by Angela Hunt
“Any way he could,” she answered. “When I met him, he had just returned from the east with a group of traders. When we lived in Thebes, he would buy grain and lentils from our neighbors and travel upriver to sell them at an inflated price.” She sighed, remembering. “He was not often successful.”
“Did he ever speak of other aspirations? Some occupation he might like to have tried? Something he might want a son to do?”
She frowned, unwilling to open the door to a host of memories she’d tried to lock away. “I don’t know…perhaps. For a time he worked with the masons who make statuary. Once he tried to be a lay priest, but his ideas were too bizarre even for the priests of Sebek. He always admired the scribes. He said they held the power of the law in their hands.”
“Could he write?”
She shook her head. “He had a keen mind for numbers, but he had never been taught the hieroglyphics.” Suddenly, her mind blew open. “The temple schools! He could leave Adom with the priests so he won’t have to worry about caring for him. Then when Adom is of age, a portion of everything he earns as a scribe will go to Idogbe.”
Shim’on pulled back on the reins. While the stallion bent to browse the new grass at the water’s edge, he turned in the saddle to look at her. “Which temple school?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Mandisa, there are scores of schools, for Egypt has more temples than—”
“Not for Idogbe,” she answered, her eyes watering. “Idogbe worshipped Sebek. Idogbe would take Adom to the Temple of Sebek at Crocodilopolis.”
“And where is this city?”
She closed her eyes and struggled to remember. “It is in the region called Land of the Lakes. A three-day journey north of Thebes.”
“Almost to Goshen, then,” Shim’on said. “I think I know the place. I rode through it on my journey from Goshen to Thebes.” She thought he would look away, but he kept his eyes on her.
“Well?” she asked, feeling her flesh color. “Are we going or not?”
“Yes, my lady.” Tightening the reins, he urged the stallion forward.
Since nearly all of Egypt’s citizens had moved toward the life-giving river in the time of drought, Shim’on planned to follow the winding course as far as Herakleopolis. If he hadn’t found Idogbe by then, he assured Mandisa, they would follow the tributary which broke off to the west and fed the area known as Ta-she, or Land of the Lakes. If they hadn’t found Adom by the time they reached Crocodilopolis, they would go straightaway to the Temple of Sebek and inquire after him. If the boy happened to be there, Mandisa could take her case to the vizier, who would certainly command the priests to release her son.
“I don’t care what happens to Idogbe,” Mandisa said, agreeing with Shim’on’s plan. “He never loved me or his son, or he would have made me his wife. And he has been gone from my life for such a long time, I am content to leave his fate to the vizier. But I cannot rest until I find Adom.”
Fed by a tributary of the Nile, the Land of the Lakes was the most bountiful region of all Egypt. Past pharaohs had begun a series of hydraulic systems to evenly distribute the flow of water throughout the land. Though drought had reduced all but the narrowest sliver of land along the Nile to barren desert, here Shim’on and Mandisa beheld papyrus plants, palms and olives growing in great abundance. A series of dikes, retaining walls, sluices and canals regulated the flow of the tributary and the lakes into which the water ran.
A few hours south of Crocodilopolis, Shim’on stopped just after sunset. “I will leave you for a little while,” he said, offering her his hand as she dismounted. “There’s a small settlement over there that might have oats for the horse. I’d hate to return the vizier’s beast overtired and undernourished.”
Mandisa slipped from the stallion and walked to the river’s edge. As Shim’on hobbled the horse and led him to water, she wrapped herself in his cloak and knelt to splash her dusty face. As the tepid water washed away her weariness, she dried her skin with the edge of the cloak and smiled. The garment smelled like Shim’on—robust, earthy, and full of life.
The beauty of the crushed-diamond water soothed her anxious spirit. The moon shone full almost directly in front of her, backlighting a few far-flung clouds along the eastern horizon. A dozen campfires dotted the darkness of the riverbank. Mandisa knew most of them belonged to families in search of food and trade, trying their best to survive in the time of famine.
Someone moved farther down the riverbank, and Mandisa’s eyes focused there. A young woman held her young daughter by the hand, attempting to bathe the child. Mandisa heard the little girl gasp at the first shock of coolness upon her legs. The mother laughed, a tender, lilting sound, and the child squealed and tried to scramble into her mother’s arms.
Mandisa turned away from the sight. As long as her arms remained empty, she would never be able to look at a mother and child without weeping.
From somewhere in the distance another child cried, a man screamed, someone else yelled. Mandisa pulled the hood of Shim’on’s cloak over her head, distressed by the sounds.
“Mandisa! Catch him!”
The cry came from nowhere, borne on a gust of river wind. The voice was Shim’on’s, but who was she supposed to catch? The horse? A thief?
“Mother!”
She froze, a spasm of panic trilling across her body. “Adom!” Frantically she scrambled up a mounded dike, and then she saw him. Adom was fifty paces away, running in her direction, on the opposite bank of a wide irrigation ditch. Behind the boy she saw his pursuer, a hulking brute who raced in a crouch, his arms pumping.
Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized him. Idogbe.
“Adom!” Mandisa cried, waving her hands above her head. “This way! I’m here!”
A mud levee bordered the canal, and Mandisa plunged over it, struggling as the wet mud sucked at her sandals and feet. The silt was thick here, and each step felt like the earth’s attempt to wrench her ankles from their sockets. She felt the thin straps of her sandals give way, then the mud pulled her down, covering her shins.
Adom stood now at the water’s edge, his eyes wide. “Mother!” He paused, eyeing the ribbon of water between them.
Where was Shim’on?
“Adom!” She fought for the energy to keep moving toward him. She pulled one leg free and staggered forward, then stopped to wrest her other foot from the greedy muck.
Behind Adom, Idogbe raced forward, as sure-footed as a goat and as strong as the wind. Adom glanced back at the shrinking distance between them, then plunged into the canal.
“No, Adom!” Mandisa cried. Though her son had often splashed in the garden pool of the vizier’s house, she did not think he could swim. She thrust her arms toward him and slipped, falling upon her hands. The mire pulled her downward, muck squirting between her fingers as ooze slapped the side of her face.
“Mother!” The scream was louder now, shriller. With an effort, Mandisa lifted her head. Adom stood in waist-deep water, his eyes wide in a paroxysm of fear, his gaze fastened to something that moved in the canal. A rise of panic threatened to choke her as Mandisa followed his eyes.
In the distance, a crocodile was moving up from the river, his powerful tail sweeping in wide arcs as he swam toward the shrieking boy. She struggled to scream Shim’on’s name, but the scream died in her raw throat.
Shim’on pressed his hands to his forehead, struggling to clear his brain. He had seen Adom and called to Mandisa, then an unexpected blow had come from behind, knocking him senseless. He could feel a sticky wetness on his forehead and warmth on his face, but the fiend who had struck him disappeared. Had he gone after the boy?
Shim’on pushed himself up from the ground, consciously commanding his legs to bear his weight. Colors exploded in his brain as he stood, and his chest tightened as a sense of inadequacy swept over him. What if he couldn’t reach Adom in time? If Mandisa put herself between the boy and this madman…
He bit his lip to stifle the pain and staggered toward
the canal he had crossed earlier. Through a burst of blinding white agony he saw a powerful, well-muscled man in the distance. Then the man disappeared, and Shim’on blinked, afraid his eyes had betrayed him.
No. His ears rang with Mandisa’s screams. The man had gone down into the ditch, probably still chasing the boy.
Shim’on pushed himself, urging his body forward through pain and blood and darkness. His sandals kicked up dirt as he ran toward the sound of Mandisa’s cries, then he stood at the edge of the irrigation canal and took in the scene with one glance.
Mandisa scrambled helplessly on the opposite shore, impeded by the thick mud, her hands outstretched for her son. Idogbe stood on the downward slope of the dike, a bloody battle-ax in his hand, a look of awe and reverence upon his face. And in the water, Adam floundered in terror as the golden eyes of a crocodile advanced from the river.
“Leave the boy where he is!” Idogbe called, his voice like an echo from an empty tomb. “See there! My lord Sebek comes to take his sacrifice, he has rewarded my faithfulness! He will increase my strength a hundred times and grant me authority in the life to come!”
“Adom!” Mandisa threw her head back and screamed a guttural cry of terror.
The boy’s answering shriek chilled Shim’on to the marrow.
“Behold the god of my strength, the Destroyer!” Idogbe chanted, lurching like some demented monster on the muddy bank. “Behold Sebek, great of slaughter, great of fear! He washes in your blood, he bathes in the gore of sacrifice!”
Shim’on’s blood slid through his veins like cold needles as he considered the hellish scene before him. The crocodile was advancing steadily. If Shim’on attacked the madman, the boy would not have a chance. But if Shim’on strode into the water, the maniac Idogbe would find Shim’on’s head and shoulders an easy target for his battle-ax.
El Shaddai, give me wisdom.
Shim’on stepped down, carefully negotiating the slick mud of the dike. With every step, his jaw became firmer, his muscles tighter, his heart more eager. If he had been born only for this moment, his soul would still praise the Almighty God. For Shim’on the Destroyer was ready to surrender his life. Better that innocent Adom should live than one who had killed so many.
His feet found firm footing on level ground near the water, and Shim’on plunged past Idogbe into the stream, scooping Adom up with one arm. When his ears rang with a frustrated scream, he knew the lunatic had charged, battle-ax swinging. A blow nearly knocked Shim’on from his feet, but he managed to remain standing long enough to thrust the boy to the safety of the opposite shore. Then he turned in the water to face the mad Egyptian.
The ex-priest seemed to swell as he regarded his adversary. “What interest have you in this, Canaanite?” He crouched in the water, the ax slicing the air in front of him. He circled, keeping his eyes fixed upon Shim’on’s. “Why have you interfered with my son’s appointment with his destiny? Sebek chose this time and place. He Who Destroys was ready to accept my sacrifice.”
“A man should sacrifice what belongs to him, and not to another,” Shim’on answered, circling step-for-step with his adversary. “And your son will chose his own god. Leave him alone, Idogbe.”
The Egyptian threw back his head and laughed. “You know my name! That is good, for a man should know the name of the one who is about to kill him.”
“Then you should know that I am Shim’on, son of Yisrael,” Shim’on answered, striding through the waist-deep water. He stole a quick look at the glassy surface around him, but the crocodile had disappeared.
The ax whistled as it approached. Shim’on thrust up a hand to block it and succeeded, though the handle cracked against his arm with such force the bone went numb.
Idogbe screamed in frustration as the ax slipped from his grasp and dropped beneath the muddy water.
Shim’on stepped toward the spot where it had disappeared, blocking Idogbe from the weapon. And then the Egyptian was upon him, his fists striking like the mouths of snakes. In a dance of death they pirouetted, splashing in the water, smashing onto the bank of the levee. Shim’on spread his feet for balance and struck out with his good hand as often as he could, but then a sharp bite cut through the leather of his sandal and into his foot, startling him.
The ax.
Blood…and a crocodile in the water.
And then Idogbe’s hands were around Shim’on’s throat. As the night filled with a ripping mayhem of screams that made the stars above vibrate, Shim’on felt himself being pushed toward the water. He struggled to breathe, to resist, to fight, and then his eyes saw nothing but murk as the waters swept over his head, filling his nose, ears, mouth…
Almighty God, forgive me. Though I showed no mercy and deserve none, if You would look upon me now…
The anger that had been welling in Shim’on’s soul vanished like a swift shadow. Hot emotions never resulted in cool judgment, and Shim’on needed wisdom now, for the man who faced him was superior in height, weight and strength.
With every ounce of energy he possessed, Shim’on kicked upward. His foot found a vulnerable spot; Idogbe groaned and weakened his grasp long enough for Shim’on to launch himself toward the sky and fill his lungs with air.
The muscled Egyptian came at him again, as relentless as guilt.
So be it.
As the Egyptian’s arms closed around his throat, Shim’on stopped resisting and went limp, allowing his weight to pull Idogbe beneath the surface.
All earthly noises but the pounding of Shim’on’s heart disappeared in the dark, bubbling sounds of the riverworld. He rolled in the water, shifting the Egyptian to his side, and with a powerful effort Shim’on turned, pinning his enemy beneath him.
Placing his foot on the man’s throat, Shim’on thrust himself up, gulped for air, then went under the water again until the man’s scrambling stilled.
Praise be Your name, God Shaddai! For Shim’on the Destroyer is no more. I could not have accomplished this but by Your Hand.
When he was certain the fight had gone out of the aggressor, he pulled the Egyptian to the opposite bank, checked to be sure the man still breathed, then stumbled back through the water to Mandisa.
“Shim’on!” Her hands reached out to him as he collapsed on the bank beside Adom. He shivered as the fire of battle left his veins and a strange peace filled his heart when Mandisa’s cool hand fell upon his cheek. “Are you all right?” she asked, her lovely face hovering over him like a concerned angel’s. “You’re bleeding.”
“It matters not,” he said, attempting to smile. “How’s the boy?”
“Fine.” Mandisa nodded to her son, whose teeth chattered as he squatted in the mud.
With a trembling hand Shim’on pointed toward Idogbe, who still lay unconscious on the far shore. “And what shall we do about him?”
“We will leave him to his god,” Mandisa answered, patting her son.
Adom turned to face Shim’on. “I thought I’d never see you again. And I didn’t like that man, but he said he was my father.”
“A father is someone who loves you,” Mandisa answered, slipping out of Shim’on’s cloak. She draped it across her son’s shoulders and Shim’on’s chest, warming them together.
“Then…can you be my father?”
Shim’on lifted his hand to Adom’s head. “If your mother approves,” he said, his voice tentative as his eyes searched her face.
She didn’t answer, but her eyes blazed with an inner fire, brighter than the light from the torches that had begun to appear on the banks around them. Shim’on felt an inexplicable smile sweep over his own face, and a delicious shudder heated his body when she pressed her hand to his forehead. “You are hurt,” she said, concern in her voice as she examined the wound. “We should find a physician for that cut on your head. I don’t know how you were able to stand and fight.”
“It is nothing,” he said, his heart pounding in an erratic rhythm.
She lowered her gaze to his. “Shim’on, son o
f Yaakov,” she murmured, her hand holding his face with a tender touch. “I owe you everything.”
“It is nothing,” he repeated, his common sense skittering into the shadows of the night.
“It is everything, you are everything,” she answered, her breath softly fanning his face. “The first day I saw you, I knew you were capable of mighty deeds. Shim’on, son of Yaakov, once called I-am-not-loved, I saw your true heart. You had only to discover it for yourself.”
He felt her lips touch his like a whisper, and then in her black eyes he found all he’d been searching for.
Idogbe staggered away from the muddy bank, shoving past the concerned hands that reached out to give him aid. One glance at the far side of the canal assured him that he had failed, for a knot of people surrounded the man, woman and child who had destroyed his plans for greatness and immortality.
He left the canal and moved toward the river, determined to confront the god who had failed him. “Come out, Sebek!” he cried, lifting his hands as he neared the rushes at the riverbank. “Come out and face your Chosen One! You could have taken them both, the boy and the man, and yet you left me to face humiliation!”
No answer came from the river, nothing moved in the silvery water. A pair of men who had bedded down on the rise of the bank stood as Idogbe approached, then retreated as if frightened by his bold intensity.
Let them be frightened. No one should interfere with a man who plans to confront his god.
“Are you there, Sebek?” Idogbe cried, splashing into the water. He shouldered his way through the tall reeds and felt the sharp-edged stems bite into the flesh of his shoulders. “I am here for you! Take my miserable life, since you have no other use for it!”
The water inched up his legs, covering his shins, his thighs, his waist. Still he continued to roar and shout, thrashing as the water crept closer to his chin. At once the muddy river bottom fell away, and the waters closed over his head. Idogbe tried to scramble back to a place of firm footing, but in all his travels, he had neglected to learn how to swim. He bobbed up, once, twice, but could not move toward either shore.
