All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923)

by Humphrey, Michael C.

  Lester turned to the next page in the notebook and noticed that there were two or three pages missing. They had been torn out hurriedly, and there was about half an inch left of each page still sewn to the margins. Lester inspected them and could discern nothing about who had torn them or why. He supposed it had to have been Al, since no one else had ever seen the journals. Or had they? If not Al, then who? Lester just hoped Al didn’t think he had done it. Tomorrow he’d bring it up to Al. He jotted himself a mental post-it note and stuck it on the refrigerator of his mind. Right now he was anxious to read. No one sits with their back to the ocean.

  “…And Father,” Kole laughed, “it just occurred to me that you have answered my prayer, for I began by saying that I needed to get these thoughts of anger out of my mind, and now that it is nearing the midpoint of the night, and I have been pouring all my grief and disappointment out for your hearing, I realize that I have become quite distracted from my original emotion. You do answer, don’t you? And with such a sense of humor,” Kole said, smiling despite himself.

  “Here I was so angry, rambling about how unfair it was that because I was chosen to do your will, I had to lose the woman that I love to another. Inside of myself I felt an aching, a hollow inside a void of emptiness nestled within a pit of nothing. Then a black seed of hatred took root within the soil of my being and began growing inside me. I was resentful of Cain knowingly taking Kesitah as wife despite her wishes and my prior right as eldest son. I felt as if Cain had stolen my birthright. I tremble to recall the words I spoke in my mind, kneeling as I am in your presence.

  “Again, my Lord, I ask you if you will please accept my apology and not turn your face from me. I was wrong to think those things. I was wrong to be so angered at those in my family who feared my response to this bitter food or anguished over my reaction to this troublesome news. They loved me and were only following my father’s human wisdom, letting him break this sorrowful lot gently to me, in a manner best dressed for my acceptance of it. But I failed, Father. I turned to you and cursed my brother, my family, my fate, and your plan. I allowed weakness to infest my character, and it began to bloom doom and consume my happiness.

  “How thankful I am that you are a merciful God, blessing me with distraction, allowing my thoughts to drift from this river of pain onto the shores of your reassurance. How blind I have been to your guiding care. To think I had temporarily forgotten how you work all things out for good; the death of Abel, the loss of Kesitah, the awakening of my awareness. I commit myself into your power, Lord. Please, do not forsake me. Use me as a tool, press me lovingly into the palm of your hand, and show me your straight and narrow path.

  “I repent of the nature of my self and ask in weakness that you give to me a portion of the same spirit that upholds your way, the way of righteousness. Call me back to you, Father, I beg you, and continue to direct me all the days of my life. I will not allow myself to slip into the folds of darkness anew. I will pledge myself to growing in grace and mercy as you demonstrate now to me by your willing forgiveness of my error.

  “I have no rights of my own, Father. All that is belongs to you, and I am the least of your possessions. Your kindness to me in this regard is a gift I have not earned. I bless you for the opportunity to be redeemed and pray to you upon the name of the Creator of the garden. You are the source of my remorse, Father, and to these words that could only have been given me by you, I agree.”

  Kole opened his eyes. He could see the shapes of the trees and stones around him. After half a night of kneeling alone in the darkness with his eyes tightly shut, his vision was well adapted to the night. The stars twinkled in the pitch pit of heaven, and the sound of the stream flowing finally reached his ears. He felt as if he were an empty animal skin waiting for the Lord to fill him with new waters—better waters, living waters.

  He pulled his legs beneath him and crossed his feet, concentrating on his own breathing: one in, out; one in, out; a shallow breath, a deep breath. He let no thoughts intrude his relaxation as he felt his tensed muscles uncoil. His thoughts emptied of petty human emotion and awaited the embrace of his Creator. He felt the wisdom of God fill him, welcoming him home again. He understood in that moment his future. Not that he was shown a vision of what was to come, but instead felt with a keen sense of awareness of what needed to happen next in the cycle of his life. He rose and walked back to his father’s camp.

  The fires had burned low, and the bodies of sleeping people were curled upon the ground. He stepped around them and found a clear space to lie down. He stared up at the night sky and wondered how events might soon unfold. A gentle breeze stirred, and he was asleep.

  The next morning the sound of voices woke him. Opening his eyes he saw a few men and women up, stirring the hot coals into new flames to warm up the previous night’s leftovers for a breakfast. The sun had not fully risen, and the gray sky pealed back and paled to pink on the eastern horizon. Kole felt refreshed and rose with no stiffness, heading to the stream to wash off his face. Eyes closed, scrubbing wakefulness back into his face, he heard his father’s voice.

  “Gather your things, everyone. We will break for home within the hour.”

  Kole shook the water out of his hair and beard and wiped his eyes dry on the sleeve of his robe. He followed the sound of Adam’s voice to a small gathering of people beneath a single willow tree. The women were gathering up belongings and wrapping them in bundles that they secured to baskets on their backs. The men were playing a game that Kole had made up with his brothers when they were young: fist, fingers, flathand. Smiling, he walked over to them.

  “Good morning, Father. Good morning, everyone.”

  The men stopped playing and turned to look at him, nodding greetings. The women only glanced his way with smiles and kept packing things up.

  “Kole, I think it’s time you and I had another talk,” said Adam. “Much has changed since you’ve been away.”

  “I see the games that brothers play haven’t changed much though, Father,” said Kole with a twinkle in his eye.

  A man stepped toward him and raised his hand, palm out to Kole. “I am Jorel,” he said. “I did not get a chance to speak with you last night. I am honored to meet you now, Kole, first son.”

  “I am honored to meet you as well, Jorel,” said Kole, placing his palm against Jorel’s.

  “I am the seventh son of our father,” Jorel continued.

  “And he fancies himself the fist, fingers, flathead champion,” said another man who Kole thought he remembered from the introductions the night before as being named Aben.

  “That’s flathand, Aben,” Jorel corrected, “and at least I will be the one driving a cart home while you, my friend, will be paddling empty boats upstream,” laughed Jorel.

  Aben grimaced.

  “Carts? Boats? What are these things you speak of?” asked Kole.

  A couple of the women giggled.

  “These are things I wish to discuss with you, Kole,” answered Adam. “We have made many improvements that might need explaining.”

  “But first a game, Great Father,” said Jorel, using his children’s name for Adam, “if Kole is up for a challenge.”

  “Great-father?” asked Kole.

  “We have added words to the language as well, my son. If you must, Jorel, but I warn you, you’re risking your title.”

  Jorel laughed. “I think the risk will be minimal. What say you, eldest?”

  “Sure, why not,” answered Kole.

  The women looked up curiously, and the men gathered around. It seemed there were more people standing under the tree than there had been moments before, and it appeared many were anxious to see the outcome of this competition.

  “Now, I’m sure you remember the rules, Kole, but let me refresh your memory, old-timer,” said Jorel, flashing all of his white teeth. “Fist breaks fingers, fingers
embrace flathand, and flathand covers fist. Best out of three wins. Got it?”

  “Got it,” said Kole, but his mind was already racing ahead. Jorel’s confidence and sure smile reminded him a lot of Cain when they were boys. Cain had acted much the same when he was sure he was going to win a game and thus get out of some chore that Kole would, as loser of the round, have to do for him.

  “Care to name any stakes before we begin,” asked the over-eager Jorel.

  “Well, it would appear that I have nothing but my name and a few bedtime stories to offer,” replied Kole, getting a few laughs. “I think bragging rights should be reward enough.”

  “Agreed,” said Jorel.

  Kole looked around and saw that nearly the entire camp had gathered around. Many of the faces clearly revealed that they had lost a game or two to Jorel and were eager to see him challenged. Kole first assumed that Jorel was a fist thrower but guessed that he’d be crafty and move one position forward to fingers, thinking that Kole might guess his inclination and throw flathand. Kole decided that a tie on the first throw would give him the advantage of knowing his opponent without embarrassing him in three straight wins, so he decided to jump two moves forward instead of one.

  “On the count of three then,” said Jorel. They both counted, “One, two, three!”

  Kole threw fingers, and Jorel threw a fist and won the first round. A few groans were heard from the crowd. Jorel laughed.

  “Ha, ha, got you on that one Kole.”

  “Yes, you sure did,” said Kole. He realized that either Jorel could not resist his natural desire to throw fist out first or that Jorel had thought one move further than he had given him credit for. Either way, Kole knew now how to win.

  The second throw was easy. Kole knew that Jorel would not through fist again. He also knew that one move forward would seem too obvious so he would lean toward flathand. Kole looked into Jorel’s eyes and wondered if he might try to move one forward again, but that would mean throwing fist, and Kole thought he was too competitive to try it. On the count of three, Kole threw fingers and won the round.

  “One each,” said Adam.

  Kole looked at Jorel again, and this time their eyes met, each man grinning, trying to outguess the other. Kole knew that the obvious move for him would be to move two positions forward and this time throw fist, but he knew that Jorel would know that also. Jorel would not throw flathand but would instead anticipate Kole moving one more forward to fingers, and he would throw fist again. As both men said three and shot their hands out, Kole covered Jorel’s fist with a flathand, winning his second.

  “Two for Kole, one Jorel,” said Adam. “Game point.”

  Jorel looked stunned. Kole could see he was going around and around in his thoughts, trying to discern where he went wrong and what would be Kole’s next move. Kole knew what to do. On his first throw he had thrown fingers. On his second he had actually, after all the thinking and second-guessing, only moved one forward to flathand. If he held to that pattern he would throw fist this time, but Jorel would know that. He would also hope that Kole would guess that he would anticipate that and thus throw next, which would be fingers. Kole simply moved one more forward, and as their hands came down on three Kole again threw flat and won the game.

  “Whoa,” came the unanimous response from those watching. “Better luck next time, Jorel,” some said.

  Luck, there was another word that Kole was unfamiliar with.

  “We have a new champion,” declared Adam.

  Kole partially hid his smile and looked at Jorel, who was still staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him. Slowly he looked up.

  “I can’t believe you got me,” he said.

  “It was a good game, Jorel,” replied Kole. “I thank you.”

  “It was a good game,” said Jorel, “and I’m going to be thinking about those moves of yours. I’d like a rematch sometime.” He held out his hand, and Kole shook it.

  “Sure, a rematch sounds good,” Kole agreed.

  “Perhaps boys, but not now, we have work to do, and it’s getting late in the day. Let’s get the stuff up to the carts.”

  A unanimous “yes, sir” was voiced, and everyone quickly drifted away to their duties.

  “Let us walk, my son,” said Adam. He put his arm around Kole’s shoulder and led him away from the activities of the camp. “It has been a hundred years since you left for the garden. Many changes have taken place in your absence. Look around you at the obvious, Kole. There are new faces, new foods, new ideas. We do not eat our food out of leaves or off of flat rocks. We have tamed wood and stone and fashioned bowls, tools, and utensils. We have developed far more intricate methods of braiding and weaving fibers into baskets and rope.

  My eighth son, Arin, took as wife the second daughter of Cain’s second son, Pakis. Together they pondered the problems of getting from our camp to Cain’s city. They designed the roll, a round wooden or stone circle that when placed on a frame beneath a seat can be pulled by animals. We use them, the carts, to transport things and people back and forth between our home and this camp; as well as to the city of Enoch.”

  “I thought this place was your home, father,” Kole questioned.

  “I will always think of it as such, and that is why I insist on returning here several times a year. I love this place. It holds all my best memories. But our family outgrew it years ago. Too little cleared land between the woods and the river. We found a place, just a half day’s walk from here where water runs through a large, open prairie. There is much game there and tillable soil. The fishing is good, and we have built homes along the banks of the stream on both sides; wooden homes that shelter us from the wind and heat, and perhaps from each other. With so many living so closely together, there is little privacy.

  “There is so much land, Father. Why crowd together?”

  “The children are afraid, Kole. Even the grown ones, but the women especially. You see, the animals have changed. They’ve turned, so to speak. We have lost two children in the last twenty years to animal attacks. One to a pack of hungry raptors and the other to a bold eagle that swooped down and carried a baby off in its talons. One of my great-sons, Thoal, was even attacked by a lion. He managed to get away but not before receiving four claw gashes across his cheek and nose. He got very sick before the Lord healed him.”

  “I think I met him yesterday, Father.”

  “Yes, well, the animals are not the worst of it. The people from Enoch, in the land of Nod, are rapidly forgetting the ways of the Lord. A few years ago a young woman from our camp was out collecting herbs and ingredients for her cooking when two men from Enoch attacked her. Several other incidents have been reported to me as well. Men from here want to go and confront Cain for these atrocities, but I have forbidden it. He would just deny knowing of them, and we would fall further apart as a family.

  “I know now the true punishment of the curse the Lord has placed upon us for my sin. The love of family stretches thinner and thinner until finally it becomes so tenuous it simply cannot be seen. Once that happens, other emotions fill the void left behind—anger, envy, bitterness. Before long, Kole, I am afraid those of Cain will come by might and power and will force us to live in their city. When that happens, the way of the Lord will, like love, be stretched to the point of invisibility. Who knows what ways will emerge to fill the spaces left behind. Nothing good though, have no doubt.”

  “Father,” asked Kole, “what is ‘luck?’ I heard one of the men this morning tell Jorel ‘better luck next time.’ What did he mean by that?”

  “Ah yes, you see what I mean already, don’t you, my son? Luck is one of those ideas that has sprung up in recent years and caught on among the youth. It is the belief that sometimes good things happen and sometimes bad things happen depending upon what other events are going on simultaneously, as opposed to seeing the Lord�
�s hand in it.”

  “Like believing you can win over and over again at fist, fingers, flathand without the ability to second-guess the other player?”

  “Exactly, my son,” said Adam. “In a game of skill you need skill, not just luck. In life, you need God to guide you, not the wind, or the stars, or your favorite plate.”

  Kole, using the awareness that the Creator had let him retain through the gift of the seeds, tuned himself in to his father’s natural rhythms. Adam’s body, his essence, sang a song of love and honesty on the surface. But the underlying notes were of remorse and a boundless desire to atone for past wrongs. Kole could sense it too in the earth, in the grasses, in the very air…a lamentation of loss, of previous glories now in captivity to the penalties the Lord had imposed.

  “I believe we are ready to travel, Kole,” said Adam. “Let’s make haste, and we should be home well before nightfall.”

  During the day’s travel, only one thing of note took place. The family had walked for quite some time before they stopped to take a short break. The children were tired and needed a rest, as did the men who were carrying the heaviest of the families’ belongings. The group paused under a group of willow trees near the edge of a steep bank that fell away in a rocky slope to the river’s edge. As those with burdens were easing their loads to the ground for a breather, three men who had been toting a large tree trunk that had been half hollowed out lost their balance and nearly slipped over the side. The boat, Kole later learned it was called, slipped out of their grips and hit the edge of the embankment heavily. The soft ground gave way under its weight, and the log slid down the slope to the water’s edge, wedging itself between two rocks.

  After it had been confirmed that no one was hurt, Adam suggested they all have a bite to eat. “It doesn’t appear the boat is going anywhere,” he said, “so let’s worry about how we’ll get it back up here after we have all rested and refreshed ourselves.”