifeless waters. From there, they followed the crease of the Jordan River northward.

  Emerging into broad valleys, they saw barley ripening on slender stalks, undulating like the sea. They pressed ahead onto a high plain that overlooked another great body of water, this one dotted with small boats whose nets sagged with fish. A few of the spies sneaked down to the harp-shaped lake and speared enough fish to give each of them a taste of their future.

  They trekked high into the foothills of Mount Hermon, whose head scraped the sky and whose shoulders were mantled with snow.

  The next morning, when they awoke shivering, Joshua announced, “We have come to the northern reaches of our lands. Now we must return and take stock of the people who dwell here.”

  They picked their way down the slopes, heading south. While crossing an oak savanna, they saw a figure lumbering among the trees, larger than any of them and covered with thick brown hair. It stopped at a tree, stretched upright, scratched its back against the trunk, then dropped down. Once it reached open meadow, it galloped away through the grasses.

  They stopped, their eyes wide.

  Gaddi said, under his breath, “What being is this? Is this the sort of man that lives here?”

  He felt a tremor of fear, as did the others. None had ever seen a bear.

  They toiled south through the narrow, steamy Jordan River valley, and turned west below Jericho, an ancient town even then. Plodding up a stark ascent, they reached the hilltops overlooking the Salt Sea and, again, passed the Jebusite town that would become Jerusalem.

  Their destination was the walled city of Hebron, the largest of the hilltop towns. Here, Abraham had dwelt among the terebinths of Mamre, as did his son Isaac and Isaac’s son Jacob. Here, Abraham had bought a field and a cave in which to bury his dead. The memory of this place succored the Israelites during their slavery in Egypt. And now here were the spies in the land of their fathers.

  Hebron was known at that time as Kiryat Arba. The forests around the walled town had been leveled to make room for wheat and barley fields and orchards of olive trees. Past the fields stood a few shepherds’ huts.

  On west-facing slopes, terraces held vineyards heavy with grapes. From tales their fathers told, the spies knew that if they had the eyes of God, they would be able to see the place of the sun-setting and the Great Sea.

  The morning of their arrival at Hebron, the spies divided into small groups to pose as traders from afar. It would explain their strange tongue. As they approached the town’s thick stone walls, everything looked unusua
lly large.

  “Is this the height of a Hebron man?” Guel asked as they neared the tower gatehouses that flanked the main gate. Near the gate, a broad oak sheltered the town’s elders, who sat to see and discuss. As each group of spies passed through, the gatehouse guard demanded to know where they were from. Gaddi’s group answered, “ . . . land of the Kenites.” Some of Hebron’s elders noted that today brought many groups from the caravan trade.

  Just inside the gate, a low wall fronted a caravansary where camels and donkeys were tethered in a broad courtyard. Narrow stalls, shelter for traveling merchants, lined three sides. Gaddi, Geuel, and Palti stood before the caravansary gate and agreed on an approach. Striding inside, their robes swinging as though they belonged, they noted the goods that merchants brought to sell: bitumen, linen from Egypt, balsam oil in glass bottles, medicinal herbs, tools, and weapons for every purpose. Gaddi thumbed the edge of a bronze axe head, and sauntered away quickly when a merchant approached with his eyes on a sale.

  Adjacent to the caravansary, huts of prostitutes and the poor lined the inside of Hebron’s walls. Stretching into the center of town, the main street was lined with merchants setting out their goods on mats. Behind them stood stalls that served as their shops.

  The small groups of spies strolled through the market, noting how large the people appeared compared to them, whose frames were pinched by the desert. One pair of spies approached a woman sitting on a mat piled with dates as large as a giant’s thumb. They pointed. Ammiel spread his palm to indicate “five.” She looked up, the eyes of a vulture examining prey. She indicated the price and, as they exchanged copper pieces for fruit, they noticed her forearms were more muscled than theirs and scaly as a lizard.

  “The people who live here are a race of giants,” Ammiel said, as they turned away. “The offspring of gods and humans.”

  They saw a temple ahead, but were more concerned with the measure of men than of their gods.

  Gaddi and his companions turned down a side street lined by meager, mudbrick dwellings with shared walls and courtyards. They saw sag-backed ewes, women wearied by chores, and disheveled children. The disorder and the stench of animals, unwashed bodies, and smoke from rancid oil made Gaddi think that desert life held some advantages.

  Farther into Hebron’s residential section, homes stood separated by narrow lanes, two-story homes where people dwelled above their beasts. The courtyards were larger and, in the pillared arcades that edged the courtyards, they saw grinding stones and looms, scythes and hoes. Wooden ladders served as stairs to the rooms above, and Gaddi noticed mats draped over flat, low-walled roofs where people slept on hot summer nights. A young boy pointed at him and said something to his mother. Gaddi and his companions moved on quickly.

  Deep in the center of the city, Gaddi’s group came upon the house of Anak, the ruler of Kiryat Arba—the Town of Four—named for Anak and his three sons. Broad trees fronted the walled compound. The spies scrambled up to hide among their branches. They saw a fine stone stairway leading to the second story and walls plastered in the manner of the wealthy. Under the arcade, Anak’s daughter worked at her loom, a giant rack set on poles. The skeins of yarn at her feet were thick as ropes.

  They heard men’s voices, rumbling and roaring.

  “I’ll take on those Jebusite dogs. The Jebusite high place will be mine,” boomed one son, emerging from the doorway, filling its frame.

  “That’s the prize of the first-born. Me. Not the likes of you,” said another, cuffing his brother. The three were enormous, but none more so than the father.

  Wild haired, with legs as thick as oaks, Anak ignored his sons’ quarreling. He walked out the gate ahead of them, passing below where the spies hid in the trees, making themselves small lest they be seen. The sons followed their father toward the market.

  The first-born threw up his arm, as if to clout his brother, and knocked it on the tree limb above his head, the very limb to which Gaddi clung. Gaddi wrapped his legs around the limb to keep from falling and gripped so tightly his arms shook. Terrified of falling into the midst of the ferocious giants, he lost control of his bladder. The youngest son felt a few drops from above, but as he looked ahead, the sky was clear.

  After Anak and his sons had gone, the spies climbed down furtively and, like mice, scampered for the town gate.

  On their way to the cave of Machpelah where their ancestor Abraham was buried, Joshua and Caleb passed Anak and his sons, but took no note as they discussed how best to honor Abraham. At the cave, they prayed for strength of heart and strength of arm to bring their people back to their land. They rejoined the other ten on the way from Kiryat Arba that was Hebron.

  The others could not flee fast enough, but Joshua made them stop in the vale of Eshcol, where they hid at the edge of the vineyards. Under cover of dusk, Joshua cut a huge woody twist of grapevine.

  “Besides what we have seen with our own eyes, let us show our people how rich the land is.”

  The vine was so heavy with fruit, it took eight to lift it. They hoisted it on their shoulders, then turned their faces toward the desert and Kadesh Barnea.

  NOA LAY ON her bed, too tired to move. The baby within her did all the moving. Today Hoglah would wed the sheep shearer. Today was also the day Yoela would wed Zerach’s second son, Barzel, a marriage Yoela dreaded. Noa had promised she would stand near Yoela to give her courage. That was before Hoglah’s marriage had been arranged. Obliging her family meant disappointing Yoela. Noa did not know what to do, so she did nothing.

  Hur found his wife tangled in her bedcovers and her thoughts. He ran his hand over her hair, saying, “Your family comes first.”

  She pulled the cover over her head to deny his hand. The heat of her belly and the cover stifled her, and she wished Hur would leave her to her misery.

  “Go,” she whispered to him after he left. “Go be your father, the headman. Make pronouncements. But not to me.”

  At Hur’s request, Malah came to fetch Noa. She offered Noa her hand, her smile sweet as date wine. Noa grasped Malah’s hand and pulled herself up. She had not seen Malah this content in months. But when she told Malah to make an excuse so she could be with Yoela, Malah’s sweetness faded fast.

  “It’s bad enough Hoglah’s marrying that . . . redheaded sheep shearer. Not to have a full show of family would make us look as if we did not think much of the match.”

  “But, we don’t. Even if he is truly of Manasseh, he does not inspire trust.”

  “What is the matter with you? We cannot look as if we do not support this marriage. You must be there long enough so people can see and note.”

  Noa went with Malah to stand with her sister Hoglah for a moment. But once she arrived at the celebration, sisters and cousins held her captive in talk and dance. Malah, she noticed, danced slowly, holding herself carefully as if something might drop.

  By the time Noa slipped away, Barzel was leading Yoela toward the marriage booth. Noa ran toward the booth, hoping to catch Yoela’s eye. Yoela saw her, but her eyes were blank. She did not smile at Noa. She turned her head and followed her husband into the booth.

  WHILE BRIDES WERE giving themselves to bridegrooms, Malah had been calculating the phases of the moon and of her body. “Now is the time,” she informed Boaz. “Perhaps this month the seed will take root and grow.”

  Boaz was reluctant. But he worried more that two childless wives would confirm his impotence.

  Seglit, waiting for Boaz to escort her to her family’s tents, said, “I know what you are up to.”

  While waiting for the surrogate, Malah arranged herself on her bed, her veil over her head. When, finally, the man entered her chamber, he touched her in places that made her shiver and gasp. She breathed in his odor, she heard him growl low, “Does he play with you like this?” And, “Does he pleasure you like this?”

  Malah counted on two more nights and then her veiled indulgencewould end. Her monthly emission had not come and her mornings were already wra
cked by nausea. The seed had been planted. She told herself, “Two more nights to make sure the seed flourishes.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE SPIES’ REPORT

  AS BOAZ COUNTED the end of his ordeal with the seeding of a son, the spies returned. In the chill of dawn, the eight who were bowed by the grapevine straightened as they approached camp. The four who carried other samples of the land’s wealth stepped up the pace, their feet kicking up dew-laden dust.

  Some saw them from afar and ran out to escort them. As they approached, the hostof escorts grew. The people knew the return of the spies signaled an end to their journey and entry to the land God promised them. They hailed the spies as returning warriors.

  Noa and Hur quickly learned of the spies’ approach. Noa panicked. Now that the spies had returned, the tribes would be traveling eastward to claim their promised land. Boaz had agreed to pave her way to the Judges of Hundreds, when she was ready. But Noa had done nothing to forward their claim, and now she feared their case would be lost in the rush for land.

  Hur anticipated being warmed by the reflected light of Gaddi ben Susi’s report. He longed to push through the crowd and throw his arms around his father, full of relief and pride. But he restrained himself and walked with Noa, the vessel who would soon deliver his son.

  As Hur pressed into the crowd, creating an opening behind him for Noa, he heard a spy cry out, “Yes, the land flows with milk and honey. Here is its fruit.”

  Ammiel broke off a small cluster of grapes and tossed it over the heads of the crowd. Arms reached up to catch the fruit. Ammiel threw another and another.

  “Here, here,” cried Hur, calling for a taste of grape. “My father is the one with the shield of Manasseh.”

  That brought a cheer from those nearby, and they passed him some grapes, which he offered to Noa. The crowd, pressing around her, threatened her heavy, unbalanced body.