Deborah Rising

by Avraham Azrieli

  Deborah sat quietly while he chopped off her hair with the sharp blade. In the window, the patch of visible sky was gray with a new dawn. From its pedestal by the wall, the three-horned effigy of Qoz watched in silence, its oversized eyes blank as those of a blind person. It wielded its three-pronged thunderbolt, not horizontally, as one would aim a spear, but upward, as if warning of an impending storm.

  When Kassite was done, the floor around her feet was covered with her black-dyed hair.

  “Clean it up,” he said.

  She collected the thick locks of hair from the floor and tossed them out the window, where the slow current took everything downriver. She wanted to touch her scalp but was afraid to.

  He gave her a sleeveless shirt. “Put this on.”

  Deborah pulled off her robe and sandals, placing them in her sack, and put on the shirt, which reached down to her knees and left her arms exposed. It was made of coarse wool that chafed her skin. She straightened the front, checked whether her small breasts showed, and was relieved to find that the rough material and loose fit concealed her body’s mild contours.

  “You’re tall and lean for a girl,” he said. “Even if your feminine body showed, people see only what they expect to see, which in your case is a young man among many other slaves. Your skin color is a little too light for someone working out in the sun.” He pointed at the stove, where the servants had cooked last night’s dinner. “Smear ashes on your face, arms, and legs, and keep it up for a few days until you get dirty and sunburned.”

  She did as he said, quickly rubbing soot all over. “Is this good?”

  Kassite checked her up and down, front and back. “Good enough, but remember that appearance will take you only so far. It’s up to you to actually change.”

  “How?”

  “From this moment on, focus your mind on your goal and make sure all your actions advance you toward that goal. Think of yourself as a young man and behave like one.” He grabbed her arms and made her stand straight. “Start with your posture—shoulders back, head up, arms loose—ready to act, to work, to fight.”

  Deborah finally dared to touch her shorn hair. There was little left of it, but the absence of her long hair suddenly made her feel liberated as if she had become someone else.

  “I can do that,” she said. “I can pretend to be a boy.”

  “Pretending is only the beginning. The goal you have set for yourself—to become a boy, a man—will require much more than pretending.”

  She stood straight and shook her arms, which felt odd without the customary long sleeves. “More than pretending?”

  “When it comes to achieving transformation, there is a secret method: imitate until you mutate.”

  “Imitate to mutate?”

  “Exactly,” Kassite said. “Imitate to mutate.”

  Deborah shouldered her sack. “I’m ready.”

  “Leave it here. Slaves have no belongings.”

  She hesitated, puzzled by his words. Was she a slave now?

  “Let’s go.” Kassite was already at the door, and his voice left no room for argument. “Hurry up.”

  Leaving her sack on the floor, she followed him out of the house. Despite his limp, Kassite walked fast across the bridge and to the pavilion where the men were sleeping. Her head, exposed for the first time in her life without hair, a hood, or a scarf, felt cold in the early morning air. Sharp pebbles hurt her bare feet.

  Kassite rang the bell, and the slaves began to rise. They folded the straw mats, piled them in the corner of the pavilion, and went to the river to wash.

  “Petro!” Kassite waved one of the slaves over and pointed at Deborah. “This is a new boy. His name is Borah. He’s part of your group now.”

  “Yes, Master.” Petro bowed. He was short and stocky, with rust-colored hair and missing teeth.

  “Borah needs to learn the work,” Kassite said. “You are responsible for him.”

  Petro bowed again and walked away.

  “Go with him,” Kassite told Deborah. “Observe the men and act like one. Keep your voice down, stay calm, and work hard.”

  “Imitate to mutate,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  “When will you give me the Male Elixir?”

  “When I manage to obtain the necessary ingredients. Now get to work.”

  She lifted one foot and brushed off a pointy pebble that had become embedded in her sole. “How long will I have to work with—”

  He stopped her with a hand. “Do you remember the oath you took last night?”

  She nodded.

  “Repeat it.”

  “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 am a boy.”

  “Total obedience,” he said. “Nothing less. You are one of my slaves now, one among many, same as every other slave.”

  “I have only one question.”

  “Has Yahweh ever answered one of your questions?”

  Deborah shook her head.

  “In this tannery, I’m your god. Don’t speak to me unless I address you first, and when I do, there’s only one acceptable response. Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Correct,” Kassite said.

  Barely holding her tongue, Deborah turned and followed Petro.

  Chapter 38

  Petro’s group numbered eight slaves, including Deborah. The men ranged in age from about fifteen to thirty and had the bronze complexion and sharp features of Philistines. Glancing around at the other groups working nearby, she saw that most of the slaves looked Philistine, with only a few exceptions of light skin or hair. The group’s first task was to move the newly arrived skins from the pavilion to the riverbank. There were over a hundred cowhides, thick with yellow fat, rotting flesh, and globs of coagulated blood.

  On her first run, Deborah was unprepared for the weight, which not only challenged her arms and shoulders, but also put pressure on her thin legs and bare feet, whose soles were soon punctured by multiple pebbles. Halfway down to the riverbank, she lost her grip and the skins dropped. One of the other slaves in her group came over and assisted her. He was missing his right eye, and his arms were badly scarred.

  “Thank you,” Deborah said, smiling. “I didn’t realize they were so heavy.”

  The man’s single eye focused on her for a long moment. He murmured a few Philistine words and left. Deborah realized that her smile, apology, and gratitude all befitted a fourteen-year-old Hebrew girl, not a rough slave boy. She glanced at the back of the one-eyed man, hoping he hadn’t thought too much of it, and reminded herself: Imitate to mutate!

  On the next run, she took a lighter load and transferred it without incident.

  Once all the skins had been piled up on the riverbank, each man took one from the pile, stepped into the river up to his knees, and pushed the skin into the water, hairy side up. Forcing it all the way down to the bottom, they stepped onto their hide to keep it submerged.

  Deborah followed their example. She stepped on the hide, pressing it to the muddy bottom. Through the bottoms of her feet she felt the rocks underneath. After a few minutes, Petro clapped, and everyone pulled their skins out of the water, turned them upside down, and repeated the action.

  Next, they placed the hides flat on the shore near the water’s edge, scooped mud onto them, and used fist-size stones to grind the mud in with circular motions. By grinding like this on both sides for a while, much of the coagulated blood and thick gore came off, though a layer remained attached to the underside.

  Soon, Deborah’s arms could barely move, the muscles burning painfully. She switched hands often to give each arm a rest.

  Petro clapped, and they started the process again with new hides.

  By the end of he second cycle, Deborah was near collapse, but she continued working, especially after she caught One Eye glancing at her several times.

  At one point, Petro left the group and beckoned h
er to follow. He went to the first row of five tubs, which were filled with cloudy water but no skins, knelt at the corner of the first tub and pulled out a piece of wood that served as a stopper. The connected tubs slowly drained into a channel that led to the river.

  When the tubs were empty, Petro replaced the stopper and went to an open storage area near the tannery gate. There were mounds of limestone rocks, stacks of wooden planks, as well as jars of oil and baskets of fruit, vegetables, and flour.

  Petro pointed to a handcart. It had four wheels, a long handle, and two open-top wooden barrels. Near the bottom of each barrel was a hole with a cork plug.

  “I get it.” She pointed at the plugs. “Pull these out. Go into the river, fill the barrels, plug the holes, and use the water to fill the tubs.”

  He grinned. “Smart boy, Borah.”

  She felt her face flush, but rather than thank him for the compliment, she shrugged and kicked the dirt, as she imagined a boy her age would do. Imitate to mutate!

  Before she could start the task, the bell rang. Happy to take a break, Deborah lined up with Petro and the rest of the group, along with the other slaves. She felt One Eye staring at her, but ignored him.

  The morning meal consisted of bread, yellow cheese, and carob. Like the others, she bowed to Kassite, who gave her no sign of recognition, and sat down under the pavilion to eat. The bread was soft and tasty, the cheese neither moldy nor stale, and the carob sweet and chewy.

  When mealtime was over, her bladder felt ready to burst. Deborah glanced furtively at the men’s latrines. Only one slave was there at the moment. She walked slowly at first, then faster when she saw him leave.

  Peeing while standing was something she had never tried, and her first attempt was messy. Thankfully, her long shirt and undergarments were already wet from working in the river earlier. From now on, she decided, every visit to the latrines would have to involve pretending to do more than peeing.

  As she headed to get the handcart with the barrels, she noticed Kassite walking out through the gate. One of the guards, standing just outside, held a horse by the reins. Kassite mounted it and rode up the path alone. He paused at the top, turned his horse around to survey the tannery below, and rode east on the Sea Highway toward Aphek. Deborah was surprised to see him leave as a free man, without shackles or guards. It was hard to believe that an owner would allow a slave such freedom. No wonder Kassite was reluctant to give it all up for a risky attempt to liberate Sallan from Judge Zifron in Emanuel.

  While Petro and the rest of her group worked on the skins by the river, she pulled the handcart into the water, waited until the barrels filled up, and reached down to replace the plugs. She had to do it by feel, and it took a while.

  Pulling the handcart out of the river with the barrels full to the rim required all her strength. The mucky bottom stuck to the wheels, and rocks blocked them. Once the handcart was out of the water, she paused to rest and noticed that the soot and ashes were mostly gone from her wet arms and legs, exposing her white skin and freckles. She glanced at the group and saw One Eye watching her. She stared back at him, and he looked away. She quickly smeared fresh mud on her arms, legs, and face.

  The soil of the riverbank was soggy, and Deborah had to get behind the handcart and push it all the way to the tubs. However, because the holes at the bottom of the barrels were small, she enjoyed a few moments of rest while the water drained slowly into the tubs.

  Deborah managed to complete five trips when the bell rang for the midday meal. Her arms and legs hurt badly, the soles of her feet were lacerated, and the palms of her hands bubbled with blisters. After rubbing fresh mud on her arms, legs, and face, she skipped the line, went directly to the pavilion, and collapsed on the ground.

  Petro came over, shaking his head. He pointed at the line of men. “You must eat, Borah.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Everyone must eat,” he said. “Master expects it.”

  “Master isn’t here.”

  Petro grinned, showing his broken teeth. “Master always knows everything.”

  Back on her feet, the pain was a hundred times worse, but she clenched her teeth and made no sound while following Petro to the back of the line.

  This time the meal consisted of bread, meat, and apples. She trod carefully on her sore feet and held the food with the tips of her fingers to avoid irritating the blisters. Following the other slaves’ example, she bowed before Kassite’s empty chair.

  While they were eating, a commotion arose at the gate. Deborah’s first thought was that Kassite had returned with the ingredients for the Male Elixir. She got up, filled with excitement, and stepped out from the crowded pavilion to welcome him.

  It wasn’t Kassite at the gate. Rather, a group of armed men on horses forced their way in, facing little resistance from the guards. Once inside the tannery, they moved aside, making way for their leader.

  Seesya!

  Chapter 39

  Despite the blast of shock and fear that hit her, Deborah had the presence of mind to retreat back into the pavilion before Seesya noticed her. His initial attention was on the west part of the tannery, where all the female slaves had stopped working and were about to come over to get their food.

  Sitting back next to Petro, Deborah saw One Eye staring at her. He must have noticed her excitement, followed by her hasty retreat.

  Advancing his stallion into the middle of the tannery, holding his nose, Seesya looked around, getting the lay of the land. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and his oily black hair hung loose around his head, down to his shoulders, covering his ears, which Deborah hoped were still bloody.

  “Who runs this place?” Seesya looked toward the gate, where the guards stood. When they didn’t respond, his soldiers dragged one of the guards over, and Seesya asked again, “Who’s the boss here?”

  “Master is in charge.” The guard pointed at the house on the river. “He lives there.”

  Two of the soldiers rode over, dismounted, and entered the house. They reemerged a moment later, shoving the two servants while shaking their heads. The servants ran over to join the male slaves under the pavilion.

  Seesya twirled his horsewhip. “Where is he?”

  “Master isn’t here right now,” the guard said.

  “I can see that, but where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” The guard tried to step back, but the soldiers held him. “He left this morning.”

  Seesya whipped the guard across the face. He screamed and fell down.

  The soldiers brought over another guard. Deborah recognized him as the guard who had pulled off her scarf and taunted her with a stick.

  “Master went east,” the guard said hurriedly, shielding his face with his hands. “Maybe to the shop in Aphek, or to see the owner at his homestead in the land of Manasseh. He doesn’t tell us where he goes. I swear!”

  “Thank you,” Seesya said with mock politeness. “That’s better. And who is in charge in the meantime?”

  “No one,” the guard said.

  Seesya raised the horsewhip.

  “The group leaders!” The guard cowered. “They know what to do—that’s how it is, really!”

  Whipping the guard back and forth across the face, Seesya cursed. He pointed his whip in the direction of the female slaves. The soldiers sprinted over to that side. The woman scattered to avoid being trampled and screamed in panic. The soldiers galloped back and forth, shouting and waving their spears to herd the women like goats to the back of the tannery, where they stood single file with their backs to the wooden fence.

  A few of the male slaves got up and yelled in protest. Two of Seesya’s soldiers rode over and scared them back under the east pavilion.

  Strutting up and down on his stallion before the terrified women, Seesya ordered them to remove their scarves. He peered at them, examining one face after another as he advanced along the long line.

  Deborah sat among the male slaves, watching the events unfold. Her ches
t was tight, making it hard to breathe. One Eye kept glancing at her.

  Seesya finished inspecting the women and signaled to his soldiers, who rode over and ordered the men out of their pavilion. Deborah followed close behind Petro and stood with the group in the middle of the tight cluster of about one hundred slaves. The mounted soldiers surrounded them with ready spears.

  “I’m looking for my wife,” Seesya yelled. Mounted on his great stallion, dressed in armor, hand resting on the handle of his sword, he looked quite formidable. “She came here yesterday, looking for a man in this tannery—I’m not sure who, or why. She’s fourteen, taller than most girls that age, and as thin as a dry twig. Her hair is orange, but it was dyed black a couple of days ago. She has chalky skin with brown spots all over, like maggots on goat cheese, and a big mouth.”

  Some slaves laughed and translated his words to those who had not yet mastered the language of the Hebrews. Her face burning, Deborah felt weak. Her knees threatened to buckle. To her left, standing next to Petro, One Eye bent forward and turned his head to look at her.

  “I am a rich Hebrew,” Seesya said. “Tell me where she is, and I’ll buy your freedom.”

  Petro noticed that One Eye was looking at Deborah and spoke to him in a low voice. One Eye reached over, grabbed Deborah’s arm, and rubbed off a bit of the mud, exposing the freckled skin underneath.

  “Who wants to go free?” Seesya looked at them, searching for a response. “Don’t be afraid!”

  One Eye began to raise his arm, but Petro pushed it down and whispered urgently in his ear. They were surrounded by many other slaves, which was the reason Seesya and his soldiers hadn’t noticed the argument, but Deborah knew it was only a matter of time before One Eye defied Petro and gave her away.

  “I’m waiting!” Seesya pulled the reins, making his horse step sideways and neigh. “Don’t you want to get away from this foul stench?”

  Pulling his arm free from Petro, One Eye again tried to raise it, but Petro grabbed him in a bear hug and spoke into his ear. It was a brief sentence, only a few words, but One Eye suddenly relented. His arm went slack, his shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head in surrender.