League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul

by Sugrue, Rosalie

  When Ben saw Amber had dressed or more accurately undressed for The Cheat he was filled with disgust for both of them. But it wasn’t Amber’s fault. The cheating pervert was making her do it. Such vile men shouldn’t be working in his father’s firm.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  12 — Diana and Tamar

  Thursday, 2 April

  “Sex,” says Sarai. Without exception the students raise their eyes to hers. “Sex and love. Both can happen without the other. Idealists would combine them, especially in marriage.” She feels the full attention of the room. “I am sure each of you has an opinion on the matter. My interest, and I hope yours for the next 50 minutes, is the attitudes discernable in Hebrew Scriptures.” She waits for the class to settle. “Sexuality was no less important in ancient literature than it is in modern literature. Biblical sex is detailed in many forms ranging through love and hate, neglect, sensual erotica and sexual abuse. Some passages are gentle and others brutal. Most biblical marriages were arranged, and love was a low priority. In social, political, and economic terms the position of ancient women was vulnerable but people were not in themselves very different from us. Some fell in love, others fell through lust.

  “We will begin by looking at couples in Genesis and consider who may have been in love as viewed from our perspective.” She moves to the whiteboard. “Let’s name lovers. I want textual support for your contribution.”

  The class remain silent. “Come, start at the beginning. Ms Wakelin?” The Goth replies lazily, “Adam and Eve I suppose.”

  “Anything to add, Ms Wong?”

  “We don’t know if Adam and Eve actually loved each other.”

  “Their options were rather limited,” puts in Steve.

  The class titters. Sarai says, “Possibly, Mr Paul, possibly.

  “Remember Cain’s wife,” contributes Jake.

  “Do you have an opinion on the quality of their relationships, Ms Finley?” Sarai turns her attention to the sweet-faced Rochelle.

  “Adam and Eve are mythical characters but the story implies they loved each other. Eve wanted to share with Adam, and following their expulsion from Eden the narrator discusses the sexual desire that arises between husband and wife.”

  “Reasonable deduction,” concedes Sarai. “Who features next in the biblical love stakes?”

  “Sarah and Abraham,” contributes Darlene.

  Sarai raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Did Abraham treat Sarah well?”

  “Well, he passed her off as his sister to save his own skin, but lovers can be cruel to each other. I think he loved her, because he wanted Sarah’s child to be his heir not his firstborn son, and at his death the text says Abraham mourned and wept for her.”

  “Well done,” Sarai nods, and Darlene blushes. “We are getting some credible suggestions but I want facts. When is the word ‘love’ first mentioned in regard to a man and a woman?” Her eyes skim over the students and stop at Hana.

  “Isaac and Rebekah?” she hazards.

  “Reasons?”

  Hana shrugs.

  “Ms Tombs?”

  “When Isaac first saw Rebekah alight from the camel train the text says he took her into his tent and she became his wife and he loved her.”

  “Correct, and the next couple? Mr Jones, you may be able to help us here.”

  Jake grins and says, “Jacob and Rachel. My namesake was prepared to work a further seven years for the woman he loved.”

  Sarai adds the names to the whiteboard. “What about Jacob’s children — have we scriptural proof that any of them loved or were loved?”

  “Joseph,” supplies the Goth reluctantly, cornered in Sarai’s gaze.

  “Certainly loved by his father but in regard to his own love-life the Bible merely tells us Joseph married the Egyptian Asenath, a gift of the pharaoh, and she bore him two sons. The word love used in a sexual context appears in relation to only one other couple in the book of Genesis. Anyone?” No suggestions are forthcoming. “The male in question is Shechem, the son of a prince. Genesis 34 words it thus: And his soul was drawn to Dinah the daughter of Jacob and he loved the maiden and spoke tenderly of her. The words convey strong emotion and would be charming if the previous verse had not conveyed something else — he saw her, he seized her and lay with her and humbled her. Are rape and love compatible? A rhetorical question, keep it in mind. Genesis informs us that Shechem did love the woman he raped and was prepared to go to great lengths to marry her. However, Dinah’s full brothers were out for revenge, which they took by killing all the males of that town and plundering their property. Dinah is the pivotal character in the chapter but how she feels is never revealed. She has no voice and is given no dialogue. The Hebrew word for rape is from a root meaning to be bowed down, to be afflicted. Dinah is described as having been made unclean. It is implied that what she suffered was less than the offending that happened against her family — such was male understanding of rape.

  “We didn’t touch on this incident in our initial look at Genesis as I want you to compare the Dinah scenario to a rape of Tamar in the Second Book of Samuel. Once again the woman is described as beautiful and a virgin. She is another wealthy woman, this time a daughter of King David. She was also loved by a prince, a prince that happened to be her half-brother. She was tricked into performing an act of kindness for her brother Amnon, who claimed to be ill. He asked that she bake him some cakes and do it in his presence. Our English translations do not make it clear but in Hebrew Amnon requests that the cakes be heart shaped. Amnon watches but doesn’t eat. He asks that the others present leave the room, then he grabs her. The shocked Princess Tamar is given words: No, my brother, do not force me. Her words are in vain and Amnon gets what he wants. His feelings are reported in full, chapter 13 verse 15: Then Amnon was seized with a very great loathing of her; indeed his loathing was even greater than the lust he had felt for her. Amnon said to her, ‘Get out!’ Amnon’s response is not unusual. There is an abundance of current evidence to support the theory that many who dominate others are fighting what they perceive to be a weakness in themselves. Their victim’s defeat reminds them of their own weakness and causes them to hate the victim. Does Tamar hate Amnon? We aren’t informed but we are given Tamar’s words: No, my brother for this wrong in sending me away is greater than the other you did to me. Why? How could she possibly want to stay with her abuser? Ms Wong, do you have any light to shed?”

  “She has lost her virginity and will not be acceptable to another as a bride.”

  “But what about the incest thing?” interjects Jake. “Weren’t there rules? I thought the ‘Law’ was a big Hebrew thing.”

  “Royalty is not necessarily limited by the laws that govern commoners and this was certainly so in David’s court. Tamar’s pleadings can be read as suggesting ‘you only need ask my father’s hand’, but Amnon knows the reality: a beautiful daughter is a great asset to a king with alliances to form. All we know is Tamar rent her garments and cried bitterly. The last we hear of her is she remained a desolate woman in the house of her full brother Absalom. Amnon is not punished by his father. Is it because Amnon is David’s eldest son, and heir to the throne? Absalom happens to be David’s third son but the second son, Abigail’s boy, is given no story so it is likely he died young. Two years later Absalom wreaks his revenge by arranging for the now unsuspecting Amnon to be killed at a sheep-shearing feast. This ‘righteous revenge’ action also advances Absalom in the line of succession. Once again a woman is abused and male relatives take action supposedly on her behalf, when bloodlust and personal ambition is the heart of the issue.

  “The rapes of Dinah and Tamar have elements in common. The male scribes would have us believe that both perpetrators were motivated by love. After the abuse one rapist feels desire for his victim, the other hate. Both males die and both women are ruined. If these stories tell us anything it is that ancient man tended to confuse love and lust and ancient woman had to put security before love.

  “Enj
oy the break. We meet again in three weeks, after graduation.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  13 — Wilkin’s rage

  Monday, 20 April

  A door slam announces Wilkin’s arrival. “Bad day at work?” inquires Jen, who knows the signs only too well.

  “Have you read today’s paper?” he demands.

  “Skimmed bits of it,’ she admits cautiously, guessing what may be energising his anger and hoping it’s not.

  “That woman, Sarai, your lecturer, is giving the university a bad name. She is employed to teach religious studies and it seems she is an atheist.”

  “She is a complex person,” defends Jen. “I don’t think she is an atheist.”

  “She did an interview on national radio with Kim Hill on Saturday morning and today there are letters in the paper asking how someone who teaches theology can believe in more than one god. There was an emergency phone-around of the executive and I was delegated to phone her. She was quite unfazed, arrogant even, told me she has already done an interview with the Press. It will be in tomorrow’s edition. The Press refuse to drop the article, said I didn’t have the authority to censor a story.”

  “Sarai is interesting. Even my lunch girls find her interesting. I think it’s good to get religion mentioned in the Press. Usually the public aren’t interested in religion.”

  “Being interested in heretics is not the same as being interested in Christianity.”

  “I don’t think she is a heretic, she just thinks God is bigger than most Christians realise. She doesn’t confine God to the male image of a judge on a throne or even a Heavenly Father. Jesus changed the concept the Jews had of God. There is always more to discover about anything.”

  “God is the same, yesterday, today and tomorrow!” thunders Wilkin.

  Jen changes the topic, there’s no point in trying to reason with Wilkin. “Dinner will be a few more minutes. Would you like to watch TV while I make the gravy?”

  “No, I would not.” Wilkin shrugs his shoulders, as if shaking off the worries of the world, and tries to make an effort. “I’ll take a wander in the garden. Now we’re out of daylight saving the nights are drawing in. It will be dark when I get home next week.”

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  As Wilkin walks around the pebbled cacti and landscaped borders he feels pleased with himself for taking this evasive action. He surveys the city lights beginning to twinkle in the dusk and breathes deeply. The Sarai kafuffle has messed up his plans for the evening but on reflection it will be pleasant to have an early night.

  He must make an effort to keep Jen relaxed and happy. Uptight women don’t conceive easily, he read that somewhere. But his wife has everything and no excuse for stress. Why doesn’t she conceive? He tenses, then chastens himself. A baby must come soon. He imagines playing ball with a small son on their lawn. Ideal place for a child, he murmurs, even our own access to the hillside.

  Their section falls away steeply from the lawn border. The property boundary is a few feet down the hillside. A short path leads to a little summer shelter. Beyond the ledge the brown hill spreads its folded cloak. Ten steps take him to the ledge where a brush shelter protects a bench-seat, a table, and a shelf. The shelf is not empty. Between two matching vases of flowers stands a grotesque clay figure. It has enlarged breasts and rounded abdomen. Other features are crude outlines in the clay. Wilkin is repulsed. He picks it up and sees the cloth it stands on is patterned with a pentacle. He tries to process what he is seeing — a pagan shrine? Every fibre of his being fills with fury. Jen has done this. His wife is practising witchcraft. How could she — a Christian woman! He is an important man in the church, if this ever got out … Sarai has corrupted her. He goes to hurl the filthy idol down the hill, changes his mind, and instead flings both vases as far as he can throw. He takes the steps two at a time and within seconds is confronting his wife with the vile image.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Don’t expect me back tonight, Wilkin had flung at Jen before slamming the door. Even in his rage he is startled at the strength of his reaction. Does Jen really have that power over him, or is it the culmination of work pressures and that wretched Sarai? The roar of the Chrysler’s engine coming to life steadies him. He isn’t a car kind of guy and knows little about the massive V8 engine hooded before him, but its power gives strength. He pushes his foot down and feels petrol flow in his veins. His heartbeat surrenders control to the precision engineering at his fingertips. Why should he care so much about the deviant old hippie? No, it is the baby, the baby, of course the baby, all this frustration and chaos is about the lack of a child. “I have so much love to give,” he moans aloud. No one understands his capacity to love, not Jen, not his parents, no one, but the child will know. The child will be the centre of his universe.

  Soon he is high in the Port Hills. Tussock, rock and paddock fly past. He is travelling fast, possibly faster than he has ever driven, certainly in this territory, and has no concern for safety, speeding tickets, or any damn thing. He rounds a bend dangerously, shakes his head, and blinks. “Where the hell am I?” He slackens off slightly and brings his hand up to the neck of his YSL pinstripe shirt. He fidgets to release a button. To his surprise his shirt is wet. He feels his collar, also wet. In an almost trance state he brings his hand to his neck, wet, up to his stubbled chin and cheeks, wet! He looks to the rear vision mirror for assurance, turning it to reveal his face. He sees his own 12-year-old face blinking back at him, with tears streaming. Wilkin shifts his foot to the brake and stops on a dusty shoulder.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Jen opens the door to Sarai. Jen’s face is red and blotched. The perfect hairstyle has collapsed to matted disarray. Sarai has a moment of secret surprise. After all of her years of knowing, she is still amazed how pain can transform the face.

  “Oh dear, my poor dear,” she says, gathering Jen into her arms, holding her tight. They sway softly. “Jennifer, my darling … listen to me … This too will pass.”

  The words are simple, profound, and initially irrelevant. It is the intonation of her voice that carries calm, peace, and absolute knowing. The words are not advice. They are the truth of the universe. Jen feels this as clearly as she has ever felt anything. “This too will pass,” repeats the wise voice. Jen nuzzles into Sarai and knows things will be OK. She is with the one person in the world who knows. Sarai can absorb pain and sorrow. In that moment Jen realises a love she has never experienced before. She feels in her soul that all will be well. All she has to do is share her worries with this magnificent woman.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  “Wilkin, Wilkin, you silly, little …” his grandfather struggles for control but “cry baby” escapes. As Wilkin sits in the car some 30 years later he feels the chest-crushing sensation he felt on that day.

  His mother and father were going away for a two-week trip and Wilkin was to stay with his grandparents. He had been looking forward to it. His grandparents ran a disciplined house but they doted on him and made his stays fun. But as his mum and dad walked down the steps from the porch of his grandparent’s house Wilkin had realised that his mother was leaving … she was not coming back. Both his parents were going away but they were not both coming back.

  Looking back Wilkin can’t remember how he knew this. Perhaps it was how she had hugged him or the way they were walking some distance apart and the excess of luggage in the car. At the time his thinking wasn’t rational or processed, it came as an avalanche of panic. He was being buried in pain and fear. His blood was overheating, tears flowed as lava.

  “I want you to stop crying, now!” His grandfather’s command mixes concern and anger. Grandfather was a vicar, normally a wise and sensitive man. “You’re going to be all right.” The voice softens. “Be strong, Will. You are a big boy. You are 11 years old.” The distressed child is only half hearing what his grandfather is saying. Eleven hits home. His grandfather doesn’t even know how old he is. But eleven is a more reasonable age to be crying like a baby.


  Wilkin can’t stop. Panic sets in. His parents were forgotten. All he wants is to stop crying. His throat is closing up and his heart is climbing into the passage needed for air. I have to breathe, he screams internally. After some desperate gagging attempts he manages a deep inhalation. Air will stop the crying. He prays it will. The old man prays a similar prayer and bends to comfort the child. But something is wrong. Wilkin can’t breathe out. His lungs have gone rogue. There is no room left but the air keeps flowing, filling his stomach and head and surely even his legs. His eyes bulge and his ears fill with the high-pitched screech of an electrical warning system. Colour fades from his vision then the grey shapes blacken. In the moment just before he expects to die he explodes again. This time mucus from his nose catapults directly at his grandfather, spraying over his shiny black shoes and sharply ironed trousers.

  Without pause or thought Graeme Hawthorne grabs the youngster by an arm and yanks him to his feet. Wilkin would not have been able to stand unaided but Graeme’s anger gives strength sufficient to hold the boy upright with one arm and hit him with the other. “You filthy,” whack, “filthy,” whack, “stupid,” whack, “snivelling imbecile!”

  Wilkin has never been slapped around the head before. The first brings shock, the second releases a scream. In the gap before the next impact Wilkin thinks only of his protection. He struggles and tries to protect his head … a dull thud strikes his shoulder. He staggers back and is caught by another arm, the blue-cabled cardigan arm of his grandmother. He hears her cries. “Graeme, Graeme, control yourself! One sinner in the family is enough!” The warm arms of his grandmother encircle him. “There, there, dear boy, it will be all right.”

  He hears sobbing and thinks, why can’t I stop, then realises the convulsive sounds are not coming from his mouth. Through strangled sobs come the words, “Wilkin, Wilkin, I am so sorry, please forgive me.”