People whispered among themselves, nodding.
Laban waited for more. But Zohar turned to the spearman and together they strolled away, holding hands. Those gathered around also drifted off.
“That’s it?” Laban asked. “Jehovah is love? Don’t judge?”
Ebal made up for Zohar’s lack by pontificating the rest of the evening.
Laban found that according to Ebal he shouldn’t judge those who acted in ways he thought of as wicked. He retorted that neither then should others judge him for remaining faithful to his wife.
On that score, they had a running debate. Because of all the lewd sights he witnessed during the day, Laban had confided in Ebal that he was tempted to visit a brothel.
“A Temple of Love,” corrected Ebal, “not a brothel.”
In any case, Laban resisted such ‘worship,’ even though Ebal never tired of telling him that a man should conform to his surroundings. “When in Uruk one should do as those of Uruk do,” was an ancient proverb. Ebal insisted that the sexual pressures and tensions that built up inside a man would after a time cause him to go mad unless he relieved them.
Days later, Ebal added a new twist. He hinted that Laban wasn’t as virile as others were. “That’s why you always practice with your short sword. It’s to prove your manhood in the only way left you.”
Two weeks later Laban heard Par Alexander. The philosopher was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with short, silver hair, huge, staring eyes and wore a disheveled toga. He spoke in a rich, persuasive voice.
The philosopher climbed a wooden platform after supper and soon a crowd gathered. Merchants stood in their splendid robes, together with spearmen and learned elders from some of the nearby clan compounds. A long barracks made up the background, and as Laban glanced around, he realized this was the practice square for the mercenary soldiers from Nod.
“How do we know anything?” Par Alexander began. “Through our senses is the common answer, through our eyes, ears, nose, tongue and fingertips, through these we filter the world. So everything is obvious, is it not? A tree falls because you see it and hear it crash. A wall exists because your foot hurts when kicking it. Watermelons taste sweet because that’s the sense you gain on eating it. Thus, everything is known. Even a fool knows that much. Isn’t that right?”
Laban found himself nodding with everyone else.
“Ah,” said Par Alexander, holding up a gnarly finger. “Wait a moment. There is a problem. In a dream one runs with all his might and yet gains no ground. Sometimes you leap skyward and fly like a bird or a pterodactyl. You ‘know’ the dream to be true, or you think you know, because you feel the dream-wind blowing on your dream-face. Then you wake up, blinking, aching to go back to sleep and relive the sense of flying. Now the problem is this. In the dream, you understand it to be true because you see, smell, taste and touch. And in life, you understand it to be true for exactly the same reasons. Yet in one instance the five senses play you false and in the other they are true, correct?”
Laban squinted at the stoop-shouldered philosopher, trying to understand what he was getting at.
Par Alexander fixed his wise, sad eyes on them. “Listen, my friends, how do you know when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake? Please don’t tell me because in your waking hours you see, touch and hear, because I’ll tell you that’s exactly how you ‘know’ things are real in your dreams. But people say dreams are not really real. My first question is, ‘How do you know the dreams are false?’ The answer of course is that you can’t know. So if you can’t know by resorting to your eyes, ears and nose, then how do you know you’re awake? Ah… I see some of you blinking and scratching your head. You must realize by now that you can’t say, ‘I know because I see you flapping your lips and I hear your nonsense words.’ So if we can’t use our senses to tell us, then we can’t know. And if we can’t know, then at this very instant we could be dreaming. If we could be dreaming… well, everyone knows there is no good or bad in a dream, there is just what you like and dislike. Therefore, friends, since you could be thinking all this up—or dreaming it—whatever you decide to do is neither good nor bad, just simply what you decide to do. So I tell you plainly. Do whatever you please. That is the only logical course to take.”
After that, Laban almost headed to a Temple of Love. In the end, he remembered that he was going to Ham’s wedding and would soon see Uncle Noah. He didn’t want the old man to know his guilt just from looking at his face.
5.
Rahab sat transfixed. She was terrified she was simply imagining this. Reality had always been harsh. As if in a dream, she sat on a stool, wearing white, with Ruth brushing her hair until it shone. Perfumes wafted upon her, a hat with a veil waited on a nearby stand. Today—
The door opened.
Rahab’s heart skipped. She knew her husband-to-be was impetuous, given to action without thought. She feared this was he, come to see her before the wedding and thus inadvertently cursing them. Everyone knew the groom shouldn’t see his bride before the wedding. It was an ancient custom.
But it was Europa who entered.
That surprised Rahab. The two of them seldom spoke. In the past Europa gave her orders, as she did to the many servants. But there were fewer maids and field hands these days, only a handful really. And since Ham had proposed marriage, she seemed to have become invisible to Europa.
The tall wife of Japheth was strong-willed and competitive, and Rahab knew that Europa considered her marriage to Ham as a personal defeat.
Ruth quit brushing her hair.
Gaea, unfortunately, had already gone to see the guests.
Rahab swallowed in a dry throat, not daring to meet Europa’s gaze.
“Can I speak to Rahab alone?” Europa asked.
Ruth hesitated.
“Please,” Europa said.
Ruth laid a reassuring hand on Rahab’s shoulder. “I forgot to bring your gloves. I’ll only be a moment.” The wife of Shem rose.
Rahab peeked up. Her two sisters-in-law traded glances.
Europa smiled or grimaced, it was hard to tell which. “Please,” she said again.
“I hope you remember that this is her wedding day,” Ruth said.
“The reason why I’m here,” Europa said.
Rahab refrained from squeaking. She looked down, holding her hands, squeezing, telling herself to be brave. She married a brave husband. The least he deserved was a bit of courage from his wife-to-be. She breathed deeply, heard the door close and faced her sister-in-law-to-be.
Europa smiled sadly. She was so beautiful, so confident, radiant, a true king’s daughter. Thus, it surprised Rahab when Europa knelt before her, laying a hand on one of her small knees.
“I congratulate you on your coming marriage,” Europa said.
“Thank you,” whispered Rahab.
“Your faithful service has won his heart. When he was weak, you were strong. And you poured yourself out to him, selflessly. You will be a good wife, I know. I pray that you have many strong sons and beautiful daughters.”
Rahab searched those blue eyes. She knew this was hard for Europa. Then a wave of compassion filled her. “Oh thank you, Europa. Thank you. This means so much to me.” She tried to embrace the former king’s daughter, close to tears, so glad they wouldn’t be foes.
Europa stiffened at her touch, and she withdrew, pulling away, standing.
Rahab swallowed back tears.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Europa said, but Rahab wondered now if it was genuine. As Europa seemed to grope for words, she picked up the hat and veil. “I tried to marry one of my sisters to Ham. You know that, yes?”
Rahab nodded.
A sardonic smile crossed that beautiful face. “Since Ymir’s arrival none of my sisters have visited our Keep. They grow afraid, or they vie for Queen Naamah’s blessing. Some have moved far away, believing that father’s kingdom—his former kingdom—will soon be swallowed up in Ymir’s conquests. Others think they can drive out our f
ather’s conquerors and then hurry to Chemosh, there to ally themselves with Naamah and thus keep the kingdom.” Europa set aside the hat and veil. “Perhaps a flood really does come. Then what use striving? What use a kingdom?”
The door opened. A wary Ruth stepped within, with Rahab’s white gloves.
Europa moved elegantly, patting Ruth’s arm. Then she exited and closed the door behind her.
6.
Ham buttoned his coat and combed his hair. He enjoyed the butterfly feeling in his stomach. Rahab was to be his wife. Tonight…ah, tonight he would be like Adam seeing his Eve for the very first time. They would become one flesh.
His father called it a mystery.
His mother called it fulfilling.
His grandfather said Jehovah gave great gifts, and that He had given man woman and the wonder each felt for the other only proved divine love.
His oldest brother said very little. They still didn’t speak much.
Shem said it all with the tiny grin he’d given him while nudging him on the shoulder.
Ham didn’t really feel his feet touch the ground as he strolled to the main house. Only a few guests had shown, two to be precise, but he wasn’t really aware of that either. Methuselah had come without his wife. According to him, she was feeling ill. Laban’s wife had also been feeling ill, or so Laban had mumbled. No one else from the clan compound had accepted his invitation.
Ham shook hands all around and was hardly aware of them congratulating him and slapping him on the back. They wore long robes and golden sashes; their was hair oiled and beards were carefully combed. His mother wore a white dress. They were in two circles: Grandfather Lamech in his chair, with Shem and Japheth around him and Methuselah, Noah, Gaea, Ham and Laban standing by a table.
“Laban has been telling us about his work at Chemosh,” Gaea said.
“Oh,” Ham said.
Laban shifted uncomfortably. He had arrived this morning straight from Chemosh. “I needed the money and they pay well.”
“You could always work here,” Noah said.
Laban squirmed.
“Then you’d be closer to home,” Noah said. “You could see your wife and children more.”
“True, true,” Laban said, avoiding looking at his uncle.
“No, Noah,” Methuselah said, “I’m afraid you don’t understand how unpopular you’ve become. If Laban worked here, he would be unwelcome at the compound. It’s not just his own welfare he has to consider, but that of his wife and children.”
“I don’t know,” Noah said. “I have some idea of my unpopularity. And it’s his welfare I’m thinking of.”
“Yes, of course.” Methuselah twisted his lips. “But concerning the first point, you understand your status, it simply doesn’t bother you.”
“That isn’t true,” Noah said.
“Come now,” chided Methuselah. “Under that thick skin of yours you have feelings?”
Gaea scowled, while Noah stroked his long white beard.
“No, I shouldn’t have said that,” Methuselah said. “It’s not a matter of thick skin, but your obedience to Jehovah.”
Laban coughed sharply into his hand.
“Ah,” Gaea said. “You don’t agree with that?”
“Me?” Laban asked. “No. I had something stuck in my throat.”
“We know the so-called Prophet Zohar is in Chemosh,” Gaea said. “Some of our field hands have been whispering about him. They’ve heard the compound workers who went to Chemosh repeating his sayings.”
“Have you seen this Zohar?” Methuselah asked.
“Once or twice,” admitted Laban. He pursed his lips. “Actually, Prophet Zohar encourages the people. He’s very beneficial. The men at Chemosh… They feel much like you, Uncle Noah. That they’ve been called by Jehovah to build a magnificent edifice to Him.”
“Do they really?” Gaea asked.
“Yes, very much so,” Laban said.
“Have they given up their magic arts?” Gaea asked. “Have they freed their slaves and stopped quarreling and fighting among themselves? Have they smashed their idols and do they give alms to the poor and have they stopped violating little boys?”
“Some of them have,” Laban said.
“Which of those things?” Gaea asked.
“Well…I’ve seen some give alms to the poor.”
Gaea smiled. “I’m sure of that. No doubt, a production is made of tossing shekels to the poor or ringing bells as they hand out bread. They let everyone see their good works.”
“As examples to the rest of us,” Laban said.
“Is that what Prophet Zohar calls it?” Gaea asked.
“As a matter of fact he does,” Laban said.
“Wait a moment,” Methuselah said. “They believe Jehovah has given them the task?”
“That’s right,” Laban said.
“Yet they still have idols?” Methuselah asked.
Laban nodded. “Prophet Zohar says that each man must come to Jehovah in his own way. Some understand Him best when they can see His image. Thus idols are good rather than bad.”
“As in an idol of a leering demon being good?” Gaea asked.
“There are many facets to Jehovah,” Laban said, “many sides to Him that to ordinary men might seem contradictory but really aren’t. After all, who can claim to know all there is to know about Jehovah?”
“Prophet Zohar,” Gaea said.
“No, no,” Laban said. “He’s very modest. He says so himself. And he lives simply—more simply than any of us live. He wanders the country skyclad as he preaches about Jehovah. He’s very gaunt, and his beard is longer than yours, Uncle Noah.”
“Is that how one measures a truth-teller?” Gaea asked.
“Of course not,” Laban said. “It’s just that—when you see the prophet you know that there stands a man of Jehovah. He radiates believability. You just know that he’s heard voices none of us have.”
There was a moment of silence. Until Noah said, “If these men don’t repent of their sins then how can Prophet Zohar be said to lead them in the ways of Jehovah?”
“But that’s just it!” Laban said. “Prophet Zohar… he says that Jehovah isn’t cruel and judgmental, but is full of love.”
“Jehovah is love,” Noah said.
“Exactly,” Laban said. “Love accepts us as we are. Thus, Jehovah opens His arms to all. The people at Chemosh respond to that. Oh, you should see our worship services. People sing to Jehovah and clap and cheer and pray constantly to Him.”
“But they don’t repent?” Noah asked.
“Love doesn’t ask one to repent,” Laban said. “Love is accepting. It unites and applauds diversity.”
“Now that’s very interesting,” Noah said. “Do you love your son?”
“Of course,” Laban said.
“But by following Prophet Zohar’s teaching you should love everyone, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And by love that means you should accept each person as he is, warts and whatever possible flaws are in his character?”
“I have no right to judge,” Laban said. “For my view of Jehovah might be different than his. For instance, if two blind men touched a mammoth, one the trunk and the other the leg, they would both have different concepts of it. So it is with Jehovah.”
“I understand your logic,” Noah said. “Now you love your son and a man walks up to him and with a club bashes him over the head. Will you judge this man as bad?”
Laban blinked at Noah.
“I suspect that you, Laban, as a master swordsman, will indeed judge this man. Perhaps you will even cut him. Am I wrong?”
Laban blew out his cheeks. “I wouldn’t cut him, Uncle Noah, I’d kill him.”
“So Prophet Zohar is wrong, it seems,” Noah said. “One can judge. In fact, to truly love your son you must judge.”
“That’s an extreme case,” muttered Laban.
“Aren’t all moral cases extreme?” Noah asked. “At least, o
nce you follow them to their logical conclusion?”
Laban shrugged uncomfortably.
“As for the blind men and the elephant, that is all well and good,” Noah said. “But Jehovah has chosen to make Himself known by telling us about Himself. Yet some men, most men these days, then proceed to say to Jehovah, ‘No. I will make up my own version of You, and in doing so I will call You a liar.’“
“Aren’t you judging Prophet Zohar?” Laban asked.
“Jehovah judges him,” Noah said. “I merely accept Jehovah’s verdict and the label of this Zohar as a false prophet.”
“How do you know you’re right?” Laban asked. “That you have Jehovah’s verdict?”
“By the word Jehovah has given us,” Noah said. “You might also consider this. Either Jehovah is holy and takes great exception to sin or He isn’t moral, isn’t a righteous judge and therefore how can one say He is Jehovah at all? If Jehovah winks at murder that means there are men who have a higher moral standard than He does, which is a ridiculous thing to say. Thus, Zohar is revealed and seen for what he really is, a preacher of deception and delusion. I agree with you that he hears voices. Whose voice he listens to is the critical question.”
Gaea interrupted by squeezing Laban’s shoulder. “Take my advice and leave Chemosh. It’s corrupting you, filling you with falsehoods as Noah has so eloquently pointed out. You know the truth, Laban. Now stake all on boldly accepting the truth and coming here to the Ark. Do it so that you may save yourself and your family.”
Laban rubbed his chin, and he couldn’t understand why his heart thudded so hard.
“Jehovah’s wrath is near to overflowing,” Noah said quietly. “Soon a great and mighty doom will sweep everyone and everything into oblivion. The Flood will show mankind the folly of rebellion and the folly of making up new beliefs concerning Him.”
Wives of the Flood Page 13