Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  Maybe men did not fall in love. Maybe the best a woman could ever hope to have was a man who wanted to provide for her, and have her take care of his needs and give him children.

  She did not think that would be enough, not here in his land with his people around and constant reminders of who – and what – she was. He could not even walk through the gates without the reminder in the scarred stone.

  Did Javan think of her during the day while he toiled? Did he hope she thought of him? Did he care what she thought of him as a man, as a husband? Did he miss her when they were apart? Did he fear disappointing her?

  Why did women always have to be the ones with so much to lose?

  Javan surveyed his new home. It was not as large as it had been when his parents lived, and his perception had nothing to do with his having grown to manhood. The house was simply smaller.

  But it was sound, and clean, and finished. And his.

  Tomorrow he would bring his bride here. She was packing their belongings back into the sacks for the last leg of her journey. At least, he had told her to do so before he left this morning. There was nothing more for him to do here, but he could not stay in Sarah’s house and sleep near Taleh. He intended to stay here this night, in his new house. He had told Taleh so. He would go back to eat the evening meal. When he returned to his own home for the night, he planned to bring a portion of their possessions with him. Taleh had reluctantly agreed that someone must watch over them.

  Both of them knew why. His goal for this night was to keep temptation away, to keep faith with the Law, and to give the village elders nothing about which to reproach him. To succeed, he could not be around Taleh. His endurance was gone.

  He closed the door, and started back to the village. If he walked there, ate quickly, collected some of the sacks and walked back, he might be able to tire himself out enough to sleep.

  If that did not work, it was going to be a difficult night.

  Taleh looked around the small room that had been her house for a month. This would be her last night here, and she was surprised to discover that she would miss it. Perhaps not the room so much as Sarah. From the frightening stranger who would have called down evil upon them rather than permit them in her house, Sarah had become almost a friend. She was still stern, and intimidating, but she had also been more than patient as Taleh struggled to learn her new duties.

  How odd, Taleh thought, that they shared so many memories after such a short time of knowing each other. Sarah had taught her the weights used to measure grain, the best way to weave the single-fiber cloth they used here, and where the different shops were. Taleh now knew how to separate the flax from the fine linen fibers, and how to braid flaxen wicks for the oil lamps. She knew all the names of the village elders and could match some of the faces to their names. She understood that even the women and children in this land knew how to read. The markings on the sheepskin and papyrus and the hanging wooden signs still meant nothing to her, but Sarah had assured her that Javan would teach her.

  She had been startled to learn that women could sometimes inherit from their fathers.

  And she knew that it truly was against the Law here to sacrifice children.

  The leather curtain opened, and Javan walked in. Would she ever get used to what the sight of him did to her senses? For a moment, she forgot to breathe. Javan stood still, as though he did not remember what he was doing there, then he grabbed two of the closest sacks and stepped back to the doorway.

  “Sarah said to tell you that the meal will be on the table soon. I will carry these down. If you can bring two more, I will come back for the rest.”

  “Thank you.” Taleh hated how polite her voice sounded. “I will do that.”

  “Do not try to carry the heavy ones. I will carry those myself.”

  “Yes.” Was it like this for everyone, she wondered. Did all new husbands and wives make awkward conversation just before . . ?

  Javan’s footsteps echoed back to her as he went down the stairs. She hefted a few sacks, decided which two were the lightest in obedience with his order, took them and followed Javan down to the main room.

  Obed and Merab were ready to move out as well. Obed had built a home close to his parents’ house. He and his father were working together in the leather shop. It seemed odd to Taleh, having seen the two men as soldiers with weapons strapped to their waists, that they had not been born to that role. Even though she had seen them longer without their weapons than with them, the impression they made upon her as soldiers was a lasting one. They seemed to be playing at their new roles, soldiers in disguise, pretending to be everyday men.

  Some of the frantic energy Taleh had sensed in Merab seemed to have eased. The two women were so different that Taleh knew they would never be good friends, but she wanted them both to do well here. She believed the villagers saw them as a single unit, as if whatever one did fell upon the other, also. Somehow the slave boys were immune, perhaps by the very nature of their lack of status.

  Merab looked up at her from where she sat on the floor and smiled happily. Moving out of Sarah’s house would be good for her, Taleh saw. She had been unhappy with Sarah. The two did not get along well.

  Taleh worried that Obed would not be able to keep as close an eye on Merab as Sarah had done. He was gone most of the day, working with his father and brother. What would Merab do, left to her own devices?

  Sarah sat quietly while the others ate. Taleh thought Sarah would be glad they were going. Instead, the old woman acted as though she was sorry they were leaving. Surely that could not be. Having uninvited guests thrust upon one for a month, extra food to prepare, the constant bustle and lack of privacy, who would miss that?

  But there were tears in Sarah’s eyes.

  The meal was, if anything, noisier and more jovial than usual. Obed and Javan discussed work, and houses, and the best, most efficient way to transport their belongings. Merab said little, but she paid close attention to her husband, which relieved Taleh. Merab’s sulks often were about him, when he was not around.

  It would be good for everyone to get into their own homes.

  Javan carried down more sacks after he finished eating, loading most of them onto the donkeys. The sun hung low in the sky, and the nightbirds chirped to each other as they, too, settled into their nests. The moon glowed its first moments against the darkening sky,

  There remained one last thing to do. His wife stood quietly in the doorway, watching with large, dark eyes. He came back to her.

  “Think of me this night,” he whispered into her ear, resting his big, work-worn hands on her slender shoulders.

  “Yes.” Just one word, a single breath.

  He stepped quickly to the donkeys, waiting placidly under their heavy burdens.

  The journey to his land stretched before him, restful solace to his strained nerves. The donkeys tugged on their leads, starting slow as always. He had come to know the silly beasts well over this last month. The sacks gave muffled thunks with the first steps, adding to the soft evening sounds. Gentle as the night was, Javan found it hard to get started. This was different from leaving her in the morning. There was nothing to keep him occupied during the coming hours, only the night and his thoughts.

  Taleh watched Javan leave. How odd that, even though she was usually asleep before he came in, just knowing he would be there had been a comfort. She feared it would it be harder to go to sleep tonight, knowing he was not coming.

  Not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

  She turned away from the doorway only when he was out of sight. The night suddenly seemed barren. Her thoughts felt scattered, her movements aimless, activity pointless. All their belongings were packed, and most of them had gone with Javan. There was nothing for her to do, even if she had the concentration to do it.

  For once, Sarah brushed her attempts to help aside. Perhaps she needed work herself to keep her own mind busy. So Taleh paced through the house, not knowing what else to do.

 
The evening dragged into night. The sky grew black, and stars joined the moon. The air was rich with the scents of night, fig trees, dry ground, and animal smells from the busy day that slowly settled into quietness. Obed left for his own solitary night, and Merab joined Taleh in restless motion. Her own work done, Sarah just sat, a knowing smile on her face.

  At last Taleh could no longer avoid going into the room. Javan had taken more than she realized. Only three sacks remained, and one pallet. Without warning, her heart began beating faster. The enormity of tomorrow, of the step she would take, became real.

  Tomorrow she would become Javan’s wife in fact as well as name.

  The night crept past on slow-moving feet while Taleh stared into darkness. Finally exhaustion claimed her, and she slid into sleep.

  The morning sun sent its usual welcome through the lattice. When she opened her eyes, she saw Javan sitting on the floor beside her.

  “It is time to go,” he said.

  Time to go. Yes, it was that and past, she supposed.

  “How long have you been waiting?” she asked inanely.

  Javan gave a muffled laugh. “I just arrived, but as for waiting . . . I think we have both waited long enough. Gather your things.”

  “There is something,” Taleh replied quickly. She felt oddly lighthearted. Javan looked younger, more carefree. He had bathed, his hair was still darkened with dampness in places, and she had never seen the robe he wore. She smothered a smile, for in one of the sacks was a new robe for herself. How funny, after seeing each other dirty, sweaty, and bloody, that they should still need to make this effort to please the other.

  “I have brought you some water.” Javan laughed again, a joyous sound for all he kept it quiet, and caught her head in his hands. He kissed her quickly, then, all soft lips and tickling mustache, fleeting like a bird on the wing. “I will wait for you downstairs. Please do not take too long.” He rose in a rush and left, leaving the sacks behind.

  Taleh scrabbled through the sacks, finding the new robe in the last one. She scrubbed her face and body until they glowed. Then she put on the robe, the blue of the morning sky, simple in design. She had added the required fringe, and the blue thread that bordered the bottoms of all the robes here. The linen felt smooth and cool.

  Her short hair was already dry, and she pulled on a headdress quickly. Her sandals were worn, but they were all she had for her feet. With one last adjustment of the belt, a final tug and pull, she was ready. She lifted the lightest sack, pushed aside the leather curtain, and walked down the stairs.

  Javan stood by the door, his posture tense, like an over-stretched rope. Very few people moved about. The air was still cool, and dew sparkled on the leaves of the trees. Sarah was not in sight, and Taleh wondered if she was still asleep.

  Javan turned at the sound of her sandals scuffing on the floor, and looked at her like a starving man at a banquet.

  “There are still two sacks in our room.” Taleh whispered in the quiet. If Sarah still slept, she decided she did not want to wake her. This leave-taking belonged to the two of them, Javan and herself.

  Taleh wanted to see what was along their journey to her new home, but could not take in much. Small hills rolled endlessly like impediments in their way. Trees grew along the hard-packed path, thin poplar, sweet-smelling cedar, wild fig and olive trees, the low-growing thorny lotus, and more. In the valleys, flowers danced in the wind, huge patches of color, pinks, yellows, blues, and whites. Birds circled overhead, and flitted between the trees, calling to each other by screech and song.

  But, other than the vague outline, Taleh was blind and deaf to what was around her. She saw only Javan, heard only his voice and his breathing, smelled only his fresh-washed fragrance, warming into something uniquely his own, sun-touched skin, breeze-tossed hair.

  The sun rose higher in the sky as they walked, coming up behind them, casting their shadows in front of them, Javan’s longer and broader, Taleh’s oddly thin in comparison. They walked toward themselves, always chasing, never catching. Like the past month, pursuing an elusive goal.

  Unlike the shadows cast by the rising sun, their goal came suddenly into view. Around the grove of trees, the scene widened to show Taleh a house, white stone blinding in the sun. The lattices had been thrown open. A single story high, it had a flat roof with a parapet guarding the edge. A wooden door faced them, with a fire burning low a few steps outside.

  Far off to one side, smaller houses stood. Unlike theirs, these were made of wood, slaves’ quarters. Rock and timber fences crept away from sheds that held sheep and goats. Donkeys grazed happily farther back, where pasture met orchard. Trees, some heavy with fruit, marched in straight rows toward the sprawling forest, a blue-green shadow in the distance.

  Javan let her look for the briefest moment, and then hurried her to the house. Despite the opened lattices, the room was dim, and Taleh stood still, waiting for her eyes to adapt. A table with low benches, shelving along the wall with clay jars lined up, covered, their contents hidden. The scent of olive oil in the lamps clung to the air. Rush baskets were piled haphazardly against another wall, in the middle of which hung a curtain.

  Javan urged her toward it.

  The lattices in this room were still shut, but Taleh had no trouble making out the bed. Long and wide, with a pallet stuffed full on top, it was made of planked wood standing a bare handwidth off the floor. No one had used it. No form had been pressed into the pristine surface. A white linen sheet lay across it, waiting to be spread open. Blankets lay rolled against the wall, for the day was already too hot for them.

  He let go of her hand, and went over to the bed, picked up the sheet, and spread it across the pallet. Taleh heard the crackling of the rush filling as he fitted the sheet around the edges.

  “I will give this sheet to you,” he said as he worked. “It normally goes to the bride’s parents as proof of her virginity, but you have no one left. Instead, I want you to have it.”

  When he was done, he held out his hand. “Come, Taleh.”

  Now that her time of adjustment was over, the nerves she had firmly held at bay came back with a vengeance.

  “Surely you know what happens between a man and a woman? It is nothing to fear. I will do everything in my power to make this first time easy for you.”

  She watched him cross the room, their room, to her. She could not remember how to breathe.

  This was right, she told herself.

  This was frightening.

  This was his due.

  This was so very final.

  He had been patient. She wished he would wait longer.

  He was her husband. There was no turning back now.

  The warmth of his mouth passed lightly over her eyebrows, and lingered on her forehead before moving again. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close in tender embrace. His lips met her own, nibbling, teasing.

  She relaxed in spite of herself. She did so like his kisses.

  “I can promise you it is nothing to cause this much fear, but you will not believe me until it is over.” His voice was mild, low and soothing. “Do you trust me?”

  She looked up at him, so big and beautiful. Did she trust him? “Yes.” The single word came out on a tiny breath of air.

  “Good. Now let us begin.”

  C H A P T E R 19

  The feel of rain teased the air. Moisture hung heavily, oppressively, waiting for the signal to fall.

  Javan lay in his bed, his wife wrapped in his arms. In the dimness, he feasted on her face. Her lips were red, still swollen from his attentions. Her lashes lay in dark crescents against her cheeks. Faint shadows left their tired color under her eyes.

  He longed to soothe the exhaustion away. A finger moved of its own will toward her brow, where a small frown puckered the skin. He wanted her dreams to be happy ones, and worried about what she saw in her sleep that put it there. His finger stopped just short of touching her, fearful of waking her before she was ready.

&n
bsp; He traced her features in the air, hovering just above the surface, comforting himself with the memory of touch. Her lashes had been soft as the softest feathers, her nose smooth and flawless. Her lips were kinder to his own than the first petals of spring.

  The day called and, duty’s faithful slave, he forced himself to rise. There was work to do, and it promised rain. It was early yet for the rainy season to being in earnest, but unless he misread the signs, they would be getting a warning shower.

  He was grateful for the strong shoulders and backs of his slaves. They had done the work of men this past month. His neat orchards and careful fences attested to their efforts.

  But the fields had yet to be plowed and planted. Some of the trees had not been relieved of their fruits. They would not wait much longer before the fruit spoiled.

  He had the responsibility to set the example, both for his slaves and his wife. A farm was no place for sluggards. He looked down at the sleeping face of his wife, and saw again the dark circles under her eyes.

  This one day she would sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin her duties.

  Taleh woke with a start. Wakefulness was welcome. Something ugly from her dreams tainted her, then slipped away, leaving vague dread. She looked about uncertainly, searching for the ephemeral menace that had filled her dreams.

  But no devils lurked in corners. She was in Javan’s room, in Javan’s house. She was safe here.

  Taleh sat up slowly.

  Taleh sat up slowly, wincing at the unfamiliar soreness and stiffness. She wondered how long she slept, and where her husband was. Her robe lay across the room where it had landed.

  What kind of man had her parents in mind for her? It was an old question. They must have been waiting for something, or she would have been married off before, and she was fiercely glad it had not happened. Perhaps they had meant to marry her to someone incapable of making her happy, someone with much gold and no heart. “Oh, Father,” she said aloud to the empty air, “who did you want for me?”