by J. J. Wilder
“Gods, Aresia. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
He lifted a shoulder. “In some ways . . . it is.”
Aresia did not disagree with him, and there was only silence between them, then.
“This boat of your father’s . . . the flood he speaks of. What do you make of it?” Aresia asked, at long last.
Japheth could only shrug. “I do not know. I have been thinking on that same question myself, and I have no answer.”
Aresia stared at the orange cinders. “I heard the Voice of Elohim, Japheth. I fear your father’s faith is not idle.”
“Why do you fear that?”
She turned her gaze to him. “Because . . . I am Nephilim.”
Japheth had no answer for that, and she clearly did not expect one from him, for she lay down, near Japheth but not cuddled against him, as had once been their wont between moments of passion. Japheth listened to her breathing slow to soft, gentle snores, the quiet sounds mingling with the other snores. He himself lay awake for a long, long time, his mind spinning, turning over the question of what he believed, what it meant, and what he was supposed to do about any of it.
11
The Covenant
“But I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives with you.” Genesis 6:18 (ESV)
Japheth would not touch me. In the weeks since we had been at Noah’s home he had not held my hand. He slept near me at night, but not intimately, not comfortingly. I sensed a change in him, but he would not even speak with me. He left me every day to work on the Ark or to farm the fields, and I remained behind with his mother and sisters-in-law.
I was healing well enough, and I could breathe without pain now. I could lay with him if he would seek me out in such a way, yet he did not. In truth, I did not know if I want him to be that close. I loved him and I knew, in my mind and my heart, that he loved me as well, but . . . the thought of his body against mine brought apprehension and fear, and memories of Sin-Iddim. I tried to imagine what it would be like to feel Japheth above me, looking at me with love, but all I could see was Sin-Iddim’s eyes, hard and angry and brutal.
I knew Japheth was not himself, and a part of me wanted to beg him to love me and wash away the memory of that monster . . . but I could not bring myself to do so. Japheth, too, seemed reluctant. I did not know whether that was on my behalf, knowing what I have suffered, or whether it was due to the presence of that human girl, Neses.
She was a pretty girl, not lovely and not beautiful, but certainly pretty. She rarely spoke, often for days at a time; she moved with a demure grace, and she was always busy. Scraping hides, mending robes, weaving rope from flax or hemp, cooking . . . she was never still. Her hands fluttered like birds all the day long, working, working, working.
I could not stop myself from watching her. It unnerved her, I thought. I wished I could help these women with the work they did, but I have never done any of those things and even if I could I was not sure they would want my help.
Japheth worked outdoors every day, leaving at dawn and returning for the evening meal. He came back with his tunic off, wearing only a linen kilt around his hips. His chest was oiled with sweat, his muscles gleaming and hard. I could not help but admire him.
Neses, too, watched him. She loved him, I knew she did. She hid it, and she was resigned to his indifference toward her. But still, she could not help herself from watching him in the fields as he harvested—as I did—watching him bending and swiping his sickle, gathering, stacking, and straightening, wiping sweat from his brow and hair from his eyes.
He never looked at her, never spoke to her, never even turned his body toward her. He sat on the opposite side of the fire from her at night, when we all gathered around the flickering flames to eat and drink and talk. But he was aware of her—I could see that, and so could she. And it hurt her deeply.
One day, when the men were in the field and the other women were fetching water from the well, Neses approached me, not quite daring to look at me.
She stammered a handful of words, then heaved a breath and spoke again, clearly this time. “Why do you stare at me? Have I offended you in some way?”
“No . . . you have done nothing.” I shook my head, unable to formulate a better answer. “It is not anything like that.”
“Then what? Do you not already have that which is supposed to be mine?” The words dropped from her lips, and she slapped a hand across her mouth, as if to take them back.
“I suppose I do, but I do not think I took him from you.” I allowed my own painful truth to escape from my lips. “And really, do I have him? He pays as little attention to me as he does to you, lately.”
She nodded, eyes downcast. “I have noticed.”
“I am sorry if I remind you of . . . of what should have been. I do not mean to cause you pain.”
“It isn’t you, it’s him. He . . . he never wanted me.” The agony in her voice pained me.
“I do not think it was that,” I said, “so much as his rebellion against his father.”
She nodded. “I know. Zara has told me this many times, but that does not change the way I feel.”
“You love him.” It was not a question, and it was not a kind thing to say to her.
She only nodded again, a bare sliver of movement. “Always.” She looked up at me, her eyes intense now. “If you can make him happy, then do as you will, and spare no worry for me. He deserves happiness.”
“Do you not also deserve happiness?” I ask.
“My happiness is not found on this earth. I have found peace in Elohim.” There is no pretense in this statement, no falsity or piety, only a deeply felt truth.
But there was peace in Neses’ eyes—pain as well, old and resigned—but it was all leavened by a peace, which I envied her.
I had a feeling of impending doom, a heaviness in my heart. I did not understand it, could not divine its source, but it haunted me day and night. In the weeks since Japheth brought me to his childhood home, I had healed as much physically as I ever would, even though I knew some pain would always be with me. I still felt a dizziness I could not shake, and my vision was often cloudy. Emotionally, I knew I was still fragile. When the men moved too suddenly, I flinched. I cowered if they shouted, which Japheth and Noah often did, as men who were much alike were wont to do. They forgot their anger just as quickly as it rose, and I thought Japheth and his father were finding a peace they both needed.
Shem and Ham did not quite ignore me, but neither did they seek me out or treat me with the same familiarity as they did each other’s wives. Noah was uncomfortable around me, if not openly antagonistic; he tolerated me, I thought, and no more. Zara was . . . Zara. Kind always, and thoughtful, ever making attempts to draw me in and make me comfortable.
And Japheth?
He saw me, I knew. The spark of attraction that drew us together was still there. I felt the renewed need for comfort. Perhaps not intimacy, not in the sexual sense—I remained unsure if I was capable of that, or if I ever would be. But I needed his presence. I needed time alone with him, away from his family, away from the silent judgement of Noah, and the way the brother’s wives, Sedele and Ne’eletama, pretended I did not exist.
I did not know what I needed. I did not know what I wanted. I did not know where I belonged. I just knew . . . I was discontent.
I could wait no longer; I needed to feel comfort. The nightmares came every night, Sin-Iddim’s face, angry and brutal. His hands on me—unrelenting. I needed to feel loved, and only Japheth could provide that.
I wrapped some wineskins, given me by Shem, in a blanket, and packed some food in a basket. I waited in the warm afternoon sunlight for Japheth to return from the fields.
As evening neared Japheth returned, clad in nothing but his linen kilt, his upper torso bare and muscular and sweaty, his black curls damp and tangled and falling across his eyes. He stopped at the barrel of
water outside the door of the family home, splashing his face, scrubbing himself, over and over. Straightening, droplets of water trickling down his chest, my breath caught, just looking at him.
He saw me then, sitting on the yoke of the plow a few feet away, watching him.
“Aresia . . .” he eyed the basket, “are you going somewhere?”
I shrugged one shoulder and glanced out at the rolling hills beyond the plowed field. “I would like to take a walk together. I packed some food.” I lifted the basket, unnecessarily.
He blinked at me for a moment and then nodded. “Very well. Let me change, first.”
I shrugged, risking a small smile. “No need.”
I thought Japheth understood what I meant by that—his lightning-blue eyes flashed, and a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips, and I felt a moment of hope. But then his gaze darkened.
He rolled a shoulder. “A moment, only.” He averted his gaze, conflict in his posture.
I sighed as he turned away, ducking under the low lintel. He returned a moment later, buckling his belt over his sleeveless tunic. He took the basket of food from me, lifted it to his shoulder, and stood gazing at me.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, and we set out, skirting the plowed and planted field. Beyond it, the hills rolled like gentle waves of verdant earth, waist-high grass waving in the gentle, ever-present breeze. Into that tall grass we walked, the stalks brushing my hips. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear of clouds, an endless azure bowl above our heads. The silence between us was tense, awkward in a way it had never been before. In the months before our discovery and Japheth’s capture, we often spent quiet time together, and were both content to simply be together in that silence. We hadn’t needed constant conversation to be at peace together. Now, however, the silence was palpable, our comfort together broken.
There was a distance between us. A realization that, perhaps, all we’d shared was a physical connection. I didn’t understand his family, and I certainly didn’t understand his father. His brothers were simple enough: I was Nephilim, and thus the same as all my kind—brutal, savage, amoral, and godless in my worship of so many gods. To Zara, I was a creature to pitied. To Sedele and Ne’eletama, I was not worth considering, a thing that barely existed. And to Neses? I was less sure of her than anyone else.
And to Japheth? For a while, I’d believed we loved each other. While I was in the hands of Sin-Iddim, the thought of Japheth’s love, his body, his touch, his kiss, his presence . . . it had succored me. Comforted me. But now . . . I doubted it.
We’d been walking together now for several leagues, and neither of us had said a single word. We may as well have been walking on our own.
After another half a league of unbearably thick silence, I could stand it no more. “Japheth, stop. Put the basket down.”
He nodded, setting the basket on the ground, making a clearing in the tall grass, and then began withdrawing food. He did not look at me; it was as if this was merely . . . somewhere to have a meal.
I sat down in the grass and watched him for a moment, willing him to glance my way. When he did not, I put my hand on his arm, stopping him. “Japheth . . . why—why do you not look at me?”
He turned his gaze to me, shifting backward to sit facing me, the basket between us. “I am looking at you, Aresia.”
“I feel . . .” I sighed and started over. “I feel as if I do not exist to you any longer.”
“You exist, Aresia. You are here.”
I felt the urge to snarl at him but did not. “You cannot merely counter everything I say with the opposite, Japheth. What I feel cannot be erased or soothed with quick denials.”
He sighed. “Then what? What do I say? What do you want me to say?”
“The truth?” I suggested. “You do not see me any longer. You do not touch me.”
“You’ve been healing—”
“It has been months, Japheth. I am as healed as I can ever be. Some hurts will never heal, but . . . others, they . . . they need healing of a kind mere time cannot provide.” I nudged the basket aside, so there was nothing between us. “Do you know I have nightmares, Japheth? Are you aware that I wake up every night crying? Losing the child, the agony so terrible death would have been preferable . . . Mirra’s head in a basket, delivered to my rooms. Irkalla, bribing the gate captain with her own body. I live all of it over and over again, Japheth, every night.
“But now I’m surrounded by your family, and they—they hate me. Your brothers hate me, and your father despises me, but I’ve done nothing to him . . . or to any of them. Only your mother treats me with any kind of decency. And Neses, oddly enough—she too accords me some semblance of . . . basic kindness. Even you—it seems you’d rather spend your days in the field, working, than with me. I have no place, Japheth! I have . . . I have nothing. Not even you, it seems.”
Japheth was silent for so long I wondered if he’d gone deaf or mute. But then he heaved a sigh, and finally turned his gaze from the grass to my eyes. “I cannot erase those memories, Aresia.”
“I know, but . . . can you not even attempt to—to soothe them?”
“How?”
“Hold me? Touch me? Kiss me?” My voice cracked on the last word.
He shrugged a shoulder uncomfortably. “I—after what happened, I thought—” He sighed again. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
I inched closer to him, taking his hands. “What we had before—the way things used to be between us . . . I do not know if it can be that way again. Or if I am even capable of that kind of intimacy, yet . . .” I blinked against the pain in my heart, the onslaught of loneliness I’d been feeling for so many weeks. “I need comfort, Japheth. Something. Anything.”
Again he was silent again for a long time. “I—I don’t know that I have any comfort to give, Aresia. I am changed. Losing you, knowing you were given to Sin-Iddim in exchange for my life, the things that happened to me in Ur . . . all of that has altered me. And not for the better.” He said this last in a whisper, his face downcast, his curls obscuring his eyes.
“Then . . . then perhaps we can—then perhaps we can comfort each other.” I shifted a little closer.
He tensed. “Aresia—I . . .” He shook his head, his jaws grinding together so hard I heard them creak. “I cannot.”
I sighed and felt something in my heart crack. “Then why bring me here?” I fought the shattering of my heart, fought the heaviness in my soul. “Why bring me here, just to abandon me?”
He didn’t look at me, just plucked at the grass near his knees, shoulders slumped; the mighty warrior looked . . . defeated. Broken. “I am sorry, Aresia. Truly.”
I stared at him for a long time, trying to summon anything for him besides anger. “You should have left me in Bad-Tibira, then.”
I stood up and walked away, back to the long, low structure of the house, past the skeleton of Noah’s giant, absurd boat, towering like a mammoth skeleton of some long-dead behemoth. My feet hurt from the walk, the still tender soles throbbing but I ignored the pain, returning as quickly as I could back toward the house.
As I approached, the thought of entering that dark, low building filled me with loathing. The thought of sitting in a corner near the small, crackling fire, smoke in my eyes, the roof inches from the top of my head, Sedele and Ne’eletama pretending not to see me, Neses ghosting about in her ever-busy manner, Zara trying futilely to smooth things over . . . I couldn’t do it.
The sun had not set yet so I walked away from the house, making for the boat. Shem was on a scaffold near the top, mallet pounding, the thumping echoing in staccato cracks. Ham was on the ground next to a pile of logs, using some kind of tool to separate the logs into flat boards, which Shem then fixed into place with his mallet and seed bag full of iron nails. Noah was inside the vessel with a bucket of pitch and a thick brush, painting the cracks with the tar to seal it against the water.
None of them saw me, each focused on his wor
k, so I crept past them and found a spot in the shadow of the god-sized vessel, on the far end from where they were working. How tall was it? Forty cubits? Fifty? Hundreds of cubits long, and twice as wide as it was tall . . . a vessel so large it boggled the mind, so vast in scope that I found it difficult to comprehend how he’d even begun to construct it, much less comprehend why. I’d listened to their fireside discussions at night, listened to Noah speak of the instructions of his God. It was something the patriarch did nightly, repeating the words he’d heard. But still, even having heard all this every night for some months, I still didn’t grasp the reason for it all.
The boat was big enough to house the entire population of Bad-Tibira . . . yet I’d heard them say that only Noah’s family would be allowed on. For what reason, then? What did so few people need with a boat this size? What ocean would it sail upon? The closest river was so far away there was no possibility of getting the vessel there, and even if they could, somehow, the boat itself was so immense it would get stuck on the many curves of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers.
It was easier to wonder at Noah’s folly than Japheth’s apathy. Easier to sit here, my back against a naked spar, the sun blocked out by the bulk of the partially finished vessel, wondering at Noah’s madness, than to think of Japheth, refusing to look at me, to even sit close to me.
A shuffled footstep alerted me to a presence nearby; I twisted and saw Noah standing a few feet away, a bucket of pitch in one hand, the handle of the brush sticking out of the top.
He was eying me, warily, angrily. “Why are you here, Nephilim?”
“Why do you hate me, Noah?” I asked, unable to stop the words from escaping. “What have I done?”
He growled under his breath, the mustache of his gray-black beard ruffling from the huff of his breath. “You, in particular? Nothing. It is your kind. All you Nephilim, you sons and daughters of the angels, you are all corrupt and wicked. Elohim sees you all as a stain upon this earth.”