“Elisha.” His voice is soft.
“Sandalphon.”
“I did not want to frighten you. As you proceed, consider what you have conquered.”
“Falling with words coming out of my mouth that make no sense, being frightened and not able to see, is conquered? I no longer trust myself. No one told me the lack of water did that. And then, I had to escape those men.”
“Think for a moment. If you had an oxcart would you not check the cart and wheels before you took it out to work? You chose to trust the man who snatched you. Where were your instincts? You need to take care of yourself if you wish to survive. You were warned about bandits. Remember awareness.”
My face stings with heat and prickliness as if thorns jab at it. “I knew it was wrong, but l could only think about having no provisions and they could get me to Urusalim faster.”
“You were right but put yourself in danger. I am aware you could not have stopped this man from carrying you off. It was quite an accomplishment to escape. Congratulations.”
“The cost was not my life, just things.”
“Find some aloe for your skin. Remember, experiences teach lessons. And consider hope.”
“I promise, this was my example.” Sandalphon disappears into the night. I bury my face in my hands. What else can happen?
I wake to see the sun on the horizon. I wanted to ask Sandalphon if the buildings I saw are in Urusalim. “My friend, please advise me if I am wrong.” The cart gave me safety and now I am exposed. I will never strum the harp again. The tears that come to my eyes do not want to stop but I must move on.
This could be the last of my travel. If I make it that far. All of my provisions are gone. I am being stupid and that does not help. I need strength to get to Urusalim. I will do it. That helps me feel lighter and gives me energy, but my throat is as parched as my lost sheep skin. If I were to die no one knows where to search for me. That kind of thinking does not move me forward.
The shawl goes over my head and the sack on top of it for added protection from the sun.
“Please, Sandalphon, and anyone who hears, keep me safe throughout the journey.”
“Have the courage to hope.” His voice is comforting. “Be still inside and listen to forewarnings. If you can grasp how it works, you will experience exceptional wisdom.”
That is the second time he said those words and it is nonsense. Animals and bad people are around.
The heat sears through the thinness of my sandals. It is severe against the bottom of my feet. I am too weak to tear pieces from my torn tunic to wrap around them. Ima always told me I am foolish and need to learn sound judgment. She never told me how.
A young gazelle scampers through the sand. It leaps with a grace I will never enjoy. Its forelegs thrust out, its back provides power and balance. The beauty of its elegance enriches the barren landscape. My body will never be as majestic as that animal.
I walk as fast as I can. What lurks nearby? Will Sandalphon come if I call? Shivers go through me. The possibilities make me uneasy.
The sun is not yet high and a bush with groups of fronds facing downward call me to it. I lick the moisture from its undersides to little help. Where is there safety? I must keep going.
The sun moves past the high point and I am still alive. I sit to rest and my fingers tickle. An insect uses my hand as its private crossing. It maneuvers the hills and valleys of my skin then makes its way to my smallest finger and returns to the desert soil. Eyes shut, I call on hope to help me put my fears aside and keep moving. It might be safer than lying here.
The sandals were not tight when I set out, but my feet are now swollen and bloody from rubbing against its sides. The sand is too hot to take them off. The walk brings me to a bush with dark green leaves. The branches are as long as my father’s arm. The points are sharp, but no flowers bloom. How does it grow? There is no sound of water.
The area ahead is almost empty of greenery but will have to do. I drop my sack on the sand and sit. When I stand my legs are weak. I am afraid to move. There is nowhere to find a drink, but ahead is the expanse of the city. It shines straight in front of me. “Sandalphon, where are you? See? Over the crest. You said it could be reached before dark.” The farther I go, the less progress I make.
“Yes, Elisha. You have a question.”
“How far is it to the city?”
“Where is your determination, your boldness, your courage? Or did you agree to have fear stop you?”
His voice is warm but that is not the question I asked. “How far?” He is not answering. “Will I find others like me if any others exist?” My hand reaches for my curls and I pull on them.
“Why did you leave?”
“You say that as if I wanted to. Nobody liked me, wanted me or talked to me.” I stop to think and inspect his colors for any change. “I do not know. You give me hope, make me want to continue, but will it be like home with no one caring about me?”
He begins to back away. “Do not consider the villagers. Consider your reason for leaving.”
“They banished me. I would not have left otherwise. You know that.”
“Is that the truth?” I nod. “How do you feel now?”
“Better.”
“You spoke your truth. Now you must seek more of your truths. Ponder on the difference between wants and needs. Remember, you are a brave young woman. Until the next time.”
I want determination, boldness, and courage, but how do I find them? Sandalphon gave me no information, but he hinted that I will feel defeated if I give up. I am brave. I will keep telling myself that.
My head fills with a picture of the city. True or not, it sets me off with a bit of ease in my heart. The sun already began its descent. I drag my sack and crawl. It is slow going but at least I am moving. I am brave. My knees hurt from digging into the grit. I make more of an effort. The sun’s voyage is approaching the horizon.
The city is in the distance. The real city. My knees no longer burn, I am no longer hot, and my throat is no longer parched. I keep on going. The sun is at the horizon before I get close enough to see a low stone wall on either side of a breach. Tears stream down my face. I am brave. I struggle onward.
The last of my strength is gone. I can do it. I am brave. I will make it. My limbs do not want to move. I will get to the breach. Crawl. Keep moving. There is no way to tally how long it will take to edge closer to the finish, but I must rest. I lie there knowing I can almost touch it but cannot move. I must move. I am brave. I crawl a thumb breadth at a time until an open space between the walls is in front of me.
I roll around on the desert floor and stretch my arms as far as they can go. Lying on my back I study the stars. “Abba, Ima, Nathan, I did it. I am in Urusalim. It was a difficult journey, but I am in one piece and I am safe.”
In the nearing black of night, my first impression of the break is that walls meant to surround the city were not finished, and the gate needed to close the center was never added.
I am here despite the trials, and I am brave. But what is next? I have no home to go to, I am alone with no one to love or care about me, and there is no sign of where to find a safe place to rest. The end of the wall is the farthest from the entrance to the city. No one can see me from there. I crawl to it, curl up on the hard surface, hold my doll in my arms, and at last sleep comes.
The hiding place is perfect. I can peek out and not be seen. My mouth is so dry my tongue clings to the top. The aroma of fresh baked wares makes my stomach growl.
Before me is a tremendous expanse filled with traders bartering their merchandise. It was the sound of people yelling that woke me. Goats and sheep wander the far areas while sleep coverings, mantles, olives, and other rations are a few of the enticements spread on cloths. Women are trying on necklaces, and one is bartering a small jug of milk for beads. In the distance, a couple stands next to each other. The priest in his dark robe and colorful hat holds a goblet. He hands it to the man first and then the woman. T
hey each drink. The mountain looming behind them completes the picture. I wonder if I will find my love.
With an indifferent air, I move toward the blanket displaying the baked goods. I walk around as if to examine the delicacies, greedy for the instant I can grab one and run. The number of fig cakes, plain breads, and others with olives and spices is so great the cloth is concealed. The owner turns to speak to a younger man and I reach out my arm.
A hand from behind restrains and pulls me to the ground. A man with a hoarse voice whispers, “You do not want to do that.” The smell of alcohol all over his clothes and breath makes me turn away. He holds me tighter. “I enjoy a decent quality stoning as well as the next man but would hate to watch a fine young woman like yourself have her hands chopped off, or worse, be hanged.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am new to the city and walked for many suns to get here. My hunger wiped away my good sense.” He removes my hand from the bread.
“It is obvious you do not belong here. I do not know where you come from or what you were taught but consider this a strong warning. If I see you stealing again, you will be punished. Next time it will not be painless.”
“Yes, my lord. I will obey. Is this Urusalim?”
“Where else could it be?” He walks on.
My cheeks are on fire yet a biting cold runs through me. Another man startles me.
“I could not help overhearing your conversation.” It is the man I tried to steal from, an older person with weathered wrinkles. He looks at me as if I am peculiar. “Your skin is burned, and your bones stick out.” He picks up a flagon. “Here. Drink.” Long swallows of the liquid relieve my throat. “Do not move.” His command warns me I had better obey.
He walks a few steps and calls, “Nikkal. Come. Now.” I turn to escape, and a tunic flared out on the bottom blocks my way. The girl is younger than I am, with black hair and the same dark eyes as the vendor. He whispers in her ear then turns back to me.
“Do not be frightened. My daughter will help you to our house. It is not far. My woman will feed you and make sure you sleep well.” I nod. That is what I need, but are they good people? My instincts are too tired to answer me.
“My name is Nikkal. My mother is a devoted and kind woman and a fine cook.”
My mouth has trouble forming a smile. “I . . . am . . . Elisha.”
“Elisha! That is an odd name for a girl. We can talk about that after you fill your belly.” She wraps her arm around my waist, then drapes my right arm around her shoulder. I hang on to her as we step past the missing gate at the breach and enter the city.
Before me stand row after row of large homes on each side of a walking path that winds in every direction. The houses are odd and more crooked than our funny looking huts. If I had the strength, I would laugh. They are of various sizes, some spread on the ground like ours, but others with a second layer on top. Like our huts they are built from mudbricks with mortar holding them together. City people must be rich.
A set of steps goes up the rise. At each one, Nikkal hoists me onto her hip and then sets me down on the next one. Who are these people that help a stranger? They are nice, but what is their intention? The house is not far. The wayward path makes it seem so. I stop many times to breathe and repeat, “I am sorry for the effort you must make.” Nikkal’s face lights with kindness each time.
“Are you here to find someone in the city or for a visit?” she asks.
“Someone told me to come.”
“Why?”
“I am to study here.”
Nikkal hoists me up the last step. “What will you learn?”
“I was not told.”
“I understand.”
How does she understand? I do not. We walk to the back of the house and there is an open courtyard with a garden of vegetables, a washbasin, and a cook fire, like at home, except it is larger and a house. “This is my ima, Kotharat.”
I manage a half nod. Kotharat tosses back her long black hair and stares at me. Nikkal whispers to her mother. They only word I hear is study. She waves goodbye. “I need to help my father at the market.” I nod.
There is shade over the eating area fashioned from branches and flax cloths. No one in our village has that. Kotharat sets out a mat for my meal and the sight of food makes me weaker. I drop to the mat, ignore its hardness rubbing at my sore knees, and stuff big chunks of bread and cheese into my mouth with both hands. The fragrance of the food fills my nostrils as it melts inside. The goblet is near my hand. Each bite is followed by gulps of wine, so more food can be shoved in.
Kotharat appears at my side, her dark eyes inspecting me, “No, my child. Slow, slow or it will come back up.” I turn back to the food and force myself to chew a little at a time.
The meal finished, Kotharat leads me inside to a small area behind a curtain. A covering in which to wrap myself lays on the mat. “Here. Aloe for your burned skin. Sleep as much as you need.” Her tone is not harsh, but her voice is.
“Thank you for your care to a stranger.” Eshmun comes out of the sack and I hold him tight to my chest. How long I slept I do not know but arguing in the center room wakes me. I recognize Kotharat’s unforgiving sound.
“Nikkal said Elisha is here to study. Did I not put up with enough learners who passed through this house? Because of Melchizedek? Do I not have enough work to do? I do not want another lazy student.”
Next is a young male voice. I make out some words. Journey and Melchizedek.
House, help, water, and grind come from the next one. The deeper voice sounds like the man I tried to steal from.
Kotharat’s tone rises. “How do we know she is here to study. Consult with the Righteous One,” Kotharat commands.
“Enough. Get his opinion.” The baker is last and loudest.
“Sandalphon,” I whisper, “this is the right house. I am afraid for them to find out about me. It could ruin my chances. I will be reliable, do what they ask, and speak little. Then there will be no trouble.”
“Do you have questions for me?”
“I am so glad you are here. Will life be better now?”
“Why do you ask?”
I hesitate. “May I question something?”
The cloud bends toward me. “I will be as helpful as I can.”
“I was different from those at home. Tell me why.”
“Why do you think?”
The glow of colors wraps around him as if to assure me we are protected. “If I knew I would not ask.”
“My answer may not be what you wish. Are you sure?” I nod. “You do know. You are distressed and afraid to find the answer yourself.”
My fingers make tracks in the sandy dirt. “Did anyone there speak to you about me?”
“No, they did not.”
I turn away from the cloud. “I did not belong, though I wanted to be the same as other girls.”
“Is that all you wanted?
“You know I wanted to make up songs and sing.”
“It is possible you will be able to do that now.”
“I hope so and do not want to destroy my prospects.” With that, the voice is gone. I shut my eyes not sure if I belong anywhere.
The sun is well above the horizon, and I crawl out of my mat and go through the center room to the courtyard. Kotharat points to the washstand. She busies herself with the basins from the first meal while I wash up. She hands me a cap.
“In Urusalim, women wear a cap.”
“Here is my shawl.” I hold it up so she can see.
“You will wear the cap when you are out in public,” she hands me a long cloth, “you will wrap your hair in this. Your shawl will go over the cap. You will wear this rope at your waist, around your cover.”
Each tribe has different rules. “Please excuse me for sleeping late and disturbing you with serving again. May I help myself?”
“Not this morning. Sit.” The not quite veiled command makes me feel like a child. “Here is some barley gruel. We will talk.” Kotharat si
ts close to me, too close and I move away.
She moves nearer. “Eat.”
“Yes, my lady. Thank you.” I almost drop the basin.
“Do you intend to stay in the city?”
“That is my plan.”
“Did you work with your ima?” She stares at me.
“Yes, my lady.”
“What did you do?” Her eyes narrow.
“I did what Ima asked, my lady.”
“Did you grind the flour, wash up after meals, and go to the stream?”
“Of course, my lady. Girls must learn before they have their own families. My mother taught me how to cook, but I do not bake well.”
She nods approval. “If the family agrees to allow you to stay, I expect you to carry out the duties you mentioned and others I require.” I nod. “Have you heard of Melchizedek?”
Her tone grew softer with the question. “Someone spoke to me and said by finding him I would find Abram.”
“Are you aware of what he teaches?”
“That information was not offered.”
“Really?” Her manner is one of disdain. “Who informed you of this?”
That look is one of authority. A second mouthful of the now cold barley gruel is my excuse to delay. If I tell the truth, she will know I am peculiar. The promise I made to Sandalphon was not to lie, yet they come with ease. “Someone on my journey.” My attention turns back to the food.
“That is all for now.”
“Thank you, my lady.” She goes into the house.
Kotharat is a strange and scary person, but she did not throw me out. This is the start of my new life and with a family. Abram is here and will help me find ways to be acceptable and return to my people.
It is hard to contain my joy. When I think about last night’s conversation, I realize they were deciding what services might be performed for my keep. I can be perfect and do what she asks, just the way she wants. Then there will be no trouble and I will have a new family.
CHAPTER TEN
How odd it feels as a stranger to wake to an empty house and walk around as if I live here. Their center room is more spacious than my family’s entire hut. Three more skins hide sleep areas. On my way to the washstand, I note an unusual sunrise. The colors are vibrant, the air cool, the plantings happy and their scent sweet. The soil is damp. There was some rain during the night. I must do everything these people ask, so they will keep me.
Mountain of Full Moons Page 7
