The Esther Paradigm

by Sarah Monzon

  Even if I didn’t have the voice of a songbird, he’d still wanted to hear me sing silly songs that made no sense to him, all because he knew they made me giggle. Like when his mother handed me my Western-styled wedding gown, I felt accepted for who I was. It went against his words that he’d wished I was more like Maleka and less like myself.

  Which left me a little confused and unstable. Like a baby learning to take her first steps and falling on her face, I had to decide if I would be content to remain immobile or if I was willing to endure a few tumbles in order to experience the jubilation of a full-out run.

  Karim gathered our belongings, and I walked beside him to the rest of the group who were tying their possessions on their pack camels. I stroked my camel’s long neck before climbing onto her back. Never one of grace, it took me longer than the others to mount and get in position, so I figured it would be a good idea to get a head start.

  My camel did not agree with me. As soon as my weight set upon her hump, she turned into a wild thing and flew through the air, twisting and turning her body in a way that would make a rodeo bull stand up and take notice. My thighs gripped the saddle on instinct, my hands threading through my camel’s coarse hair. Out of my peripheral vision, I thought I saw a man approach with his hands out. Thought I heard the shouts of others over the beating of my heart in my ears.

  Then in a dash, my camel sprinted at full speed, and I was thrown forward, my arms hugging the base of her neck. Her shoulder bones collided with my jaw, and my teeth rattled in my head. With my face down, I took in the ground that sped by at an alarming rate, causing my muscles to tighten even more. As if bred for the million-dollar camel races in Dubai, she ran at full throttle.

  Should I loosen my grip and slide to the ground, or would I get trampled over by her wide hoof?

  Shouts reached past my panic this time, and I glanced quickly over my shoulder. Keffiyeh flying, Karim bent low over Jamal the way I’d only seen jockeys do. It felt like forever before he was by my side. Our knees almost touched with how close he’d managed to direct Jamal. His arm reached out and hooked about my waist, and he hauled me off my runaway camel and pulled me to his side.

  Jamal slowed, then stopped. When Karim’s muscles eased, I slid down Jamal’s sweaty side, my feet unsteady beneath me. Karim leaped from the saddle, his feet planting firm in the sand. I looked up at him the same moment his gentle hands cradled the sides of my head. His brows pulled low over his dark eyes as they scrutinized the planes of my face.

  I gripped his wrists. “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice quaked.

  As soon as my head dipped in a nod, I was pulled against his chest, strong arms crushing me.

  We stood like that a moment, each needing the physical assurance that all was well. He stepped back and looked at me again. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as I mounted, it was like she become possessed. Is there such a thing as a camel curse?” My laugh came out forced and fell flat.

  He tucked my head back to his shoulder without a word, his chin grazing the top as he looked past me. I followed his line of site to the wretched beast I’d never ride again. She stood a distance away, belly heaving.

  With hands to my shoulders, Karim put me aside, gaze focused on my rebellious camel. “Stay with Jamal.”

  Slowly he moved toward the lone animal. In a low, soft tone, he sang a song—a lullaby to soothe. She didn’t shy, didn’t bare her teethe, didn’t charge. She didn’t do anything that would contradict the docile temperament she’d previously shown on the journey. The one before she’d decided it would be a good idea to try and kill me.

  He ran a hand along her neck, and with quick movements, removed her saddle.

  What were those dark, thin lines that ran down her middle? Sweat? I squinted, trying to see better. My eyes popped open. Blood.

  Dread filled my gut. No curse, real or imagined, would be able to draw blood. Someone had purposefully tried to sabotage my camel. The only conclusion—they’d wanted to scare me, injure me, or kill me. If the first, they’d succeeded. My pulse still hadn’t slowed to its normal rhythm.

  Karim inspected the camel’s side, then stooped and prodded the saddle and blankets that were strewn on the ground. Sunlight glinted off metal that he jammed into his belt. He gathered the reins and slowly led the camel back toward me and the rest of the group. Fire flew like daggers from his eyes. His jaw hardened. Even so, the sounds coming from his lips were nothing but soothing.

  I felt like that camel. Jittery and out of sorts. One quick movement or loud pop of noise would have me bolting.

  I swallowed hard before I spoke, wanting my voice to sound strong despite how my body quaked. “What is it?”

  He gathered Jamal’s reins and placed them in the same hand as the others. The two animals stood side by side as Karim placed his arm around my shoulders and squeezed, his lips pressing to my temple.

  “Someone placed a blade beneath the saddle. Naturally she sought to get far from the pain, but her thrashing and running only plunged the weapon deeper.”

  I looked behind me, saw the dried blood on her tawny side, the open wound near the base of her hump along the ridge of her back. “Will she be okay?”

  “Yes.” His expression tightened. “But whoever did this won’t be.”

  Chapter 18

  Karim

  There was a murderer in our midst.

  The fact they hadn’t succeeded wasn’t the point. Their objective had been to harm my wife. To kill her. Their heart was against her, and so mine was against them.

  I scanned the faces of the men and women that stood as statues as they watched Hannah as I walked up with our camel’s following behind. Shock registered on some, relief on others.

  Samlil stepped forward, hand outstretched to accept an animal’s lead. “Praise Allah, you both are all right.”

  I handed off a tasseled rope. “Indeed.”

  His gaze roamed us both, then turned toward the camels. His eyes widened—forced or sincere?—at the sight of blood.

  I hated the suspicion that twisted my thoughts. That I could even entertain the idea that one of my closest friends could sabotage my wife.

  Could he?

  He’d made his displeasure at my choice known, but so had the majority of the clan.

  I rubbed at my forehead, wishing for insight, wisdom, and discernment that was beyond me.

  Hannah sagged at my side, and I placed a hand under her elbow to sustain her.

  This wasn’t how things were supposed to play out. Instead of protecting her through our union, had I put her in even more jeopardy? Elizabeth’s question the day we broke camp—the one about in which caravan Hannah would travel—mocked me. Had my selfishness in not wanting to be separated from my wife caused her harm? If the saboteur was one of our number, then surely it had. With her parents, Mahabat, and the ill sheep, Hannah would’ve been safe and relatively comfortable. But I’d dragged her through the innards of the desert, convinced I was strong enough and capable to protect her from harm.

  How foolish my pride.

  The back of my fingers grazed Hannah’s arm as they slid downward and then threaded through her own. If the clan wanted to look sideways at my public display, so be it. She needed to feel safe, and I needed to know that she was.

  One of the men had gone and retrieved the discarded saddle and blanket and now set the items down a few feet away. Hannah’s camel shied away from them as if a hyena were concealed beneath, ready to laugh at her before sinking its teeth into her neck.

  Hannah shivered beside me. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll walk.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not all right with me.”

  Her hand loosened from my grip. “But, Karim—”

  I kept ahold of her fingers. “You won’t ride her.” I jutted my chin to the skittish camel. “Though she is sweet natured, I won’t risk that she has associated you with her pain and therefor holds a grudge against y
ou.”

  She shivered again.

  “You’ll ride with me on Jamal.”

  Her teeth captured her bottom lip, but she didn’t say anything. I could imagine her thoughts. That more than one person riding a camel was fine for the tourists who wanted to experience a quick ride, or even children at play. But two adults on a long journey through treacherous territory?

  Two more days and we’d be at the date grove. Jamal was strong and could bear our weight. When he grew tired, I’d walk. But not now. Now I needed to hold my wife. If it be weak of me, then call me weak. I wouldn’t be strong again until I was sure of her safety.

  The caravan assembled, and I took my place at the lead. With Hannah in front of me, Jamal rose to his feet and journeyed on.

  My palm rested on the flat of Hannah’s stomach, my hips swaying in unison with Jamal’s gate, hers jarring with each step. Even after a kilometer, her spine still held erect, a good distance spanning from her back to my chest.

  With this posture, she’d wear herself out in hours. With a hand to her shoulder, I gently pressed her back to me, but she wouldn’t budge. “You need to relax.”

  “I’m trying. This is the best I can do.”

  A deep sigh expelled my lungs, but I didn’t push. Instead I settled more fully into the saddle, the gap between our bodies widening. As much as I knew Hannah, there was still more to learn. Like what would help ease the tension from her coiled muscles. I had an idea, but would she would agree?

  “On long journeys,” I said, “a caravan leader often sings to the camels. It helps soothe them and keeps up their spirits during the vast distances.”

  Her head turned slightly so she could look at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not singing ‘This is the Song that Never Ends’ to the camels.”

  I let my lips tilt up. “Good. No one wants to hear that again.”

  “I’m not doing a marching cadence for them either.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Hmm…”

  Maybe it would be easier to show her what I meant. Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs, then opened my mouth to the long, low tones of a song my people had sung for many years. I kept my voice quiet, but even so, my words filled the void of the open space around us. Soon others joined my song. Men’s voices that ranged in volume and pitch. We sang of the earth, the sky, the stars. Of life and the God who gives it, beautiful and flowing like a rare river from a deep spring. Of the majestic hawk that soars against a crystal sky and the cunning snake that slithers across the ground.

  Jamal’s rhythm matched the timing of our lyrics like a harmony, and inch by inch I watched Hannah’s rigid spine release until, by the end of the song, her back had nestled a spot against my chest, her head on my shoulder.

  Our song neared the end, but I hated to see her tense up again, so without missing a beat I transitioned into a melody. Like a choir, the voices behind me followed. After three songs, however, my mouth grew dry. We needed to progress without the accompaniment. Hopefully, Hannah had relaxed enough that the lack of singing wouldn’t trigger her back to such a severe posture.

  To my shock, when our song concluded, she started one of her own. Quiet, yet clear.

  “Bless the Lord, O my soul; And all that is within me, bless His holy name.” Her voice echoed, though there was nothing except the crevice that protected my heart to bounce the sound back from. She paused to take another breath. “Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all His benefits: who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from destruction, who crowns you with loving kindness and tender mercies, who satisfies your mouth with good things, so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

  She held the last note, and the beauty of the lyrics falling from her lips captured me.

  “Sing another one,” I urged.

  She nestled deeper into my chest, and my belly tightened, fueled by the simple act that demonstrated her trust in me.

  “I will extol you, my God, O king: And I will bless your name forever and ever. Every day I will bless you. And I will praise your name forever and ever. Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; And his greatness is unsearchable.”

  Reverence coated her sweet voice, and I realized the song she sang was praise to her God. My heart clenched, both with an ounce of fear and a measure of admiration. Quickly I glanced over my shoulder and searched the faces among the caravan. Could they hear her words? Did they understand her language enough to know the things she was saying?

  “I will meditate on the glorious splendor of Your majesty, And on your wondrous works. Men shall speak of the might of Your awesome acts, And I will declare Your greatness.”

  My brothers’ and sisters’ faces wore passive expressions, and I sighed with some relief. None showed the strained markings of one heated due to hearing heresy. Though nothing Hannah had said was heresy. God was great and greatly to be praised.

  I wished to hear her keep singing, to hear the rest of the song and the place of worship in her heart from whence it came. But prudence urged me to stop the flow of her lips. Though the area was deserted save our company, any religion practiced and expressed beyond the teaching of our great Muhammad was illegal. On my vow to protect my wife, I had to be faithful in this as well.

  In private she could be free to express these beliefs, but it was not safe to sing thus in public. No matter how beautiful.

  “Hannah.” I cringed at the forcefulness of my voice and the way she stiffened at it, then drew away from me.

  Her eyes blinked then widened with a look of horror.

  * * *

  Hannah

  How could I have been so stupid? Or maybe not stupid, but definitely careless. After all these years one would think I knew better. I did know better. And yet without conscious thought, in a moment of rare serenity and deep security, I had forgotten caution and let the worship well up and bubble over.

  I couldn’t apologize though. No one should ever apologize for praise and worship. No matter the danger and no matter how much it angered those around. Daniel didn’t hide his prayer thrice daily, and Paul and Silas sang from prison. If anything, my actions had run from the same source as theirs. There was a time to be silent and a time to speak. I often couldn’t tell the difference of when I should do the one and not the other but had trusted the Holy Spirit to lead me.

  With caution, I turned to look at Karim. To gauge his reaction to what he might consider blatant rebellion. Against his desire for me not to outright proselytize as well as the illegality of it.

  Though it had been just songs, they originated from the Scriptures. It was something my parents and I had done as far back as I could remember. A way to buoy us up when things got heavy and weighed us down. We couldn’t quote scriptural promises to each other. Not in the hearing of others. So we’d set them to tune and made them songs. When we saw one of our family burdened, we’d hum the tune knowing the other person could supply the lyrics—the Bible passage filled with truth to sustain us.

  What had I expected to find on my husband’s countenance? A face of stone etched in displeasure? Deep lines that furrowed his brow in anger? Exasperation? Intolerance?

  He looked weary. And weren’t we all? Long days of walking or riding perched on a hump could tire a body down to the bones. Yet his wide shoulders still held straight with an almost regal quality. No, his tiredness didn’t hinge on the physical. He was soul weary, his eyes themselves weighed down with heavy burdens.

  Take My yoke upon you…and you will find rest for your souls.

  I longed to share with my husband the promise Jesus gave in Matthew for His people, but I swallowed the sacred words and felt the burn of them in my throat. Desire rested like a gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach. One only known to those who experienced the unceasing throbbing of loving someone who had not accepted Jesus as their personal Savior. Helpless, but not hopeless.

  Open his eyes, Lord.

  May
be then Karim could see and experience the peace that came by surrendering one’s burdens into the hands of a Creator God.

  “It was beautiful, my treasure.” His lips grazed my temple. “But maybe you can sing your songs in private next time.”

  I nodded, knowing that for now, he was right. There would be a time, however, when God would require me to speak. Whether to one receptive person or a crowd. God’s love could never be silenced and was not meant to stay hidden in a shroud of privacy.

  Chapter 19

  Hannah

  As much as I’d tried to keep the mantra of water, water, water out of my head, that was all I could think about. I dreamed of mountainous waterfalls in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Of rock jumping into cool, clear depths. Of summer rain showers and crystal-clear springs. I even dreamed of tiny droplets of dew glistening on broad leaves.

  Instead all that surrounded me was dry and brown. No sign of life or relief.

  My tongue worked against the roof of my mouth in an attempt to produce saliva. Something to alleviate the parchedness.

  The air shimmied on heat waves, and exhaustion pulled my body down and against Karim behind me.

  “We’re almost there.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him. It felt like the trip would never end. That he was only placating me like a parent would a child. But then, like a cartoonish mirage, trees jutted out of the tan landscape. Where there were trees, there was water. Life-giving, refreshing, glorious water.

  Wide fronds fanned out from the tops of the trees. Date palms.

  We’d arrived. Finally.

  With a surge of energy, I sat up straighter and strained to make out any shape that wasn’t an evergreen. My parents and the other caravan had to have arrived already. My heart raced, and I hadn’t realized until then quite how much I’d worried about them. No one had tried any more demonstrations while we were apart, had they?