Deborah Calling

by Avraham Azrieli

“Think of what I told you about the power of true enchantment.” His voice echoed through the shaft, barely audible over the noise of the waterfall. “It’s up to you to find it and determine if it’s real.”

  “How?” She pressed her face to the porthole. “Tell me!”

  “Only you can decide what’s in your heart, if you wholeheartedly want to become a man, and for what purpose—”

  “Yes! I know what I want!”

  “—or not become a man,” he continued, “now that you’ve seen Bozra and realized there’s much more to this world than the primitive Hebrew tribes.”

  “Let me out!”

  Kassite began climbing the stairs. “She does not understand.”

  “Not yet,” Sallan yelled back over the noise of the waterfall. “But she will. In time.”

  “Understand what?” Deborah banged on the door. “Don’t leave me here!”

  “You’ll be fine.” Sallan started up the stairs.

  “She will not go thirsty,” Kassite said. “That is certain.”

  “Please!” Deborah felt sobs rise in her throat. “Come back!”

  The light from their torches flickered.

  “I beg you!” She struggled not to cry. “Don’t leave me alone here!”

  “You’re not alone,” Sallan called from above. “Your Yahweh is with you.”

  Kassite laughed.

  “Don’t laugh,” Sallan admonished him. “She needs the—”

  The rest of the sentence was lost in the rumble of the waterfall.

  Chapter 34

  Her face pressed to the porthole, Deborah watched the glow from their torches grow weaker until there was total darkness outside the barred door. Sallan and Kassite were gone, and she was completely alone, locked up at the bottom of an abandoned copper mine, thirteen hundred and thirteen stairs below the dead end of a desolate canyon. The sudden turn of events stunned Deborah. None of it made sense. Was it a nightmare from which she would soon wake up?

  Deborah’s knees went soft, and she collapsed to the damp floor. The torch fell from her hand, spraying a shower of sparks that singed her arm and cleared away the fog of numb bewilderment. She picked up the torch, blew on the sputtering flame to revive it, and propped it against the wall. She unplugged the oil jar that Kassite had left on the floor and tilted it over the small lamp. Nothing came out.

  The torch sputtered.

  Grasping the bottom of the jar, she tilted it further. A thin stream came out. Her hands were shaking, and some of the oil missed the lamp. She put down the jar, tilted the lamp to soak the dry wick, and touched the dying torch to the wick. It took a moment, but then the wick ignited.

  The torch died, leaving only the small flame of the lamp.

  The enormity of their betrayal began to sink in. Had the invitation to ride in search of the last ingredient been merely a ruse? Had they planned this all along, or only after she had insisted on leaving for Canaan immediately after drinking the third dose of the Male Elixir?

  The shaking spread from her hands to her knees, and then to the rest of her body. Deborah leaned back against the wall, hugged her knees to her chest, and struggled to stop shaking. Tears trailed down her cheeks. Sallan and Kassite had become like a family to her, despite their oddities and earlier deceit, for which she had naively forgiven them. Why had they deceived her again?

  She felt completely alone. Wasn’t Yahweh supposed to be everywhere, all the time, even down here with her? Deborah looked around. She didn’t feel any divine presence in this dark, cold, fearful place. Obadiah of Levi had said, “Faith frequently falters under fear.” Was she losing her faith?

  No, she believed in Yahweh’s power and His justice.

  Was this disaster her just punishment?

  Deborah shuddered at the memory of shoving the sword into Hashkem’s chin at Ein Gedi, forcing it all the way into his head while his wide eyes glared at her from under the water. He had the same accusatory expression later, when he sat on the eagle’s wing and berated her for violating Yahweh’s sixth commandment: “Do not kill!”

  Sadness descended on Deborah. If this dungeon was Yahweh’s punishment, her fate was sealed. No one would miss her, or even notice her absence. Except, of course, Sallan and Kassite, who had left her locked up for reasons she couldn’t comprehend, as Kassite had correctly said, “She does not understand.” To which Sallan had replied, “Not yet. But she will. In time.”

  What was she supposed to understand?

  Deborah got up and walked to the end of the tunnel, back to the door, and back again, pondering. What was she supposed to figure out?

  Frustrated, she yelled, “Use your head!”

  For some reason, hearing her own voice had a calming effect.

  “That’s right,” she said. “Use your head.”

  She paced back and forth along the smooth grooves that Sallan’s feet had left in the floor all those years back.

  “Maybe they’ll come back,” she said out loud, “and have a big laugh about how they scared me and made me beg not to be left here alone. Maybe this is a test to see how I respond. Will I be passive, temperamental, small-minded, and anxious, or will I prove myself proactive, even-tempered, adventurous, and logical? Is that what they’re doing—testing my character?”

  Recalling the two men’s frantic escape from Ein Gedi, she sneered. “Even-tempered! What a joke!”

  Her face pressed to the porthole, she stared into the darkness, hoping to see a glow from their torches above in the shaft. There was a great deal of noise from the waterfall, but not even a flicker of light. Recalling how difficult the descent had been, Deborah assumed the climb up would be slow and painful for the two limping men. How likely was it that they’d be climbing down again soon? No, they weren’t playing a joke on her, Deborah realized. This was a real betrayal. But why?

  Her eyes were drawn to the clay bottle on the floor by the wall. What if there was no missing ingredient? What if the whole thing was a trick? What if that bottle contained the complete third dose of the Male Elixir? It could be the culmination of all her efforts and sacrifices since leaving Emanuel in the middle of the night with the priest’s blessing and a fierce determination to find the Elixirist and convince him to help her become a man.

  Deborah picked up the clay bottle and touched the cork plug. Should she open it and drink the contents, even if it’s missing an ingredient? Was it ready to drink? Was she ready?

  When she had accused him of lying about a missing ingredient, Sallan had said, “Maybe, maybe not. It’s up to you to search for it. Search inside yourself for the last ingredient.” And after he’d given her the clay bottle through the porthole, he’d added, “Think of what I told you about the power of true enchantment. It’s up to you to find it and determine if it’s real. Only you can decide what’s in your heart, if you wholeheartedly want to become a man, and for what purpose—”

  “The enchantment!” Deborah’s voice sounded hollow in the tunnel. “That’s the last ingredient!”

  She recalled him saying earlier, “The secret to a powerful elixir is true enchantment. You can use the best ingredients, mix the best potion, and preserve it in the best bottle. Even the best elixir works only if the person drinking it is truly enchanted by its allure.”

  “That makes no sense,” Deborah said as she put the bottle down in the corner. “How could I be enchanted by an elixir when I know that it won’t work without my enchantment?”

  She started walking back and forth again, repeating Sallan’s words in her mind, trying to figure out what she had missed. She noticed that her shadow moved faster in each direction on the wall opposite the lamp. She waved, her hand casting a long, thin shadow on the wall. She stopped and faced the wall, her back to the lamp, and flapped her arms like eagle’s wings, but the shadow looked more like a cricket than an eagle.

  Deborah sat cross-legged in the middle of the tunnel and stared at the clay bottle. It seemed plain, no different from any small bottle of wine that a man would ca
rry for the road.

  “You’re not enchanting at all,” she said to the bottle. “There’s no allure whatsoever.”

  She reached over, picked it up, pulled out the cork, and sniffed. It had a sour, pungent odor. She coughed, pushed in the cork, and put the bottle down.

  “That wasn’t enchanting, either,” she said.

  The lamp flickered as if it was about to go out. She picked up the oil jar and tilted it carefully to make sure the thin stream entered the lamp. The light steadied and appeared brighter, but the jar was almost empty, and her mood grew darker. She lay down on the damp floor, her head resting on her folded arm, and watched the jittery light from the lamp dance on the opposite wall.

  Chapter 35

  “Your lamp is about to die,” a woman’s voice said in crisp Hebrew words. “Better add some oil before we lose the light.”

  Jolted out of deep sleep, Deborah wiped her eyes and sat up. The oil lamp still burned, but barely, its weak light fading halfway down the tunnel.

  “Quick,” the voice said from the dark end of the tunnel. “I can’t do it for you.”

  Deborah tilted the jar upside down, and a bit of oil dripped into the lamp. A moment later, the flame recovered.

  “Light is better than darkness.” The woman sounded old, about Vardit’s age, but her voice bore an accent reminiscent of Deborah’s mother. “Don’t you agree?”

  Deborah could make out the outline of a large figure. “Who are you?”

  Stepping forward into the dim light, the eagle from her dreams appeared. The long talons clicked on the stone floor, the wings folded in tightly to fit in the narrow tunnel, and the top of the white head touched the ceiling.

  “Didn’t you recognize my voice?”

  Too stunned to answer, Deborah shook her head.

  “You assumed I was a male, didn’t you?”

  Deborah nodded.

  “It’s understandable, but you should know that, unlike women, we female eagles are much larger and stronger than our mates.”

  “I’ve never heard you speak before.”

  “You found your voice.” The eagle chuckled, reminding Deborah of the old healer in Tamar. “That’s good.”

  “I’m confused,” Deborah said. “You’ve appeared only in my dreams, but here you are, even though I’m awake.”

  “It seemed urgent that I visit you immediately, considering your dire circumstances.”

  Deborah glanced at the door, which was still shut. “How did you get in?”

  “Where you go, I go.”

  “That’s what Hashkem told me when we were flying—”

  “On my wings, yes. I heard him.” The eagle lowered her head, her hooked beak almost touching Deborah’s face. “Why do you think you’re here?”

  “Yahweh is punishing me.”

  “Interesting.” Her yellow eyes glowed brighter than the lamp. “Punishment for what?”

  “My sins,” Deborah said. “First off, my heart was filled with hate.”

  “Feeling hate for those who hurt you isn’t a sin. Acting on your hate and hurting another person—that could be a sin.”

  “I did act on my hate.” She took a deep breath. “I violated the sixth commandment: Do not kill!”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I killed Hashkem in Ein Gedi.” Deborah looked down at the floor. “I’m a murderer.”

  “That’s a common mistake.”

  She looked up. “A mistake?”

  “Do not kill!” The eagle sighed. “It’s an important prohibition, no doubt about that, but it’s not absolute. There’s an exception for unavoidable situations.”

  “Unavoidable?”

  “When a person rises to kill you, rise first and kill him.”

  “Who said that?”

  “It’s written in the holy scriptures.”

  Deborah was surprised. “Do you know the scriptures?”

  “Do I know the scriptures?” The eagle cocked her head and chuckled. “Let’s just say that I have an intimate familiarity with the holy scriptures. Trust me on that.”

  “But still, I killed a man. How could killing not be sinful?”

  “It was traumatic for you, I’m sure, killing another person for the first time in your young life, but it wasn’t murder.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Seesya was determined to kill you, and his soldiers were there to help him. All your actions were aimed at saving yourself and your companions, and therefore justified completely. Rest assured, Deborah, that this temporary confinement is not a divine punishment for killing.”

  “I’m not a murderer? I did not violate Yahweh’s sixth commandment?”

  “That’s correct.”

  Deborah was relieved to the point of tears. “Maybe now Hashkem will stop choking me in my dreams.”

  “I think you’re safe,” the eagle said.

  “I’ve done another terrible thing, though. I blinded a man.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “The exception should help me with that, too, because I did it only to protect myself when that man and his friends tried to rape me.”

  “I’m impressed,” the eagle said. “You have the mind of a good judge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Most people have a hard time applying a rule to a set of facts, but you seem to do it quite easily.” The eagle shifted, her talons grazing the stone floor. “Which brings us back to the first question: Why are you here?”

  “Sallan and Kassite tricked me.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “To find out whether I’m truly enchanted.”

  “With what?”

  Deborah pointed at the clay bottle on the floor by the wall.

  “Why would you be enchanted with a clay bottle?”

  “With what’s inside—the third dose of the Male Elixir.”

  “I hear it smells like rotten meat.” Air whistled in the nostrils on the sides of her beak. “Are you sure that’s what you should be enchanted with?”

  Deborah thought for a moment. “Sallan said that an elixir works if the person is enchanted by its allure.”

  “That’s all he said? Tell me exactly.”

  Closing her eyes to remember, she quoted Sallan: “Even the best elixir works only if the person drinking it is truly enchanted by its allure—if the person wholeheartedly believes in the elixir’s powers and passionately desires the changes it’s supposed to generate. The more powerful the enchantment in the person’s heart, the more powerful the effect of the elixir on the person’s body.” She opened her eyes. “That’s what Sallan said, but I’m not sure what it means.”

  The eagle sighed. “It sounds to me like a whole lot of big words that needlessly complicate a very simple question.”

  “I think it’s about the result,” Deborah said. “The enchantment is supposed to be with the result, not with the elixir itself. Is that right?”

  “What does it mean in your situation? Spell it out.”

  Deborah considered it for a moment. “For the Male Elixir to work, I should be completely enchanted with becoming a man.”

  The eagle’s big head bobbled up and down while her yellow eyes remained focused on Deborah. “And what is the answer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s in your heart? Are you truly enchanted with the prospect of spending the rest of your life as a man?”

  “How can I tell?”

  “Have you ever tried being a man?”

  “Kassite told me what to do at the tannery,” Deborah said. “Imitate until you mutate.”

  “That’s clever. I like it. Why don’t you pretend now to be a man and see if you’re enchanted with it?”

  “I’m a man!” Deborah thickened her voice. “I’m a big man, a brave man!” She bent her arm and pressed her biceps. “Strong man!” She touched her face, imagining there was stubble. “Man with a beard!”

  Opening her beak, the eagle laughed—a deep, rolling laugh that warmed up the damp tunnel and buffete
d the small flame in the lamp.

  “See what I mean?” Deborah threw her arms in the air. “The whole thing—it’s a joke!”

  “The best joke has a grain of truth in it. How badly do you want to become a man?”

  “Want? It’s not about what I want.”

  “What then?”

  Deborah hesitated.

  “You can tell me.”

  “Maybe I want to be like my mother, not only to fulfill Yahweh’s command to procreate and fill the earth, but also as a way to rebuild the wonderful family life I once had, to become a mother, to be as beautiful and kind as my mother was, blessed with a good husband by my side and children who adore me as I adored my mother.” Deborah coughed to clear the lump in her throat. “But how could I neglect my duty to become a man and fulfill my father’s dream?”

  “When facing a tough dilemma in life,” the eagle said, “we tend to fixate on an obvious choice and fail to see other, less obvious ones.”

  “How else could I return to the Samariah Hills, win back Palm Homestead, and become Yahweh’s prophet, if I’m not a man?”

  “Let’s answer one question at a time. Are you enchanted with becoming a man?”

  “Not at all. I cringe thinking of hair growing on my cheeks and, you know, the other changes to my body.”

  “Your private parts?”

  Deborah shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “There’s much more to a man than the hair on his cheeks and what’s between his legs. Do you wish to be like the men you know? To think like them? Behave like them?”

  “Lie and cheat like them?” Deborah laughed bitterly. “Lust and rape like them? Fight and murder like them? Or stink like them?”

  The eagle was quiet for a moment. “What I hear is not enchantment with the prospect of manhood, but disenchantment.”

  “I’m even more disenchanted with the prospect of remaining a woman.”

  “Why?”

  “Everything about womanhood is bad.”

  “For example?”

  “Where to begin?” Deborah groaned in frustration. “As a woman, I’d had no say about where I live, whom I marry, how I dress, or what work I must do. My husband may force himself on me in bed, whip me at will, or accuse me of a sin and have me stoned to death based on his word alone. And those are only the things that I’ve witnessed with my own eyes! As a wife, I’d have to bear as many children as possible until dying in labor or becoming barren. I may not inherit from my father, farm my family’s homestead, or carry a weapon, and if I tried to learn to read and write, I’d be flogged or stoned to death. That’s a woman’s fate, and I don’t want it!”