Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

  “About perfection in God’s eyes?” I nod. “You can trust Abram. You are the one person in this world like you.” I sit in the middle of the lane. “Are you all right?”

  “I am.”

  The cloud bends down close to me. “You had better move before someone walks a donkey over you.”

  I jump up. “This is another lesson that changes my beliefs. Another idea that will take time to reach my bones.”

  “It is difficult.”

  “How will I make these lessons mine?”

  “Many people complain about parts of themselves, but to God, you are perfect.”

  I bite my lip. “Did I complain again?”

  “I deem it so.”

  “Sandalphon, who am I?”

  “You can be whoever your heart wants you to be.”

  “You are saying it is my choice. Thank you.”

  “Well, well. The last time you said thank you was the first time I spoke to you about females. I am glad you enjoy our time. Time is more precious than humans can imagine. It goes fast and life is over. Do not waste a moment.”

  “I will think on where I waste time, but can I continue?” He nods. “When I lie down and breathe deeply peace comes to me and I do not want it to end. It is as if I leave here and go somewhere else. Up on a cloud or among the stars. What disturbs me is that being there,” I point to the sky, “is better than staying here.”

  “What are your questions?”

  “I have many, but that makes me feel odd, the way my tribe said. Is it better in the sky?”

  “You are not peculiar. You are lifted to another level, away from the concerns of living in this realm. What happens when you are there?”

  “Colors appear behind my closed eyes, purple and green, and I am no longer anxious or unhappy. I have energy and the trickery is, I am on the ground and floating in the air. As if I have two parts of me.”

  “Do the parts connect?”

  “I do not know. Wait.” I recapture the moment. “Yes, they do. The ideas I receive are not forgotten. They are helpful.”

  “How do you explain this?”

  “I cannot.”

  “Remember you are perfect.”

  Now I am really confused.

  I wake the next morning and the first thought is I am powerful. Or did Sandalphon whisper that in my ear? Power has meaning and says you possess opinions and use what you learn and observe. How could that happen to a poor female, young and not gifted?

  “Yes, Elisha, it is true.”

  “Thank you for coming. What kind of power can be mine if I will be confined to family life while men make the decisions? How can a woman accomplish anything, even if I live with passion and use all the might in me and be clear about what I want?” My cloud does not move. “I would choose to reach out but do not have many talents. My writing pictures suffer from an unsteady hand and no one can make them out.” I sit. “I can sing and am pleased when people like the songs I make up. What I want more than anything else is to create songs with Abram’s words. I think it is what I am supposed to do.”

  “That is a good idea.”

  I jump up. “Sandalphon? Is that the truth?”

  “I always tell you the truth. Otherwise, what am I? You will help others but not in the way you think.”

  “How will it happen? I am seldom in high spirits.”

  “Do you remember I said name your feelings?” I nod. “You must do that if you want to succeed.”

  I stare at the ground. “I am sorry for being negligent, but I did some.”

  “All will be made clear if you are ready. What is most important is your intention and what you mean to accomplish.”

  I lift my head. “I did not make up songs because I was not safe enough to do so.”

  “Hold your intentions in your heart and you will be successful.”

  “Sandalphon, why will you not tell me how?”

  “I cannot foretell the future. You maintain control with free will.”

  “What I must do is hold my intentions?”

  “The hardest part is to keep them clear no matter what happens. You may encounter hardships and disappointments. After you sing, it is possible people in the audience may throw things to taunt you. That can make you feel bad about yourself. If you do not have faith in your gifts you will lose your way.”

  “What if I am having a difficult time? What do I do then?”

  “Ask for help. Trust you will be answered.” He disappears into the blue of the sky.

  I am alone and lonely. Sadness is making its home on my chest. I step out to go to the spring and try to remember what I must do. Walking toward the well, I put them in the remembering place in my head. Name my feelings, listen to my inner voice, and become more aware of when and how I receive guidance. I miss it thinking it is a coincidence or an accident. Oh. Intentions. I almost forgot.

  Abram said there is no such thing as chance. It is true that if I were not banished, this journey would not have happened. I would not meet Abram. Not know about learning and growing. Not learn about love. But I still cannot dream up a song, the words will not come and that makes me angry. I try and nothing happens.

  Abram keeps us busy and I have no time to think about intentions the next few suns. I am determined to do my work well. I study before the late meal and will do so after we eat even though I may walk home in the black of night.

  The usual after meal cleanup is over, and I walk down the rocky passageway to think.

  Resheph plants himself at my side. “May I accompany you?”

  “At this time?” He nods. “Yes, you can save me from bandits.” We both laugh. “I need to get some air and think about the teachings.”

  “I am the same. Perhaps we can think, then discuss it together.”

  “I need time alone.”

  Resheph put his hands together and lays his cheek on them. “Then I will be as quiet as a lizard asleep in the sun.”

  We continue past the rocky area to the grassy terraces. He never came this way before. Said he did not like it here. A quick peek tells me he is content.

  I sit with my back against the same olive tree as the last time I was here. The difference is I have a tablet. The scratchings on it are few, but enough to remind me what I want to think about.

  Resheph sits behind me on the other side, facing the opposite way. My hope is that having him out of my sight will give me freedom to concentrate, but his presence keeps invading my purpose.

  Little by little my wayward head is pulled back to the examination of intention. Absorbed in my thoughts, it takes time before I realize Resheph’s hand is on mine, his touch so gentle I did not notice. He strokes my hand over and over. I try to pull it away. “Please do not . . .” He grabs my hand, holds it tight to his chest, and crawls around the tree his body blocking the moon.

  He lets go of my hand and raises both of his as if to cup my face and kiss me. His body is straddled over me and pushes my back in to the soil. Before I can fight back, one arm holds me across my neck. I choke. He grabs both my arms and pins them to the ground above my head. He holds them with one hand. What are supposed to be kisses on my face are bites.

  “No, no. Please,” I scream. “Stop. Do not do this.”

  One hand continues to hold both of mine, the other one explores every bit of my body. My back against the grass is the one part that misses the probing. He seizes my breasts and I cry out, then lifts my tunic, and strokes me over and over between my legs and the woman part only husbands see. He pulls my hands down and shoves them under my back. He is on top of me, his elbows not far from my shoulders. I gasp for air. His hand secures my mouth, and he enters me with one huge thrust. It makes me scream, but all anyone can hear is a grunt through the fingers pushing my lips against my teeth.

  I dig my heels into the soil, determined to push away from him. He is massive against my small frame. I cannot gain ground. Each thrust he forces inside, each push is more painful than the one before. I am pinned down and una
ble to twist or turn. My kicks thrash at empty air. I give up. Grunts, like an animal, are the lone sounds. His final stab feels like he ripped me apart. He removes himself, rises, straightens his wrap, and walks away.

  I lie on the ground unable to move, unable to think. I try to take in what happened. My chest heaves and it is hard to suck in the air. He ruined me, ruined my life. Whatever I hoped for is gone. I am now good for nothing.

  How do I face his family? Anyone. It takes time before I can move. My tunic is torn near my knee. My face must not give away my secret. Screaming, begging, and imploring, made my throat sore, and my mouth dry. My body is soaking wet. He spoiled me, then left me to walk home in the blackness.

  I peer at the sky. “You, who claim to be God. You let it happen. Where is the power I was supposed to have? You made me small in stature so I could not fight the slightest man. Why did you not keep me safe? What did I do to deserve this? Now I am trapped with this family, trapped with the man who destroyed my life.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  My hands are around my shoulders as if that could hold me together. The smells he left fill my nostrils. Both breasts hurt, marked by his fingers. I taste the blood in my mouth from his hand pushing against my teeth. A sticky wetness drips down my legs when I manage to stand. Did I bleed? “Please, Eshmun, make me as whole as when I was born.”

  I grab a bunch of leaves to wipe myself. Blood. From the light of the stars I can see the bright red circle shining against the green. The red that announces my position. If I am with child how will I live? The family cannot find out, cannot see me weeping. I hold back my tears and grab a small rock to wear around my neck in the hope it will push the child out before it grows.

  Kotharat awaits my return so we can go to sleep. She will scold me for making them wait. I must hurry and try to be ordinary. How do I explain a torn garment?

  I limp my way back to the house and my head fills with the words I will need. I am surprised that the family is lounging on their mats still enjoying hearsay. I join them and try not to squirm. There was no time to clean myself, to purge Resheph from my body. If I could wish myself back to the tiny hut filled with people I love—but they would not comfort me either. “And what did you do to make it happen,” would be Ima’s reply.

  “I hope you had a pleasant time.” Kotharat glowers at me. I nod and run my hands through my hair. “I needed to study. Abram insisted.” Resheph appears victorious.

  Nikkal watches her brother’s beaming face and turns to glance at me. “I am sure the time was rewarding. Elisha, you are pale. What happened to your tunic?”

  “My knee got to close to the branch of a bush. I am fine. Tired.” My insides want to throw the last meal back into my throat, yet the lump stays down in my stomach heavy like a boulder.

  Resheph smirks. “Did you find our class demanding?”

  My attention is on the floor. “The whole day was difficult.” If I could only scream out what he did. “I could not keep up with the concepts.” He tilts his head, his smirk congratulates himself for being so clever.

  These people misplaced their hearts, except for Nikkal and maybe Baal. How will I face anyone? Or sit in class and learn with him? Continue living in the same house?”

  Nikkal strolls over to me and whispers. “What is wrong, Elisha? You do not seem well.”

  “Too much to be done.”

  “Resheph’s face said something happened, but I was not sure of its meaning.”

  Kotharat interrupts us. “What is the whispering? Are you telling secrets we cannot hear?”

  “Sorry, Ima. It is girl talk about betrothals,” Nikkal sidesteps.

  “We went separate ways,” I whisper. She knows that is an untruth.

  “Is this how you treat a friend?” There is no answer. “If that is what you wish.”

  “There is no more I can say.”

  He betrayed me, broke my heart. No man will want me for a wife. I did not one thing, yet I am the one marked, stained, ruined twice over. A female and a harlot. My dreams are gone and what remains is misery.

  I wish to pound the earth or fell a giant tree and crash it into pieces. My chest tightens and forms a barrier. Numb from the neck down. My body weeps for me, it weeps in silence and sheds no tears.

  Nikkal goes back to her seat. I need to get away, walk, clean, do something. I sit like a statue. At long last they go to their mats, and I scour myself inside and out. Still not cleansed, I head for my sleep space. What kind of powerful God deserted me and agreed Resheph should violate me? Please, let me not be with child. I cannot cry. Every corner in the house would echo the sound. Regret dwells within me.

  Sleep remains elusive. It is not long before my curtain is rustling. My eyes open. I am so frightened I cannot move and turn hot, then cold. My body shakes. Not Resheph, please. Not again.

  “Can we talk,” Nikkal whispers.

  I sit up with dread. If I say no . . . “Come in.” Will she say something to the family? That is my fear. She sits across from me at the far end of the mat.

  “I may be younger, but your expression says you met with harm.”

  I clear my head. “I do not know what you think you see. I am fine.”

  “You are not fine. How was your class?”

  “It was fine.”

  “Before you said it was difficult.” She pauses. “I cannot make conversation alone.” I do not answer. “Did you ever go to the Canaanite Temple?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You could not go inside. Except for the sacred prostitutes, women are allowed once in thirteen full moons. They go to pay homage to Baal, one of the fertility gods.”

  “Sacred prostitutes? Gods for fertility?” Why is she saying this now?

  “Some men think it is their obligation to deflower women, so they will not become sacred prostitutes. That prostitution should not happen in a Temple.”

  Deflower. She knows. “Do all Canaanites believe so?”

  “No. It is a way for a few men to have a woman they would otherwise not be able to.”

  In the emptiness that follows, I change the discussion. “Your religion has many gods, is it better with many?”

  “We think so. Baal is the god of thunder and lightning; Ath-tart of passion, sexuality, and creativity; and there is El, who created all the gods and goddesses. There are many more.”

  “Do you know of Eshmun?”

  “He is a god of healing and the guardian of Sidon. A serpent coils around the staff in his right hand.”

  I nod. “Your gods are part of a group. They each have separate duties. If they were put together they could make up one complete God.”

  Nikkal raises her head. “I must admit I never pictured it as pieces of a whole. You do know Abram’s father made and sold idols.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Get a pleasant night’s sleep.”

  “It is difficult, but I will try.”

  Nikkal gets up and walks to the curtain, her eyes red. She turns her back to me. “He is my brother.” The words hold the essence of sorrow. She hesitates as if to express one more concern, then disappears to the main room.

  We cannot speak of it, but at least someone is aware. I pull the sleep cover over my head. There is a rumble of upset in my stomach and my head is pounding. My eyes close and a giant animal with Resheph’s face is before me. A beast, not a person. The swine who reduced my life to rubble.

  Four moons passed. Sleep evaded me a good part of each night, and my few dreams were filled with being violated. Mine and other women. Forcing me to live it over and over. Each time I woke up in a panic needing to scream. Tired and shaky, I cannot feel my fingers, my toes, my body. Mine is a mutilation not visible, a wound that is mine alone. A wound that shouts, I have no future.

  A rock lays between my breasts, or is it a monster? This is not a time for learning. I cannot concentrate. The family must not know I am avoiding Abram’s class. I still must go to the well.

  For the first time, I try ho
lding one jug on each side but they are too burdensome on my bones. About to move them to my shoulders, I see a bird perched on the ground lapping up water. Its feathers, a yellowish brown and black, are at rest. The longing to take wing fills me once more, to be anywhere but here.

  Poor bird on the search for provisions. But I am not like this bird, not free, always searching for how to be. I have no way to spread my wings and take to the air. And where would I fly? I can escape in my head and sing like they do, but I do nothing. The bird flies off and I picture my heart gliding along, higher and higher until we are out of sight and nestled on a fluffy white cloud.

  I finish all the work Kotharat gave me and leave as if going to class. Instead, I go in circles, nowhere, just wander the outskirts of the city praying those who are friends of the family do not see me. What did Resheph, that bastard, say to them?

  I go down the path to the place where Resheph taught me writing and lie down, napping at times, crying in between. Peace is gone.

  The sky is filled with clouds playing hide and go seek with the blue of the sky. The sun is at its high point.

  “Sandalphon, please come to me. Resheph is a brute, not a man. Why did my intuition not tell me? Why did I not recognize the kind of person he is?”

  “Yes, Elisha? There are questions?”

  “I was blinded by Resheph’s comely features and ignored his faults. Nikkal warned me.”

  “You prefer to ignore certain instincts.”

  My lips push against my teeth. “What does intuition have to do with Resheph?”

  “You did not pay attention when you knew Resheph said he never went near the terraces.”

  “Oh.”

  He bows toward me. “Good. Recognition. Awareness provides you with the ability to identify danger and be sure of decisions. You will be confident inventing your ballads and sure of who to befriend or leave behind.”

  I will not cry. “So many feelings are mixed, so many reactions I have not yet named. I do not choose to mark them. That will make what happened real. All I feel now is agony.”