Fire and Flood

by Dawn Morris

  “For his betrayal in warning the enemy of the attack, Tammuz imprisoned Terah and his entire family,” Abram responded.

  “So he remarried?” Shem asked.

  “Yes, he remarried, and they have three children, one of them Sarai, my wife.”

  I turned to Sarai. “Where did they keep you?”

  “We were held in the palace dungeons for weeks. It was so terrible.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. She was a natural storyteller, and her voice was captivating. We listened attentively as she described the wretched conditions they lived in: little food and filthy water.

  Abram continued, “When Serug heard that his grandson had been imprisoned, he planned a daring rescue. As soon as we could make preparations, we left for Babylon with Serug’s army.”

  Sarai piped in, “The first man who entered our cell was Abram,” she said gratefully as turned to smile at her young husband. “He was covered with the blood of our captors, but I never saw a more handsome man. More of Serug’s soldiers came in, and they escorted us out of the city, and we escaped to Ur.”

  “Yes, and we married just a few months later!” Abram said.

  “We are grateful you have returned here,” Noah remarked warmly. “You have never been far from our thoughts since Serug took you away from us.”

  “Serug took much from us,” Shem added stiffly. He had never forgiven Serug for Nua’s death. Everyone seated grew still. Shem’s bitterness was shared by many of his family. Abram broke the stilted silence, quietly asking what else Serug had taken.

  I answered, “His men kidnapped Shem’s wife, Nua, up in the mountains. When Shem and some other men went to search for her, Serug came with his soldiers demanding you in return. They carried Nua out from their ranks and threw her battered body on the ground. She was alive but died later from her wounds.”

  “I am sure you knew nothing of this,” Laelah inserted quickly, laying a hand on Abram’s shoulder.

  “Serug is a brutal man. There is no charge against him I would doubt,” Abram said. “He serves a vicious, powerful god, Nergal, the moon god. Serug called upon him to help defeat the dragon-snake god, Marduk, and his servant, Tammuz.”

  Again, the family grew quiet and ill at ease.

  “And what is your opinion of these gods, Abram?” Noah asked.

  “They are not gods but evil creatures,” He bowed his head reverently. “Recently, the Creator spoke to me. He told me to come here with Sarai and learn from Noah and Shem so that one day I may pass on the history of the family to my own children.”

  “We are grateful for your return, Abram,” Shem reassured him kindly, easing the tension. “And grateful that you serve the Creator.”

  Abraham and Sarai lived among us in the mountain settlement for a few years. Abram helped tend the flocks, and Sarai helped me with my ever-expanding garden. I grew to love her like one of my own daughters. Her beauty was enhanced by a sweet nature and keen intellect. She quickly learned all I could teach her about midwifery and utilizing various plants and herbs to create healing medicines.

  “So I can just harvest some from the branch?” Sarai asked. We were in the woods foraging willow bark.

  “Yes, you don’t want to take bark from the trunk because it will affect the tree’s health. Just snip a few branches. We’ll take some from different trees.”

  “Once we get enough bark, what will we do with it? Make a tincture?”

  I nodded. “Yes, with some; the rest we’ll dry and store away. It’s the only thing that helps Laelah’s knee pain.”

  We chatted all the way back to the settlement. “Let’s make the tincture at Noah and Laelah’s house,” I suggested. “I think Abram is there today.”

  “Of course!” Sarai agreed; then she hesitated. “Before we return, can I ask you a question about a remedy?”

  “A while ago you were talking about mandrakes and, umm, how they can help a woman have a baby,” her voice cracked. “It has been years since Abram and I married and . . .” She stopped walking and bowed her head.

  “I didn’t want to ask you, dear, but I did wonder.” I put a hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s so embarrassing. The other women in the settlement whisper about it. I overheard one of them at the well saying that Abram should divorce me and take another wife.”

  “They should mind their own business!” I snapped. “Abram adores you, Sarai. I hope you don’t doubt his love.”

  “No, I know he loves me. He says he doesn’t care. But I don’t believe him. You’ve seen him playing with the children.” She lifted her head up and looked at me wistfully.

  I pulled her into my arms and hugged her.

  “Everyone else gets pregnant so easily, usually in the first year of marriage. Do you think the mandrake remedy will work?” Sarai looked at me earnestly.

  “Some say it does,” I spoke carefully. “I am sure you and Abram have prayed about this.”

  “Oh, so many times—every day. Sometimes, I look for signs, you know? Every time I see a pregnant woman, or a baby, I feel so jealous. Why is this happening to us?” I just hugged her tighter.

  When we got to the house, Abram was helping Laelah make bread. Noah sat at the table where they worked.

  “Finally!” Abram’s face lit up when Sarai and I entered the room. He greeted me warmly but pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her heartily on the mouth, getting flour all over her back.

  Noah teased them both, making Sarai’s face turn red. Abram laughed and moved back to the mixing bowl.

  I set my basket down and sat down at the table next to Noah.

  “Now that you’re back, Mother,” Abram said, “I have something to tell you. Noah and I were talking about my father.”

  I did not like the way this conversation was going. “And?” I responded warily.

  Abram took a breath. “You know, Mother, that he worships Marduk, the dragon-snake idol. After living here for the last few years, I feel like I’ve learned so much about the Creator from Noah, Shem, and you, Mother. Well, from all of you. I want to win my father’s heart to the Creator.”

  I was stunned. I just got you back. Terah doesn’t deserve you. I couldn’t speak my worthless words out loud, so I said nothing.

  Abram came and knelt in front of me, taking my hands in his.

  “Mother, you said that my mother believed. I know that one day, I will see her again. I want to have that same hope about my father.” I sat there looking into his dark eyes, which were pleading for me to give my blessing. So, I did.

  “I want you to have that hope, Abram. But,” I smiled down at him, “I’m going with you and Sarai.”

  FIRE

  Chapter 41

  . . . the kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.

  Proverbs 12:10

  Gabriella’s estate was just outside Jerusalem. As one of the inner circle, being Angelo Cain’s sister, she was shielded by her immense personal wealth from the deprivation faced by many in the world and the great power granted to those who personally served Emanuel Bellomo.

  At Gabriella’s, I lived in a proverbial gilded cage, actually a guesthouse set in a lavish garden. Perimeter walls kept me from running away. If I could manage to scale the walls, electrically charged razor-sharp wires stretched on top would keep me from going over.

  I had the guesthouse all to myself. Each room had high, wood-beamed ceilings and a uniquely-styled fireplace I was never permitted to use. The kitchen was kept stocked with food for me, and I was free to take what I wanted, though there was no stove. Gabriella had it removed. She had everything removed from the guesthouse that I could potentially use to harm myself.

  Luckily for me, Gabriella despised anything that was unattractive and refused to take Paniz with her to Jerusalem. Instead, she chose a young nurse, Taarini Patel. Taarini was a gentle soul. Originally from India, Taarini had worked at the Institute for just over a year. She was kind to me but absolutely devoted to Gabriella and obeyed her completely.

  Day after day pass
ed. Taarini monitored my meals and my health and my medications. Most days I sat, staring at the garden, alone and praying. I still thought of Jannik, although now it was hard to remember his face. That was a lifetime ago.

  After three months, I was taken to a clinic in Jerusalem and artificially inseminated. The doctor there was much kinder and more talkative than the ones at the Institute.

  “Just lie back and relax,” the doctor ordered. “This won’t take long—all the hard work’s been done already!” he joked. The nurse standing behind him rolled her eyes and smiled at me from behind her mask.

  No, I will do all of the hard work, I yelled in my mind. I’m the one who will get pregnant. Give birth. Give up my child. I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at the doctor.

  “Actually, this is a very old technique.” I wasn’t interested, but he kept talking. “Decades ago, a Dutch guy—actually a Jew named Jacques Cohen—came up with the technique of taking cytoplasm from one donor’s egg and transferring it to another, along with sperm, in the late 1990s. It was a promising treatment for infertility but was shut down. About twenty years later, another fertility specialist in the UK perfected the process.”

  “Is this my baby, then?” I asked.

  “No, not really. You’re just the host for the gestation.” As hard as I tried to remain expressionless, tears rolled down my face. The doctor didn’t notice. He finished the procedure, whistling off-key, and left me in the room with the nurse. She pulled the mask down.

  “I’m sorry,” she spoke softly, helping me sit up. “He is good at what he does, but he’s thoughtless.”

  “Could you tell me something?” I put my hand out and touched her arm. “Whose baby is this? How can a child have three biological parents?”

  She glanced toward the closed door and spoke softly and quickly. “Everything is done in a lab. The hosts are anonymous. That’s all I know. You’d better get dressed. The doctor has probably finished giving Mrs. Figoli an update. You won’t want to make her wait.”

  She left and I quickly dressed. There were cabinets and drawers in the room, and I rummaged through them looking for something that might be useful—anything sharp—but there was nothing. I opened the door and followed the waiting nurse to the doctor’s office, where Gabriella was waiting.

  “Well, so that’s done,” Gabriella smiled at me. “The doctor said we come back in twelve days to see what your hormone levels are like.” She turned back to the doctor and thanked him, and we left. Twelve days later, I was tested. It was negative.

  The next day, feeling sick to my stomach and suffering from a blistering headache, I sat in the garden on a cushioned lounge chair. All the hormones they had injected into me to make the pregnancy “take” affected me terribly, as did the isolation. At least at the Institute, I’d had Nikki. Here, there was no one. I was treated well but in the way a favored pet is treated.

  “Here,” Taarini said as she came into the garden. “Take this water, and let’s try this for your headache. Put it on the back of your neck.” She handed me a damp, cool cloth and set the water down next to me.

  “Gabriella and her husband want to make sure you’re eating well. They want you to join them for dinner tonight. Dinner’s in an hour.”

  “Great,” I said sarcastically. Not only was I their baby machine; now, I had to eat in front of them to make sure I was taking care of the “equipment.”

  Taarini left. I threw the wet cloth after her. My head pounded like thunder, so I got up and went inside where it was cooler and darker.

  “I can’t even think!” I complained aloud to God. “Why do I have to go through this?” I broke down weeping from the pain in my head and my heart.

  Gabriella’s husband, Matteo, was one of the most attractive human beings I’d ever seen. He was also completely creepy.

  “So how are you feeling?” he asked me. His eyes were not focused on my face.

  I muttered an answer. Thin-lipped, Gabriella snapped. “You will answer politely, young lady. Remember you’re living in luxury here as our . . . guest.” The way she said “guest” made it clear I was anything but.

  “Fine,” I lied. Picking up my fork, I stabbed some green beans and put them in my mouth.

  “Please do me the courtesy of looking me in the eyes when you answer me,” Matteo scolded with a laugh.

  I raised my eyes to meet his, trying to remain expressionless. I could see he was trouble. He laughed again. “That’s better!”

  “We should talk about names, Matteo!” Gabriella lifted her wine glass. A servant rushed to refill it. She sipped her drink while they discussed baby names.

  I didn’t exist to them outside of a vehicle for the child they hoped I would produce for them. I felt miserable. Taarini tapped me on my shoulder and nodded toward my plate. It was still mostly covered with food. Reluctantly, I nibbled at it. None of it tasted good.

  “Oh, Matteo! I want to show you the fabrics I have for the nursery! Taarini, would you go up and get them for me?” Taarini nodded and left the dining room.

  “I’ll be right back, darling.” Gabriella stood up, grabbing the table to steady herself. “I’ve got to use the facilities.”

  As soon as she tottered off, Matteo turned to me.

  “You know the resemblance you have to my wife is quite remarkable,” Matteo observed. “Although you’re much younger than she is, and I think much more biddable.” He blew a kiss at me.

  I must have looked shocked because he snickered again. “Oh, we have an open marriage. Gabriella and I have an understanding about such things. We each take pleasure where we want.”

  Somehow, I doubted that. Gabriella seemed the kind of woman who would mind that very much. I breathed a sigh of relief when she came back in the room then.

  “What are you talking about, Matteo?” she asked him suspiciously, her voice raised.

  He stood up and approached her, arms stretched out. “Oh, nothing dear, I was just joking with her,” he snickered.

  Her cheeks turned blood red, and she screamed, “Liar!” and slapped him across the face, ordering me out. I raced out of the room, the sound of broken glass following me.

  I was not invited back into the house, for which I was grateful.

  Once again, it was time for a fertilization attempt, and I was taken to the doctor’s office. This time, I stayed in the hospital for a week to make sure it “took.” I was alone, except for nurse and doctor visits.

  Toward the end of the week, I tried to plot an escape. I was in the city of Jerusalem and out of my guesthouse prison. If I were going to escape, it had to be now. But as much as I tried, I never found an opportunity.

  So I was returned to the guesthouse. I determined to be as compliant and helpful as I could, anything to give me a chance to escape.

  I kept thinking of Jannik. What if I did become pregnant? How could he want me after this?

  FLOOD

  Chapter 42

  . . . where you go, I will go; and where you stay, I will stay.

  Ruth 1:16

  And so I packed up my home to follow Abram and Sarai to Ur. I would not be separated from Abram again. I had love for them not only as a mother but also as brother and sister of the Creator. Abram and Sarai both had a unique quality of faith in the Creator, and I sensed that theirs was an important destiny. I prayed for all of my family, but for some reason, my heart was weighed with intense concern for them.

  I also went for Amalthai. She had cried her repentance to the Creator, the true God. I never had the chance to share that truth with Terah. I felt that if I didn’t tell him, I would bear some guilt for his continued rebellion against the Creator.

  We gathered the provisions we needed for the ten-day journey. Ur was not so far, but Shem and Noah insisted on giving Abram many sheep and goats to take back with him.

  “But I came with nothing,” Abram protested, insisting they were too generous.

  “Nonsense,” Noah responded. “Certainly, you are responsible for the great incre
ase in our flocks since you arrived. The hand of the Creator is on you, my son. I am pleased to bless you, Abram.” Then Noah placed his right hand on Abram’s shoulder and blessed him.

  “May the great Creator of heaven and earth richly bless you, Abram. He has told me you will be a great man of faith. I truly will miss you. You are like a son to me. I’m so glad you’ve spent the last few years here with us.”

  Noah pulled Abram into an embrace, kissing him on both cheeks. Turning to Sarai, Noah blessed her as well, asking the Creator to favor her with many children.

  I said my good-byes to my loved ones and climbed onto the cart next to Sarai, who held the reins. Abram leaped onto his fine black stallion and wheeled the prancing creature in a circle.

  “Come along, Ebe,” Abram called out. Ebe had decided to join us and help Abram tend the flocks. He hugged Raisa before mounting a strong mountain pony. Ebe waved the shepherd’s crook and yelled at the flocks, urging them toward the trail down the mountainside from the back of the pony. We followed the herd slowly. A lump formed in my throat as I looked at all the dear faces smiling at me. Who knew how long we would be apart?

  The journey to Ur was uneventful and pleasant. The summer heat had not yet arrived. When we made camp each night, Sarai and I would prepare supper over an open fire while the men tended to the needs of the horses and the flocks. After dinner, we would tell each other stories. Sarai especially loved to hear about life before the Flood. Both Abram and Sarai would tell stories about their family and friends in Ur.

  “Ur is a lush, rich city surrounded by canals and farmland, Mother,” Abram told me one evening. “Much greater even than Babylon. Many years ago, my grandfather, Nahor, went with his father, Serug, to find a place they could build a city. They decided to follow the Euphrates River and came to a place where the Euphrates and Tigris River run into the sea. Knowing this would be ideal for trade, they decided to build a city dedicated to their god, Nergal.”