Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  “Not in the women’s quarters.”

  Kassite took another bite and chewed slowly, washing it down with a sip of wine. “Tell me more about Judge Zifron.”

  “He’s the ruler of Emanuel, rich and powerful, with several wives and concubines, many slaves, and soldiers.”

  “Is he a warrior?”

  “Not anymore. He’s getting old and fat. His first son commands the soldiers.” She cleared her throat, which was suddenly dry. “His name is Seesya.”

  “How old is he?”

  She glanced at the ring on her finger. “About nineteen.”

  Kassite reached across the table and tapped the ring. “Did Seesya put this on your finger?”

  She nodded.

  “Will you ever agree to serve him as a good wife?”

  “No.”

  “What is wrong with him?”

  “An evil heart.” She took a deep breath. “He had my sister stoned to death one day after he married her.”

  “That must be hard to forgive.” Kassite watched her thoughtfully. “Yet you have kept his ring on.”

  “Men hesitate to abuse a woman whose husband might be close behind.”

  He nodded.

  Deborah tried to pull off the ring, but it was too tight. She picked a flake of fish from her plate, rubbed it against her finger to make it oily, and tried again, but the ring remained stuck.

  Kassite signaled one of the slaves, who brought a cup of water. She dipped her finger. The water was surprisingly cold.

  “The springs that feed the river near Aphek are very cold,” Kassite said. “When the sun goes down and no longer beats down on the river, the flow brings the cold water of the springs down to us.”

  A few moments later, she took her finger out. The cold water had shrunk it, and the ring came off. She put it in her sack.

  “Your husband might not be so easy to put away. Does he know where you went?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How many soldiers does he have?”

  “Judge Zifron has fifty or sixty soldiers with horses and weapons, but Seesya travels with only five or six at a time.”

  “Does Emanuel have walls?”

  “Yes, it has strong walls. The gates are locked from sunset to sunrise. There are always sentries there. Visitors must camp outside at night.”

  “And Sallan, where does he live?”

  “Above the basket factory, which is in a wing of Judge Zifron’s house, along the courtyard. Sallan has nice living quarters and two boy-servants.”

  Kassite smiled. “In our country, keeping two personal servants is a sign of wealth and status.”

  “The judge provides Sallan with many comforts.”

  “Does Sallan deal directly with the traders who order baskets?”

  “Yes, and he keeps the accounts on parchments, the way you do.”

  “You’re observant,” Kassite said. “That’s good. Do you know if he’s allowed to go outside?”

  “The traders go up to the judge’s house to deal with Sallan. I’ve seen him walk up and down the main street, but never outside the walls.”

  “That is unfortunate.” Kassite sat back, his arms folded on his chest. “Does he have a second-in-command? Someone who is ready to take over at the basket factory?”

  “I don’t think so. He’s the foreman. No one else gives orders in the basket factory. Also, he’s the only one who knows the secret formula for the Reinforcing Liquid.”

  Kassite’s hand, holding a chunk of fish, paused on the way to his mouth. “What did you say?”

  “The strands of straw are dipped in the Reinforcing Liquid before weaving. That’s why the Zifron baskets are so strong.”

  Kassite put the food down, threw his head back, and laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Deborah was insulted. “He gave me some of it to drink before I escaped.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes, and it worked. It reinforced me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t have had the strength to keep going, to overcome the terrible things that happened to me, to persist until I found you, if not for Sallan’s Reinforcing Liquid.”

  “Probably not,” Kassite said, still laughing. “Probably not.”

  Confused by his laughter, Deborah pushed aside her plate.

  Kassite snapped his fingers, and the servants cleared the dishes away.

  “Show me that basket again,” he said.

  She pulled it out of her sack and gave it to him.

  “Look at the strands.” He pointed, holding the basket close to the lamp. “Most basket weavers use individual stalks of straw or flax, or even twigs or weeds. But here the weaving is done with strands made of three stalks that were braided together tightly.”

  “That’s correct. We first dipped the stalks in the Reinforcing Liquid, and then every three stalks were braided and left to dry.”

  “My wise friend, Sallan. How I miss him!” Kassite held up his wine cup. “To all the reinforcing liquids under the sun!”

  They drank the wine. Deborah felt her belly warm up again and her hopes rise. Kassite’s questions about Emanuel, its defenses, and the daily life of Sallan could only mean that he was considering how to overcome the challenges of freeing his old friend. Or, she realized with dread, he could be looking for excuses to do nothing and dismiss her as a foolish girl in pursuit of a lost cause.

  Taking another sip of wine, she asked, “Are you still angry at me?”

  Kassite picked up the knife, which had rested next to his plate, and examined the blade at length. “Life is like a knife,” he said. “It has a dull side, which is safe and predictable, posing no risk of pain and suffering, and a sharp side, which is scary and dangerous, but also makes the whole thing worthwhile.”

  His words were cryptic. Was he still angry or not? Deborah wasn’t sure. Was he trying to explain his initial anger, when his dull life had been interrupted by her arrival? She kept quiet, sensing that it was better to respect his silence and wait for him to speak again.

  The servants brought in two roasted pigeons on clay plates. Kassite carved the meat from the bones with his knife and ate slowly. Deborah tried to do the same, but her knife kept slipping off and she gave up. Instead, she pulled the pigeon apart with her fingers and bit the meat off.

  For dessert, the servants brought sweet cakes and apples for both of them, as well as a hot drink for Kassite.

  He slurped from the cup. “The transformation you seek, from a girl to a boy, do you wish it to be temporary or permanent?”

  “Permanent,” she said. “For the rest of my life.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if a boy came along, someone nice, not like the son of Zifron, and you suddenly want to marry?”

  The face of Zariz came to her mind, his smile, his glistening eyes, the honeysuckle flower in his mouth, and his father’s stern voice in the back, calling him back.

  “No,” she said. “Never.”

  “Think carefully of the past,” Kassite said. “What happened before might happen again. Has there ever been a young man who warmed your heart? Perhaps he still causes you to feel warm all over when you think of him?”

  Deborah drove the image of Zariz away and shook her head.

  “Not a single nice boy in Emanuel?”

  Another image came to her—Barac, his severed head rolling in the dirt, his black curls white with dust. She groaned, shaking her head again.

  “I find it hard to believe,” Kassite said. “There must be someone you imagined, even for a moment, as your future husband—marrying him, bearing his children, being his wife.”

  “There’s no one,” Deborah said. “Not now, not ever. I want to become a boy, mature into a man, and grow old as a man.”

  “How about trying it for a short duration, a few days, as with the women of Edom, or even a month or two, to see how you like it?”

  “I never
want to be a girl again. I’d rather die.”

  Kassite nodded thoughtfully. “It is understandable, considering your experience of true misfortune, but life may bring good fortune, too. A painful past does not always foretell a painful future. With foresight, the lessons of the past could help create a happy future.”

  “Not for a woman. My future will be happy only if I’m a man. I’ll reclaim my inheritance, plow my father’s land, and serve my God.”

  “Serve in what way?” He leaned forward, curious.

  She hesitated, afraid he would laugh at her. “My father had a dream that I would grow up to serve as Yahweh’s prophet. I believe that’s what I’m supposed to do with my life.”

  Kassite didn’t laugh. “Now I understand. Becoming a prophet—is that what you meant earlier when you spoke of your True Calling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should consider the consequences carefully. What do you expect to change if you become a boy?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  He slurped from his cup. “Indulge me with an answer.”

  “I’d become a real person, free to own land, to carry a sword, to read and write, to study holy scriptures—”

  “Yes, yes, yes. I know what men may do and women may not.” Kassite waved his hand, exasperated. “A hundred men sleep under that pavilion, and not one of them owns land, carries a weapon, or reads and writes. My question is about substance. What would really change if you become a boy?”

  “Everything would change. Everything!”

  “Suppose I could do this,” he said, snapping his fingers, “and produce the Male Elixir in one second.”

  Deborah’s chest tightened with excitement. It had a name—the Male Elixir! It existed!

  “And let us assume,” Kassite continued, “that you drank it and became a boy. What specific changes would take place in you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been a boy.”

  “Try to imagine,” Kassite said. “How would you change?”

  Deborah finally understood his question. It wasn’t difficult, only awkward. “I’d have a different body. Do you want me to specify the male parts? Do you want to embarrass me until I give up?”

  “I would be wasting my time,” Kassite said. “You are obviously not one to give up, which is admirable. I have great respect for a True Calling.”

  “Why?”

  “The pursuit of a True Calling is the highest human endeavor, because it springs directly from the soul and raises us above all other living creatures.”

  “Then why are you mocking me with these questions? Don’t you know the differences between a girl and a boy?”

  Kassite chuckled. “Yes, I know the differences, but it is not I who seeks transformation to the opposite sex. It is you, and before you actually go through with it, I want to make sure you understand what it would mean to become a boy.”

  “It would mean freedom!” She stood up, raising her voice. “It would mean everything!”

  “No need to yell,” he said. “You are among friends here.”

  She sat down. “I’m sorry, but being a girl has made my life miserable. I know what I want, and Sallan told me you could help me.”

  “Sallan, yes.” Kassite sighed. “What Sallan wants, Sallan gets.”

  “Really? Will you give me the Male Elixir? Will you?”

  Kassite put his cup down near the lamp, and the steam drifted above the small flame.

  “Could you do it tonight?” She held her hands together as if in prayer. “Could you? Please?”

  “It is not a simple yes or no. The question I asked you—how is a boy different from a girl?—has an answer in three parts. First, his physical strength is greater. Second, his character is masculine. Third, his private parts are male. To transform someone fully and permanently, a careful process must be followed, with each phase completed before the next one is tackled.”

  “But if I drink the elixir tonight—”

  “The Male Elixir is not easy to make, and drinking it would only begin a long process comprising the three phases of transformation.”

  “Yes! I’m ready!”

  “The first phase alone is very hard. Building the physical strength of a boy means not only growing muscles, but also developing resilience, tolerance for pain, and capacity for hard labor.”

  Deborah clenched her fists. “I can do all that.”

  “It could take weeks before you’re ready to start the second phase, when you will have to change your character from the passive, temperamental, small-minded, and anxious female to the superior male character, which is proactive, even-tempered, adventurous, and logical.”

  She nodded, not in agreement with his description of the female character, which didn’t fit her, but out of eagerness to please him.

  “If you manage to complete the first two phases,” Kassite continued, “then you will be ready for the third—changing your body to that of a real male. Do you understand the three phases?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will be a long and difficult process that might be too hard for you to accomplish, being a weak girl.”

  “I’m not weak,” she said.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Were you listening to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hear what I just said about the female character?”

  “Passive, temperamental, small-minded, and anxious.”

  “Each one is a weakness. Correct?”

  Deborah didn’t think of herself as passive, temperamental, or small-minded, but she was definitely anxious right now—anxious to convince him to help her, which would be more likely if she didn’t argue with him.

  “Yes,” she said, “but maybe I’m different from other girls.”

  Kassite looked at her at length, as if trying to decide whether she really was different.

  “I’m ready to take on the challenge,” she said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “I may be the one to disappoint you,” he said. “Before I make up my mind, there is a condition. You must swear to obey me in all matters from now until the process is complete. Total obedience—no questions, no arguments, no hesitation.”

  “I’ll swear to it right now.”

  “Consider it carefully before you agree,” Kassite said. “The process will be long, hard, and painful. I might instruct you to do things that you find wrong, or even sinful. Worse yet, if you break your oath and disobey me, I might stop the process in the middle, leaving you in limbo, neither a girl nor a boy. You could end up an outcast, like a leper.”

  “I’m already an outcast.” Deborah pressed her hand to her chest. “I swear in the name of Yahweh that I will obey you in all matters totally and without question until the process is complete and I become a boy.”

  “Very well,” Kassite said. “I will make my decision by tomorrow morning. Now you may join me for quiet time on the river. No more talking tonight.”

  She followed him to a terrace at the back of the house. They lounged on soft cushions and looked out at the river. The current splashed gently against the stilts under the house. The servants stood behind them and fanned away the flies.

  When it was time to sleep, Deborah lay on a straw mat at the foot of the table where they had eaten dinner. Kassite and his two servants retired to a bedroom off to the side. Within a few minutes, intermittent snoring sounded over the soft rustling of water under the house. She stretched out on her back and thought about her journey, starting with Tamar’s stoning and all that had happened since. It had been a dangerous, painful, and at times hopeless journey, but she had succeeded in finding the Elixirist—he was sleeping in the next room! Would he decide to give her the Male Elixir? The morning seemed so far away. She glanced at the window. How long until first light? And what if Kassite refused? No, he couldn’t refuse, because it made no sense. Why would Yahweh provide all the shortcuts that had brought her to this point, and then allow Kassite to deny her the Male Elixir? No, Yahweh
would sway Kassite’s heart in her favor to help her transform into a boy, a young man, and a free Hebrew. She would return to Emanuel, help Sallan gain his freedom, and win back Palm Homestead.

  And then? How did one prepare to be a prophet? Was that also a process with three phases? She smiled at the idea. Whether or not there was a prescribed way to prepare, at least she knew where to begin: Obadiah of Levi’s scrolls at the temple in Emanuel. She would learn to read and write in order to study the parchments containing the divine laws and prepare herself to fulfill her father’s dream.

  Closing her eyes, Deborah recalled standing with Obadiah in the dark by the communal burial cave outside the walls on the night she escaped Emanuel. The priest held his hands over her head, his fingers parted in pairs, and recited: “May Yahweh bless you and protect you. May He show you kindness and grace. May He illuminate your path and grant you peace.”

  Chapter 37

  The last words of the priest’s blessing echoed in Deborah’s mind when a hand tapped her shoulder, waking her up.

  “Time to get up, girl.”

  It was the voice of Kassite—the Elixirist himself—and his words were not in her dream, but spoken by him right there in the room.

  The previous day’s events came rushing back—her futile inquiries at the Fairground in Aphek, trailing the loaded oxcart of butchered skins along the river, spying on the tannery in search of a tall, old slave, running away from the guards, watching the hawk ravage the helpless rodent, and coming around through the river to confront the only man who fit the description of the Elixirist.

  “Still dreaming?” Kassite lit an oil lamp. “The sun will be up soon.”

  Deborah sat up. “Have you reached a decision?”

  “I decided there is no choice to be made. I must do what the gods of Edom expect me to do.” He held up a long knife.

  She yelped and crawled backward until her back hit the wall.

  He chuckled. “It’s not your flesh I’m about to cut.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you want to become a boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the first step.” Kassite turned one of the chairs away from the table. “Sit here.”