Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

  “We will see, will we not?”

  “Is that your last word?”

  “For the moment.”

  He makes me angry. “The other problem is Eve. I pondered a bit more about the connection of being marred to Eve’s story. She ate the fruit though that meant death, and it changed their lives. But she did not die, and women need to care about knowledge.”

  “Is there more?”

  “Is that all you can say?” He does not answer. “My thinking turned to the men. Perhaps men decided women could not be trusted to obey because Eve disobeyed God. They assumed they had to control females so they declared themselves in charge.” I shrug. “That is what I thought.”

  “Excellent.”

  “You mean I am right?” Sandalphon does not answer. “Nathan was treated as the welcomed one and me as one to be dealt with. I became aware of a loneliness and a part of me that shrank inside and was empty. As if I was not a respectable person to talk to or be friends with.”

  “You are correct, and can you name the feeling?”

  “The sensation was a kind of poverty but not for food. What do I do now?”

  “Continue your work.”

  “It is strange to know that my knowledge is now greater than my father and Nathan. Which work?”

  “We will chat again.”

  He is gone leaving me with questions, much to think about, and a task to try. It is a way to help myself and I cannot wait.

  The evening meal is over, the cleaning is finished, and all is put in place. I excuse myself. “Abram asked me to do some exercises. Sleep well.” Vague nods come in response.

  My back is against the wall, and the cover is wrapped around me. The lamp is lit, and I welcome the kind of relaxation that makes it easy for my head to roam. Will releasing Kotharat be hard to do? Understanding why she acts as she does will be more difficult.

  At this moment I would not choose to free her. She just told me I will do the wash for the whole family. It was fine at the beginning, but in the short time that passed she added many more chores and that gives me no time for my studies. I cannot accomplish what I was sent here to do.

  My tribe said, “Every person fights difficult battles to survive.” After the pen exercise, Abram also told us, “Focus on the one who hurt you and picture him or her as a whole person rather than just your torturer. He or she also has a life with their own challenges, heartaches, and scars.” Then he said, “Separate the act from the person. Remember when you made a similar mistake. Are you better or worse than they?”

  I was able to do the work on Eve so maybe I can be successful with Kotharat. I try to find a new way of thinking about her. Do her quarrels have anything to do with me? What if the problem is about her? Her needs, her desires, her fears. That is it. I lie on the mat and close my eyes. I have no idea how long I waited when an idea causes a laugh which comes from deep in my belly. My face is buried in the mat so the family does not hear.

  Kotharat is terrified of this Hebrew girl. Terrified I will take Resheph away. Unsure of her hold on him. I found her nightmare and her weakness. Now I can let her go. I let out a huge sigh. My mother would be the same.

  After a night with little sleep, I woke before dawn. Kotharat added more commands and it took a long time to fulfill them. Abram said he would be late so I stroll to the outskirts of the city and lie on the grass. The sadness is back and makes my head feel like it was bounced around like the ball the boys play with or was stuffed like a cooked bird at a festival.

  It is difficult to relax. My questions take turns floating through my head. The opposites we learned, Kotharat, and forgiving. The area where I am is not filled with trees and flowers, yet my contemplation calms me, and somewhere through the meanderings, sleep takes hold.

  I wake up and the sun is over the horizon. I am late, too late for class. Abram will be angry. My dreams were of loneliness. I am an outsider again, just like at home. I live with strangers who are Canaanites. Abram teaches. Only Resheph and his family talk to me and they are not friends. There are no kin and no mate to love and share my life. A family is what I long for, but Resheph does not show interest.

  My brother will marry. He and his wife will live with the family. My parents accepted the possibility of my leaving for a marriage and becoming a member of my husband’s household. Then I was banished and my parents did not know if I would ever come home again.

  The lane away from the house is made of craggy rocks. A liveliness pushes me to continue though it is slippery. Abba would say, “You should be heavy with child, not climbing on rocks.” He spoke with longing for grandchildren I am not providing. I hope Nathan will give him a brood.

  I sit on the ground with my back against the last boulder watching the plants try to lift their heads from between the rocks. The sky and the water are bluer. I close my eyes and take in the surrounding scents. One by one the miseries slip away. A gentleness comes over me and replaces the hurts with an appreciation that my family did the best they could.

  When a branch falls to die and crumble, it will live again by becoming part of the dirt that feeds the tree. The branch does not ponder. No wins or loses. It is merely a stage of life.

  A picture appears in my head. A tree, this one larger than any in this land, has roots deep into the earth and yet it reaches toward the sky. It seems to expand as its silvery branches reach upward and move with the gentle breeze. The pictures continue filling me with the beauty of each thing I see.

  “I am happy to see you appreciate beauty and the people who love you. That is a major step.”

  I sit up. “Thank you for coming to me. It was not as difficult as I thought.”

  “Congratulations.” His voice fades.

  I am ready to move on. In the past few minutes several new thoughts came to me. I mull over the sky and water, the hurts that slipped away, the tree, and shining leaves that made me content with the promise of joy.

  Why was the branch silvery and what does it have to do with love or loneliness? Ima told me about a stone. She never told me the name, but it wears the same silvery color as the tree. She said, “It is a protection stone for travelers and one of its properties is to make the carrier feel cared for.” This is not a warning. It assures me I am protected.

  Staring at the water, I know this new awareness will not leave me, never desert me, and will help me be less afraid. My eyes focus on a beautiful cloud when a sound rouses me. It is Resheph. He is sitting nearby, humming and watching.

  “Why were you not in class?”

  How long has he been here? “I woke up late and assumed Abram would be angry.”

  “Stupid girl. He would be angrier for not showing up. I can show you now if you are ready.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Sometimes you are more than slow.” Not slow, puzzled. “I brought a tablet for you to learn the reading and writing. Remember?” He holds it out.

  I pull it from his hands. “Do you know how long it has been? I waited and you never said we could start. Did you think about how far behind I am? Did you care? Do you want me to fail?” I take a breath. “How did you find me?”

  “How do you think? I saw which route you took.” He gets up and turns as if to walk away.

  There was no way for him to see where I went. “Wait. Do not go.”

  “I will not stay if you are so angry.”

  I move as close to him as possible. “I could have been further ahead in my studies.”

  He stares, his nostrils flaring. “Do not show me your anger.” He takes his stone tablet out of his sack and shows me a drawing. “This is called writing.”

  “This picture of a man with a short tunic?”

  “Right. By drawing in this manner, what is represented can be recognized and understood by all. Copy it.”

  “How marvelous and so easy. I assumed writing would be difficult and I could not do it.”

  “It is reasonable. Experiment with drawing the man moving.”

  My focus is o
n copying it well. “Here it is.”

  He laughs. “This is so simple. You cannot do anything right. A bent knee is what shows going forward. Now, a woman cooking.”

  “Will you do it first, then I will know how.” I move closer, almost touching. Resheph’s glare goes through me. I become a statue with eyes on the tablet.

  “Here you are.” He twists himself away from me. I copy what he did. He studies my picture and laughs again. “Your depictions are horrible and crude. I am not sure you can improve. How would you show a baby?”

  “In swaddling clothes. Will you teach me more?”

  “Ask the others with tablets to permit you to watch what they do. Explain you are learning and need help.” He is pushing me away.

  “Thank you, I will. What more can you teach me?” I move a bit closer.

  “I do not have time for you.” Resheph gets up and turns toward me. “And do not sit close to me.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “I will not let you ruin my life.”

  My eyes open wide. “Sitting close will ruin your life?”

  “Do not pretend. You understand. You heard my final word.”

  He may think that is his final word.

  With everything in place after the final meal clean up I am too awake to sleep and go to the garden to enjoy the stars. They sparkle and play go find me, while anxiety fills me to overflowing. “Sandalphon, are you here? I need you.”

  “Yes, Elisha, but I need to complete a task. Can this wait a bit?”

  “It can, but not too long, please.”

  “I promise.”

  A stroll away from the house and the cooler air is pleasing to my skin. I have time for quiet consideration. Two suns ago, Abram said, “Resentment is a burden carried in your heart and is a barrier to forgiving.” No resentments reside in me.

  “Are you positive? No resentments?”

  My chest pounds. “I wish you would not do that, Sandalphon.”

  “You asked me to return soon.”

  I hide behind a tree. If anyone passes by they cannot see me ‘talking to the air.’ “We spoke of you not coming upon me with abruptness.”

  “Does my behavior make you angry or resentful?”

  He takes me by surprise. “I admit to having anger and annoyance, but I do not feel resentment.”

  “Who causes you to be resentful?”

  “No one.”

  “Think back. All the way back to your village and your tribe.”

  I wish for him to grow a face to peer into, to read what is behind the question. “Qayin? I tried to forgive him and Kotharat during the forgiveness lesson but could not excuse them for what they did.”

  “Think. What did you resent?”

  “Qayin thought he was smarter than everyone else. He wanted my tongue to be cut out and accused me in front of the tribe. I was banished because of him.” It is a purge of feelings inside I never admitted were in me.

  “I think perhaps you have more to say.”

  I hesitate. “He pretended to be in charge and told each man and woman what to think. I have so much outrage mixed with the resentment, I am as terrible as he was.” I bend my head to hide the shame on my face. I peer at Sandalphon from the corner of my eye. “He was wrong in what he said and made trouble. But I understand now that he spoke truths he was taught by his parents.”

  The cloud bobs up and down. “Correct. What about Kotharat?”

  “Must I do that now? I am not ready, and it will not turn out well.”

  “You are anxious again. Let us proceed one step at a time. Why are you not ready?”

  “I still must live and deal with her.”

  “I will pretend you said yes, so we can move on. Would you rather stay in your anger and resentment? Forgiving can bring peace. Whether it is your banishment by the council, Qayin as the cause, Kotharat, or dry weather when rain is needed, compassion soothes the beast.”

  “I want to be peaceful.”

  “This is one of the tests sent for you to learn and grow. The testing often comes from people. We blame them for interfering, get irritated and resentful, but they are the messengers. Can you recognize this?”

  “I think so. You are saying no matter what happens, and though we may be angry, it can come from a person and we need to decide why the lesson is necessary.”

  “You are ready. Do the necessary work with Qayin and you might choose to think about your village.”

  “My village?”

  “There is work to be done there.” He is gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sun rises as only it can in this desert. Heat rippling the air and muting the colors announces a new morning. The family is at the morning meal in the courtyard and the kettle, thick with gruel, is back hanging on the hook over the fire. The ladle, full of the mixture, fills my basin. Dried grapes and a chunk of the delicious bread I baked the way Resheph’s father taught me, complete my meal.

  There is little conversation. Can it be family troubles or deep thoughts after a dream filled night? If we are alone, Resheph has a special way of sending me a message with his eyes glowing, inviting. If others are present he is distant and mean. My meal done, I rush to complete my tasks.

  Resheph is at my side. “Why did you run away?”

  “Do you always sneak up on people? You frightened me.”

  “How could I make noise? I am barefoot.”

  He makes me feel stupid. “You could cough or clear your throat.”

  “But why would I do what is not needed?”

  “So you would not scare me.”

  “Why are you scared?”

  I was nervous around him the past three moons. “I do not know.”

  “It is your problem, not mine.”

  “I guess so.” He turns his words around and puts me at fault.

  “You are quite beautiful.”

  My heart jumps.

  I turn and he is gone. Just like his mother, hostile some of the time, and then, for no reason he is kind. Is that how Resheph shows love? Are all the Canaanites the same?

  Morning tasks done, I hurry to class. I am comfortable on my seat, and the class is ready. Abram is missing.

  We sit on our pillows, the six of us, waiting. The room is hushed. The one movement you can hear is the shifting of garments against cushions as our discomfort increases. We glance at each other.

  Resheph catches my attention and holds me in his presence with the light in his eyes and a half-smile. Abram interrupts our communication, crossing the threshold as if he is completing a foot race. “Let us get ready to work.” We shift again, turning our attention to the front of the room. Abram is winded. He arranges his notations on his lap.

  “We will talk about love.” The men snicker. “If you will consent, I might be able to complete my thoughts.” He stares at them. “We will address love of self, love of others, and love of God. They are the same and yet they are different. Does anyone care to comment?”

  “How are they not the same? Love is love.” The beautiful one taunts Abram with a toss of the head she holds high.

  “The heart is the heart, but do you love your parents the same way you love your friends?”

  “No.”

  He caught her again. “So they are different. Can anyone explain?” No one moves. The air is still. “Let us consider love of self.”

  “That is selfish. My tribe said so.” Why do the other students laugh when I speak?

  “Let us examine the question. How many of you dislike parts of yourselves and try to change them?” Every hand goes up. Many of them laugh.

  “What if I said you are perfect just the way you are?”

  “No one is perfect.” “What you say is not true.” “I am not perfect.” “I would not choose to be perfect,” are the many strong reactions to his question.

  Abram must help me. “How can I be perfect when I hurt people?”

  “Do you hurt them on purpose?”

  “Sometimes, but
most of the time, no.”

  “Then the hurting is not a part of who you are but a lesson to be learned.”

  “Thank you, Abram, for a new way to consider the matter.”

  He turns to the group. “Who among you is angry with yourself for not growing taller, or smart enough, or having a nicer appearance?”

  “What is wrong with that?” Yadid asks the question we all need answered.

  Abram laughs, and we join him. “You were made by the Holy Spirit, therefore you are perfect.” His eyes turn cold. “Do you enjoy feeling bad for what you cannot change?”

  “Abram, I am not pretty. Most people say so.” My head is down. I do not want to see his face when he answers.

  “What people say does not matter.”

  “It mattered in my village.”

  “In the eyes of the Lord, you are beautiful.” I smile and the men laugh. They may think their scorn was hidden by their whispers, but I heard them.

  “What caused your laughter, Resheph?” Abram stares at him.

  “Elisha may be pretty but she will never be beautiful.”

  “Will you?” We laugh at Abram’s question.

  “I am handsome.”

  “Are behaviors such as your snide laughter handsome?”

  Resheph turns away. “I guess . . . not.”

  “Does the way you look or the way you act please God?”

  Resheph sits up straighter. “I do not care what God wants.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Melchizedek said you are a great teacher.”

  The beautiful one yells out. “He is saying that to please you.” She does not like Resheph because he will not pay any attention to her.

  “One who is handsome on the outside, may not be attractive on the inside. Remember that I said you have a pestilence in you. Heed my words, young man. I hope you can learn to practice what you gather from this understanding. Abram turns to us. For everyone else loving yourself brings confidence and the willingness to be truly you.”

  We leave class and Resheph walks in a different direction alone. I walk toward the house calling for Sandalphon. I watch the cloud approach. “Is what Abram said true?”