Women of my village are not supposed to travel alone. Yet here I am. Darkness will soon take hold. The area is full of rocks. With each step, I pray to be kept from harm. I am sure of just one thing. The food and drink need to be divided into the smallest amounts necessary. That is not hard. Not eating is one of the things that made my mother angry. As if I did not like her cooking. She refused to understand it was the sorrow that did not let me eat. That began as a child.
This is not the time to worry about where I will find safe places to sleep or pure water. That is for the morrow. Strangers or animals may discover me. I lingered too long because I hoped someone would come and assure me it was a mistake. I push the thoughts away. The threat of darkness is upon me. A pain shoots through my foot. “Ouch.” I stubbed my toe on a rough-hewn log. Did anyone hear? I wait.
I lean on the log to rub away the hurt and it sways. I inspect it and the center is hollowed out and perfect for sleep. I climb in and lie down with my head on the sack and the water pouch hugged to my chest. Please, let me rest and forget. But sleep does not come. Pictures of my family, followed by each villager yelling and screaming parade through my awareness. It seems like half the night disappears before I feel myself drifting off. The morning waits and I must face it. My last thought is, I am a pitiful excuse of a proper young woman.
CHAPTER SIX
I roll out of the log to stretch against the soft grass. It could have made a wonderful sleep mat but would also expose me. Worry, sadness, or both woke me well before dawn. I hoped that being away from home, I would sleep better. The shawl goes into my sack. I am on my own and can do as I please. Abba said this part of the country has wild animals and unsavory men on the hunt for innocents to rape, rob, or kill.
My head is filled with all that happened and makes my heart gloomy. The sight of the sunrise helps me push thoughts to the side. “Ouch.” I wait. There is no one to hear me. My toe grew large during the night and I sit to rub it. A line of ants parade in front of me. They are searching for food to bring to their families. “Good luck, little friends.”
Sandalphon’s orb is in the air, glowing with a pretty red hue. An unusual blue is in one part of the heavens and a sandy blue in another. My cloud twirls around like I do when I am happy and floats down to the ground. As always, the orb guides its arrival, then stays to the side and waits.
“Peace be with you.”
The voice sounds different. Alarm takes hold and I dash to the far side of a bush. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am. I am your cloud and visited many times in your village.”
“Sandalphon? You sound different, like the men in my tribe.”
“Perhaps it is you who have changed and hear me in a new way. You are a composer and singer and your tribe banished you.” I step closer. “I am here to help along your journey. Some happenings may be difficult to deal with.” The cloud moves nearer. “I can assist after a quarrel or if you do not understand.”
“If you can do that, why did you not help before they banished me?”
“Waiting for the council’s answer was painful, and I could not offer any soothing. Everything happened as it was supposed to.”
I come out into the open. “Supposed to? Now you make me angry.”
“This is not easy to understand. Humans go through things in their life to aid in their growth. Not every experience is easy.”
“Growth? Am I not tall enough?”
“This is about learning, and I will assist you with finding teachers.”
“Women cannot study so how can you help?”
“I have guided many souls. Do not fear. My strong point is helping those who make music.”
“Music? You did not tell me that before.”
The cloud comes closer. “You did not need to know. But you are embarking upon a long journey. In this new life of yours, you will need to make many decisions.”
“My parents say I am stupid.”
“Not knowing is an opening to new learning, not stupidity. It might also be better if you will examine your heart for answers. Enjoy your walk.”
I do not understand but give a polite nod. “Thank you for offering to help. The orb’s color is pleasing.”
“The color is called turquoise and like the sea, is blue and green blended into one.”
“I never saw a sea.” And he joins the clouds in the sky.
What can my heart tell me? How will I study? Were my parents wrong and I am not stupid? Each stride takes me farther from all that I know. Did Abba see me leave? It seems to be time for the sun to reach its peak but that globe has not moved much at all. “Which way do I go?” Sandalphon, you assured me of your aid.” My words fly into empty air.
In front of me are grass, trees, and shrubs, but no flowers. Nathan said somewhere down river people are different. If I survive, happiness might be possible with others who are unusual. I need to be brave and hold that with my whole heart.
The villagers said that everything I did was wrong or evil. Sandalphon said, “You will have a new life.” The cloud assured me he guided many souls. I am in a tangle.
A rustling sound comes from the shrubs. A bandit? A bird? Maybe an animal. A fast moving snake? I run to the nearest tree. My toe is not healed and I hope to not have to scramble up. “Sandalphon,” I whisper in my head, “I do not see one place to hide.” My palms are wet and I wipe them on my tunic. Trees stir. Perhaps it is only the wind. Each moment seems to be forever.
Sounds low to the ground assure me something is nearby and it is moving. I clutch the lowest branch, the rough bark pressing into me. I cannot make out where the creature roams, but the sounds are coming closer. Watching out for my toe, I climb as high as I can. The creature moves, but still does not show itself. My back is against the trunk of the tree, the branch is thin and I fear it may break. The longer I am caught here like a trapped animal, the more the fear grows.
Hissing makes me flinch. I try not to breathe, the smell is horrible. The animal appears and I hold back laughter for fear someone might be near. Abba called these animals ‘the unclean ones who creep,’ and warned us to take care, for their bite is vicious. This ferret is in no hurry. There is loud crunching and I shudder. He must have found some bones. His meal over, he moves like a snail. Is he looking for more to eat? At last he passes by and is out of sight.
The animal is gone and I am secure in the tree. “Sandalphon, please, which way? Why are you not here?” The cool grass would be comfortable but could be dangerous. The tree is not at all pleasing but I decide to rest. I am safe.
When my eyes open the sun is past its peak. I climb down. A short while passes and there are areas of fallow land followed by others that are lush though not a hand has marked them.
I take a large step, trying to convince myself that I am on the way to a happier place. In front of me is a fertile spot. More bushes, shrubs, and trees abound. The sun flickers through the branches and fashions a glint on the greenery. The air holds a crispness, reminding me of clarity after a storm. Its coolness bring freshness and joy to my heart. A bite of bread and a date cake enlivens my mouth. That is surprising because hunger never bothers me. My food and water are nowhere near enough. If I die, it will not matter.
A short walk and an open area is not too many steps ahead. There is a mixture of many colors in the greenery and the abundance of grass. This meadow is unlike where my tribe lets the animals feed. The grass here is a deep green. Flowers of all hues fill the space, some resembling the pastels of the clouds’ haze. Others are cheerful reds, purples, and blues. Their scents make me giddy. This place exists not one moon cycle from home and is so different. It is too soon to come upon another city-state, but a hut is in sight. Could there be another village nearby?
“If I bruise you, beautiful flowers, I am sorry. I love sitting next to you.” Lying back with my eyes closed, the sun warms me.
“Peace be with you. And welcome.”
Jumping at the sound of a man’s voice, my response
, respectful as my parents taught, is still cautious, “Peace be with you.” I leap up and back away. The glare of the sun makes it difficult to see the man standing in front of me. I shade my eyes with my hand. He is bent over at the shoulders and his face reveals stories of many years of hard labor. His gray hair is matted with perspiration and his dark eyes flash.
“Do not be frightened. I mean you no harm. You walked a long way. Your hair is full of leaves.” I reach to touch them. “Twigs poke out of your garment.” I bend my head to see. He laughs. “Are you here to visit?”
He seems no different than my people. “No. I live in a small village north of Shechem and go south.”
“To the south?” he hesitates. “Do you not know you are headed east, toward the rising sun?”
“I will track the Jordan.”
“Once you reach the Jordan you can follow it, but you wasted time. What is your destination?”
I peer in one direction. Was my father wrong? I turn to another direction. Now I must walk farther with not enough food or water. Can I trust this man?
“You seem confused and I am concerned. A young woman might come to harm. Why are you alone?” His hand tries to repair the disarray of matted hair.
“To find people like me.”
His hands sweep over his torso. “We are the same as you. Two arms, two legs, and a body,” he laughs.
“No, I do not mean that way.”
“My name is Pinchas. Would you care to come with me? My woman would enjoy female company. Not many people happen this way.” He points toward the other side of the field. A woman outside is sweeping and waves a welcome. A grin beams across her face. If he has a woman in his hut there should be no danger.
“I am about to go to her and our meal. You are welcome to join us.”
His demeanor is kind, his appearance tidy. He is not dressed in the way of the law-breaker who was punished in our village. That man’s clothes were ripped and tattered, and his beard and mustache were unkempt. He spoke words children should not hear. Ima covered my ears and dragged me away before I saw what happened.
The meaning of this man’s name is mouth of brass and that concerns me. The promise of a meal and a family, maybe a new life, all help me ignore an uneasiness that might be foolish. “I would be pleased to join you. I am called Elisha.”
“After the meal you can relate the story of your man’s name and the concern about people like you.” His mouth laughs, his eyes do not.
Discomfort takes hold.
His woman, Carnia, welcomes me as if I am family. She is respectable and proper, older than my mother and her face is marred with spots of brown. The deep wrinkles on Carnia’s face remind me of our tunics after we ring the water out of them. The females of my village are sturdy, but a powerful wind might fell this speck of a woman. She shows me into a one room mud-brick hut that resembles mine—what used to be mine.
They help me feel comfortable, almost like kinfolk. Not what I expected. The room is large like ours but the area for sleep is in plain view. At home, we each have a private space with a curtain.
“Put the young woman at ease. She needs care.”
Carnia backs away, turns, and leads me outside. The sound of water comes from a narrow stream. Trees surround the nearby cook area. Carnia fills the basin with heated water. “Take as much time as you need.” She returns to the food preparation.
“Thank you,” I call after her. With all the foliage removed, the tan tunic Ima made is ready for a thorough scrub. I hang the wrap on a tree branch to dry. My tribe taught respect for your body and keeping yourself clean.
The moment of discomfort with Pinchas makes me think that as kind as these people are, they might watch. I leave the under-shift on making it impossible to wash all over. My curls will take time to dry. The sun will hasten the process. The brown tunic on, I join them at the front of the hut.
The aroma of olive oil, rosemary, and cinnamon fill my nose. I can stuff myself and save my food. Carnia brings the two-handled cook pot to where we sit. Curds, barley, and chickpeas fill the vessel.
Walking must make me hungry because I almost fall onto the mat and eat quickly. The last of the food has soaked into the flat bread. I pop it in my mouth and the basin is clean. I look up. Carnia and Pinchas are staring at me. My bodice is wet from dripping hair. Is that what they gape at?
“Do not worry. My master and I have been as hungry as you are.”
Carnia’s smile reminds me of my mother. “Ima provided what little she had to give.”
“I understand.” Carnia rises to clear the used vessels. “Where is your village?”
I brush the food off my wrap and with the few worn wooden basins in hand I join her. We get to the washstand and she invites me to clean my hands. “I am from a small village not far from Shechem. Where can I put the clean basins to dry?”
She points to a small space nearby filled with rocks. “You are alone?”
My heart tightens, but I answer with my head held high, “I am not married.”
“And your parents.” She turns toward me.
“They are in my village.”
Her chin dips down and up. “Where do you go?”
“I must go south.” She asks a lot of questions.
“Maybe you can stay. We are far away from people.”
“Perhaps.”
“Let us join Pinchas or he will soon be impatient alone.”
Pinchas begins to speak as we sit to join him. “I want to know more about the people you seek. You said they are like you.” His tone commands. The way of most men.
“My lord,” I hang my head in apology. “My family would not appreciate our discussing that. I hope you understand.”
“We are kind and will not judge you.” Pinchas’s smile is false.
“You are tired. Stay.” Carnia wraps her voice in fleece. “You can sleep with comfort, eat a little food, and then continue your walk.” She sounds like a mother.
“I agree. You can be safe with us, not out in the wild,” Pinchas adds.
I wish to stay, but is he being polite? “That is true, and my journey is long.” I adjust myself on the mat.
“Carnia.” The sound bellows so loud she jumps up and moves back two paces.
“Yes, my lord. What is your pleasure?”
“Where is my libation?” His tone is brusque.
“In a moment, my lord.”
She cowered as she answered her husband. Ima calls my father lord and master at times as a sign of respect. Carnia’s name means bird. This bird has a broken wing.
“May I help?” I follow Carnia into the hut. She lets me pour the libation while she stores the utensils. “May I ask a question?”
“Please do.”
“You live in the wilderness. No one is near. Is there no danger?”
Carnia smiles. “Pinchas was brought up here and I came to live with him and his parents, as is the custom. We had no reason to leave.” I nod. She takes the libation to Pinchas. I stay behind to inspect a tiny crystal on a little wood stand. The color is turquoise like Sandalphon’s orb. I could tell by her discomfort, Carnia did not tell the whole truth.
Making my way toward the mat, Pinchas speaks before I am seated. “About your man’s name?” The request is plain spoken, the insistence is in his tone.
“Excuse me, my lord, my tribe would be upset if I spoke of that.” Please, my cloud, my voice, my friend, pardon me for the lies.
“That is a shame. I missed out on two stories. Your water skin is small. Fill it and go on your way. We do not have a lot of food to share.” Carnia looks up.
“Thank you so much. I do not wish to bother you.”
“It is my pleasure. That is unless you are moved to stay.”
But he just said . . . “May I take some time alone to make a decision?”
“Do not take too long.”
“Excuse me.” A polite nod and I take my sack and walk to an area behind the hut for privacy. I take out my harp and drop the sa
ck on the ground. Holding the harp helps my head to clear. The way Pinchas addresses Carnia troubles me. He reminds me of Qayin and makes me uneasy. Perhaps it is merely his way of speech.
“Sandalphon, where are you?” He sets down close by. “Please guide me.”
“You know I cannot help with decisions. You must choose your next step, and I will be here as you need me.” The cloud and his band of colors disappear.
First, I decide to stay, then five steps later choose no. I do not know these people or trust Pinchas. Sandalphon said to examine my heart. I was taught that I should draw in air. Deeper breathing helps my body to relax and after a short time brings a message. You do not want to be alone. I let out another breath and feeling even more at ease, I return to the couple.
Pinchas raises his eyebrows and twists his mouth to one side. “Did you decide?”
Carnia motions toward the mat. “Please sit. I hope you will stay. I poured the libation. Drink. Drink.” She encourages me with a wave of her hand.
The quality of her tone is sweet and her eyes plead for me to stay. My decision was to leave. For Carnia’s sake I will wait. “I will stay for the night. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality.” One night might lead to more.
“Now,” Pinchas hands me a full goblet, “about yourself.” The grin filling Carnia’s face disappears.
“Where shall I start?”
“Can you explain what took you so long to decide? It seemed you were hiding from us while cleaning yourself. Do you think we are the kind of people who would hurt you?” Pinchas prods. Then he scowls at his wife daring her to say a word.
A sip of wine delays my answer. My words, chosen with care, are truthful. “The women of my tribe taught us that if we have a difficult decision to face, to go outside, take in air, and wait until our heart whispers instructions.” The couple glance at each other. Concern is on Carnia’s face. “The answer becomes clear, making it possible to move ahead.”
Mountain of Full Moons Page 4
