“Then Gomer told Kush he was jealous,” Io said. “But Gomer told him not to worry. He’d teach him how to fish. Deborah clapped her hands and slid down from her rock where she’d been tossing her curls and batting her eyes. She put her hand on Gomer’s forearm, pretending to study his catfish. But I saw her, Mother. She glanced at Kush sideways, to see if he was getting mad.”
“Quiet, Io. I hear your brothers coming. Your father probably isn’t too far behind. I don’t want you talking about this during supper. We need to let Kush cool off. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I mean it, Io.”
“I said yes.”
“You remember that, too, unless you want a switching.”
“Oh, Mother, please.”
8.
The next morning, Noah quizzed several children. Then the white-bearded preacher—who hadn’t had anyone to preach to for a long time—hitched oxen to his wagon and lumbered to the woods, returning with pines and heavy branches. Perhaps he had baggier eyes and deeper lines in his face than before, but he still possessed raw-boned strength. Splintering the logs and heaving them into a crude teepee, he pitched mats around them and set a tree-stump chair to the side. He washed his hands and face in a basin outside his tent, changed into clean clothes and marched to each dwelling, there informing his sons’ wives that after supper, after sunset, he wanted everyone at his fire.
“Did he give a reason why?” Ham asked later.
Rahab shook her head.
Ham peered out his tent. Gaea marched with a plate to Noah, who sat on the tree stump and drummed his fingers on the staff across his knees. They whispered as he ate, and then mother hurried away with the empty plate. Noah got on his hands and knees, using tongs to extract coals from a bronze cage. He set the glowing coals under the logs. As the log teepee began to burn, Noah resumed his station on the tree-stump chair.
“Don’t fuss while we’re there,” Rahab told her eight children. She nudged Ham.
“That’s right,” Ham said. “Or…” He slapped the back of his hand against his palm.
The children bobbed their heads in understanding. Then they marched out to the fire, sitting on mats and listening to the crackling flames.
After everyone had found a place, Noah said, “Tonight, I will tell the children a tale.”
Ham sat straighter, while Rahab soothed their youngest child. Ham hadn’t heard Noah’s preaching voice since he’d last used it on Kedorlaomer, Ikkesh and Ymir just before the Flood.
The children watched their grandfather in awe.
“In the beginning,” Noah said, “the first father and mother had two children, Cain and Abel. They taught their boys to honor Jehovah and to sacrifice an unspotted lamb in blood atonement for sin. The blood of animals couldn’t take away sin, but it was and is a symbol of the One, the Redeemer, who by His blood will someday take away mankind’s sins and allow us a way back to Jehovah. Cain and Abel were to take the offering to the fiery sword waving back and forth in front of the Garden of Eden, the one wielded by an invisible cherub who guarded the way to the Tree of Life. The offering wasn’t to the cherub, the sword or even to the Tree of Life, but done near Jehovah’s representative of judgment, the one who had driven humanity from Eden lest they eat the fruit of the Tree of Life and live forever in their sins.
“Cain and Abel grew strong just as you children are growing stronger and wiser.”
The children squirmed under Noah’s gaze.
“Cain became a farmer, just like some of you boys: Kush, Elam and Gomer. Cain worked hard, and the ground burst forth with its goodness. His brother Abel was a shepherd, with flocks and hounds to help guard them—just as you, Assur, Magog and Menes, run after the sheep and watch over the goats and cattle. Abel worked hard, and many sheep were born to his herd.
“Then one day, when they were grown men, Cain brought a basket of his best fruit to Jehovah. He beamed at the work of his hand. Oh, how he had sweated to grow such fine apples, oranges, mangoes and pineapples. They were huge pieces of fruit, spotless and wholesome. Cain was certain Jehovah would enjoy such bounty. By the sweat of his brow, he’d weeded every day so that this basket could be filled. Out of the cursed ground had grown each piece of fruit and sheaf of wheat.
“Abel tugged a small young lamb, pure and spotless as Jehovah had commanded them to bring. Abel butchered the lamb and put the blood and fat of the beast on the altar. It was messy, bloody and it stank, just as it does today when we do such things. But there is a reason for that. It shows us that sin is costly. Someone must lose his life for it. Jehovah hates sin. It fires His wrath, which is holy, just and pure. So, to keep His wrath at bay, to bring justice to the world, blood must be shed. Eventually, Jehovah Himself will send His perfect lamb to die for man. And then it, too, will be bloody and messy and no doubt, not smell very nice. Then all of mankind’s sins will be swept clean by the blood of the Most High. So Jehovah wished then and now to show us this truth by the sacrificing of lambs to Him.
“Abel obeyed Jehovah. He did exactly as Jehovah had taught him through his parents. But Cain, ah, he had become proud and thought he knew a better way. He thought he could work his way to Jehovah. But no one can do that. Only if a person was perfect could he or she approach Jehovah. But no one is perfect, so only by the blood of an innocent, in payment for what the sinner can never pay, can any approach a pure and holy Jehovah.
“From heaven, Jehovah watched, and fire consumed the lamb but left the fruit. With his head bowed, Abel turned and left, glad in his heart that he had obeyed Jehovah, but fearing for his proud brother.
“And fear he should. For Cain grew angry with Jehovah and even angrier with his brother. He had worked as hard, maybe harder, and he was firstborn. Finally, Jehovah spoke to Cain. ‘Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.’
“Cain left Jehovah and approached his brother, saying, ‘Let us go out to the field.’
“Abel did, and he counseled Cain to beg for Jehovah’s forgiveness.
“‘Why should I?’ Cain asked.
“‘You tried to work your way to Jehovah, and you cannot. But if you ask for forgiveness, Jehovah is gracious, and he will surely give it. Then, your sacrifice will also be accepted.’
“‘Where will I get this perfect lamb?’ Cain asked. ‘I raise no animals.’
“‘Buy one from me.’
“‘Buy?’
“‘What good is a sacrifice to Jehovah if it doesn’t cost you anything?’ Abel asked.
“‘Those are fine words,’ Cain shouted. ‘But admit that what you really want is that I crawl on my hands and knees to you, to beg you, the younger, for your favor, so I can purchase one of your stinking lambs!’
“Abel drew back from Cain, who had grown red-faced.
“Cain roared, spittle flying from his mouth, and he picked up a rock and dashed it against Abel’s brow.”
Ham scowled as the younger children moaned. He leaned near Rahab. “Why is he telling them a story like that?”
“Shhh,” Rahab said.
“He should wait until they’re older before loosening such a bloodthirsty tale,” Ham said.
“Jehovah came to Cain,” Noah said. “Jehovah asked him, ‘Where is thy brother Abel?’
“‘How should I know?’ Cain asked. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’
“Jehovah said, ‘What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the Earth.’
“Oh,” Noah said, “Cain wailed that his fate was too harsh, but he did not fall on his face and beg for forgiveness, nor did he say that he was sorry for killing his own flesh and blood, his very own br
other.
“Now,” Noah said, “what did Jehovah mean when he first told Cain that sin crouched at his door? Why, that Cain plotted harm to his brother, and that envy and rage hid in his heart. You, my grandchildren, and you especially, Gomer and Kush, must make certain that rage and envy and other such sins are not crouching at your heart. Do not hate your brother or your cousin. Do not stir up wrath and rage among yourselves. For if you do, then sin will choke you and cause curses from heaven to fall on you. I brought you here tonight to warn you of the terrible thing that is ready to be unleashed among us. Nothing will ever be the same if it does. So beware! Take heed from the lesson of Cain and Abel. Do not think that you will escape the judgment of sin if you harbor it and cherish it like some sweet fruit. Take the advice of Abel, and do what is right, so Jehovah will accept you, and so you may have peace with your brothers and with your cousins.”
Noah swept his fierce gaze over them. “Do you understand?”
The children nodded solemnly, while Gomer blushed and Kush stared at the ground.
“Do you hear me, Kush?”
Kush whipped up his head, his eyes wide. “Yes, Grandfather.” But as soon as Noah looked away, Kush shot a look of hatred at Gomer.
“And you Gomer?” Noah asked.
Gomer nodded, ashen-faced.
One more time, Noah scanned his grandchildren and his sons and daughters-in-law. “Good. That is all I have to say.”
9.
Shem and Ruth spoke earnestly with Deborah, cautioning her lest she be the cause of hatred between cousins. Pretending to be intimidated, Deborah donned a shawl and did her chores downcast. What she wasn’t going to do was let herself be cheated out of a husband. How did she know who loved her best? More to the point, which one of them was worthy to be her husband?
On the third day after Noah’s talk, she spied tall, handsome Gomer trooping in from the fields with a hoe over his shoulder. Deborah carried a basket of chicken eggs, slowly walking past Uncle Ham’s stone corral. A gray rag hid her tresses, and she stared at the ground, pretending not to notice sweaty Gomer.
“What did you lose, Deborah?” he asked.
She stopped, but didn’t look up.
“You must have lost something,” Gomer said, “the way you stare at the ground.”
She shrugged.
“Are you forbidden to speak to me?” he asked, starting to sound forlorn.
“I suppose not.”
Gomer stepped nearer. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She hesitated.
“Deborah!”
She looked up, delighted with his concern but concealing it. “My parents blame me for what has happened.”
“Nothing happened!” he cried. “What did your parents say happened?”
“You heard grandfather.”
“I did,” Gomer said, “and I don’t hate Kush. I told my parents that, too.”
“You don’t hate Kush?” Deborah asked.
“Why should I?”
She blinked, nettled. “What if I told you that Kush kissed me?”
Gomer’s jaw sagged. “Why would he kiss you? He never has before…has he?”
Deborah looked down, with a tiny smile on her lips.
“Has he kissed you?” Gomer asked.
“Maybe.”
“What?”
“So what if he did kiss me? You don’t hate him, right?”
Gomer licked his lips, glanced about and took a step closer. “You’re not going to let him kiss you again, are you?”
She shrugged, wondering what he would do about it.
“Because that isn’t really fair,” Gomer said.
Deborah eyed him, and she noticed Kush in the distance dragging a sled toward them, although Gomer couldn’t see it because he had his back to Kush. She knew Kush was supposed to repair this corral with new stone. It was the reason she had been loitering here.
“Are you going to let kiss Kush you or not?” Gomer asked.
Deborah set down the egg basket and searched Gomer’s freckled face. Her heart beat hard. She wasn’t sure she should do this… But surely, Noah overreacted. She loved her grandfather, but she understood that he also had a flair for the dramatic, for the overblown gesture or story. How was a girl supposed to know which boy really loved her, was willing to take risks to get her, unless she put him to the test?
She asked innocently, “Do you want to kiss me?”
For a moment, Gomer did nothing. Then her heart thrilled as he pitched aside the hoe and brought down his head so his lips brushed hers.
She hugged him and peered around his shoulder.
Kush watched, and he whirled around and stalked from his sled as if angry.
Sudden fear filled Deborah. Kush was moody, passionate, and the strongest among the boys. Had she gone too far? She backed away from Gomer and picked up her egg basket. “I’ve got to get these home.”
“Will you meet me later?” Gomer asked. “Out by the woods?”
Deborah glanced at his handsome, grinning face. Eagerness shone there, and something else. “Maybe,” she whispered.
Gomer picked up his hoe, whistling as he walked away.
Deborah hurried home, wondering what she had unleashed.
10.
Ham shut the gate to the sheep pen, the bleating animals crowding one another. Finally, he had time for a hot soak. He winced, his back tight from a long day of hoeing weeds. He looped the string over the gatepost and—
“Father!”
Ham turned. Kush seemed intent, his dark eyes hard, the muscles hinged to his jaws bunched.
“Did you check the bull corral like I told you?” Ham asked.
Kush jerked his head in a nod.
“You refitted all the fallen rocks?”
“I want to box.”
Ham scowled, glancing about. “What’s wrong with you, boy? I told you never to speak about that unless you’re sure we’re alone.”
“I want to learn how to break ribs,” Kush said.
Ham saw the hot soak slipping away, and his arms felt leaden from all the hoeing. “Maybe tomorrow,” he muttered, turning away.
Kush grabbed his elbow. “Dad!”
Ham recoiled when he noticed—those weren’t tears in his boy’s eyes, were they? “Oh, all right,” he said, regretting it as they tramped over the forest’s moldy leaves and broken twigs and finally reached the hidden location.
Ham’s hip throbbed. A bottle of wine might help. Sure. Take a hike for a week, find some wild vines and replant them to make a hidden vineyard. There would be grapes in a year, some squeezing, fermentation and wine soon thereafter. Only…Noah made the rules even on this side of the Deluge.
Ham wrapped the boxing leathers tight across his knuckles.
“Are you ready?” Kush asked.
Ham blinked himself to reality, to the sward of grass in the sunlight, as Kush launched his attack. Ham yelled, caught off guard, throwing up his arms. His boy drove in, head tucked, torso twisting and arms snapping straight. A solid jab to the chin snapped Ham’s head back.
Kush snarled, driving in harder, pressing his surprise assault. Ham clenched his teeth and sunk a fist into Kush’s belly.
Air exploded out of the fifteen-year-old. Kush’s eyes got huge, and his feet tangled. Kush fell heavily, rolled onto his hands and knees and vomited.
Ham’s anger dissipated, even as a twinge in his neck told him it would hurt tomorrow. He began unwinding his leathers; the sparring was over less than ten seconds after it had started.
11.
Kush tossed and turned that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gomer kissing Deborah by the corral. He had Cain’s luck, cursed, whatever he touched failed.
Before dawn, ten-year-old Menes shook him awake.
“Go away,” Kush said.
“We’re supposed to hunt rabbits, remember?”
Stomach aching, sleepy, with a face full of bitterness, Kush stumbled after Menes into the chilly fields. Mene
s twirled his sling in the millet field and hit two rabbits. Kush shot three arrows and missed each time.
“What’s wrong?” Menes asked. “Why can’t you hit anything today?”
“Let’s go to the next field.”
They did, getting their sandals wet on the dewy grass, the small, skinny runt in front, and the Brute, as Kush liked to think of himself, following his little brother. The barest smear of light now painted the horizon.
“When do you think father will make me a bow?” Menes asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How old were you when you got one?”
Kush shrugged.
“How old?” Menes asked.
“I can’t remember.”
“Wasn’t it three years ago?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Was it for your eleventh birthday or twelfth?”
“Will you shut up about bows?”
Menes glanced back at his brother. “Are you angry?”
“What did I just say? Shut up.”
“Sheesh, Kush, why are you sore at me?”
“I’m not.”
“It’s Gomer, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
Menes faced his big brother. “What will you do if Gomer pushes you again?”
Kush eased tension from his bowstring. “Do you really want to know what I would do?”
Menes nodded.
Kush curled a fist under his brother’s nose. “I’ll hammer him into submission by using these like weapons.”
“Your hands?”
“No, stupid. Fists. I’ll box him until he pukes out his guts and then kick him in the stomach. Let him know I could kill him.”
“If you killed him, you’d be cursed like Cain.”
Kush snorted. “You ever seen Jehovah or even seen His footprints? He’s a fairy tale, Menes.”
“Grandfather doesn’t lie.”
“Listen. No one is going to kiss Deborah but me. If I catch Gomer doing it, he gets a boxing lesson.”
“What’s boxing?” Menes asked.
Kush squinted. “Can you keep a secret?”
Wives of the Flood Page 27
