Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  The procession turned onto the main street and headed up the hill. People came out of the houses along the street to watch. Some of them joined the singing, as the words were familiar to all. The blacksmith, Nehoshtan, came out with his wife and children, and they watched her go by.

  The slow rocking made her queasy. She shut her eyes and tried to calm down. A memory came to her of riding the giant eagle in her sleep as it dropped through the clouds like a bird of prey on the attack. The vision was so vivid that she opened her eyes to make it go away. Had it been a forewarning about her helpless fall into a forced marriage, which would cut her life short as if she fell from the sky to the hard ground?

  The procession reached Shatz Ha’Cohen’s house and entered through the tall wooden doors under the great silver menorah. The Levites divided into two groups, creating a passage in the middle of the courtyard, and continued to tap the drums. The stable boys led the horse by the silver bridle to the firepit, and the servants helped her down.

  A modest wood-and-stone altar had been set up for the occasion. Obadiah stood beside the altar, leaning on his staff, breathing heavily from the hike.

  The singing stopped, and Shatz appeared at the doors to the main house, his arm interlocked with Seesya’s. Through the sheer veil, Deborah saw that Seesya had put on a clean black coat, embroidered with gold like the coat she’d seen his father wear, and had oiled his shoulder-length hair, combing it back from his scarred face.

  A servant brought over a white goat, its front and back legs bound together, and placed it on the altar. Lying on its side, the goat bleated and moved its legs back and forth in a futile attempt to run away.

  “We’re gathered here,” Shatz announced, “on this seventeenth night in the month of Av, to bind in marriage under Yahweh’s laws this man, Seesya, son of Zifron of Ephraim, to his betrothed bride, Deborah, daughter of Harutz of Ephraim.

  Seesya tugged at the lapels of his coat and shifted his shoulders as if he were uncomfortable in this non-militant outfit.

  “With this offering,” Shatz continued, “we ask Yahweh to sanctify this marriage, make the bride’s womb fertile, and give her many sons to continue her husband’s name.”

  Everyone chorused, “Amen.”

  Raising a knife over the goat’s neck, Shatz recited the traditional marriage blessing: “Blessed be Yahweh, our God, king of the world, who created man in His own image and made the woman to lust after her husband and obey him in all matters until death.”

  The goat bleated desperately as the servant lifted its tied legs so that its neck faced up. The knife came down and, with a single slice, opened the goat’s neck from side to side. The bleating ceased as blood burst from the severed neck, but the goat continued to jerk its legs back and forth rapidly while the servant struggled to hold the dying animal in place.

  A squirt of blood darted off in the struggle and stained Seesya’s cheek. He laughed, wiping it on his sleeve.

  Deborah groaned and looked away. The courtyard began to spin around her, and the numerous burning torches gradually gave way to darkness as she collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter 25

  When Deborah regained consciousness, she found herself in Seesya’s arms, her head on his shoulder, her veiled face in his oily hair.

  She convulsed and turned her face away. “Put me down!”

  “Look happy,” he said quietly, maintaining a wide smile while people showered them with seeds of wheat and barley.

  “Let me go!”

  “Shut up, or I’ll break your back on my knee.”

  Up three steps, he paused in front of the main entrance to the house and turned to face the full courtyard. A final volley of seeds flew at them, everyone clapped, the music grew louder, and the choir sang, “You, you shall be fruitful and multiply, you shall swarm the earth and procreate, you shall fill the land.”

  The singing continued in the courtyard while Seesya carried her into the main part of Shatz’s house. The floors were paved in blocks of limestone and the walls were smoothly plastered. Seesya’s steps echoed as he marched across the main room and down a hallway. Behind them, Obadiah walked more slowly, his oak staff tapping the hard floor.

  They entered a room. Seesya set her down on her feet. Vardit and two girl-servants were waiting. They took her behind a partition, removed her veil and scarf, and helped her out of the white dress and undergarments. They held up an oversize gown that was open in front, like a linen sheet with sleeves. This was her bed cloth, and it was stark white and clear of any blemish. She turned, put her arms through the sleeves, and closed the front lapels over one another to cover her nakedness.

  Seesya clapped. “Get on with it, women.”

  “She’s ready,” Vardit said, adjusting Deborah’s black-dyed hair around her shoulders so that it framed her face.

  They stepped out from behind the partition.

  “Look, Son,” Vardit said. “Look how beautiful she is.”

  Seeing Deborah without the veil and scarf for the first time, Seesya’s eyes widened and he burst out laughing. “In the name of Mott, what have you done to her? Wasn’t she ugly enough already?”

  Vardit’s face turned red.

  Deborah took her waterskin from Vardit’s hand. “I’ll be fine. You can leave now.”

  “Yes,” Seesya said. “Leave us.”

  Vardit and the two servant girls left the room and joined Obadiah outside. They would wait behind the closed door, as tradition dictated.

  “Look at this.” Seesya held up a lock of her hair, peering at it closely, shaking his head, still chuckling. “I was born of a stupid woman.”

  “Your mother’s only trying to help,” Deborah said.

  He slapped her across the face, throwing her to the floor.

  Dazed with shock, Deborah touched her burning cheek.

  Standing over her, he raised his hand for another strike. “Did I ask you a question?”

  “No,” she said. “You didn’t.”

  “Never speak unless I ask you a question. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a start.” Seesya grabbed her arm, pulled her up, and pushed her toward the bed. “Let’s get it over with.”

  The large bed had been made with soft linen sheets, oversized pillows, and wool covers. At the head of the bed, staring at her with beady eyes, were effigies of the Canaanite deities—Baal Ammon, the god of fertility, and his wife Ashtoreth, whose naked breasts and exposed genitals made Deborah look away.

  She sat on the bed, clutching the waterskin. “May I ask you a question?”

  He frowned but nodded.

  “We’re in Shiloh, the home of the Holy Tabernacle of Yahweh, who gave us the Ten Commandments, which include ‘You shall have no other gods before me,’ and ‘make any graven image or likeness—’”

  Seesya raised his hand over her, and Deborah scooted back on the bed.

  “That’s better,” he said. “No more talking.”

  She slipped the waterskin under the pillows, lay back, and closed her eyes. Her cheek hurt and her heart pounded, but she felt no fear. Heeding Sallan’s advice, she had come here with a strategy for survival, for living another day. She would escape again, renew her search for the Elixirist, and win real freedom.

  The sounds of Seesya taking off his clothes were followed by splashing water. She opened her eyes and saw him urinating into a clay bucket in the corner of the room, facing away from her. His back was white where it was usually covered with clothes and armor, though his buttocks were red, perhaps from spending so much time in the saddle.

  Seesya glanced over his shoulder and saw her looking. “What? Never seen a man urinate?”

  “Is this a question?”

  “Yes, it is.” He shook himself over the bucket. “You may answer.”

  “I saw a dog do it once. He did it while lifting his leg, but the sound was the same.”

  “Feisty, aren’t we?” He grimaced. “Turn away. I don’t want to see your face.”
/>
  She looked at the wall while he paced around the room and put out the lamps, leaving only a small one near the bed.

  Without warning, he grasped her legs and twisted her over, face down. “Get on all fours,” he said hoarsely. “Same as a dog.”

  She obeyed, and felt him lift the bottom of her bed cloth, exposing her rear.

  “Your skin’s like spoiled cheese,” he said, “with dots like heads of maggots.” He smacked her buttocks a few times.

  Deborah gritted her teeth at the pain but made no sound.

  He pressed his crotch against her, slapped her some more, and rubbed against her. His body odor made her sick, and she breathed deeply through her mouth, telling herself that the worst would soon be over. She could feel that he was limp, unable to penetrate her. She felt satisfaction, but also sadness, thinking of Tamar.

  “Little witch.” He smacked her buttocks some more. “You’re doing this to me on purpose, aren’t you?’

  “I’m doing nothing,” she said.

  “Get on your back!”

  Deborah turned, adjusted the bed cloth under her, and opened her legs while looking aside at the white wall.

  Seesya pinched her breasts.

  She yelped in pain.

  “Flat as unleavened bread. What are you, a boy?”

  “I wish.”

  He slapped her. “That was a question that didn’t need an answer.”

  “You’re hurting me,” she said.

  Slapping her again, harder, back and forth across her face, he yelled, “I told you to shut up!”

  Deborah clenched her teeth and pressed her lips together, determined not to give him the pleasure of her crying.

  “Moan!” He slapped her some more. “Moan!”

  She wouldn’t.

  “Moan, witch!” He hit her harder, switching hands, left and right across her face. “Moan!”

  It hurt like fire, and despite her best efforts, she began to cry.

  “That’s it! Cry!” He dropped on top of her, his crotch pressing down, and moved forcefully against her. Despite these exertions, he remained limp.

  Turning her face away from the stench of garlic his mouth exuded, she tried to imagine herself in a better place.

  “Cry, witch!” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard. “Scream!”

  She did, and as the middle of his body kept colliding against her, her screams sounded like broken bleats, as if she were a goat. He kept pulling her hair and pounding his midriff against her for what seemed like eternity, yet through all of it he remained limp and did not enter her.

  All of a sudden, he stopped moving, rolled off her, and howled like a man in great pain.

  Excited voices filtered through the closed door.

  Seesya got off the bed and started putting on his clothes.

  “That’s why Tamar didn’t bleed.” Deborah pulled the lapels of the bed cloth over to cover her nakedness. “You couldn’t perform.”

  He leaned over and whacked her on the face. “Keep your mouth shut!”

  “I’m as good as dead,” she said. “At least you can indulge me with answers.”

  “It’s all your fault,” he said. “I have no problem performing with ten whores in a single night, but the way you and your sister look, the same white, freckled face as your mother—”

  “My mother? You knew my mother?”

  He clenched a fist near her face. “One more word out of you, and your teeth will be scattered all over the floor.”

  Deborah cupped her mouth and yelled toward the door, “I discovered the reason why there’s—”

  Seesya punched her on the side of the head, and while she was momentarily stunned, he pulled a knife from a hip sheath and spoke in a low voice into her ear. “If you say anything, I’ll kill you, my mother, Obadiah, and the two servant girls. And then I’ll go outside and blame it on a couple of slaves, and kill them, too. Do you want all that blood on your hands?”

  Shaking her head, she whispered, “Don’t you fear Yahweh?”

  “Why should I?” Seesya grinned, tapping the blade on his forearm. “Yahweh loves me. All the gods love me. Otherwise, why would they give me power, wealth, and the future of a king?” He was about to sheath the knife, but held it out and showed it to her. “Do you recognize this knife?”

  She looked at the knife, which had a simple bronze blade and a wooden handle with carved lines running across it. She shook her head.

  “You don’t?” He laughed, putting it away. “My soldiers took it from your friend, Abinoam’s boy, before we chopped off his head and kicked it around like a ball.”

  The image of Barac’s head rolling in the dust was too terrible to bear. Deborah gripped her hands together, bit on her knuckles, and groaned.

  A knock came from the door, and Deborah started to rise.

  “Stay down!” Seesya pushed her back on the bed, turned her over roughly, pressed her wrists together behind her back, and tied them with a strap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You think I was born yesterday?” He pulled on the strap to make sure it was tight. “We all know about those old women’s tricks, busy fingers with long nails going where they shouldn’t.”

  “Untie me!”

  He turned her over so that she was sitting with her bound wrists out of sight. “That’s a good girl—as good as your sister.”

  Deborah was crushed by the realization—that’s why Tamar hadn’t been able to follow Vardit’s advice!

  Seesya headed to the door, pausing to straighten his coat.

  As overwhelmed as she was by the double shock of Barac’s death and Tamar’s tragedy, the smugness in Seesya’s voice ignited a fiery rage in Deborah. She was determined not to let him win again!

  Deborah slid her hips further back in the bed until her tied hands found the pillows. She slipped her fingers underneath and felt around for the waterskin.

  Seesya reached the door and prepared to unlock it.

  “Your hair,” Deborah said as her fingers touched the waterskin. “It looks like a horse tail soaked in piss.”

  He brushed his hair with his hands. “When I cast the first stone at you, I’ll aim at your mouth—that’s a promise.”

  By feel, she grasped the neck of the waterskin and pulled out the cork.

  Seesya unlocked the door.

  She tilted the waterskin and let it drain on the bed behind her buttocks.

  Pulling open the door, Seesya announced to those outside, “What did I tell you?”

  Deborah recorked the waterskin behind her back.

  “Same as her sister,” he said.

  She shoved the waterskin as far as she could under the pillows and scooted backward to sit on the wet area.

  Obadiah of Levi and Vardit entered the room.

  Seesya pointed at Deborah. “My new wife, the whore.”

  Deborah felt the wetness spread under her, soaking the bed cloth and the sheets. She leaned back, reclining on the pillows.

  Pushing past Seesya, Vardit approached the bed, followed by Obadiah. The servant girls lit up all the lamps.

  “I’m hurting badly,” Deborah said, tears flowing down her cheeks, which still burned from his beating. “Everything hurts.”

  “Look!” Vardit pointed, a smile spreading across her face. “There’s blood under her!”

  “What are you talking about?” Seesya hurried over.

  Deborah sat up with effort, shifting about to make sure the blood stuck to her private parts.

  “That’s impossible,” Seesya said.

  Deborah tilted her body sideways, lifting her bottom to reveal the sheets underneath.

  Obadiah bent and gazed closely. “This is the way a healthy maiden bleeds on her wedding night. Very good.”

  “I’m in pain,” Deborah said, which wasn’t a lie, though her pain wasn’t where they assumed it was. “All over,” she added.

  “That’s normal,” Vardit said.

  “Impossible!” Seesya was beside him
self. “She did something to herself!”

  “How could I?” Deborah turned to show them her bound wrists. “He tied me up.”

  Vardit groaned and released the knots.

  “A virgin,” Obadiah said. “No doubt about it.”

  “That’s right,” Vardit said. “A good girl.”

  “Very well.” The priest pounded his staff on the floor three times. “May Yahweh bless this marriage with many sons.” As he turned to leave, the figurines of the Canaanite deities caught his eye. He raised his cane and pushed them off the shelf.

  Vardit leaped forward and caught the effigies before they hit the floor. She wrapped them in a rag and put them away.

  Obadiah shook his head and left the room, followed by Seesya, who paused at the door and turned to glare at Deborah.

  “Good night, husband,” she said.

  He spat on the floor and left the room.

  “Come, my child.” Vardit helped her off the bed. “Let’s clean you up.”

  Reaching back, Deborah pulled the waterskin from under the pillows. Going behind the partition, she dipped a rag in a bowl of fresh water, washed the blood from her crotch and thighs, and put on the undergarments and dress.

  “He had tied Tamar’s hands, too,” she said. “That’s why she couldn’t scratch herself.”

  Vardit sighed. “The past is the past. Today, the gods helped my son perform his duty, and you bled as a healthy virgin. Praised be the gods.”

  Deborah hung the waterskin around her neck, pressing it to her chest in silent gratitude. She could feel the small chunks inside.

  As they prepared to leave the room, the door flew open and Seesya reappeared. “It’s a trick,” he yelled. “The witch did it!”

  “You tied her hands,” Vardit said. “How could she?”

  “Maybe you helped her again.”

  “How could I do such a thing? It’s madness.”

  “You left something here. I know it!” He pulled the pillows and covers off the bed, shaking them, then did the same with the stained sheets and the bed cloth. “Where is it?”