Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  “You are persistent,” he said. “How did you get in?”

  She put down her sack and squeezed water from the front of her robe.

  “Through the river?” He chuckled. “Clever girl. The guards did not see you come back, did they?”

  “Are you afraid of them?”

  “I am in charge here.”

  “When I mentioned Sallan’s name, your expression showed fear.”

  “Caution is not the same as fear. I do not want any trouble here.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The trouble one should expect when a Hebrew girl with a ring on her finger shows up alone and starts asking questions about long-forgotten names, and the trouble of an angry husband, who must be close behind.”

  “Does it justify telling the guards to ravage me?”

  “They are too lazy for that, but when your husband shows up, they will remember that I sent you away. Now, what do want from me?”

  “Sallan warned me you’d be suspicious.”

  “Sallan is dead,” he said. “I know that for a fact.”

  His manner of speaking was deliberate, like someone overcoming a stutter. His pronunciation of the Hebrew words was halting, yet easily understood. And best of all, he had just admitted that he knew Sallan!

  “Sallan is alive,” she said.

  “He was killed in Mitzpah by Canaanite raiders many years ago. I have inquired with several travelers, and they all said that everyone was killed that day. There were no survivors. You are lying. What do you really want?”

  “It’s true that his owner died, but Sallan didn’t. He’s now owned by Judge Zifron in Emanuel, where he runs the basket factory.”

  “The Zifron baskets?”

  Deborah pulled the basket she’d made from her sack.

  He examined it, feeling the weave with his fingers, which were long and delicate. “Triple stalks,” he said. “Subtle, but very effective.”

  “Is your name Kassite?” She held her breath.

  He looked up from the basket. “What did you say?”

  “Are you Kassite?”

  He grunted and turned his attention back to the basket. He sniffed it, turned it around, and sniffed again. “A tiger from the desert. What a marvelous scent.”

  Impressed that he could smell anything in this odorous place, she pulled the tiger tail from the sack. “Sallan has the rest of the skin in his quarters. We sat on it together the night I left Emanuel.”

  Slowly moving the long tail near his nostrils, he inhaled, taking the scent in with total concentration, his expression bordering on awe. When he put the tiger tail down in his lap, his eyes were moist. “The smell of home,” he said hoarsely.

  “That’s what Sallan said.”

  His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Sallan is dead. You want to trick me.”

  “No.”

  “What is your scheme? What do you hope to steal?”

  “Nothing. I have no scheme.”

  “Are you scouting the place for your husband? Is he an enemy of Orran? Is this another tribal skirmish in the making?” The manager groaned with frustration. “These Hebrew tribesmen never stop bickering.”

  “Sallan predicted your doubts. He gave me a secret code.”

  “A code?”

  “He said it would convince you, because no one else in the world knows what it means.”

  The manager waved in dismissal. “Enough with the tricks, girl. Go away before I call the guards.”

  “Thirteen hundred and thirteen.”

  His hand froze in midair, and he whispered, “What did you say?”

  “Thirteen hundred and thirteen.”

  He pulled off his hat, revealing a thick mane of white hair, and turned his face up, blinking rapidly. The corners of his mouth curled downward, his lips trembled, and tears began to flow down his cheeks. Pressing the tiger tail to his chest, he sobbed quietly.

  Deborah lowered her eyes, looked at her hands, and waited for him to calm down.

  Finally, his sobs subsided.

  She reached over and pressed his hand. “I hope these are tears of joy.”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Joy and disbelief.”

  The slaves lit up torches and continued to work all around the tannery, none of them staring or standing idle even for a moment.

  He sniffled. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “Sallan was a free man,” Deborah said. “He lived in a beautiful city with his parents and sisters, but on one of his travels, marauders captured him. While in their captivity, Sallan befriended a man named Kassite. The two of them tried to escape, but the marauders caught them and cut off each man’s left foot and both ears.”

  “Yes, yes,” the manager said quietly. “The harsh men of Moab did that.”

  “It happened about eighteen years ago. Sallan was sold to a merchant from Mitzpah, whereas Kassite was sold to Orran of Manasseh.”

  “What has happened to Sallan since then?”

  “As I said, he runs a basket factory for Judge Zifron, the ruler of Emanuel.”

  The manager wiped more tears.

  “Please tell me,” she said. “Are you Kassite?”

  He knocked his left foot against the leg of the chair, producing the hollow sound of wood against wood. He slipped his fingers under his long, white hair on both sides of his head and pushed the hair up, exposing his ears—or what was left of his ears after they had been cut off.

  “It’s you,” she said, her voice choking.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am Kassite.”

  Even though Deborah had already guessed it, hearing him say his name out loud flooded her with delight and relief. She had succeeded! She had found the Elixirist!

  “No one,” he said, “has called me Kassite in many years.”

  “What do they call you here?”

  “Master.”

  “Master,” she repeated. “I like it.”

  He gestured at the gate and the path that went up to the main road. “You came here from Emanuel?”

  Deborah nodded.

  “By yourself?”

  “It’s a long story. Today I walked down from Aphek.”

  He signaled to one of the women, who brought a piece of cheese, a chunk of bread, and a wooden cup of water. Deborah ate quickly while Kassite watched in silence. When she was done, they walked to the water’s edge.

  Kassite looked out at the dark river. “On that day in Shiloh, when they sold Sallan and me to different owners, I lost my only friend in the world.”

  The gravity of emotion in his voice made her shudder. “He’ll be happy beyond belief to know you’re alive.”

  Kassite turned to her. “What was that?”

  “When Sallan hears that you’re alive, he’ll be happy beyond belief.”

  Kassite smiled. “When will you go back to tell him?”

  “Going back isn’t so simple,” she said. “My journey from Emanuel, searching for you, has been filled with horrors and disasters. I barely made it here alive.”

  “I am surprised you’ve survived.”

  “Yahweh’s grace,” she said.

  “The Hebrew God?”

  “He saw that I was pursuing my True Calling and paved my way to you.”

  “What is your name?”

  “I’m Deborah, daughter of Harutz of Ephraim.”

  “And what is your True Calling, Deborah, which I am supposed to help you realize?”

  After all that had happened during her search for the Elixirist, now that she faced the man in the flesh, her words had to be chosen carefully to ensure that he would agree to help her.

  “Speak up,” he said. “Do not be afraid.”

  “I don’t want to be a woman anymore.”

  “Is that so?” He sighed. “You expect a lot from me.”

  “Not more than what you did with the women of Edom in order to defeat an Egyptian army and save your king.”

  He picked up a smooth stone and tossed it far into
the water, where it skipped a few times before sinking. “Sallan told you that I had been responsible for that famous event?”

  “A friend told me the story. A boy my age.” She paused, letting the pain of Barac’s loss pass. “He’s dead now, murdered by Judge Zifron’s son. At first, I thought the story was a myth, an exaggeration, but Sallan confirmed it. He said that you are the Elixirist, the man who saved Edom from the Egyptians.”

  “Sallan said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He told me of the injustice you had suffered when King Esau the Eighteenth rewarded you for saving his throne by locking you up deep underground in isolation.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Sallan also told me how you helped the guard recover his ability to hear and speak, and in return the guard let you go, though you soon lost your freedom again when the marauders captured you—the same marauders who also enslaved Sallan, punished both of you after your failed escape, and later sold you at Shiloh.”

  Kassite tossed another small stone across the water, making it skip six times before it sank. “I do not remember Sallan to be so carelessly loose with his tongue.”

  Deborah searched the ground and found a flat stone that the river had rubbed smooth. She pitched it in a course parallel to the water. It hit once, leaped over a great distance, and then skipped several times in decreasing gaps until it sank.

  “Impressive. Can you do it again?”

  She found another flat stone and managed to make it skip even more times, far enough that it disappeared in the dark while still skipping.

  Kassite smiled. “You already have a boy’s arm.”

  “I grew up throwing rocks, though not over water.” Deborah picked up another small stone, but didn’t throw it. “Will you help me?”

  Turning his back to the water, Kassite surveyed the tannery, where the slaves continued to work without interruption. “There was nothing here,” he said. “Orran bought the land, sent me here with ten Philistine slaves and a pile of bloody cowhides, and told everyone to call me Master. That was eighteen years ago. Now, look at this place.”

  “It’s a big operation,” she said.

  “The largest tannery in the land. Only the Philistines in Ashkelon have a larger one, but even they don’t make as many products as us.” He adjusted his hat. “This tannery has been my life for a long time—a very good life, actually.”

  “Except for the stench.”

  Kassite chuckled. “There is an old saying among pig growers in Edom: ‘One man’s stench is another man’s perfume.’”

  Deborah had never seen a pig, and it was hard for her to imagine anyone mistaking the tannery stench for perfume, but she understood what he meant.

  “Look at all my workers, everything they do.” He waved his hand across the tannery. “Each one of these men and women, every job they do and every task they complete are planned by me, directed by me, and produce the results I expect.”

  “And Orran rewarded you with freedom?”

  A cloud crossed Kassite’s face. “No. I am still a slave, and the profits from my tannery go into Orran’s pockets, not mine.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “In every other respect, though, I am very content. No one tells me what to do, and I am in charge of all these men and women, who bow to me as if I were their owner. It is almost as good as being a free man. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. If he was trying to impress her, it was working, but she hadn’t come here to learn about the production of leather or to admire his skills in running a tannery. She’d come here because he was the Elixirist.

  “I understand,” she said. “Can you help me?”

  He tilted his head doubtfully. “How did you know to look for me here?”

  “Sallan told me about the records of slave trading in Shiloh. I went there and managed to discover that you’d been sold to Orran.”

  “Why did Sallan help you?”

  “We made a bargain. I promised that, after I found you and won your help, I’d return to Emanuel and free Sallan from Judge Zifron’s bondage.”

  “Now it makes sense.” He looked up at the dark sky for a long moment before turning back to face her. “Sallan must be terribly anxious to go home, taking such a risk with your life, and with mine.”

  “Your life won’t be at risk. All I’m only asking is that you make for me the same elixir you’d made for the women of Edom, so that I can be free. Helping Sallan gain his freedom in Emanuel is my promise to keep, my risk to take, not yours.”

  Kassite sighed. “When you are young, the world gives you the illusion that it is a simple place. But the world is not simple at all. You see, Sallan was not relying on you to obtain his freedom. He was relying on me.”

  Finally Deborah understood why Kassite had boasted of the tannery he’d built here and the good life he enjoyed while running it. Her arrival today, and the news she had brought that Sallan was alive, meant that Kassite might have to give up everything for his old friend’s freedom.

  “You don’t have to risk anything,” she argued. “Give me the elixir, and I’ll be gone.” She waved toward the gate. “Freeing Sallan will be my problem.”

  “Enough!” He leaned over her, glaring, his finger in her face. “How dense are you, girl? If not for Sallan, I would have thrown you out the gate right away and left you at the guards’ mercy!”

  Deborah stepped back, shocked by his sudden fury, and watched him limp back to the pavilion, where he rang the bell several times.

  The slaves stopped working and lined up for the evening meal. They received bread and meat again, as well as cups of hot drink. Every slave went before Kassite, who was sitting in his chair, and bowed. Kassite responded with a nod and an occasional word or two. As far as Deborah could tell, no one noticed her, standing alone in the dark at the water’s edge in her hooded robe, the sack at her feet.

  The men settled down under the pavilion, talking quietly to each other while they ate and drank. The female slaves took their food back to the downriver side of the tannery. They raised the curtains at their pavilion to let in the evening breeze from the river.

  After dinner, two torches were left burning in front of each pavilion. The slaves put down straw mats and went to sleep in long rows. A woman brought Kassite a cup. He remained in his chair and took small sips while the tannery quieted down.

  Deborah waited, battling anxious thoughts and festering doubts. Had his fury subsided? Had he made a decision, or was he still enraged by the choice she had forced on him? Would he throw her out, as his parting words had threatened, or would he help her? After all she had gone through to find Kassite, it was maddening to find that he could be so cruel as to contemplate discarding her to be brutally abused by the guards. Had he really meant it? She stared at him, but his face was inscrutable in the flickering flames of the torches, and then her tears blurred the view altogether.

  Chapter 36

  When all the slaves were asleep, Kassite left the pavilion. Deborah expected him to walk over to where she waited, but he went straight to the short bridge connecting the riverbank to the house. A servant appeared at the door, holding a lamp. Kassite paused and looked in Deborah’s direction. She shouldered her sack, barely able to restrain herself from running to him and begging for his help.

  A long moment passed.

  Kassite’s hand rose and waved her over.

  Deborah grabbed her sack and hurried along the riverbank, her sandals pressing into the soft mud. She stopped at the foot of the bridge, facing him. “Will you help me?”

  “I am of two minds,” he said. “Send you out the gate into the guards’ hands, or toss you in the water to feed the crocodiles.”

  His tone was impassive, but the glow of the lamp on his face revealed bemusement.

  “Difficult choice,” she said. “Do I get to choose?”

  He chuckled. “Shall we discuss it inside?”

  Deborah hesitated. She was unnerved by his e
arlier fury and even more by his joking about the two ways he could dispose of her. Kassite tilted his head at the door, which the servant held open. She relented and entered, half-expecting to be grabbed, tied up, and thrown to her death, one way or the other.

  A table was set for two with plates, knives, and a burning lamp. Another servant waited inside. The two resembled Sallan’s light-skinned boy-servants but were at least ten years older.

  Closing the door, Kassite said, “You may remove your scarf and lower your hood now.”

  She did, making sure her hair was tied properly.

  An effigy of Qoz, like the one in Sallan’s quarters, stood on a pedestal near the table. Its buffed copper was shining, and its open eyes were blank. The servants stood aside, their heads bowed, and Kassite placed a bowl of food in front of Qoz.

  “We thank you,” he said, “the mighty Qoz, supreme master of the world, for the food you deigned to share with us, as well as for guarding us from illness and injury. May you keep us safe until it is our time to join the gods in eternity.”

  Sitting down at the table, Kassite pointed at the other chair.

  “Me?” Deborah felt her face flush. “I’m not hungry.”

  “A proper meal is more than a way to quench hunger.” Kassite poured wine into both cups. “With good food, you open a guest’s mouth, and with good wine, you untie his tongue.”

  She sat down and moved the chair closer to the table. “Thank you.”

  “I should thank you. I rarely have the opportunity to entertain company here.”

  Why was he suddenly nice to her? Where had his anger gone? Deborah tried to read his face, but saw nothing alarming. He raised his cup, she did the same, and they drank. The wine was stronger than she was used to, but also sweet. She felt warmth spread inside her.

  The servants began to bring the food. The first dish looked like a slice of meat, but it was white and flaky. Something stung her tongue and she pulled it out. It was a small bone, almost as thin as a hair.

  “River fish,” he said. “They are skinny and full of bones.”

  “I had fish at Sallan’s quarters. It had no bones and tasted sweeter than this.”

  “Lemon and salt,” he said. “That is all we use. They don’t serve fish regularly in Emanuel?”