Deborah Rising
Page 8
Entering Sallan’s quarters, Deborah found herself in a dim, cozy foyer. Her eyes took a moment to adjust, and when her vision returned, she recoiled from the toddler-sized figure facing her. Its body was made of wood, and elaborate bronze pieces were attached to its hands.
“Let me introduce you,” Sallan said. “This is Kothar-wa-Khasis, our god of craftsmanship.” He held a lamp close to the deity’s hands. Each finger was fitted with a miniature piece made of forged bronze. “Hammer and rod, for his metalworking. Measuring ruler for his engineering. Inkwell and feather for his inventions. Bowl and crusher for his potion-making. Wand for his spell-casting. Saw and chisel for his woodworking. And a key to open the window through which Baal Ammon sends rain to nourish the land that feeds us.”
Deborah wanted to say that it was Yahweh who sent rain, nourished the land, and gave men the abilities to engage in crafts, but Sallan turned and left her in the near dark with Kothar-wa-Khasis. She quickly took off her sandals and followed him into a spacious living area, which was clean and opulent, in stark contrast to the basket factory below.
The floor was covered with straw mats that felt soft under her feet. Linen sheets in cream colors draped the walls. The roof was made of wood beams and thatch. Various ornaments hung from it—stuffed birds, ceramic figurines, and dried flowers. There were sofas along the walls, covered with cowhides and many pillows.
The boys helped Sallan take off his work clothes and wrapped him in a linen robe. He sat on a sofa and patted the cushion next to him.
Deborah sat down.
One of the boys knelt and massaged the foreman’s right foot while the other removed the wooden piece that served for a left foot and rubbed olive oil on the stump.
“I trust you can keep a secret,” Sallan said.
Her eyes glued to his stump, she nodded.
“Not that,” he said, chuckling. “My limp isn’t a secret.” He gestured at their surroundings. “No one is ever invited here.”
Deborah didn’t know what to say. Why had he invited her?
“Sad business with your sister,” he said. “In my country, a woman is protected as a person of value and wisdom. Our greatest god, Qoz, is both a man and a woman. Why would you destroy a fine young woman—even if she made an error?”
“My sister didn’t do anything wrong.”
The boys disappeared behind a partition.
“Men sometimes turn into beasts,” he said. “They become like a herd of coyotes tearing up an antelope. It’s unusual to see one stand apart from the mob and show compassion to the victim. I heard that a boy stood up to Seesya in the middle of the stoning.”
“It’s true. Barac, the blacksmith’s son. He was brave!”
“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
She nodded.
“I’ve seen you two on the street, talking, laughing. You like him, don’t you?”
She blushed.
“Perhaps that’s what happened to your sister.”
Deborah opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind. She had never even touched Barac, or he her, but she was honest enough to remember that she had wanted to.
The boys returned with plates of warm food. There were three types of red meat, each prepared differently, a whole pigeon covered in spices she didn’t recognize, as well as vegetables, including sugary carrots, and warm bread with honey.
Sallan surveyed the food and, apparently satisfied, dismissed the boys. Using his fingers, he scooped up small samples from the various dishes and filled a small copper plate. He placed it in front of a pedestal holding an effigy. The figure was made of copper, which had been polished until it glistened. Its large head sprouted three curved horns, and its sculpted face was human, through Deborah couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. The eyes were large and blank, the chest hinting at breasts with shallow protrusions. It sat on a throne between a bull and a cow and wielded a multipronged thunderbolt in its left hand.
Bowing his head, Sallan said, “Thank you, mighty Qoz, supreme master of the world, for the food that you deign to share with us.”
Deborah turned away, closed her eyes, and silently thanked Yahweh for the food.
Sallan handed Deborah a plate, took one for himself, and began to fill it. She did the same.
“Have you ever been in the presence of the mighty Qoz before today?” he asked.
“No. I’m surprised to see that it’s made of copper, not clay or wood like all the other—” She wanted to say “false idols” but stopped herself in time.
“Qoz blessed Edom with an abundance of copper, the source of our national riches. We always forge the image of Qoz in copper to show gratitude for this eternal blessing.”
“Why does it carry a thunderbolt?”
“To control light and darkness, storms and rain. Qoz either blesses and anoints, or curses and avenges, and all such things the mighty Qoz delivers with strikes of the thunderbolt.”
They ate in silence, except that Sallan often licked his fingers noisily and groaned with pleasure. Deborah ate slowly, savoring each bite. The tastes and textures were all new, and she concentrated on the food to such an extent that a loud burp from Sallan startled her. It was also a signal to the boys, who appeared from behind the partition and cleared the dishes, leaving only the yet-untouched plate of Qoz. They returned with cups of hot milk and bowls of dates, figs, and almonds.
After the meal, Sallan and Deborah relocated to a circle of cushions on the floor around the skin of a large tiger. A pungent smell hit her nose, and she sniffed the skin, confirming that it was the source.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Sallan caressed the fur with pride. “I got it from a Moabite trader last week in exchange for a hefty discount on a large order of storage baskets. He was happy with the bargain, because the smell of this skin made his animals nervous. The tiger came from the mountains south of the Sea of Salt. My father once killed a male tiger like this one during one of his travels. For many years, its skin covered a wall at our home. I still remember how it smelled during the first year.” He lifted the long tail and brought it to his nose. “Exactly like this.” He brushed the tail against his cheek. “A ferocious cat, second only to a lion in striking the fear of death in all other creatures.”
Sallan stuffed aromatic dry leaves into a pipe, lit the it with the oil lamp, and smoked in silence. The boys brushed his bushy hair, pinned it up, and applied oil the sides of his head, where his ears were missing. She wondered whether his leg and ears had been harmed at the same time.
He offered her the pipe.
She declined.
“It’s good,” he said. “Relaxing.”
“I should leave now. Vardit must be concerned about me.”
Sallan waved dismissively. “My master’s wife is concerned only about herself and her vicious son.”
His cutting words shocked Deborah. Was he right about Vardit? Was her kindness insincere? Until now, it had not occurred to Deborah that the older woman might be pretending to care, or that she had an ulterior motive for helping the girls.
“Did you enjoy the meal?” Sallan asked.
“Yes,” Deborah said. “It was very good.”
“I told you—a meal worthy of a king.”
She nodded.
“The only thing missing,” he said, “was a roasted pig. I never understood why the Hebrew god forbade the best meat of all.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Thank you for the most luxurious meal I’ve ever had.”
“Not bad for a crippled slave.” He lifted the stump of his left leg.
She looked away.
“And not bad for you either. In the span of one day, you went from a worthless girl, humiliated in front of all the others, to eating a meal worthy of a king—or a queen.” He grinned. “Do you want to know how it’s possible for me to have all this?”
Deborah shook her head.
Taken aback, he asked, “Why not?”
“I already know the answer.”
“People say you alone know the secret of making the Reinforcing Liquid that makes the baskets so strong and helps Judge Zifron get rich.”
Sallan opened his arms wide. “From Egypt to the Hittite Kingdom, everyone has heard of the Zifron baskets!”
She picked up the small basket he had given her. “Thank you again.”
“They’re right about the secret liquid.” He drew from the pipe and blew rings of smoke. “But they are also wrong. Do you want to know why?”
“Actually, I’d like to ask you a different question.”
He laughed, smoke shooting from his mouth. “You amuse me,” he said. “Go ahead, ask your question.”
“Barac told me about an Edomite man who made an elixir that turned women into men.”
Sallan drew smoke and blew it out slowly.
“Is it true?” Deborah shifted forward, now at the edge of her seat. “Did he really help the king of Edom win a battle against the Egyptians by turning women into men?”
The foreman smoked some more but said nothing.
“The Elixirist—isn’t that how he was known?”
“Was known, is known, and will be known for as long as men tell the legends of the past.”
“So it’s true!” She leaned closer to him, excited, and the smoke stung her eyes.
“King Esau the Eighteenth was saved from certain defeat and death, kept his kingdom intact, and lived on to an old age. The Elixirist saved Edom, but what was his reward? Do you know?”
Deborah shook her head.
“The king locked him up in a deep hole, away from the sun and the wind, isolated from all human contact except for a single guard who was nearly deaf and almost mute.”
“Why would the king punish the man who had saved the kingdom? It’s very unfair.”
Chuckling made Sallan cough. “Young people expect the world to run on wheels of fairness and justice, but that’s not how it works. In reality, powerful rulers and men of great wealth don’t make decisions based on what’s fair and just.”
“Why not?”
“We have an old saying in Edom: ‘The higher the rise, the steeper the fall.’ That’s what the higher-ups are afraid of, and that’s all they think about when they make decisions—including decisions regarding the fate of other men.”
“That sounds very cold.”
“Strategy.”
“What’s that?”
“Strategy is what men of power and wealth use for self-preservation. When a situation comes up, they look at all the facts, figure out what they can use for their advantage, and come up with solutions that promote three things: their safety, their fortune, and their power. Strategy is the reason they rule the world, whereas everyone else submits to them, works hard for them, and pays them taxes.”
She tried to digest what he was saying. “Did strategy make the king lock up the person who had saved his kingdom?”
“A king cannot allow another man to win the people’s admiration. That would be a threat to the king’s power. The king also cannot appear to be jealous or vengeful. That would be a threat to his image. What’s the common strategy for these situations? Trumped-up accusations, a bogus trial, and a public execution, which the people always enjoy. But King Esau knew that he might need the Elixirist to save the kingdom again. That’s why he chose a variation of the usual strategy. He made the Elixirist disappear and told everyone that Egyptian spies had abducted him and taken him to Pharaoh’s palace on the Nile.”
“That’s terrible!”
“Strategy, as you can see, has nothing to do with justice or fairness. Its purpose is to protect the king’s interests. Pure and simple, isn’t it?”
“Now I understand why Yahweh forbade us from anointing a Hebrew king.”
Sallan’s eyebrows rose. “Is that right? No king ever?”
“My father told me.” She paused to let a wave of longing pass. “Yahweh said, ‘Do not anoint yourself a king to reign over you, for I am your king, the Creator of the world.’ We may appoint priests for worship and judges to enforce the law, but we may not have a king.”
“In time,” Sallan said, “the Hebrews will have a king, too. It’s the way of the world. People need a king they can see, a king whose right hand wields a shining sword to protect them while his left hand brandishes a knotted whip to subjugate them.”
“And locks them up when he wants to?”
“Exactly.” Sallan chuckled. “The Elixirist, however, managed to escape many years ago.”
Deborah was relieved. “He deserved to be free!”
“I thought so, too.”
“But how did he get out?”
“The guard assisted him.”
“Why?”
“Gratitude, for being able to hear and speak.”
Her eyes widened. “He cured the guard? How? With an elixir? Could he cure all the deaf and mute people in the world?”
Sallan smiled. “Cure is a big word. Let’s just say that he helped the guard rediscover those innate human abilities of hearing and speaking. It was an easier task, I’m sure, than turning all those women into men before a battle.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Ah, I’ve said too much already.” He drew from the pipe.
“Do you know where I could find him?”
“Find him? Why do you want to find him?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want to drink his elixir and become a boy.”
“A boy?” Sallan laughed. “You’re far too pretty to pass for a boy.”
He was toying with her again, telling her she was pretty while they both knew she was nothing of the sort. Resisting the urge to leave without further words, Deborah pressed him for an answer. “Can you help me find the Elixirist?”
“Help you?” He shrugged. “I have a bit of information, but I don’t know if it would help you, or send you on a futile quest.”
His tone was neutral, but his words gave her new hope.
“Please tell me.”
Sallan drew from the pipe, but the leaves had turned to ashes, and the flame had died. He put it aside. “It could be a long and dangerous journey.”
“Life as a woman is a long and dangerous journey. I have nothing to lose.”
“Even if you survive the journey and find him, you’ll have to somehow convince him to make the elixir for you. And drinking it might be ineffective—or worse, harmful. I’m sure there are less hazardous ways to survive your first night with Seesya.”
“For what?” Deborah’s eyes suddenly welled up. “I don’t want to live like the women here. No, I want to become a man.”
“Are you willing to die trying?”
“I’d rather die than live as Seesya’s wife.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be free!”
“What’s so good about freedom?” He gestured at the opulence surrounding them. “I live much better than most free men, don’t I?”
“Material comforts are nice, but wouldn’t you like to be free?”
“Answering a question with a question?” He sighed. “Of course I want to be free.”
“Me too,” she said. “As a man, I’d be free to choose my mate, or not to marry at all. Free to inherit Palm Homestead and grow my own crops. Free to buy and sell my own goods, to read and write, to speak up against evil—and to fight and do battle, if I had to!”
Sallan leaned back on the cushions and looked at her—not in condescension but with something close to fascination. “And if I tell you what I know about the Elixirist, what will my reward be?”
The girl gestured with her hands as if saying, “Whatever you want.”
“I’ll point you in the right direction,” he said. “It’s only a start, and the road will be long and hard, but if you win your freedom, then you’ll come back and help me win my freedom.”
“Really?” She gestured at their surroundings. “You’d give all this up?”
“The curse of old age is th
at discomfort grows from within your own body.” He patted his legs and arms. “Physical pains, which the softest bed no longer eases. And the pains in your heart.” He patted his chest. “The longing for those you continue to love despite the years of absence, and the regrets over the errors that took you away from them. It hurts more with every passing year. The only cure is to return to my homeland before I die and see my sisters and parents—whoever is still alive. And if none of them is alive, at least I will see Bozra again. It’s the most beautiful city in the world, with white walls and copper roofs, built on the north face of a red mountain, overlooking a fertile valley, rich with water and copper mines.” His voice trailed off as he shut his eyes, remembering.
More than anything, Deborah wanted to agree, but she knew it would be dishonest, and therefore a sin. “I’m only a girl. How could I come back here, confront Seesya and Judge Zifron—who would surely punish me for escaping—obtain your freedom, and take you all the way to Edom? Keeping such a promise would require much more strength than I’ll ever have.”
“You’re honest,” Sallan said. “I like that. As to strength, I can help you.”
He summoned one of the boy-servants and whispered in his ear. The boy fetched an empty goblet and ran to the door. Soon he returned with the goblet, now full, and gave it to Deborah.
“Drink it,” Sallan said.
The goblet contained an opaque liquid that looked and smelled familiar. She hesitated. “Is this from the dipping tub?”
He put his hands over hers and brought the goblet to her lips, leaving her no choice. Expecting bitterness or an otherwise foul taste, she was surprised that the Reinforcing Liquid had the taste and texture of fresh water with only a trace of sourness, much like the tang that a few drops of lemon juice would give to a jar of well water.
He tilted the goblet all the way. “Finish every drop.”
The boy took the empty goblet and left.
She put her hands in her lap. “You’re not supposed to touch me. I’m impure for seven days.”
“Hebrew superstitions.” Sallan chuckled, shaking his head. “A woman’s blood is as pure as pomegranate juice.”