by Brian Godawa
“Shem? Japheth? My sons, where are you?”
He looked frantically around the room. That is, he pretended to. Because he knew exactly what would happen next. Two miniature predators jumped out from hiding and pounced on their victim with wooden axe and mace.
“Aha! We got you! We tricked you!” yelled Shem in his triumphant warrior-lord voice He and his younger brother hailed blows upon their prey. Noah cowered and protected himself while carefully allowing them easy access with their weapons.
“Ah! You distracted me with a sacrifice! You clever little warriors!”
“A sacrificial lamb!” shouted Shem.
Japheth could not stop giggling. Noah’s free hand had reached out to tickle him with targeted precision. Japheth always fell victim to tickling. He dropped his mace and completely lost control.
Shem, however, continued to rain blows on Noah. Shem was a chip off the old limestone. He had his father’s determination. Noah knew that one day he was going to have his hands full with a young man who was a reflection of himself, stubbornness and all.
“You are an abomination!” screamed Shem, absorbed in his righteous slaughter.
Noah abruptly stopped tickling and sat up, sternly. “Where did you learn that word?” he asked.
A wave of fear rushed over Shem. He did not know what was wrong. It horrified him to displease his father. “Jared’s father Lemuel uses it.”
Noah knew that it was not a guilty attempt to shift blame, but rather a genuine appeal to justice, something Shem did far too often. The boy was right. Lemuel did use it all the time as a curse word. That bothered Noah. He could not force Lemuel to stop, but he could do something about his own son.
“Stop using it. It is an adult word, not for children.”
“I am sorry, father,” Shem said meekly.
Noah’s eyes looked deep into Shem’s. The boy stared back, praying now for mercy.
Noah softened. His eyes brightened and a big toothy grin appeared. “No harm done, my son.”
He grabbed them both in a big hug, refusing to let go, crushing them tighter and tighter.
“Uh oh,” he said, “giant sloth hug!”
The boys giggled and squirmed, trying to escape their father’s embrace. Japheth shrieked with pleasure, the childish shriek that pierces one’s eardrums, especially when done right next to the father’s ears.
Noah grunted and released the boys, fingering his ear to rub out the pain. “Japheth, remember to use that voice if a wild animal ever attacks you. It may never attack another human again.”
Japheth grinned impishly.
Noah added, “Speaking of wild animals, where is that she-wolf of a mother of yours?”
He looked up and saw Emzara standing in the tent entrance smiling. Backlit by the bright sun rays upon her red dye linen dress, she was a goddess to him—every bit a tribal queen, and every inch a magnificent vision of Elohim’s creative capacity. Her long, dark, auburn hair caught a breeze and shifted. The sight sent shivers down Noah’s spine. The linen tightly wound around her voluptuous curves, showing them off. Her form beckoned to him, drawing him into a trance. Noah was under her spell, body and soul.
He kept his eyes locked on her as he spoke. “Boys, stay in the tent for a while. I have to consult privately with your mother.”
Emzara gave an ever-so-slight grin and walked away, leaving the little boys to play and the bigger boy to lick his lips and stumble after her. Unaware of how parents played, Shem and Japheth fell back into battle with each other.
Emzara had known Noah all her life. They both had spouses that had died. For many years, Noah had avoided grieving as he poured his heart and soul into care for the clan. He had avoided Emzara as well. The mere sight of her doubled the pain of losing both his wife and his closest confidant, Aramel, Emzara’s dead husband.
But one day, Emzara had confronted Noah, exhibiting the independent strength he would later become intimately familiar with. She refused to leave Noah’s presence until he discussed with her their mutual pain, in an attempt to overcome it. In that encounter, Noah suddenly saw Emzara as he had never seen her before They were soon married. They were later than usual in starting a new family, but it was never too late for the blessings of Elohim.
Noah’s favorite blessing from Elohim was his current activity in their private tent. Oneness with his wife was a God-honoring expression of his earthy spirituality. In a way, adoration of his wife’s splendor calmed the troubles he had with Elohim. As he caressed her form, he knew God was good. As their lips met with wet passion, he knew he was known, thoroughly known, and yet still loved. To have this most excellent and brave woman of strength willingly give herself to him humbled him. He felt honored and strengthened by it. His pet name for her was Naamah, which meant “lovely.”
“You wore my favorite dress we got from that caravan from the land of the Nile,” he panted.
She held up her copper covered wrist, smiling “And the bracelets,” she said. The benefit of a nomad life was its connection with exotic trade.
“Now, let us take them all off,” he snickered.
Emzara’s mood changed suddenly.
It stopped his playfulness. “What troubles you?” he asked.
“The clan is in turmoil,” she said. “We are weary of living like a pack of wild dogs, always on the run.”
“It is the price we pay for our freedom from the gods.”
Emzara sighed. Lately, he had been speaking more of freedom than of Elohim.
But before she could bring that up, he changed the subject. “We found more pazuzu in the forest. It seems that evil follows us like a jackal.”
“When will it end?”
“When the gods stop demanding obeisance to their proud rule.”
“Thus saith a proud man,” she reproved.
“And this is bad?”
Emzara was the most submissive of women. She knew Elohim created woman out of man’s side to be his ezer, a helper beside him. But sometimes that meant speaking the truth that was hard for one’s beloved to hear.
“My love, pride leads to a fall. It is faith that leads to freedom.”
Noah knew she was right. She was his wisest counselor. But his stubbornness rose up. What does she know of leading a tribe? he asked himself, avoiding the truth.
She continued, relentlessly loving. “Do you think I have not also suffered? We both lost everything once. Must you try to be so alone?”
He pulled away, though he did not want to admit it. Irritation rapidly swept over the passion with which he entered the tent. “You are a woman of faith. It is no secret my devotion to Elohim has waned as his interest in me has waned. But I am still devoted to righteousness.”
She held his head in her hands and stared into his eyes. He had the greatest integrity of any man that she had ever seen, even if that integrity sometimes got in the way of the Creator who gave it to him. “I am with child, my Utnapishtim,” she whispered.
Noah’s eyes flashed from shock to joy. The news took his breath away. Utnapishtim was her pet name for him. It meant “he who found life.” She thought it was quite appropriate for Noah’s earthy gusto.
“My Naamah,” he said and hugged her desperately. He kissed her passionately. Apart from Emzara’s presence, a child was the one thing that melted Noah’s warrior heart. Children were arrows for warriors and he wanted a quiver full. Because they started their family late, he would not have as many offspring as others, but to him that just meant that each one of his own would be cherished that much more.
“Husband, you are not a god. But sometimes I think you want to be one with your self-reliance and aloofness.”
“Wife, you could not handle a god. You can barely handle my manhood.” He would not be distracted now by her playful criticisms.
She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his torso, knocking him off balance. But he caught her. They laughed, and melted together before their Maker.
Noah choked awake, dis
oriented, underwater. He fought toward the surface in search of air, and broke through gasping.
An endless sea stretched around him, nothing but water to the farthest horizon. He turned about and saw a beautiful white temple resting on the waters before him. He swam to the edifice and pulled himself out of the water, dripping wet. He climbed the steps up into the temple and cautiously stepped into the inner courtyard, onto a pavement of sapphire stone.
Dizziness swept over him. The inside of the temple did not match the outward size he had seen. On the outside, it stood about forty cubits wide by seventy cubits long. Inside, it seemed as if he had walked through a portal into another world. In that other world ranged the flaming messengers of Elohim’s heavenly host. Their brightness hurt his eyes. They did not speak. They just watched Noah in silence— a myriad of them.
Noah stood still, his feet riveted to the sapphire floor. The presence of the Shining Ones intimidated him. He could not move. Then his eyes caught sight of a marble pedestal set out in the open by itself, with a large clay tablet resting on it.
With trepidation, he approached the pedestal and looked upon the tablet. The crowded triangular markings of cuneiform covered it, the writing system used in the Land Between the Rivers. Only the scribes and the upper classes of city palaces were taught it. But Noah could read it because his father had been a city ruler and his great grandfather Enoch had been an apkallu wisdom sage, so they passed down knowledge of this important new means of communication. Even Methuselah, who tended to be antisocial, had taken it upon himself to stay learned in such matters.
Noah studied the tablet. At the center was a drawing of a large rectangular box structure similar to the barges he had seen on the shipping docks of Shuruppak when he was younger. But this was different. The dimensions next to the box made it larger than any barge he had ever seen. It looked more like a warehouse. He studied it curiously.
A sound behind him made him turn, expecting to see an angel
But it was no angel. It was the god Anu. The being jumped at him with a hiss of viper fangs!
Noah sat up abruptly, shaking off the dream. Beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead. He reached for Emzara for support. She was gone.
Outside, the shadows grew long. It was getting late. Time for the feast and assembly.
He took a couple of deep breaths to settle his thoughts, then got dressed quickly. He stopped one moment to smell the sweet savor of memory in the red linen dress lying on his bedding. The scent of crocus filled his nostrils. He smiled and left the tent.
Outside, he found the clan already celebrating around the fire with music and dance. Families were enjoying one another and cooking their meals. Some gestured for him to join them. But Noah had something to take care of first.
In the children’s tent, Lamech and Betenos were enjoying their grandchildren before the assembly meeting started. Lamech loved telling Shem and Japheth fantastic legends of warriors battling strange monsters with dragon heads and lion bodies, mystical trees guarded by demonesses, and wars of giants and Cherubim. He would tell the boys not to share the legends with others, that they would be their own special tales of adventure, which made them feel very special indeed.
The boys would often wonder why grandmother Betenos would jump in and correct grandfather’s fabulous tale as if he did not tell it properly. They had no idea that Lamech’s tales were true. Lamech told them what he and Betenos had actually experienced in the past as Karabu giant killers, under cover of a made-up tale. He and Betenos felt that the intensity of their experiences were too traumatic for little children to handle the reality. It was better served through the safety of imagination. They would grow up soon enough to face the wicked world from which Noah was protecting them.
Lamech and Betenos gathered Shem and Japheth into their arms for a moment. Lamech pulled out the leather case that held his special weapon. The boys’ eyes went wide with excitement. They had seen it before and knew that grandfather had a nickname for it.
“Rahab,” gasped Shem.
“What does Rahab mean?” asked Japheth.
“Rahab is the giant sea dragon of chaos that gave birth to Leviathan, its own sevenfold increase of terror,” said Lamech. “This weapon moves like the body of Rahab and bites with ferocity.” Shem leaned in to get a closer look at the case. Lamech snapped at Shem’s nose with a growl. Shem jerked back with a giggling yelp.
“Tell us the story again about where you got it,” the boy blurted out.
Betenos saw Lamech’s eyes brighten. He loved to tell his stories. It made him feel significant in his old age. She knew Lamech loved her with all his heart. But she also knew that he was a man, and men need to feel that they are doing something significant or they wither and fade into depression. Lamech was no different. Losing his arm in battle and stepping down as Patriarch had taken its toll on Lamech’s sense of worthiness. That he had to hide his achievements behind a fictional façade did not help.
“Well,” said Lamech with deliberate exaggeration, “Rahab is a very special weapon, forged in the heavenly volcano of Mount Sahand amidst the stones of fire by the archangel Gabriel himself. It was given to me to watch over.” He didn’t explain that he was also trained how to use the weapon in the secret angelic order of the Karabu giant killers.
The boys listened in rapt attention, though they had heard the story a hundred times. They stared at the strange leather case with handle sticking out. Inside was a flexible blade made of unearthly alloy, all five cubits of its length rolled up into the case. They had never seen or heard of anything else like it. It was virtually indestructible. It unrolled and flowed like a whip. No known metal on earth could do that. And this whip would cut giants’ heads from bodies and sever villains’ torsos in two.
“But remember, it is our secret,” said Lamech.
“Our secret,” the boys repeated in unison.
Betenos smiled warmly. Boys will be boys. And men will be boys.
Lamech continued. “And now, Shem, because you are the firstborn, I have a very special commission for you.”
Shem sat speechless, wondering what it could be. Japheth fidgeted, a little jealous.
“I am handing down Rahab to you as an heirloom,” said Lamech.
Shem’s mouth dropped in shock. No sound came out. His eyes bulged so wide, they hurt.
“I will leave it with you, but you will not withdraw it, and you will not use it until your father lets me teach you how to use it. Do you understand me?”
Shem could only nod his head yes, still staring at the special weapon in its case.
Japheth started crying. He did not get a special weapon like Shem.
Lamech looked at Betenos. She reached behind her to pull out the special bow that she had used to kill giants, mushussu, and human wolves so many years ago.
Lamech held the bow. “Japheth, to you we bequeath your grandmother’s special giant killing bow. The same goes for you as for your brother. You will not play with it until your father allows us to teach you how to use it. Do you understand?”
“Yes!” shouted Japheth with joy.
Both boys gave their grandparents hugs and kisses that Lamech and Betenos would treasure for the rest of their lives.
Methuselah’s eyes popped open. The tip of a dagger pressed against his throat.
“You are slowing down, Grandfather, getting dull,” said Noah. “I respect your wisdom, but what of your strength?”
“You are already dead,” Methuselah replied. Noah felt a sharp point prick his belly. He looked to see Methuselah’s dagger sticking in his abdomen. “Or at least without your strongest member.”
Noah pulled back, chuckling.
Methuselah sat up. “And I can still handle a battle axe, young buck,” he said. “I just need a nap now and then. You will understand in a couple hundred years. If you survive that long.” He made no mention of his accuracy with a javelin in his younger years.
Noah loved his grandfather and cherished his advice
on everything in life. He also appreciated Methuselah’s dry wit. He might be the oldest man alive, but he was also one feisty poet warrior. He never let Noah get lazy in thought or deed, because, as he always said with annoying redundancy, “Elohim’s Chosen Seed needs to grow.”
Noah sat back with a sigh. “I had a vision.”
Methuselah came alert. “The heavenly temple on the waters?”
Noah looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“Because I had the same vision.”
“Did you see the building plans?” Noah asked.
“No. Building plans for what?”
“Tebah. A large box. Huge. Like a fortress or warehouse.” Noah scribbled out in the sand from memory a phrase he had never read before the dream. “What does this mark mean?”
Methuselah said, “Covered in and out with pitch.”
“What is pitch?” said Noah.
“Maybe it will be revealed. How large is this box?” Methuselah asked.
“Three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits breadth, thirty cubits high. Several floors.”
“Have you told your father?” asked Methuselah.
“Not yet. I think he is with the boys,” said Noah.
Methuselah pondered.
Then he spoke with the certainty of a sage. “You must build this box—this warehouse.”
“Me? Why?” Noah complained.
“Elohim gave me a similar dream. But he did not show me his plans as he did you.”
“Why will not Elohim just speak clearly to me?” complained Noah. “Is that too much to ask? How do I know that he has not gotten our dreams mixed up?”
“Elohim does not make mistakes,” said Methuselah. “You must build the box.”
“It would take the entire tribe years to build such a structure,” protested Noah. “It does not make sense.”
Methuselah chuckled. “Well, then, we had better get chopping.”
Noah drew back annoyed. “It was only a dream!”
