Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  Should she call for help? If he recovered, Seesya’s version of events would be the only one that mattered. As a rebellious wife, guilty of trying to kill her husband, her punishment would be stoning. And if Seesya died, her account of what had happened would likewise be of no use. Either way, she would pay with her life. No, she couldn’t call for help.

  With great effort, Deborah pushed him off, took a few breaths, and got up. How long did she have before he recovered or someone came looking for him?

  She knelt over Vardit, who was breathing normally as if she were asleep. Deborah was relieved. She collected her sack, put in the fire-starters, and ran out of the room.

  Halfway down the stairs, she turned and went back up. The torch, leaning against Vardit’s back, still burned, its flame dangerously close to her hair. Deborah picked it up. In its flickering light, she saw that the blood had stopped oozing from Seesya’s ears and was starting to congeal. He snorted, but didn’t move.

  Deborah grabbed Vardit’s scarf and travel robe and put them on. She snuffed the torch by stomping on it, and ran out, her sack over her shoulder.

  The courtyard was empty and dark, except for two torches, one at each end. The sky, however, had begun to brighten with first light. The city gates would open at sunrise, which was coming soon. She wanted to go immediately, but paused to think. The sentries at the gates would pay no attention to her as long as she blended in with the first rush of workers and merchants exiting the city at the start of the day.

  First, she went to the well, scooped up wet dirt from the ground, and smeared it on her face, covering her light skin thoroughly. Second, from the piles of empty baskets resting against the wall of the storage room, she took five baskets, packed one inside the other, and carried them against her chest.

  Under the great silver menorah, the heavy doors to the street were locked. After a moment of panic, she found the large bronze key hanging on the wall. Careful not to make noise, she unlocked the doors and exited the courtyard, pausing to touch the mezuzah scroll and kiss her fingertips.

  Walking down the hill, Deborah passed Nehoshtan’s closed door. Near the gates, she joined a group of workers, using the baskets to partially hide her face.

  As she passed through the gates, Deborah heard distant shouting from behind. Ignoring it, she hurried to the fairgrounds and melted into the dense mass of pilgrims’ tents and merchants’ caravans. Everyone was getting up to start the day. Men added wood to the fires and cared for the animals, women fetched water and prepared food, and babies cried, eager for their morning meal.

  The shouting had reached the gates, but Deborah didn’t look back. Keeping her head low, she made her way through the fairgrounds to the very back. The lepers’ camp was still there. She ran across the empty strip of land separating it from the fairgrounds and found Miriam sitting by her tent, drinking from a clay mug.

  “I need to hide,” Deborah said.

  Miriam lifted the flap of the tent.

  It was dark inside and smelled of incense. A pair of yellow eyes blinked at Deborah, and she recoiled before recognizing a cat. She put down the baskets and adjusted her scarf over her face. From her sack, she pulled out the wool blanket and covered herself with it as she curled up in the corner. The cat sniffed her blanket and pawed at her sack, probably smelling the tiger tail.

  Not a minute later, Deborah heard horses ride by, men shouting as they searched around the fairgrounds and among the campsites. The other lepers came out of their tents and exchanged hushed words with Miriam.

  Seesya’s voice sounded nearby, hoarsely commanding his soldiers. They went back and forth across the fairgrounds, searching each caravan, wagon, and tent. She heard the soldiers ride near the lepers’ camp several times, but they didn’t stop. Moments later, they were off to search the surrounding hills and dry ravines.

  Only then, when Deborah’s pursuers were gone and the hundreds of people at the fairgrounds resumed their noisy morning activities, did her body begin to shake. The shaking grew worse and her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. Choked sobs forced their way out. Seesya’s attack replayed in her mind, his torch in her face, his hands clenching her throat. She hugged her knees tightly, shaking and crying, her face buried in her sack to silence her sobs.

  The cat rubbed against her arm, and she caressed it. Up close, she could see its colors—patches of black and white. It purred, and she remembered the odd sound Seesya had made when she hit his ears with the fire-starters the first time, the way his eyes widened when she hit him a second time, and how, when she hit him a third time, his face twisted, his lips pulled back, and his teeth showed the way an old man would clown around to make children laugh. Deborah smiled at the memory of that comical expression on Seesya’s face, the way he glared at her and how, after the final ear pounding, he uttered that strange moan while his eyes rolled up in his head.

  Through her tears, Deborah giggled. She turned her face away from her sack, filled her lungs with the fresh morning air, and laughed openly and loudly until exhaustion took over and she fell asleep.

  Chapter 29

  The cat woke Deborah up by pawing at her sack, which served as her pillow. She reached into the sack and pulled out the tiger tail. The cat meowed and ran out of the tent. She adjusted her scarf to make sure it covered her hair and most of her face, and stepped out. She was surprised to see the sun setting, which meant she had slept the whole day.

  Miriam was cooking over a small fire. In the fairgrounds, merchants closed the last deals of the day while their women prepared the evening meal and got the children ready for the night. Many of the pilgrims had left, and she saw no soldiers.

  Miriam offered her a bowl of meat and barley.

  Deborah hesitated.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Miriam said. “It’s our curse. You won’t become afflicted merely by looking at us or by eating with us.”

  Deborah felt very hungry. She took the bowl and ate, emptying it quickly.

  Miriam stirred the pot over the fire. She noticed Deborah staring at her bandaged hands. Putting down the wooden spoon, Miriam unwrapped the cloth from her right hand. Three fingers were missing, and tumors dangled from her forearm, stretching the skin.

  Deborah flinched at the sight. “Yahweh’s mercy,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

  “God makes us in His image, and then afflicts us with a curse that mutilates the divine image.” Miriam wrapped her hand with the cloth. “Worse yet, He also gives the curse to those we love, and we must watch them suffer and die for our sins. Difficult to understand, isn’t it?”

  Recalling her own suffering and the loss of her parents and Tamar, Deborah nodded. “His decisions don’t always seem merciful, but I think there are reasons we don’t know about. I hope to find out one day.”

  “How will you find out?” Miriam chuckled. “You expect Yahweh to give you an explanation?”

  “I will hear His voice.”

  “Really? When?”

  Deborah couldn’t tell whether the leper woman was mocking her or was genuinely interested. “I don’t know,” she said. “When I’m ready.”

  The other lepers sat around the fire and ate. It was hard to guess their gender or age under the heavy black clothing and veils, except for a young man of twenty or so, whose exposed face wasn’t deformed. He was small and wiry and ate quickly with a spoon, while the others held their bowls with their bandaged hands and slurped the food directly into their mouths.

  “This is Deborah,” Miriam told them. “She’ll be our guest for a little while.”

  A mix of dark eyes and empty eye sockets turned to her.

  “I’m Ramrod,” the young man said. “What happened? Was the fat priest angry that you called us over with our offerings? Was he going to whip you? Is that why you ran away?”

  Taken aback by his intense questioning, Deborah only shook her head.

  “This is my sister’s son,” Miriam said. “She died of the curse, as did her husband and other children.
Ramrod was still a baby when—”

  “I can tell her about myself,” he said. “I’m not a child.”

  “Then act like an adult,” Miriam said, “and stop pestering our guest with questions.”

  He smiled at Deborah and continued eating.

  When darkness descended, the lepers returned to their tents, some of them limping heavily. Ramrod added wood to the fire while Miriam cleaned the bowls and the pot before rejoining Deborah.

  “Thank you for taking me in,” Deborah said. “You saved me from a certain death.”

  “Was it the young man with the scar?”

  “Yes.”

  “I could see his rage when he was searching for you. Our old priest used to quote the scriptures: ‘Evil dominates man’s heart from his youth.’ I’ve witnessed many proofs of that sad truth.”

  “I’m sorry to put you at risk.”

  “Risk?” Miriam chuckled. “We’re not afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Killing ourselves would be a sin, but otherwise, death would be a welcome release.”

  Deborah was shocked. People usually dedicated every effort to survival. “I don’t want to have your blood on my hands. I’ll leave tonight.” She reached into her sack and found the small purse Obadiah had given her in Emanuel. She poured the coins into her palm and held them out. “Please take as much as you want.”

  “Keep your money. You’ll need it, and what we need from you is something different.” Miriam leaned forward. “Have you prayed for us yet?”

  The guilt almost made Deborah lie, but she couldn’t. “Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  The question was simple, but the answer wasn’t, considering all that had happened to her since Miriam had seen her praying by the roadside the night before last. Deborah cringed at the memory of running up the hill, giddy with excitement at the prospect of following the information she had discovered about Kassite’s sale to Orran, the tanner in Aphek, only to enter Shatz’s courtyard and find Seesya there. The elder priest’s quote of Yahweh’s words still rankled in her mind: “And to the woman God said: I shall multiply your pain and agony; in anguish you shall bear children; always you shall lust after your husband, and he shall reign over you.” Had it really been only two days? It seemed much longer.

  “Tell me, Deborah. Why haven’t you prayed for us yet?”

  With sudden clarity, the answer came to her. “Because Yahweh has forsaken me!”

  And with those five simple words, all the disappointment and sorrow that had built up inside Deborah erupted in a torrent of sobs that made her sway back and forth. She cried bitterly for her wise father and loving mother, for beautiful Tamar and brave Barac, for the loss of Palm Homestead and the home she had loved, for Zariz, who had left her, and for Vardit, who had been powerless to help her, for the ugliness of her false marriage and the terrible loneliness that was her lot now.

  The cat came over and rubbed against Deborah’s leg. Its pointy face, divided down the middle between white and black, was like an image of good and evil. She scratched its back while her sobs subsided and her tears dried up.

  “Your pain is great,” Miriam said.

  Deborah nodded. She noticed Ramrod, who sat on the far side of the fire, watching her.

  “Do you know why we keep a cat?” Miriam held up the bandaged hand. “It protects us from mice, like the ones that chewed my fingers off while I slept.”

  “What? How can that be?”

  “It’s the worst aspect of our curse,” Miriam said. “We lose the ability to feel pain.”

  “You don’t feel pain?” Deborah found that hard to comprehend. “A life without pain would be a wonderful gift!”

  “A gift? Mice chew our fingers and toes, fires burn our feet and hands, and boiling water peels our skin away—all before we notice anything.” Miriam shook her head. “Pain is the real gift from Yahweh, for without pain, there is no life. You should thank Him for this gift, for your ability to feel pain. And when you understand it, you will pray for us, for me and my fellow lepers, that we shall regain the gift of pain.”

  Deborah spent much of that night swathed in her blanket behind Miriam’s tent, looking up at the night sky and thinking about the gift of pain. The cat curled up on her legs, and sleep didn’t come until the early morning hours.

  She woke up when the sun was already up. The fairgrounds buzzed with morning activity. Miriam was cooking breakfast, and Ramrod was feeding the animals. The lepers had already packed up their tents and loaded everything on several carts. Each two-wheeled cart was hitched to a donkey. The goats and sheep were tied up with a rope behind one of the carts.

  Miriam gave Deborah a cup of milk and a ball of goat cheese and sat beside her while she ate.

  “Who was that young man with the scar?” Miriam asked.

  “Seesya, son of Zifron.”

  “The judge who rules Emanuel?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard of him. People say Judge Zifron wants to become king of all Ephraim and rule over the Samariah Hills.”

  “I don’t know about these things.” Deborah nibbled at her cheese.

  “He left Shiloh this morning. I saw him ride off at sunrise.” Miriam pointed west. “In that direction.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “With a few soldiers, as well as an old priest and a woman.”

  “Did the woman seem in good health?”

  Miriam thought for a moment. “She sat straight on the horse, nothing unusual. Who is she?”

  “His mother.” Deborah was relieved to learn that Vardit was well. She finished the milk, put away the cup, and stuffed the wool blanket into her sack. She gave the empty baskets to Miriam. “It’s time for me to go.”

  “You’re going?” Ramrod stopped what he was doing. “By yourself? Where to?”

  “Aphek.”

  “All the way to Aphek? Do you think the roads are safe for a girl by herself?”

  “I have no choice. I must go to Aphek.”

  “Why Aphek? Do you have family there?”

  “There’s a man in Aphek who can help me gain my freedom.”

  “A man?” Ramrod tilted his head curiously. “Is he a judge? A priest?”

  Deborah laughed. “The opposite. He’s a slave.”

  “A slave?” Ramrod tightened the rope securing the load to one of the carts. “How could a slave help you?”

  It was a fair question, but she didn’t want to give away any more information. “He might not be able to. I’m not sure, but I have to try. It’s my only option. Can you tell me which direction to go?”

  Raising her wrapped hand, Miriam pointed. “The same road the son of Judge Zifron took, but he’s going to Emanuel, so he’ll turn left after half a day and go south.”

  “Or not,” Ramrod said. “What if he sets an ambush for you? What if he knows where you’re going?”

  “He doesn’t know where I’m going.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Deborah wanted to say yes, but the truth was, Shatz could find out about her inquiries from the slave warden and pass the information to Seesya, whose vengeful nature and doggedness could not be underestimated.

  On the other hand, she remembered what Obadiah of Levi had told Seesya in the bedroom at Shatz’s house: “I’ll testify that you have possessed her, and that she was a virgin.” To which Shatz had added, “There you go. You own Palm Homestead free and clear now. There’s no need for this craziness.” As angry as Seesya might be, he and his father had achieved their goal. Chasing her down wouldn’t serve any purpose, and catching her could lead to a trial that might expose the embarrassing truth about Seesya’s failure to perform on their wedding night. Perhaps he would cool down and realize that he was better off letting her escape and having her gone from his life. He might feel differently if he knew about her quest to find the Elixirist, become a man, and return to Emanuel to fight for Palm Homestead. But for now, there was a good chance that Seesya had resigned himself to
never seeing her again.

  “I’m not certain,” she said. “He might be able to find out about my intent to go to Aphek, but even then, he might just forget about me.”

  “Forget you?” Ramrod laughed nervously. “You really think that’s possible?”

  “My nephew is right,” Miriam said. “You’re not easy to forget.”

  “We could take you,” Ramrod said, glancing at his aunt, who nodded.

  “Seesya is a murderer,” Deborah said. “If he found me with you—”

  “Smear some ashes from the fire on your face, and make sure to cover most of it, as well as your hands. You’ll look like one of us.” Miriam signaled to the other lepers to get ready. “We won’t follow the main roads, especially with all the fighting between the tribes of Manasseh and Ephraim.”

  “Is Aphek involved in the fighting?”

  “Perhaps. I heard that Aphek itself belongs to the tribe of Ephraim, but the area around it belongs to Manasseh.” Miriam picked up the cat and got into one of the carts. “Yahweh brought you to us for a reason. Come, sit with me. We’re taking you to Aphek.”

  Filled with gratitude, Deborah remembered Nehoshtan quoting Shatz’s father: “When you pursue your True Calling, God provides the shortcuts.”

  They took narrow paths, goat trails, and dry streambeds. The two-wheeled carts were surprisingly sturdy under the weight of tents, food, and two or three people each. The donkeys kept their heads down and their legs moving. Ramrod steered the leading cart with the help of another leper, a short, one-legged man who occasionally pointed the way with a wrapped hand.

  Deborah rode with Miriam, who held the cat in her lap. Most of the hills they passed through were barren and uninhabited, and when they saw an occasional homestead, Ramrod found a way around it.

  By evening, they saw a town in the distance, sitting low in a valley under a heavy cloud of smoke.

  As they set up camp for the night, Deborah noticed two women climbing the hillside not far away. One was young and held a baby in her arms. The other was older, her back stooped, her hands grasping one cane each for support. Their clothes were torn and bloody, and their faces were blank, almost like wooden masks. When they saw the group of lepers, they came closer and sat on the ground some twenty steps away.