Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

  “Let us move on to a drier place.” A few of the men gather the strewn arrows on the ground while others wander farther away to find more. The man who noticed the sky walks toward my tree. Does he know I am here? I grab the closest arrows and hold them in my hand, high and ready. I slowly move the branch in front of me to cover what it can.

  The man stands underneath where my cover drips from the rain. He reaches up. His hand is near mine. Almost close enough to touch. He examines the tree. His eyes widen. They land on his prize.

  “Here they are,” he yells, and pulls arrows out of the bark. He turns and walks away. It takes time for my chest to calm and I still do not move. When the courage to peek out is strong enough, the men went on their way.

  My body aches from hugging it tight for so long. I wait a few moments. Climbing down from my perch, I search in every direction to make sure the men do not return. My cover is waiting. It is full of holes and as forlorn as my heart. I hold it to my breast, then drop the mess into the sack. Should I give up, go back home. They will not accept me. I must go on. Will this be my life?

  A bush is nearby, and I crawl under its leaves. This journey of being led is one of wandering as if caught in a web, not knowing what to expect next. I am the one who must survive. This is too hard. If the men killed me it might be better. Or I could starve myself, no longer eat or drink. End the questions, the dreams, and the desires.

  Darkness is falling and it is time to check my stores. The breads are moldy and I throw them to the birds. Ima’s cheese melted and I scrape what is left into my mouth. I eat a date cake, and it is time to move on. What I realize now is that I need guidance and accepting Sandalphon’s help means an agreement to listen to his suggestions. If I want him to continue coming to me, my whole heart and willingness to do the work must be present.

  This is the season of my birth. If I were with my people, we would celebrate. We had many trials. Still, my heart aches. The family is no longer mine.

  The cloud whispers in my ear. “Excellent. You recognized a feeling. However, you did not name it. It is called sadness.”

  “At home I knew what to expect and who would say what.” The memory pleases me. “I was safe.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His question feels like Ima hit me with the stick. “You are right. It seemed so.” I stare at the cloud. “How can I do anything when I do not know what will happen from here to the next step?”

  “Does it remind you of home?”

  He surprises me. “I suppose so.”

  “Life is like that, and you managed to survive. Go and sleep well.” His colors fade and the sound of gurgling reaches my ears. That was the strangest talk we ever had. I hear the splashing water. Could it be the Jordan? That would raise my spirits. It would be my first destination and a chance to fill my skin.

  The sun is partly below the horizon. I hum a song from my childhood as I walk. The one I sang for my father before he told me the council’s decision. I try to quicken the pace but my legs will not let me move faster. The blueness of the water appears before me and the sun is almost gone. The stream is small, not the Jordan, and I get some sleep.

  The air is already warm when I awake before dawn. The soft waves and blue of the stream lift my spirits. After filling the skin, I gather my things and start out.

  My legs are still stiff. “Why do you not heal?” Perhaps moving will loosen them. Progress must be gradual. There is no pain, but their heaviness weighs me down.

  What torments me? My family’s faces full of disappointment flash by. My heart hurts with dark regret. I did not want it to be this way.

  “Stop for a moment and tell me what you learned from the last task.”

  “That is a difficult question, Sandalphon. I do not know. But I did learn that if I pay attention to what you teach, there is a greater chance of success. And I need to choose what benefits me.”

  “As each insect chooses to feed on certain greeneries or other specific parts of the tree, the choice of prospects for your new life belong to you.”

  “Leaves? What are they supposed to teach me?”

  “When you are in Urusalim and have choices you will understand. Working with Abram will open up many new ideas.”

  “What will he tell me?”

  “It is Abram’s teaching, not mine.” All that about leaves has no meaning. Sometimes he rambles on. “Do you understand my description?” I nod. “You did well. I leave you to continue.”

  “Was I right about the last challenge?” He is gone.

  I did well? Then why would he not say more about Abram? Is what I am to learn a secret? The sun rises and each tree, each branch, each leaf delights me. The yellowish-green of the moss is unlike any in my village. I put the sack and skin on the ground, freeing my hands so I can touch the smooth surfaces. They make me laugh and I roam through the foliage. The sweet perfumes call me to inhale their scents. The pungent ones make me heady, and I back away from the sharp ones.

  The warmth of the sun helps me come alive. A light rain falls while the sun is still shining. As a child I went into the sprinkles and my mother called me to come in. “Please, Ima, I want to play in the rain. It bounces off my skin and makes me laugh.” Raindrops swirled around me. Ima made me come into the hut. “If you get sick, I must care for you and cannot do my work,” she said.

  I want to twirl with my arms thrown out like I did then. Would life be different if Ima talked to me about a boy I liked, or before the onset of my blood flow when I did not know what to do? I was sure death was near.

  The rain stops and the sun shines a bit. The trees fascinate me and I ignore everything else. Their scents settle my fears but do not take away the hurts or bad feelings for the villagers not wanting me or defending me, for making me believe I was unworthy and useless, for the certainty I was evil. Most of all, for not being loved, except for Nathan, who never scolded.

  Not too many steps later the sight of water brings a rush of playfulness. Is this the Jordan? The expanse though bigger than the last one, is also too small. I run toward it, drop my skin and plunge in. I am enjoying the respite when my belly interrupts. It needs food. I search but the sack is nowhere to be found. The skin is in its proper place near where the sack was. I inspect the surroundings again. How stupid of me. It has to be back where I met with Sandalphon.

  “My friend, my voice, please help.” Where do I go?

  “Put to the test the position of the sun.”

  “Thank you.” That is not much help, since the sun has not moved enough to give a sign. I attempt to retrace my steps with the skin clutched to my chest. Every area is the same as the one before. The next clearing shows nothing. Did I go the correct way? The next two regions also yield no sack. My curls are in my mouth and I chew. Ima would be angry.

  Sandalphon tells me not to give up. The sun’s movement now shows that I turned off course. I move to the right. The direction is still not true and I plod ahead on a new track.

  I find the sack on the bank of the stream. I pick it up and my knees give way. I hug the skin and sack to my chest. “Please my family, I am so ashamed. I did not mean to lose your gifts. I will be more careful and responsible.” I want to rock like a child but Sandalphon said I am now grown up.

  When I was young the tribe said, “You became enamored of your environs and did not take care of your possessions.” I lost one of Ima’s basins. “You suffer from a lack of responsibility. Life is not to enjoy. Much needs to be done.” To complete the punishment they gave me, I had to stand where they made the community fire from the rise to the last of the sun. I was five seasons of birth.

  The tribe said I was defective. Sandalphon said I would be helpful. Who is right?

  Now to deal with the trek back. The sun’s descent is causing a change in the air. A welcomed dryness strokes my face. My cloud told me this last part of the trek might be finished with a reasonable pace.

  I walk through an unending expanse of trees and shrubs. More than both hands many
times over. I am hungry. The last of the water is finished quickly.

  I survived Pinchas, the panthera, and men with arrows, but the scariest part of the trip is ahead. I should go home.

  “Hope is a most valuable resource.”

  “Sandalphon?”

  He is laughing. “Do you have other voices in your head?”

  “I did not see your cloud, so you frightened me.”

  “The view you have about your journey is correct.”

  “You read what is in my head.”

  “I am able to. Consider each encounter. Each was done well.”

  I turn. “You call that success?” I wait and wait but he will not speak. “I managed to survive but lost my sack and wasted time.” And my thoughts are not always nice.

  “You are here, alive.”

  He makes me ponder, or is it become aware? “What are you saying?”

  “Hope serves you and is not to be discarded. And you may have the chance for a bit of good fortune.” And he disappears. He comes and goes at the oddest times. I needed him to say if the herbs in the desert are good to eat.

  The region before me grows more arid. The tribe spoke many times of this location. Though the messengers who came from the south described the area to the villagers, this is not a vision you can imagine. The few trees I walk past are small, weak from thirst and unable to accommodate a child’s form. White sand lays between the last of the trees and the desert’s jagged rim, then bareness stretches as far as can be seen.

  Nothing offers freedom from threats, nowhere to sleep and be safe. There are few trees and bushes. The sacks are on my shoulder and, to make progress, I alternate between running and walking. The sun moves toward the horizon. Overcome by a weakness which should not be, I kneel to rest. When I attempt to stand again, faintness overtakes me. I reach for the skin and my legs give out from under me.

  My head is as tangled as sheep’s wool. What should I do and where do I go? My throat is dry. I am such a fool to think this trek can be done by a woman . . . onward, upward, be near you, here, there. My head is a muddle, and I cannot get up.

  My words do not make sense. My thinking is somewhere in the clouds. Nonsense roams . . . not agree, fight, do what, taste. What can I taste? The food is gone, nothing to eat and . . . someone shakes my shoulder to and fro.

  “Go away, Ima. Go away. I cannot wake up.”

  “Are you sick?” The voice reaches through the jumble in my head. The voice is not Ima’s. Not Abba’s, but a man. I can smell him. I try to sit up. Will he hurt me? My eyes will not open.

  “Your skin is empty. My flagon is at your lips. Take a sip.” The water drips down my chin and runs down, cooling my chest. “Now, another mouthful and try to open your eyes.”

  I sit up and raise my forehead as high as possible to pull the lids apart, but they are fixed.

  “Good, but we must make more of an effort. Try.” A tiny slit of green and yellow appears, but my eyes refuse to see more. “Here. Another drink.” My head hurts, and I lie down.

  With his arm under my back he pulls me up. The container is at my mouth and I drink. “Open your eyes.”

  There is a haze in front of me. Did someone spill goat’s milk from the sky? I blink a few times and the man comes into view. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you. The rest of my water must have spilled when I fell.”

  “You seem better; your cheeks have color. You are well for now, at least for a while. Where are you going?”

  “To Urusalim.” I try to gaze into his dark eyes but mine hurt.

  “You still have a long way to go.” He hands me the flask. I long to drink to the bottom but will not profit from the kindness of this man.

  “What is wrong with me?”

  “There is a caravan over there.” He points to the right.

  “My eyes hurt, they cannot make it out.”

  “Our journey is in the correct direction, and we would be happy to have you join us. Try to stand.”

  He has been kind. “Are you a bandit?”

  He puts his hand around my waist and pulls me up. “I will gather your belongings. Do you want the skin?” I shake my head, it is of no use. “The women will welcome your company.”

  Still a bit dizzy, I move ahead but trip and stumble. We make slow progress. When we are close to the caravan nervousness overtakes me. “Men are here, but I do not see women.”

  “We have a large cart and it is not far. See the yellow covering?” I nod. “The women are protected inside.”

  We reach the cart, he opens the covering and places my sack inside. He lifts me on to the edge, jumps in, grabs my waist and yanks me to the floor. He kneels over me. “Please, my lord, do not hurt me.”

  My hands are over my head. He ties them together. “Please, my lord, no.”

  “Do not worry, this is for your safety.”

  “My safety?”

  “The cart is not steady, and you could get hurt.” He ties my feet and turns to leave.

  Hands on his hips he looks at me and laughs. My sack is in his hand. He shuts the covering.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I pray the cart is moving in the same direction as when I walked. He promised me it was. Twisting and turning my hands do not loosen the ropes. The caravan stops and I hold my breath. The man returns. Can he tell I tried to free myself? He ignores me and goes to the back of the cart. The small pieces of wood he takes to the men are soon burning and the aroma of food scratches at my stomach. The man pulls the covering open again and fear makes my back dig into the floor. Welcome light comes into the cart.

  “Here. Food.”

  My back relaxes. “I cannot eat with my hands tied.”

  My hands free, he goes back to the men. No matter how hard I try, the ties on my feet will not loosen. The flap from the cover was left open and what they say terrifies me.

  “She is young, there is no ring on her finger so she is unwed and pretty. We can sell her. Imagine what we can barter for a virgin.”

  The men laugh. One of them yells, “We should have fun with her first.”

  “No. If we want to barter, we need her untouched.”

  Those words could save me. Nathan’s gift is in the sack, so is the slate and stylus and my precious harp. Working at the ties again fails.

  He comes back to collect the basin and ties my hands when I finish eating.

  “I must relieve myself.”

  “It cannot wait?” I shake my head. “Why did you not say so before I tied you up?”

  He releases my feet and helps me down. It is the dark time of night. He slowly walks me to a clump of bushes and loosens my hands. He turns his back. “Go ahead.”

  I might be able to run. “I cannot with you standing so near.”

  “You will, or you will go back now.”

  He can run faster than me. After surveying the area, there is no safe place to hide out. If I can get back here again, maybe I can find a way.

  The man yells, “We have lost too much time waiting for you.” He grabs me at the waist and drags me back to the cart. “In. Now.” As soon as I am tied up, he yells to the men, and they move again. Sleep never comes and I make no headway with the ropes.

  A different man brings food the next morning. He is not as careful. The bindings are not as tight. “Here. Finish at once, we are ready to leave.” He comes back to pick up the basin and I ask, “Are you going to Urusalim?” He ties me up and laughs as he leaves. The caravan is moving. The cart rocks from side to side as if it could turn over. Maybe the first man told the truth. He saved my life. Would he hurt me now? But they talked about selling me like an animal. What if they are not going to Urusalim?

  Daylight must have come and gone, and I see no one until the dimness shows. Another man finally comes to give me food. This man does not speak and is also careless. He does not come back. It takes until dark for me to free my hands. With feet still tied, I crawl to the covering and open a corner. The only thing I hear are loud snores. I peek out farther. The desert offers n
othing to hide me. A feeling inside says it should be the morrow. I creep back and shut my eyes but am too afraid to sleep. I watch the covering all night. No one looks in.

  My insides have been jumping up and down. The careless man comes with food. When it is finished, he ties my hands. They are not as loose as before. Darkness falls and it is quiet except for the snoring. It takes more time, but I finally work my hands from the bands. Forgive me my family, your gifts were precious but the bandits stole them. I untie my feet and climb down but cannot move. I shift my hand to my back. It takes a few moments to find the problem. The tunic is caught on a wood splinter. I rip it away, making a hole, but I free myself.

  I take the path on the darker side of the cart. I move one small step at a time, as if I crawl standing up. I stop short. Did I step on a dead animal? My eyes had enough time to adjust to the darkness and the lump seems to be a sack. I bend to feel the fabric, pick it up, and Ima’s scent is still on it. I hug it to my heart and feel a hard object inside. The sack must wait. I cannot waste time. I throw it over my shoulder.

  I am free of the wagon. From the light of the stars I make out shadows of buildings in the far distance. Buildings mean people.

  “Sandalphon, can you see? A city is not far. Is it Urusalim?”

  Afraid to kick up any dirt or trip on a stone, I pick my legs up slowly and put them down with great care until well out of sight. When I try to find the city again, it disappeared. Was it my imagination or am I sick? The quaking of my legs is so bad they give out and I drop to the soil. The sack is near my hand. I grab it and thrust my arm in. Eshmun is there, and my stick doll and my garment. Though they cannot take the place of my harp or Nathan’s blade, even my slate and stylus, at least I have these to cherish. Sleep did not come when I was tied up in the cart. I must accept that my body needs rest until it is ready to move on.