Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

“I will be ready.” I turn to leave.

  “Wait. There is some unwelcomed news. Please sit down. A messenger arrived. Prepare yourself.” He takes a long pause while my insides turn over and quake.

  “Your father passed on.”

  His gentleness does not soften the blow. The scream from my belly soars through each part of me and exits my mouth. I pound the floor with my fists. This cannot be. Not yet. I am a mess of grief, agony, heartache, and anguish. My insides yell, He is no more. “Are you sure? He is too young.”

  “That is what the man said.”

  My abba is no longer here. “My abba,” I shriek. My fists pound the floor. Tears flow. Abram sits with me until I calm myself. “How do I deal with this searing pain?”

  “Pain is as sacred as the most benevolent gift.”

  “I was right?”

  “Yes, my dear. Remember our talk in class about the Holy Spirit providing for us to learn?”

  I sit up in front of him, my head on my knees, tears still streaming. “Then the pain serves me?” I look at Abram.

  He nods. “Pain is a lesson, forcing us to consider obstacles. If we did not have pain could we enjoy its relief? It gives you the time to reflect by slowing us down. Pain teaches patience.”

  I look up. “Patience. Another thing I must conquer.”

  “Patience is vital and is first learned during the nine full moons in the womb. Think of a child when they learn to eat and crawl. How many times do they fall before they walk? They have patience and determination. While the child gets frustrated, the youngster returns to the task composed and single-minded.”

  “Thank you, Abram. I hope that understanding will make tolerating the pain easier.” He makes a tear in my tunic. “Now they will know I am in mourning.”

  Abba is gone, never to hold me or catch my eye and smile. I walk to the center of the city. How do I make the pain better? My heart is sliced open and there is no way to fix it. There is nothing to fill the empty space or take away the pain. Do I go home? By the time the messenger arrived, the funeral rites were over. Mourn with my family? That difficult time is also finished.

  I sit on the grass and the sobbing returns. This time body-wracking cries. I hold on to my knees and the tears are in charge. I do not care if the family sees red eyes.

  I am still not settled but am at the house. Kotharat yells at me before I am at the cook fire. “What is your excuse this time? You are not here, and you should be. Is it my task to make the meal? No, it is yours,” and on and on, with me a sleepwalker unable to understand, and her not bothering to look at me.

  “Elisha, what is wrong? You were crying.”

  “My abba passed.”

  She catches sight of the rent in my garment. “I will carry on preparing the food. Take a drink and have a respite.” Life with Sarai will be better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sleep did not come, and I choose to not go to class the next morning. Abram will understand. I leave the house and walk as if in a dream. I wander the city, trying to settle my head and decide if I listen to it or my heart.

  What can be accomplished if I go home? I will lose the chance to be with Abram and Sarai. How guilty will I be if I do not? This is my chance to learn more. Going home, I lose that.

  I walk in a different direction. After inspecting all sides, the truth of wanting to go to Kiriath Arba becomes clear. I yearn to go home, but not yet. They cannot help me, nor I them. The grief is mine, to be dealt with alone.

  I wander the outskirts. There is a future. A new life with Abram and Sarai. That warms me. The smell of cook fires and food being prepared hovers around me. I walked the time away. It takes a while to retrace my steps and return to the house. The sun is halfway to the horizon. I complete the chores and decide that after the late meal is the time to speak to the family. I am not looking forward to a confrontation with Resheph.

  We are sitting in the glow of excellent food and an evening cool for the desert. “Elisha. What is wrong with you? You could not stay in your seat all through the meal.”

  “I am fine, Kotharat.” Her voice makes something in me change. I am ready. Nikkal notices. Her eyebrows are raised.

  “May I speak? There is news.” The stares they send give me the message that nothing I say will be of any importance.

  I turn to Resheph. “I will be leaving soon.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kotharat yells. She sits up straight. “No one wants you. Where can you go? You are making a fool of yourself.”

  I walk to her and look straight into her eyes. “I am going to a place where I will be treated with respect and love.”

  Kotharat crosses her arms. “As usual, Elisha, you are tiresome. I for one do not care to listen to your fantasy.”

  “Ima, let her speak,” says Nikkal, ever the rescuer.

  “I am joining Abram and Sarai when they leave for Kiriath Arba. I will be living with them.”

  Resheph’s face is red. “That is an outright lie.” His voice is cold and filled with loathing. “I would hear about such a thing.”

  “I do not believe Abram has to share his plans with you, Resheph.” He thinks he knows everything. His eyes examine my smiling face. His sneer says he would like to shove a knife into my heart. My hand goes to my mouth.

  “Stop right here and becalm yourselves. If Elisha was invited, we will find out soon enough.” Baal never stepped in before.

  “That is my point.” Resheph’s fist is tightened. If he was closer, it would be in my face. “I would know. She is a liar.”

  My tone is the sweetest I can make it. “I know what you can do. Why do you not ask Abram?” Resheph’s stare is filled with hate. I stare back. How did he make his way into my heart? He cared for me so little, and I would have given up much for him.

  Nikkal comes to give me a hug. “I wish you, on behalf of my family, a satisfactory trip and much happiness.”

  “Thank you, Nikkal, it is much appreciated.”

  “When do you leave?” There are tears behind her question.

  “Soon. A few suns.” I lay on my mat and enjoy the perfect evening. It washes away any bitterness.

  The past six suns were difficult. Tension ruled the house, and I was anxious to be on my way. My responsibilities are completed for the last time, and I am behind my curtain gathering my belongings. The arrows did their duty and the tan tunic is beyond repair. Repeated washings brought it to an end, but it is what I have. My brown tunic is not much better. Will Sarai permit me to weave a new one? Kotharat claimed her loom was not available. Was she afraid for me to dress better? That did not stop Resheph from deflowering me, did it?

  The last time I saw Abram he assured me, “You are not to worry about any supplies. My servants will oversee all provisions and make sure you are safe and well.” As if I thought otherwise.

  The sack Ima made is all I have. Still useful, I pick it up and my hands spread the bottom wide enough to store my remembrances. Except for Abba and his leaving us, I do not think of the family as often anymore. They are distant in many ways.

  Eshmun is wrapped in my poor tunic and goes in first. The tunic underneath should offer some safety from breaking. My most precious possession, the stick doll is next. I wrap her in some flax cloths. That is all I can claim in the world. The sack is lighter on my shoulder than on the last journey.

  The shawl guards my head from the sun as I make my way to the breach out of the city. I arrive to see six donkeys loaded with provisions and Abram’s belongings. The servants are lined up, prepared to leave.

  “Hurry, hurry,” they call.

  Abram approaches from the other side. “There you are. We are ready. Give your sack to one of the servants, and he will pack it on the donkey.” He turns and walks away. “Sarai told me you may share her tent,” he calls over his shoulder.

  My moment of joy is interrupted. “Good day, Doron. You took me to Sarai’s tent. Do you remember?”

  “Of course, I remember.” He bows in front of me, as i
f I were one to have servants. For that tiny moment, I am a wealthy landowner with many men to order around and Sarai’s tent is my home. I will never feel richer than this. The notion leaves me breathless.

  “Forgive me,” Doron says. “Abram is in a hurry.” He pulls the sack from my hands and runs back to store it.

  We start for the south. Abram wants to reach Sarai’s tent before nightfall. It is the same trip I made to meet Sarai, but the donkey’s plodding does not agree to moving with swiftness. We arrive before the evening meal, eat a light repast, and sleep on the ground outside of Sarai’s tent.

  The next morning it is hard to estimate what is behind me. The line of donkeys grew until the end is out of sight. The men worked through the night. How rich is Abram? I wish my family knew what a splendid life I am about to enjoy. They would be proud.

  We eat another spare meal of bread and fruit. I get to the front and Sarai is climbing onto her donkey. A young woman walks toward Abram with a grace unknown to me. Her color is different from anyone else. It is like olive oil shining in the sun, combined with wood of a somewhat darker hue. Her eyes are black and colored on top and underneath with a substance of green. They seem to look as if they turn up at the edges.

  Who is she and why does Sarai agree to having a beautiful young woman so close to Abram? My village would be shocked. The woman purses her full lips at the servants, then turns back to stare at me. Her hair, curlier than mine, is as dark as a night sky with no stars.

  This next part of the trip will take at least three suns. Lined up, we begin the journey. Sand from the donkey’s hooves blows in every direction destroying my dream of enjoying the hills and valleys around us. We walk with eyes down, mouths closed, our heads protected with shawls for the women and layers of cloth for the men. The wrappings are no defense. Sand fills our noses making it hard to take in air. There is no way to make conversation, and my head chooses to jump from Abba, to leaving Resheph behind, then to learning with Abram and pleasing Sarai.

  We reach Kiriath Arba, and my excitement grows. Our arrival falls on the eve of the time ten full moons ago when I arrived in Urusalim and was threatened with stoning.

  “Elisha,” Sarai calls. I join her and the olive skinned young woman. “This is Hagar, my handmaid.”

  We bow our heads. “Happy to know you,” I offer. Hagar does not answer. Not very welcoming. What is a handmaid?

  More oil lamps than could be found in five of my villages light the tremendous blue and white tents that are up in the air. The tents were woven from goat’s hair. In our tribe the women weave the cloths for the tents and also repair them. The men prepare the cook fires. At home that is also the women’s work. This couple has helpers to do everything. What will I be charged with?

  “Elisha, all we have for the late meal is bread and fruit. It will have to do. Let us prepare that. The morrow will be better.” Sarai helps me with the preparation, Hagar sits and waits. The four of us sit on the grass and pick at the provisions.

  “The men are taking care of everything. I am a lucky man.” Abram smiles.

  Sarai smiles back. “We are lucky in many ways.”

  “You are right, Sarai. Many ways.”

  While we eat, the men unpack and put things where they belong. Sarai’s tent is larger than Abram’s and bigger than three of our huts. It can hold more people than twice the fingers on both hands. This country girl now lives amongst riches beyond anything I could have imagined.

  Something about Hagar bothers me but I am not sure of what. We share a second spare meal in the tent’s surroundings, and I am glad when Hagar goes to her own shelter. The servants hang two animal skin curtains for sleep spaces and arrange small slabs of hardened mudbricks in every corner to hold the oil vessels. Three men bring in something large and heavy with pieces of carved wood on the bottom of its four sides and ends that seem to be claws.

  “Sarai, what is that?”

  “Hagar’s father, the pharaoh, gave Abram this gift meant for sitting. Royalty uses them in Egypt. Their name is chair, and this belongs in Abram’s tent.” Her hand signals the men to remove the object.

  Hagar is a princess. “To you, Sarai, this is not unusual. To me it is a wonder.”

  She shakes her head. “I understand.”

  The men bring in jugs and pitchers of all sizes and store them in what I assume is the vegetable keeper. Is she hostess to these men and their families? Are they visitors? Shimmering pillows made from rare cloth are strewn about the dirty floor. They are precious and should not be there. I sweep up and put them to the side.

  “We had a difficult trip and are tired. I hope you both have a good night’s sleep.” With that, Abram goes to his tent and we retire.

  My sleep space is larger than at Kotharat’s and contains a soft mat like the one I sat on at the meeting with Sarai. A mudbrick slab is also mine. My stick doll goes on top of it. Eshmun stays in the sack and goes on the floor behind the slab. I recline on my mat. Sadness beats against my breast. I should be content, but my family will never know about my new life. I, from a small village, with two torn garments to my name, must fit in with these people and their riches.

  Excitement wakes me too soon. I fly off my mat and run outside, curious to inspect the new surroundings. Abram’s land spreads like the desert, as far as can be seen. Not like Shechem, built between two mountains, or flat like my village, but a bit of both. Other parts ripple with endless risings and fallings.

  The rumors that Abram was given gifts by the pharaoh must be true. The fields are filled with his servants, male and female. Asses, oxen, and camels wander everywhere. Many herdsmen and shepherds are caring for the flocks. I shade my eyes and Doron, the servant who took my sack, is working with a group who may be digging for a new well. He seems to be in charge. Some women are weeding the vegetation. Children are frolicking and yelling to each other, having fun.

  My first task is the meal. Sarai is awake. “Is there anything special you want me to prepare, Sarai?”

  “We are still not organized so it will be bread and fruit.”

  She and Abram eat with no conversation. They are prepared for the efforts they must put forth. We finish eating, and they are ready for visitors. The servants sent out a signal that they are home and people lined up well before dawn to consult with them.

  My next task is the preparation of an offering for Abram and Sarai’s guests. We never know how many people will come, so I prepare as much as I can. On my way to the bushes of pomegranates, I wave to the people who wait for their turn. I notice smaller tents around the outer limits. The women are outside sweeping up and tending the family plantings. They must be homes. More men are cleaning and fixing something so far away I cannot make out what they work at. Abram’s wealth surpasses any in Canaan.

  The fruits I find are luscious and larger than any at home. It may be the weather in Kiriath Arba is better for their growth. After bringing as many as I can to the tent, I remove the tops. My mother said the preparation must be done with great care.

  My hand is in the air, the blade is ready, and my heart almost stops. Which way do I cut? Do I go across the middle or from the top down? My insides turn over. This task may be a disaster. This is my chance to learn from a woman. I must do what she asks and do it well or she can send me back to Urusalim.

  What is wrong with me? I did this every morning at home. I slice across the middle. Wrong. Sarai will be here any moment. I cannot let her know. Gathering up the remains, I run behind the tent and toss them as far over the bushes as I can. The morning is cool, but I am dripping and though my stomach is empty, I vomit over the shrubs.

  The remaining fruits are cut up and down where the yellow shows. Ima explained that they do not get cut all the way through. The seeds are squeezed out and after draining they go into the chopping basin where my muscles are tested by the pounding.

  The wheat, already ground, is in a jug, and I make the cakes and put them into the tabun. The juice sits and the seeds fall to the bottom. T
he cakes ready, water is added to the juice which is poured through a flax cloth into a large pitcher. We now have juice and cakes. The offerings are ready. The morning disappears like the light that flashes in the sky during a rainstorm.

  The next important thing to do is setting up a working tent. The utensils and jugs are washed and stored. The vegetables are cleaned and put into the jugs. Cooking and baking is next, then the sweeping and making everything neat.

  Five suns passed, and I am now used to the chaotic early routine. Sarai invited me to join her for a respite. The sun is almost at its peak. She is tranquil and it is safe to ask about the vegetable keep. “You always find enough food for your guests, though you began with little. How does that happen?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Hagar. She came to fetch the dirty garments and wash them.”

  “An interesting question and something I do not ponder.” She is quiet for a moment. “I trust.”

  “What do you trust?”

  “Not what. Who. I trust that the Holy Spirit provides what is needed.”

  “All we need?”

  “Most of our thinking is concerned with finding answers. We look outside ourselves because we do not trust our own guidance. We have knowledge inside and must learn to use it.”

  “Like the times I go in a certain direction or make a decision, and I am right?”

  “From what you said, I think you use your insight but have not learned to trust it from the bottom of your heart.” Sandalphon said the same. “We need the connection to the Holy Spirit, and also the deeper knowing of ourselves.” Abram said the same.

  “One more thing, if you do not mind.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I have but two garments and as you can see,” I get up, hold out my arms and turn around, “this one is not presentable. The other one is even worse. May I weave cloth for new ones?”

  “I do not weave or sew.” How do they make things? “A servant of Abram’s has a wife who is wonderful with the loom and needle. She will make some tunics for you.”