Heavens Before (8 page)

I will not live with a difficult woman
, Naomi told herself.
And my Shem should not have to live with a proud wife
. She watched Shem lift the bundles to his shoulders.

His burdens settled, Shem gave her a wry, teasing look. “I’ma, when will you have enough baskets and ropes?”

“When I die,” she answered briskly.

Obviously amused, her son said, “Six kentums more.”

Naomi, halfway to her fifth kentum, feigned exasperation. “Humph! Since when does a person live for more than a thousand years? That would be too much of a blessing!” Gripping her coils of vines and her basket, she marched away from the lodge to the narrow dirt path that led through the trees, down to the river.

If she looked at her son she would smile, and her dignity would fail. He was so much like his father—a good, kind man. Thinking of Noakh, Naomi sighed. She felt truly blessed—certainly far more than she deserved.

As she walked, Naomi felt one of the coils of dried vines being tugged from her left arm. Shem pulled it away, adding it to his own burden, then moved ahead of her. He was hurrying her along. He had been hurrying her since prayers at dawn.

“Slow down. I shouldn’t have to run to keep up with you. Why are you so eager to see some woman you’ve never spoken to before?”

“We’ve spoken, I’ma.” He turned, walking backwards. “We don’t need speech.”

“When you’ve married her, you’ll hear everything then,” Naomi warned.

He smiled at her in response, his tender, heart-clutching smile.

Naomi almost faltered, thinking,
If this young girl does not love him, then she is incapable of love! But how can I let him marry? He’s still too young
. She glared at her son. “Turn around. Watch where you’re going!”

Obedient as always, he turned, leading her down through the trees lining the riverbank.

Naomi made mental notes of various flowers, vines, fruits, and types of bark. She didn’t have enough of the tightly woven baskets that were best for storing grain. Nor did she have enough split-wood baskets to hold the various hard-shelled nuts that her husband and sons loved. She needed more time. No, she needed more help.

When my sons marry
, Naomi thought,
then I will have women to keep me company. And grandchildren …

“She’s there,” Shem announced, breaking into Naomi’s thoughts, making her look across the river.

She
—the cause of his joy—sat on the opposite river-bank, her right profile toward them, slender and vulnerable against the darkness of her long hair. Naomi raised her full, dark eyebrows, shocked.
What is my son thinking? She’s a mere child, and much too thin. But she is lovely. And at least her hands aren’t idle
.

The young woman was working on what appeared to be a long, pale, intricate piece of netting. When she sensed their approach, she turned slightly, anxiously. The instant she saw Naomi, she struggled to her feet, facing them fully, revealing the ghastly violet-blue contours of her swollen left jaw and cheek. As Naomi stared in dismay, Shem threw his bundles of leaves and coiled vines onto the riverbank.

“What’s happened to her?” he cried, turning to Naomi
as if she could answer his question. She had never seen her son so angry; his face darkened and his eyes glittered with fury. He strode down to the water, screaming his rage across the river, not at his beloved, but at her abuser. “Yerakh!”

Immediately the girl backed away, clutching her meshwork, covering the pale sea carving slung about her neck. Her eyes were huge, terrified.

Setting down her basket and coiled vines, Naomi hurried to Shem, touching his arm, trying to calm him. “No, Shem, hush. If you scream again she’ll run away—if she can run. Oh, look at her, the poor child!”

Moving away from Naomi, Shem angrily yelled to the young woman above the rushing current. “Did Yerakh do this to you?”

She nodded, obviously still frightened.

Once again, Naomi reached out to her son. “You must calm yourself.”

“But look what he’s done to her! She didn’t have those bruises yesterday.”

With an effort, Naomi kept her voice low. “And you’ve made her feel worse, I’m sure. No doubt she’s heard enough screaming from her family; she shouldn’t hear it from you. Look at her, poor child. She has to sit down.” To convey her sympathy and concern, Naomi motioned to the opposite riverbank, urging the young woman to be seated.

She knelt slowly, stiffly, holding her meshwork.

Shem knelt also, rubbing one hand over his face. He began to talk, obviously thinking aloud. “How can we get her over here, away from him? If we simply take her into our lodge, that Yerakh would probably come after her. And once he catches her, he might kill her.”

Naomi sank down beside her son, adding her thoughts to his own. “If Yerakh still has one of those giants—that
Nephiyl
—among his supporters, then we can only wait. She must be released with his permission, or his death—as the Most High wills.”

“Until then she suffers,” Shem muttered. Lifting his head, he gazed across the river. The young woman was watching him and met his look by lifting her hands and shrugging, conveying her resignation. As if to change the subject, she held out one hand and turned it gracefully, indicating Naomi.

After a brief hesitation, Shem tapped himself, then took Naomi’s hand and put it on his head, rolling his lip out, looking miserable as he used to when he was very young and in trouble. Apparently amused, his beloved rocked back slightly, one hand to her mouth to cover a painful half-smile, the other hand clutching her side.

Perplexed, Naomi pulled her hand away, frowning at her son. “What was that about?”

“I told her that you’re my mother. I couldn’t think of any way to express it properly except to show her that you used to punish me when I was young. I think she would have laughed if she weren’t in such pain.”

Naomi swatted him, pretending exasperation. Shem grinned. The young woman tilted her head and studied this exchange, clearly fascinated, her dark eyes wistful. Then, as Naomi watched in wonderment, Shem and the young woman conversed silently through a series of hand motions and facial expressions. Their communication ended with the young woman lowering her head, clearly exhausted and miserable.

Shem looked at Naomi. “Yerakh beat her from head to heel! It hurts her to move.”

Naomi shook her head sympathetically. “Ask if she has eaten today.”

Shem tossed a stone into the river to make the unhappy girl look up. In response to his silent question, she touched her hand to her swollen jaw, then pantomimed drinking water from the river.

“She’s had nothing but water,” Naomi realized aloud. Scolding, she wagged her finger at the young woman, who drooped her head briefly in submission. Tapping Shem’s arm, Naomi said, “Go back to our lodge and get my basket with the ointments and herbs.”

“But, I’ma, how can you treat her from here?”

“You can throw the ointments to her. Go. Go!”

Sighing, Shem signaled to his beloved, asking her to wait. Then he quickly left the riverbank, heading back to the lodge. She watched him leave, shadows of fresh pain crossing her bruised, swollen face.

Naomi felt a new rush of compassion for the young woman. To distract her, Naomi tossed a small stone into the river, then motioned to the meshwork in her lap. In response, the girl finished off the knot she had been working, tucked her tool into a nearby bag, and shyly lifted the meshwork.

Naomi was amazed. It appeared to be very fine and light and was much larger than she had supposed. The young woman swung it over her shoulders, not displaying it, but huddling beneath it, as if it could protect her from further pain.

If I were beaten like that, I’d want to hide too
, Naomi told herself.

As she lifted her hand to try to communicate, Naomi saw a young matron come out of the trees on the opposite bank. Round-faced and sulky, her rope of black hair tightly
bound and decorated with gold talismans, the newcomer glanced at Naomi suspiciously, then ignored her and stalked over to Shem’s beloved.

Aware of the matron’s approach, the beleaguered girl covered the sea carving with her hand and cautiously slipped it into the neckline of her leather tunic. To Naomi’s distress—and her growing fury—the matron didn’t bother to greet the poor child, but snatched a handful of her hair and pulled hard. Wincing, the girl struggled to her feet, her expression blank and unseeing as a mask. If Naomi had not already communicated with her, and seen the life in her eyes, she would have thought the young woman was mindless. Aggrieved, she watched as the matron led Shem’s beloved off into the trees.

Donning her veil, Annah followed Iltani through the trees, hurting and fearful. How had Iltani known where to find her? And why should her sister-in-law
want
to find her this early in the morning? Usually Iltani slept until midday. Mystified, Annah plodded behind Iltani up one of the many tortuous, almost imperceptible paths that cut through the thick undergrowth.

Iltani wandered, turning down this path, then that path, becoming more and more frustrated. At last she turned to face Annah, who looked down at Iltani’s feet as the woman snarled, “You found it yesterday, little fool! Somewhere in that dull mind of yours, you know where it is!”

Confused, Annah stared at Iltani’s plump brown feet.
What did I find yesterday that Iltani wants? Nothing except … the honey. That’s it—the honey
. Relieved that the explanation
was so simple, Annah hid her grim amusement.
If I weren’t so tired and weak from hunger, Iltani, I’d lead you on a walk from here to your next kentum and back again. But I can’t take you directly to it; you’d realize that I’m not mindless
.

To delude Iltani, Annah wandered aimlessly through the undergrowth, pushing aside leaves and stepping over vines, gradually approaching the honey-laden sweet-resin tree.

Iltani followed her, complaining aloud. “The creature doesn’t know where she’s going. Stupid-faced thing!”

At last, too tired to continue, Annah sat down in the undergrowth, within sight—and scent—of the resin tree. She could hear the bees humming softly.

Too engrossed in her own resentment to hear or smell anything, Iltani muttered, “I knew it! Worthless creature.” Aiming a peevish kick at Annah’s left shin, Iltani turned and walked toward the resin tree. She had just passed the tree when she looked back, laughing triumphantly. “Ha! I found it without the creature’s help.”

Gloating, Iltani gathered several dark, glossy, mantle-sized leaves from a nearby clump of rhizomes and spread them beneath the resin tree. Eagerly she reached into the hollow of the ancient tree and scooped out the glistening, dripping honeycomb. More than once she flicked away the bees, uttering little cries of pain.

Annah thought,
I’ve never been stung. I think there are some advantages to being a nothing-creature. Perhaps the bees recognize Iltani’s greed and bad temper
. Pondering this, Annah threw a sidelong look at Iltani. She was still muttering and scooping out chunks of honeycomb.

When she had filled the center of the first massive leaf, Iltani knelt and folded the leaf edges over the pile of honeycomb, slipped a second broad leaf over it, then
wrapped them all again with the third leaf. Then she stood, frowning as she surveyed the trees and vines. Her gaze swept toward Annah, who looked down at once. Iltani’s feet pattered on the narrow trail of moist earth. Stopping in front of Annah, she snatched Annah’s woven-grass bag.

Startled, Annah clutched the bag, trying to keep it. They struggled briefly, then Iltani wrenched Annah’s veil away and kicked her hard in the side. A breathtaking jolt of pain shot through Annah’s ribs. She fell sideways, releasing the bag. Laughing, Iltani gave her a final kick to the rear. Defeated, humiliated, Annah bit back her tears of pain and struggled to sit up, clawing the earth with her hands.

“Next time, you won’t fight, stupid thing.” Iltani snatched the grass bag, then paused. “What’s this? A creature wearing an ornament?”

To her horror, Annah realized that the precious shell carving had slipped out of her tunic. Before Annah could hide her cherished possession, Iltani grasped the carving and swept it over Annah’s head, tearing away some of Annah’s hair as she pulled the cord away.

“Where did she find this?” Iltani wondered aloud. Still on the ground, Annah watched as Iltani looped the shell carving’s cord over her own head, then tucked the leaf-wrapped honeycomb into Annah’s grass bag. Clearly pleased with her victory, Iltani sauntered toward the settlement, never looking back.

Annah lay on the moist earth and wept.