“What is it, Ham?”
“Come closer.”
She moved her face nearer so he could smell her breath.
“No, closer,” he said.
“Like this?” She peered into his eyes. And he lifted his head, his lips brushing hers. Her eyelids flickered. Then her eyes flew open and she jerked back, the stool scraping across the wooden floor. She leaped to her feet.
“Didn’t you like that?” he asked.
Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Please, Rahab, don’t go.”
She fled.
And for the next week she resumed being shy. Oh, she came just as often, but she didn’t laugh and tell him all the things that she had before. She talked about the Ark and the latest people Noah had preached to. He felt guilty having upset her. She was delicate, he realized. And there came upon him a protectiveness, a fierce desire never to hurt her and never to let anyone else hurt her.
One day while she opened the shutters, she winced.
“Does your hand hurt?” He loved to watch her, especially when she didn’t know it.
“It’s nothing,” she said, although she didn’t whistle to the little blackbird, nor did she poke her finger into its cage. As he watched her going about the room, tidying, he noticed that she indeed used her left hand gingerly.
“How did you hurt it?” he asked. “Or are you just faking so you can tell my mother that it’s too much work taking care of me?”
She gave him a cross look as she settled onto the bedside stool. “We’ve been working much harder lately, making small animal hutches. My fingers are a little sore from it, that’s all.”
“Does my mother know?”
“Please, don’t say anything.”
“Why not? If you’ve hurt your hand you need to rest it—and that will give you some free time.”
“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Rahab. You must think about yourself sometimes. You’re not a slave.”
She picked up a damp cloth and dabbed his forehead. He suspected it was an excuse to touch him. “I can never repay the kindness your family has shown me. Maybe you don’t realize how wonderful your parents are. I-I’ve seen the other side. I know that what you have is rare.”
She had seldom spoken about how she’d become an orphan. Even mother had learned only bits and pieces. For Rahab to open up even this much… Ham knew that he must never misuse this trust.
“Your father seldom drinks even a cup of wine, and I have never seen him drunk. Oh, Ham, when a father comes home drunk...” She bit her lower lip, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “When a father’s pupils are glassy and he bumps into the furniture and breaks vases and clay cups and makes awful curses over it…When he strikes his wife, knocking her down and kicking her in the stomach as she shrieks, and then when he turns and stares at you and…” Rahab wiped the tears welling in her eyes. “I can never work too hard. I can never repay the kindness your family has showered on me. I thank Jehovah every night for His mercy in letting me find this place.”
“Oh, Rahab,” Ham said, understanding perhaps for the first time that sin costs, that sin lashes out and strikes even the innocent.
Their days together merged into weeks and the weeks into months. He was young and strong and Rahab was an excellent nurse. His ligaments knit and his bones fused back together. At first, it was a joy just to sit up again. There was plenty of pain, especially around his ribs, but he endured it as he exercised by simply breathing deeply. Then he became anxious to get the splints off, to walk again. It seemed to take forever. But those days came and he gritted his teeth as he relearned to bend his elbows and knees. Rahab helped him as he started walking. He put his arm around her shoulder and as she wrapped her arm around his waist. Together like that they shuffled around the room.
Noah brought him a cane and he began to limp about the Keep. He soon took up chores feeding the hounds and the cattle and bit by bit, his muscles swelled with renewed strength.
He pondered what he had seen that fateful night—the angel and Azel—and what that meant about his father. One thing he became certain of, Jehovah was real. For if Noah could command Ymir and keep the giant from slaying him—what other explanation was there than the angel driving away Azel and then threatening Ymir with his bright sword? So any thought of traveling to Eden, no, if angels protected his father and thus protected all of them, that meant Jehovah had truly spoken to his father and that the Flood was really coming.
The time came when he could walk without the cane. Unfortunately, his left hip never quite healed properly. At first, it hurt all the time when he walked. But through practice, he strengthened and could walk for longer. Yet whenever he overdid it, the pain began. Some days it was worse, and he would slip away with a bottle of Noah’s medicinal wine and drink until the pain subsided. Oh, that was such sweet relief.
At last, the day came when he could work.
His first task was to go with some field hands for fresh logs, to oversee the operation. Once in the forest Ham examined the trees, deciding which ones he wanted and which way they should fall. With special climbing tackle, experienced men ascended the various trees in seat-slings, cutting off the limbs and branches that would otherwise shatter against the ground when the tree fell.
Many finished items in the Ark needed to have a curve. Rather than making a man-made joint with glue or clenched nails, a natural joint such as where a branch joined the tree was found. Following the grain in a natural joint produced the strongest possible structure.
Taking a drink, wiping sweat from his brow, although all he had done was point here or there, Ham motioned for the tree-climbers to come down. Only then did axe-men notch the various trees in the direction they wanted them to fall. They made a deep cut on the opposite side. Lastly, to save on the axe-blades—bronze was expensive and needed all over the Ark—the men drove wedges into the cuts to push the tree over. Finally, they hitched oxen to the huge trunks and began the overland journey home.
The next day, after the bits were trimmed off the trunks, Ham picked up a bark spade and started peeling bark. Almost nothing of the tree was wasted. The bark contained tannin, especially from oak, alder or elm. They used tannin to tan hides and skins. Just beneath the bark were bast fibers. The best bast fibers came from willow, lime and oak. Those fibers made ropes.
After Ham was finished, he began splitting logs. He split each into long wedges. Later, with an adze, he shaved off the edges to make planks.
An hour of swinging the axe and tapping wooden wedges into the splits exhausted Ham, but he felt better than he had in a long time.
A few weeks later, when his muscles began to bulge again, when he could swing his axe several hours at a time, he asked his father if he could have a word with him.
Shem and Japheth were in the Ark building stalls, while big-boned Noah studied the plan.
A wooden stand with a slanted board about chest height held the tacked-down papyrus sheet. Penned with octopus ink was the diagram of the Ark, the dimensions given by Jehovah. Noah had other plans that went into precise detail for each section. His father had gathered information from a hundred sources: galley shipwrights, animal-handlers, deep-sea pilots and old Nereus of Poseidonis. Noah stood on a wooden step, his big hands grasping the sides of the slanted board as he peered at the plans.
Ham leaned on his cane, sweaty because he’d been swinging an adz.
Noah raised his head.
“I, ah…” Ham rubbed his jaw. His mouth had suddenly turned unreasonably dry. He scowled. “Father… There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Concerning what?” Noah asked.
Ham’s belly tightened. So he clutched the knobby head of his cane all the harder. This was ridiculous.
“I’m busy,” Noah said. “So if you could get to the point.”
Ham scowled. Why did his father have to stand on the step and look down at him?
“Are your ribs hurt
ing you again?”
Ham gave his head a quick shake and took a deep breath. “Father. I want to marry Rahab.”
Noah frowned and stroked his beard. There might have been a twitch across his lips, but that was impossible.
Ham gripped the head of his cane so hard that the muscles of his forearm were taut like a straining rope.
“You say that you want this,” Noah said. “But what does Rahab want?”
“I’ll find out what she wants,” Ham said, too curtly, it seemed. Why couldn’t he talk to his father reasonably, the way Shem did? “Before I approach her about marriage I would like your permission.” With his sleeve, Ham wiped his forehead. “You and mother raised her. I thought it proper therefore to ask you.”
Noah covered his mouth. If someone else had done it, Ham would have suspected in order to hide a grin.
“Do you love her?” Noah asked.
“What? Yes! I wouldn’t ask unless I loved her.”
“Hmm.” As Noah plucked at his beard, he studied the sky.
Ham leaned forward, his stomach knotted. He thought his father would have shouted for joy and said, “Yes, yes, by all means ask her.” Now he wondered if his father thought he wasn’t good enough for Rahab. What would he do if his father said no? The idea had never occurred to him. Would his father let him on the Ark if he went against his wishes and married Rahab anyway?
“Are you certain she’s right for you?” Noah asked.
“Father! I’m in love with her. Please say yes.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Noah jumped down from the step, and in two strides was around the stand and beside Ham. His father clapped him on the shoulder.
“Yes?” Ham asked, dumbfounded.
“I approve, and so does your mother.”
“Yes!” Ham shouted, throwing up the cane.
“Why not go this very moment and find out her answer.”
Ham limped for the north gate. Then he stopped and regarded big old Noah. “Thank you, Father.”
Noah nodded, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. Ham would long remember this moment, deciding later that this was one of their best days together.
2.
Two men dueled on a grassy sward, in the shadow of a gnarled oak tree outside the Methuselah Clan Compound. The first looked remarkably like Ham, although older. He had a spade-shaped beard and care lines around his eyes. He wore a plain tunic as he launched his expert attack. The second, his cousin, was thinner, with silky garments and a short, black cape. He was known in merchant circles as ‘the Ferret.’ He desperately parried as he retreated.
Along the nearby brick road, people strolled. There were men in robes debating ideas, children chasing a dog and several matrons discussing marriage proposals. Everyone ignored the duelists, seeming deaf to the clash of blades.
The attacker, Laban, who had worked in the Ark construction-yard the day that Jubal had died, fought rather poorly today, by his own high standards. He fought distractedly. He thought on other things. Normally he preached concentration, to fight in the now, in the present, to put all other thoughts aside. For over a hundred years, he had studied the sword. He was the compound’s premier swordsman. Today, however, as his blade rang, he considered ways to increase his supply of shekels. Before Jubal’s death, he had worked for Noah. After Jubal died, clan opinion had turned hard against anyone working there.
Queen Naamah, they said, needed carpenters. And the pay was excellent. But working for her at Chemosh seemed like a preposterous idea.
The thinner duelist joyfully cried out. He had swiftly parried and struck a blow, clipping a piece of Laban’s hair.
Instead of wooden swords, they fought with blades. Laban had said that if his second cousin made him bleed, he would forgo his fee. It had caused the Ferret to fight ferociously.
Laban awoke from his musing. He caught the next attack on his sword, twisted his wrist and sent his cousin’s blade spinning. Then, delicately, Laban set the tip of his short sword against his cousin’s throat.
“You are dead,” Laban said.
The Ferret’s sweaty face went from joy to shock to outrage. He stamped his foot. “No. This has been a colossal waste. My arm aches and I’m not any better than before.”
Laban sheathed his sword. His cousin’s whining wearied him. The need to soothe the man’s ego had become a colossal chore. But he needed the money. “When we started you could only duel a short time. Now your wrist has strengthened so we’re able to practice most of the morning. You’ve learned to parry and now you launched an attack. You’ve considerably improved.”
The Ferret pouted. “Money is my trade. Hiring swordsmen seems wiser than doing this.”
“Until your guards turn on you,” Laban said.
“I’m done for the day.”
Laban nodded even as he frowned, and his bearing of competence fled. “Ah… I hate to bring this up again.”
“What?”
“Well, my wife—”
“This isn’t about money, I hope.”
By trade, Laban wasn’t a farmer or a herder, but a carpenter. Unfortunately, work was scarce. But robbers abounded everywhere, and some bold ruffians had taken to kidnapping rich people and holding them for ransom. After Great-Grandfather Methuselah, his second cousin was the richest man in the compound. So for a fee Laban had taught the Ferret swordsmanship.
“I said I’d pay after I learned to use the sword,” the Ferret said.
“You’ve learned a lot,” Laban said.
“That’s why you could spin the weapon out of my hand—” The Ferret snapped his spindly fingers. “—Like that.”
“It’s an advanced trick. Once you’ve mastered the basics, the rest will be come quickly.”
“That’s the sort of thing I wanted to learn right away. I told you that when we started.”
“Well…tomorrow we can—”
“Do you know what, Laban? I’ve decided to call off the entire thing. When I want a sword I’ll hire one.”
“Very well,” Laban said. “If you’ll pay me for two weeks work—”
The Ferret snorted. “The bargain was when you taught me how to use the sword. You haven’t done that. So I’m free of any obligation.”
Laban stared at his second cousin. “You’re trying to cheat me?”
“How can you accuse me of that? Don’t you remember the bargain?”
A sudden ache began in Laban’s forehead, right behind his eyes, and he felt his temper slipping. “I’ve worked with you two weeks. In that time, you’ve become much better. You owe me for those weeks.”
The Ferret raised his chin. “That’s why you aren’t rich, Laban. You don’t think through your deals. What I said originally—”
The sword was back in Laban’s hand. “Maybe it’s time for the last lesson.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No threats. Just pick up your sword.”
“And if I refuse?”
The ache behind his eyes drummed, and it caused a wild light to leap into Laban’s pupils.
His second cousin paled. “Ebal was right. You don’t like jokes.”
“Jokes?” Laban asked thickly.
“You didn’t think I was serious about not paying? Laban, sometimes you take things too seriously. Let me get the coins.”
Laban lowered his blade, the headache back in force, making his eyesight blotchy. “I’ll come with you.”
“If you think you must.”
Laban forced a smile. “You didn’t really think I’d wound you, or even perhaps injure your manhood? That I would do such a thing? Just for a joke?”
“No, of course not,” his cousin said nervously.
Laban nodded slowly.
They marched along the brick road and into the compound to his cousin’s house. It was a huge three-story, wooden structure, filled with servants and children. His cousin had several wives and owned vast vineyards and shipped wine all over.
Soon Laban h
eaded home, his pocket jingling with silver. It wasn’t as much as he used to get from Noah for two weeks work, but at least it was something. Listening to the money jangle, and free of his second cousin’s company, his headache receded. He began to whistle, strolling past the big houses and under the mighty trees, the ones Methuselah had planted in his youth. He would like to go back and work for Noah. But people would talk, he knew; they would snicker behind his back. That would start his wife badgering him like before. It was like a drip, drip, drip, a constant complaint that wore away his resolve.
“Daddy!”
Laban turned, grinning as his running youngster launched himself into his arms. Ben-Hadad was nine, a gangly-limbed lad with a tousle of dark hair and bright blue eyes. He clutched a leather sling; it went everywhere with him.
“There you are, Laban.”
Frowning at the harsh tone, Laban looked up. His father strode down the lane. His sire’s forked beard bristled and his red robe flapped around his skinny ankles. Laban set Ben-Hadad down, who slipped behind his legs.
“Do you know what your boy just did?” his father asked.
Laban shook his head.
“He killed my peacocks, my prize birds.”
The headache Laban had thought gone now returned.
“You come out here, boy,” his grandfather said.
From behind Laban’s legs, Ben-Hadad stuck out his tongue.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” his grandfather said, lunging at young Ben-Hadad.
Despite his distaste at laying hands upon his father, Laban grabbed him by the arm. “Wait a moment.”
His father jerked himself free.
“Step out here, Ben,” Laban said.
“No. Grandfather said he’s going to spank me.”
Laban twisted around, grabbed his son by the ear and dragged him forward.
“Ow! You’re hurting me.”
“Did you kill grandfather’s peacocks?” Laban asked.
“No.”
“You little liar,” his grandfather shouted. “I saw you laughing as you twirled your sling, knocking stones against their head.”
“He hit them in the head?” Laban asked, impressed at such accuracy.
“Three of them,” his father said. “He killed three of my prized peacocks!”
Wives of the Flood Page 11
