Ark

by J. J. Wilder

  Shem and Ham both scurried to do their mother’s bidding, but the glares they shot Japheth as he carried me toward the house suggested they, too, were not pleased about Japheth’s return. They did not even bother to look at me.

  The house was a long, low, squat structure built of stone and logs and mud-bricks, a thick plume of smoke rising from the center.

  Within, I saw the organized chaos of a busy home. Zara had bustled ahead of Japheth and I, and was barking orders at three other, younger women, who vanished from the house to carry out Zara’s commands.

  The younger of Japheth’s brothers—a hawk-nosed man with slim shoulders and a scar on his face pulling his lip into a perpetual sneer—brought two buckets of water on a yoke over his neck, staggering with the awkward gait of someone carrying a heavy load. He set them down by the fire pit at the center of the room, then set a huge copper pot on a stand above the fire and dumped the water in, and returned outside to fetch more. I heard a sheep bleating, a furious, panicked sound, and then silence. A few minutes later the older brother, Shem, came in with a bloody, skinned carcass and set it on a table. He pulled a long knife from a sheath at his side and set about carving the sheep with practiced expertise, his hands red with the animal’s blood.

  Japheth had set me down near the fire, propping pillows behind me. He sat down beside me. “Don’t worry, Aresia. Mother will set things right. Father will come around, eventually. I know he’s a bit . . . intimidating . . . but he will calm down.” And then, more to himself than to me, he muttered, “I hope.”

  “What does he have against my father?” I asked. “I know Father has a history of antagonizing your people, but your father seems to have something . . . personal.”

  Japheth looked puzzled. “I don’t know. I know he hates Nephilim, but this is . . . surprising, even to me.”

  Zara came over then, juggling pots of herbs and a swath of bandages. “Hush, children. Now is not the time to discuss old memories. Everything in its own time.” She waved Japheth away. “Shoo, child. Help your brother carve the sheep. Better yet, go find your father and make amends. You hurt him deeply, leaving like you did, and the only way he can show his hurt is with anger—this you know, for you are much the same. He has a sensitive heart beneath all that bluff and bluster.”

  Japheth nodded, touched me on the forehead, and left the house.

  I marveled at Zara. She spoke to Japheth as if he had been gone a matter of days, perhaps weeks, rather than years. She peeled away my robes, examining the bandages the healer had wrapped around me before we had left Bad-Tibira.

  “Well, at least the healer knew what she was doing. Your ribs are well on their way to healing. Your nose, though. Whoever set that . . . well . . . we’ll have to re-break it, I’m afraid. You’re far too beautiful to have a crooked nose.” Zara looked down at me, her brown eyes kind but strong. “Are you ready, child?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She reached up with calloused, powerful hands and gripped my nose between her palms, giving a hard jerk with one hand. Fire bolted through my face, a pain worse than when Sin-Iddim had broken it to begin with. I screamed, choking when blood sluiced down my throat.

  “Almost done,” Zara said. “This part will hurt as well. Ready?” Once again, she didn’t give me a chance to respond.

  She pressed her palms against my nose again and pulled out, away from my face, peering down at me critically before adjusting the set of my nose. I screamed past grinding teeth when the bones stretched apart, and then slid into place, guided by Zara’s hands. Blood flooded from my nose, salty and hot and thick in my mouth, coating my chin and chest. She wiped my face clean with a rag, folded it, and then pressed it to my nose tenderly, pushing my hand up to hold it in place.

  “There, now . . . it is done. I will look over the rest of you.” Zara raised an eyebrow, not asking for permission.

  Quick, gentle hands probed my belly, my thighs, slipped up to my womanhood, gently but thoroughly examining.

  Knowing eyes met mine. “You’ve miscarried.”

  I nodded. “How can you tell?”

  “You flinched at my touch, and your belly still seems to be healing. The flesh between your thighs shows evidence of having been . . . brutalized, and your other injuries all speak of a man’s angry attention. Such a thing often leads to pregnancy. You are weak, weaker than you should be, even with such injuries, which means you must have lost a lot of blood not too long past. The herbs that cause miscarriage often lead to excessive bleeding.”

  “All true.”

  “Who was it that did this to you?”

  I hesitated to answer. I wanted to trust this woman, but was not sure how far I could.

  “Speak openly, child,” Zara insisted. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

  “Sin-Iddim.”

  Zara’s hand jerked back from me. “The king of Larsa? Who are you, girl?

  I realized she had been absent when I introduced myself to Noah. “My father is the king of Bad-Tibira.”

  Zara rubbed her forehead with a knuckle. “Oh, Japheth. What have you gotten yourself into?” This was muttered quietly, not addressed to me. “I see. Well, it’s no wonder my husband reacted so strongly to your presence. So you ran from your husband, and somehow ended up with my son, who brought you here? I assume they will be looking for you?”

  I was not ready to speak of what had happened to me, not yet. “There will be men looking for me, yes. I doubt they will know to come here, though. No one knew I was with Japheth, except my maidservant, and she would die rather than give me up.”

  Zara shook her head as she re-wrapped the bandages around my torso. “Well, we can only hope they don’t come here. We’ll have to keep watch, just in case.”

  When she was done, Zara sat down next me, taking a moment to rest. She glanced at me, then at one of the other women busy preparing the meal, a calculating expression on her face.

  “How much do you really know about my son?” she asked me.

  “Not much,” I admitted. “He ran away from here when he was young. I know that much. He didn’t get along with his father, he told me. His father—your husband—is a devout and zealous worshipper of Elohim, and that caused a rift between them.”

  Zara nodded. “True enough, if lacking in the details. Yes, they disagreed over many things, Elohim especially. Japheth thought his father was too . . . strict. He thought he should be able to do things his own way, and naturally Noah didn’t agree. My husband is . . . very devoted to Elohim, and sometimes he loses sight of how his devotion affects the rest of us, but he means well.” She paused. “The trouble is, they are too much alike. So hardheaded, those men.”

  “That’s what Japheth said.” I felt drowsy suddenly, exhausted. “I hope my presence doesn’t cause trouble for your family. Japheth . . . I care about him, very much.”

  Zara nodded. “I can see that, and he cares about you as well. Don’t worry yourself, child. Rest. Things will work out, you shall see.”

  Before my eyes slid closed, I saw Zara pat the other woman on the shoulder, the same woman to whom she’d glanced earlier. This woman was young, and pretty enough in a plain sort of way, with long, straight brown hair and wide brown eyes. She seemed sad somehow, resigned. I was falling asleep, but a thought niggled at me, keeping me awake for another few minutes.

  There was something that didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t place what it was. I forced my eyes to stay open, looking around the room. Both of Japheth’s brothers were in the living area now, along with Zara and the three women. One of them was working with Shem, the older brother, their motions together practiced and comfortable, the way she glanced at him loving, familiar; Shem’s wife then. The next woman was talking with the younger brother, Ham, and they too seemed close and comfortable, obviously married as well. That left Zara and the third woman. Zara was Noah’s wife . . . so who was the third woman?

  Zara was speaking to her with familiarity, in close enough proximity to demonstrate comfort
with each other. The girl was clearly not a maidservant, but she didn’t resemble any of the men, or Zara, so I didn’t place her as a sister.

  I looked again at the three women, and I saw the resemblance then. The three women were all sisters. A wife for Shem, a wife for Ham . . .

  The third woman, then, was . . . Japheth’s wife?

  He was married?

  10

  Ark

  “‘Make yourself an ark of gopher wood.’” Genesis 6:14 (ESV)

  Japheth walked the length of the boat, running his hand along the smooth wood of the rib spars. It was clearly a boat, although the sheer size of it left Japheth dizzy. He’d seen other boats in various stages of construction, and the Euphrates River was constantly busy with ships transporting goods from city to city. There was no mistaking that this was a huge boat, but it didn’t look anything like the average vessel.

  Never mind the mammoth size of it, Japheth simply couldn’t figure out the purpose of it. It was too long to be used in the Euphrates, that much was clear. It looked to be over four hundred feet long, which would cause it to catch on the curves of the river, even assuming there was any way to get it to the river in the first place—a two or three day journey under the best of circumstances.

  “Amazing, is it not?” Noah’s voice, rumbled beside him.

  “Yes, it’s . . . incredible. But . . . what is it?”

  “It is a boat. An ark.”

  “Well, yes, I see that it’s a boat, but . . . why?” Japheth turned to regard Noah, who stood next to him, tracing the wood grain with his palm.

  “That, my son, is a long and complicated story best told another time.” Noah thumped the ark with his hand and strode away. “Walk with me, Japheth.”

  They followed the length of the ark away from the house and crossed the plain toward the hills in the distance. Japheth sensed his father was preparing to speak, so he kept silent and waited.

  “I will not apologize for my beliefs,” Noah said. “My life has ever been guided by the hand of Elohim, and I shall not waver in my devotion to Him.”

  “I’m not asking you to apologize—”

  “Be silent and listen,” Noah cut in. “The ark, it is my life’s work now. I began construction one year ago, alone. I had only Ham with me then, and he refused to help . . . he was even more blockheaded than you about Elohim, if you can believe that. I don’t expect you to understand, especially about the ark, but I have learned a few things in the past year. Namus, he doesn’t understand. The people of the village,” Noah waved a hand to the north, gesturing at the small village that lay a half-hour’s walk away, “they think I am mad, of course. They come to watch me work, and they mock and throw stones and rotten fruit. I have learned some measure of patience, which, as you may know, is not my strongest trait.”

  Japheth was listening in stunned silence. Noah had begun this speech by saying he wouldn’t apologize, yet it sounded as if that was exactly what he was leading up to. Japheth nodded, but didn’t interrupt.

  “Japheth, my son . . . what I’m trying to say is . . .” Noah trailed off, thinking, and then began again. “While I will not apologize for what I believe, I will apologize for how I believed, when you were young. I have often thought of trying to find you, but . . . I thought you might still be angry with me. I was so stubborn, then. Hardheaded and unbending. You’re the same, I know, and . . .”

  Japheth waited, but Noah remained silent, watching thunderheads roll in from the hills, lightning flashing in the distance, rain sweeping the clouds into curved layers.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Japheth said, finally. “I have missed you, and mother, especially. I’ve wished I could come home a hundred times over the years, but the thought of facing you always stopped me. I was a fool, a hot-headed boy—”

  “We were both fools. Let’s call it forgiven on both accounts and move on, shall we?” Noah flashed a sudden angry glare at Japheth. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you for bringing that Nephilim whore into my house.”

  “She’s not . . . she’s not what you think. Please. Don’t be like that.” Japheth turned and headed back to the house, too angry to be rational and not willing to compromise the fragile peace his father had extended.

  Noah remained behind for a moment and then caught up. “Then what is she like? In my experience, all Nephilim are the same.”

  “In your experience?” Japheth said, his voice mocking. “You haven’t left this farm since before I was born.”

  Noah chuckled and shook his head. “You know nothing. I was already old when you were born, Japheth. I didn’t even marry your mother until I was well into my middle years. You don’t—and couldn’t—know anything about my life before you were born, as I do not often speak of it. I was not always a reclusive farmer, that much I can say.” He sighed. “I thought I loved a woman, once, in my youth. It was not meant to be, and though it was painful at the time when things ended, your mother is . . . she is a hundred, a thousand times that young woman. My love for your mother totally eclipses the fleeting, immature feelings I harbored for that other girl. I know . . . I know in the moment it is often difficult to see that, but—”

  “I’m not a child, Father,” Japheth snapped. “This isn’t some infatuation of a lovesick boy.”

  Noah blew out an exasperated breath. “I know, Japheth. I know. I don’t mean to—mock or belittle, or insult you—”

  Japheth’s face twisted. “Yet you call her a whore.”

  Noah tugged on his beard. “Perhaps that was . . . unkind. But you know my feelings regarding the Nephilim.”

  “I do, and having lived among them I can even sympathize. But Father, Aresia had nothing to do with any of that. She is a good woman, and I love her.”

  Noah shook his head. “It isn’t meant to be, son. It cannot work. She is not for you, nor you for her.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Japheth asked.

  “What about Neses?” Noah responded with a question of his own.

  Japheth pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning in frustration. “What about her? Nothing has changed. I will not marry her. I don’t love her—I love Aresia.”

  “There is only so much room on the ark, Japheth. Elohim has made his will clear, and I cannot gainsay his plan.”

  “What are you talking about? What does the ark have to do with whom I love?”

  “It has everything to do with it, son, although I do not expect you to understand. Not yet. You will, in time.”

  Japheth felt his anger rising. “Enough with the riddles, Father! Speak plainly.”

  Noah only shook his head. “Not yet. You are not ready to hear it, and you will not accept it even if I did speak, as you put it, plainly.” Noah put his hand on Japheth’s shoulder. “I will give you the only thing I have to give you: the gift of time. The waters will not come for some time yet, so I will suffer her presence for now, and this I only offer out of love for you.”

  “You will suffer her presence?” Japheth repeated Noah’s words, his voice bitter. “You will suffer her presence. How compassionate of you.”

  Noah clapped Japheth on the back, his expression solemn. “I can only hope you will come to understand, in time.” He turned and strode away, halting after a few steps and resting his palm on the side of the ark. “I am not a foolish man, Japheth. I would not have built this vessel did I not have complete faith that He would do as He said. His will shall be carried out whether you believe or not, Japheth. You are either with us, or you are not. I cannot force you to believe.”

  Japheth had a thousand questions, none of which had any answers. Noah strode away, then, back to where Shem and Ham were busy at work sanding boards and cutting wood into varying lengths. He sat beside the ark for a while, watching his father and brothers laboring to build a giant boat in the middle of farmland, far from any river or sea, all for no reason that Japheth could discern, except for his father’s word that Elohim had spoken to him.

  Japheth wrestled with his fat
her’s words, and with what they meant. What was he supposed to do about Aresia, about Neses, and about Noah’s veiled insinuations?

  Later that afternoon, Japheth returned to the house.

  As he entered, he saw Aresia waiting for him, wrapped in fresh bandages and clothed in a clean robe. Her face was hard and angry, her eyes flashing. He halted warily at her visible anger.

  “Help me outside, Japheth,” she ordered, her voice snapping with the authority of one used to issuing commands and having them obeyed.

  Japheth closed the space between them, lifted her as gently as he could to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight, and helped her limp gingerly away from the house.

  When they were far enough way to have privacy, she slowly and carefully lowered herself onto a pile of wood and turned to face Japheth. “Why have you never told me you are married?”

  Japheth flopped to the ground next to her, cursing. “It’s not like you think,” he told her. “We’re not married. They betrothed me to her when we were children, and I refused to marry her. That’s part of the reason I left home.”

  Aresia seemed somewhat pacified at that, but still she questioned him. “Why did you not marry her? She seems a kind and lovely girl.”

  “It wasn’t because of anything she was or wasn’t that I refused to marry her, it was . . . more the principle of the thing. To be honest, I was attracted to her when we were first introduced, but even then, barely out of childhood, I knew what was expected of us. I refused, out of stubbornness, simply because of the fact that my parents had made the choice for me without consulting my wishes.”

  “I see. I suppose I can understand that,” Aresia said. “Father tried to make me marry several times. When I told him I wouldd rather cut my own wrists than marry a monster like Sin-Iddim—and actually tried to do so at least once—well . . . I suppose that made him see I was serious.”