by Caryl McAdoo
Ham’s choice proved so right not picking Varsi. They would have both been miserable, and Shem couldn’t even imagine himself with Myelin. She grated his mood daily. With that one draw of the lots, the Lord had worked it all out.
Shem looked behind him. His twin sons stood by the fold’s gate. The dogs raced around the enclosure, obviously anxious to serve. It would be the first test of Elam’s training, and he hoped his son’s efforts would succeed. He nodded at his father who sat the lead wagon.
Noah stood, glanced around, then waved at Elam and Asshur. “Let them out.”
The wagons rolled, and for the first time ever, all of Noah’s sons headed to the high valley together. Shem hoped his mother would be inspired to paint the sight that unfolded before her eyes. He stared at the clutch of femininity standing outside first home’s front door.
The wooden structure couldn’t hold them all much longer. The rock home needed completion soon. He burned the image onto a canvas in his head. Perhaps one day her gift would fall to him. She’d been older than he before she took up the quills and oils.
If only he could have one of each scene. He’d love to have a painting of the ladies watching, and another of him and the boys following Noah and the herds up the mountain. Both, side by side, would look awesome on the walls in his and Jemri’s new quarters, once he completed the roof.
Going seemed slow with the herds, but the dogs’ training proved helpful time after time. The canines saved many a man-step. Short shadow plus a hand’s worth, found him within sight of the ark’s bones. He’d wanted to salvage the giant ribs and center beam.
Instead, his father insisted the lower deck’s planking remain intact. His stance that the sons for many generations should have something solid to show for the vessel built for the salvation of mankind and know of the great flood and believe the stories he would tell.
He had a point.
So, there it rested in the spot where the Lord set it a score of years ago. What a day that had been. And only the Great I Am knew where it settled in relation to Adam’s valley.
Well, if his wife knew what she spoke of, Friend and his cohort of angels, who pushed the ark out of the doldrums to this spot, also knew from whence the ark had come. But so far away, neither the giant winged one nor any of his kind bothered to visit. Shem allowed himself a smile.
Noah handed the reins to Canaan then stood and looked around. “We’ll stop here. Shem, bring your wagon up next to mine. Ham, take yours over there.” He pointed to a spot closer to the ark. “Elam, Asshur, you boys take the herds on to the valley.”
His sons started off, but his father spoke again. “Elam.”
His firstborn turned. “Yes, Grandfather?”
“Well done. I was wrong about your dogs.”
The young man nodded, smiled, then hurried to catch up.
Everyone did what the man said. Without question. As would they all when Shem became the patriarch—if he outlived his father. Grandfather Lamech perished before the flood, five years before his father Methuselah, so it could be. As with his father, the others already followed his lead. Jemri asked him once how he and Noah did it.
He had only one answer. “We both see what needs to be done, and everyone follows our orders.” Those words played out in his mind’s ear as he brought the wagon he drove to the exact spot he, too, would have picked.
Well, Ham always proved the exception, but then that brother never wanted to follow anyone’s lead.
Noah barked orders too loud, no doubt, but Hattimas wasn’t there, so what difference did it make? If the boys hurried, he could offer the sacrifice that even. Elam strolled into the clearing that guarded the stone altar, with a yearling draped over his shoulders. He eased to one knee then hefted the lamb down.
The oldest of Noah’s sons finished stacking the stones, while his youngest placed more wood under the iron grate. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be needed, but the Lord remained silent… He couldn’t risk voicing his desires. No man knew the mind of God. Either way, the lamb and calf—where was Ham?—would be offered, along with three doves and a jug of his best wine poured out as a drink offering.
To his left, Cush and his father, with little Canaan running to keep up, hurried toward the clearing, leading the bovine. He nodded to Shem, who removed the birds from their cage one at a time, wrung their necks, and placed their pieces on the altar. Elam lifted the lamb and laid him on top the stones. He quickly slit the yearling’s throat and stroked his animal’s head, soothing it until its life finished flowing out.
It took three, Ham with his oldest and youngest, to lift the yearling, slit its throat, then hold the calf until its life also left. Noah carried the wine and poured it onto the altar, careful not to wet any of the beasts.
Japheth stepped forward, holding the torch.
Noah backed away and held his hand out toward his firstborn. “Wait.” He looked skyward. No cloud, no finger, nothing but clear blue. “Almighty God of Heaven and earth, accept our offerings, cover our sins for the coming year.” He waited. Then waited a bit more. Sensing shifting feet and whispers, he gazed above hoping, but doubting.
Finally, he waved the fire bearer on, then filled his lungs and stared into the flames.
The dry wood and branches the boys had gathered quickly caught. At first, no scent reached him, then the acidic stench of burning hide and feathers soon gave way to the sweet savor of roasting meat. As was their custom since departing the ark, once the fire burned itself out, he and the boys feasted on the remains.
Having eaten his fill, he retreated to his tent. The beef’s flavor he loved, but left the lamb for the boys. They all seemed to prefer it anyway. Leaving nothing, the sons cleaned the bones, being careful not to break any. Those would be entombed with all the others from all the past twenty years’ sin offerings.
Stretching out on his pallet, surely his heart bled. Why had the Almighty forsaken him?
How were his sons’ sons to know the Lord, if they never saw Him?
He tossed on his stack of lambs’ wool one way then turned the other, but soon crawled out. So wrong. He dug into his pack until he found his extra jug, removed the cork, and took a long pull. Hot night, he slipped off his robe and threw back his tent’s flap and sat there gazing at the canopy of stars, brightened by the absence of moonlight, and sipped the sweet wine pressed from grapes grown in his own vineyard.
Disheartened, he shook his head.
The flood had changed everything.
Chapter Eleven
Too bright! Who opened that east window? His temples throbbed. Noah squinted his eyes, but that only made his head pound worse.
Oh, Lord. Must a man pay such a high price for drinking too much wine? An image of Canaan flashed before his inner eye.
“What?”
He sat up, then as if he had watched his youngest son, he knew what the boy had done the night before. Noah rolled to his knees and flung off the strange robe. It wasn’t one of Hattimas’, more like one of Jemri’s. He stood, his head swam. With his hands on his knees, he bent over to get his bearings, make the room stop spinning. After a few heartbeats, he straightened.
Praise the Almighty. The tent no longer spun. He looked down.
Why was he naked?
Again an image of Canaan coming into his tent danced before him. What was wrong with that boy?
He girded his loins, threw on his tunic and stepped out. His sons and their sons sat half circle around the fire. All eyes turned toward him. Canaan sat in front of his father. Ham’s arms wrapped around the boy.
A chill raced from Noah’s heart to his lips. He stood silent until the trembling stopped, looking right at his youngest. Then he pointed at the boy. “Cursed be Canaan. A servant of servants he shall be to his brethren.” Noah turned his gaze onto his heir. “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem, and may Canaan be his servant.”
The middle triplet stood, glaring. The child cursed slipped behind his father. All the rest sat with slack jaws and wide ey
es.
Noah looked to his eldest son. “May God enlarge Japheth, and may he dwell in the tents of Shem; may Canaan be his servant.”
Ham’s glares sent daggers forth. He balled his fists, but kept his tongue. What words could he offer? No manner of objection could hold up. He was the father of Canaan.
How could that old man?
He hated him. First the birthright, now curses. Ham glanced at his oldest. “Cush, gather our third of the herds. Mizraim, you and Phut strike our tents.” He faced the man he’d called father. “We’ll be gone before you get off this mountain. My share of everything goes with us.”
His brainless brother—the one only sixty-six clicks of the waterwheel older—jumped to his feet. “Brother, reconsider.” He turned to Noah. “Will you take it back?”
The old fool shook his head. “Spoken words that have fallen to the ground, cannot be gathered again.”
Japheth looked from his father to Ham. The man’s eyes begged, but he only shrugged. “Where will you go?”
“The whole earth is before me, south and west from whence we came, perhaps….” He lifted both shoulders, held them back. He owed none of the fools any explanations. What should it matter to them where he went? No need to tell his plans.
Would the tree of life even still be there?
Careful not to scrape her belly, Myelin climbed the ladder to the barn’s hay loft and glanced around. No one had followed. She backed away a few steps and looked harder then ducked into the hidey hole her husband had made in the hay stack. Retrieving the wine jug, she washed the day away, somewhat.
With only one more after that in hiding, and Father watching his barrels like a hawk eyeing a mouse, who knew when Ham might be able to get more? She took a longer pull. That’s what she should do.
The men were all going to be on the mountain at least another two days, maybe more.
Why hadn’t she insisted Canaan stay? He could help her, be on watch. The boy would do anything she asked and kept it all to himself. She loved the big ones, but that son…well…she probably shouldn’t even think it. But most handsome of all the sons, his face and hands as soft as goose down.
Canaan was her favorite, and his grandfather’s, too. She’d seen how the old man coddled him, loved him, and always acted so protective. Perhaps he considered skipping Shem and planned to pass the birthright to Canaan. Not as though it shouldn’t have rightfully gone to Ham once Japheth renounced it over Varsi.
The baby kicked. Her hand stopped halfway to slapping her own belly. That baby best be a boy. If not, the poor brother who weds her would be taking on a bad bed partner for life. Myelin took another nip, then a last big swill before replacing the cork. She eased to the edge to where she could see.
Still no one in the barn. Good. Wouldn’t do for any of the little ladies to witness her climbing down from the loft. To the girl, they all spied for their grandmother. Hattimas would have every one of them up there digging around in no time if any of them caught her where she had no business being.
A nicker pulled her to the loft’s window. What? All the horses were gone with the men. She barely cracked it, but enough. A wagon leading some of the animals, not all, rolled down the road from the mountain. Ham! Why had he and her sons come back early, and alone? Had something terrible happened?
Perhaps an awful accident befell Cush…perhaps a snake had bitten him. Had all four of her sons come down from the high place with their father? She latched the shutter and eased to the edge. With no one in sight, hurried down.
Trying to get outside before anyone even noticed she’d come from the barn, she rushed to meet her husband. No! What if it was Canaan? Her heart beat like a ram first caught, twisting and kicking every which way to be free again. But it couldn’t be him. He shouldn’t be punished for being the favorite!
Had he perished?
Her husband silenced her with a shake of his head. She held her peace when Canaan sat up in the back of the wagon, rubbing his eyes. She remained silent and followed Ham. Finally, he closed the door to their suite.
“What happened?”
He exhaled. “Something strange held your father from the beginning, drew him away, even before the sacrifice. He continually looked skyward, wouldn’t let Japheth light the wood even after all the preparations were complete. We figured later he might have been expecting fire from heaven to fall as it did on God’s Mountain back in Adam’s valley.”
He looked off like he searched his memories for clues.
She hated the way he told a story. “Then what? Fire does not fall from Heaven anymore. That couldn’t be it.”
“Whatever. He finally allowed my brother to light the kindling. Once the fire burned down, we ate the meat, like always. But you were there that first time.”
“Yes, so? Then what?”
“After the sacrifice, Noah went first to his tent. Though still early, we didn’t think anything of it. After all, he’s lived six hundred twenty-one years.”
“That tells me nothing of your reason for returning so early. Why are you here?”
He leaned in and sniffed. “You’ve been drinking?”
“What of it, oaf? Get on with your story.”
“So later on, even with no moon—the stars seemed extra bright—I saw Canaan running away from the old fool’s tent.”
“Ham! Don’t call him that. What’s wrong with you?”
He sneered. “I went over and looked, thought maybe something had gone amiss. Noah lay stark naked! Sprawled and drunker even than I’ve ever seen you.”
“What about you, Husband dear.”
“Never seen myself, my little piglet. Anyway –”
“How dare you!” She punched a fist into his belly. “I’m only heavy with your spawn!”
“I know and I love it, but back to why I’m here. I thought the sight funny. Couldn’t hardly catch a breath to tell Japheth and Shem the old goat was naked, and they get all mad. Shem hurried to his tent, returning with a garment. The two of them walk in backwards like Noah was a holy man.”
“Ham, isn’t he? Think about it.”
“But they acted as though it would be a horrible sin to see the drunken….” He pursed his lips. “Anyway, in the morning he finally comes out of his tent, eyes red, and the first thing he starts doing is cursing Canaan!”
“What? Why would he do such a thing? He loves our youngest son!”
“If he ever did, no more. I tell you he said our boy will be a servant to Shem and Japheth.”
“But…but…what did my child do?”
“The boy says nothing. He claims he wasn’t even in his grandfather’s tent, but I saw him coming out, so something happened. But he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Father cursed Canaan with being a servant? To both your brothers?”
“Yes! Are you deaf, Wife?”
“No, of course I hear perfectly well! What did you do? What did you say?”
“That we were leaving. Taking our third of everything and leaving his God-forsaken valley. I’ll not stay to let that happen. My son will never wait on his uncles or cousins!”
“No. Ham. Where will we go?”
“South and west. Perhaps we will come upon the Garden of Eden.”
“Why would we want to? That story ends with God putting angels with flaming swords to guard it.”
“Maybe they drowned in the flood. Even if he hadn’t cursed Canaan, I’d been thinking of leaving. It’s getting too crowded here, and we can live wherever, however, we want. I, for one, am sick of my brother and your father telling me what to do.”
It proved hard to meet his eye. She hung her head, putting the puzzle pieces together then looked up. “When were you thinking of leaving?”
“Now, right now. Our tent is in the wagon. You start gathering staples from the stores—flours, dried goods, spices, molasses—one-third of everything, and don’t say a word to any of them or let them stop you. I’m going to load our share of the wine and send the boys to collect plantings fr
om all the vines and berry bushes. If there’s a painting you want, take it!”
“Tell Canaan to get the three hidden jugs in the loft and plenty of empties for drinking water along the way.” She hugged his neck, pressing her belly against his. “I’m sad to leave our mother, but what an adventure we will have! And no one will tell us what to do ever again!”
As Noah expected, his wife couldn’t wait to get him alone. At first, he tried to put her off until the opportunity came to discover what Ham had taken. But if he was going to have any peace, he best talk with Hattimas—and soon.
The door slammed shut, and she turned on him. “What were you thinking?”
“I’ve thought the same thing myself, and…well…the words were not my own. That’s all I can tell you.”
“What? Are you implying Abba…but…why? Exactly what happened? The only thing anyone has allowed is that you got drunk and were naked in your tent. Oh, Noah, I’ve tried not to say anything, but your imbibing….”
Of their own accord, his shoulders rose. “True, I drank way too much. I was…” He straddled the bed’s corner and hung his head. “I’ve been…I was…so…disappointed. We used to talk. Abba spoke, we conversed. Since before the flood…. The naked part…” That time, he shrugged on purpose.
“What does that mean?”
For too many of his heartbeats he told her of the vision the Lord had given, then showed him not once, but twice, exactly what Canaan had done.
“Oh, husband! How can this be? Are you certain?”
“I am, though I hate it. Do you think I would concoct such a story?”
“No, of course not. Forgive me. I know you would never, but…I….”
“It’s alright, I understand. It’s difficult…and the words… You know how much I love that boy. It broke my heart hearing what was coming from my own mouth. Then when Japheth asked me to retract them, more of His words came forth.”
