Providence (17 page)

The prophet strolled passed his tent. “Come,” he said as casually as if she had requested to buy fig cakes at the market. He beckoned her to follow with his staff. “Bring the ill, the foreigners, the man of Judah.”

“If he still breathes after this delay,” Konath said. “Can you raise the dead?”

“Can Hadad?” Gil challenged.

She hurried to Naabak's side before Konath's rage flared again.

Naabak's eyes beheld her face.

“We have found the prophet.” She placed a hand to his head.

“So I've heard.” A gurgling sound sputtered from Naabak's chest.

“Be strong husband,” Reumah encouraged. “Their high priest has summoned you.” A triumphant smile graced Reumah's features. The toil of trudging through the night had vanished.

They followed the prophet around a jut in the mountain and up a trail that widened into another clearing. It appeared part of the mountain had been crushed with a mill stone and storms had blown away the remnants. The prophet halted at a cistern, a small pond bound by walls of smooth rock. The ledge, flat as a widow's purse, tilted inward. Heaven's own funnel.

Water filled the basin. Was it the same water that bathed the prophet?

Gil and Mereb lowered Naabak beside the handmade well.

Konath kicked at the etched stone. “What is this? My Lord does not need a bath.”

“It is customary.” The prophet said, his attention focused on the sky.

“For purification,” Hannah blurted out. She didn't want Konath's anger to pour forth. “There are large vessels outside of the temple for cleansing.” She envisioned the stone jars back at the cave, the sheet, Gil's nakedness.

The prophet angled her direction. He couldn't read her mind. Could he?

“Can the foreigner climb inside?” the prophet asked.

She eyed the basin's wall. “The commander has not used his hands or feet in some time. He has neither fingers nor toes.” How could Naabak's limbs bear his weight?

“With a man on each side, he can be lowered into the water for cleansing,” Gil offered.

The prophet sat on a boulder near the basin. “He will need to dip himself.”

“Hah.” Konath's head flung backward. His cackle was harsh enough to ripple the water. “This is an insult,” Konath yelled. “Can you not wave your palm over him? Recite some Hebrew chant?”

She stiffened. Didn't Konath fear the wrath of that staff?

“The daughter of Zebula and I will go alongside,” Gil said. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Dip with Naabak. Perhaps the water will take away your curse.”

A hint of a smile crinkled one side of the prophet's mouth. “You are bold, Judah. Was your father a warrior such as these?” His staff jabbed at Konath and Susa.

The men avoided the rod but straightened at the praise.

The intensity of Gil's glare caused her breath to catch in her chest.

“You tell me, man of God.” Gil's harsh tone was one she hoped to never hear again.

Naabak grunted. He struggled to sit. The movement distracted Gil. Mereb pushed at the goat skin, propping Naabak's torso against the basin.

“I will dip myself.” Naabak moaned and rested a bloody stump on the ledge of stone.

Reumah lowered herself beside her husband. She patted his side where the goat skin still covered his diseased flesh.

Reumah's closeness to her husband's wounds stunned Hannah. Reumah had rarely visited the cave or held a vigil for her husband. She had welcomed Konath to her bed, and in the priest's chamber, she had lounged nude as a newborn. The fire in the rubies on Reumah's rings and bracelets sparkled as she stroked her husband's jaw. The scarlet jewels matched the red sores surrounding Naabak's nose.

The red baubles reminded Hannah of the bracelet she had left for Gil. He had found her because of a gift her father had bestowed on her. A gift to celebrate the healing ceremony. A gift that had summoned Gil into a life of captivity.

“You have always been strong, Husband. What is one swim in this pool?” Reumah's fingers trembled as she drew away from Naabak.

“One,” the prophet huffed. He pointed to the basin with his staff. “Not one time. Seven times.”

The prophet's proclamation hung in the air like a stubborn cloud. Did Naabak have the strength to support his body in the cistern? How would the water's salts affect the holes in his toes, his hands, his face?

If Naabak drowned, the pool would become a blood bath.

A Hebrew blood bath.

23

“Humiliation.” Konath's voice thundered with the power of calling troops to war. “Is Aram to suffer at the feet of Israel? Wash like a dog in a puddle several times over?”

“Trickery,” Mereb echoed. “That girl is a spy. The King of Israel sent her to lure Aram into this valley.”

Hannah bit down on her lip, dumbstruck by Konath's deceit. He would be the first to hold Naabak under the water so he could assume command of the King's army and stroll into Reumah's bed. Hannah had risked her life and Gil's life to bring Aram's commander to the prophet. All that was required for healing was a washing. A ceremonial cleansing of sorts. Hadn't Jews done this for years?

“Did I not plead for peace?” she said. “Introduce you to our prophet? I am not the merchant of deception.” She blinked to clear the blur in her vision.

“You have done nothing but place my men in peril and force me upon this mountain.” Konath feigned an interest in the cistern. He leaned closer to her. “Rekindling the hope of my woman is unforgivable. I will exact my revenge slowly on your lover.” He sneered at Gil. “You, O Israel, shall watch and be second.”

Gil stepped closer to her side. He tensed his muscles. Lines formed on his skin. As always, he was ready to defend or attack. She wished for a time when the fighting would end and she and her protector could be a simple man and woman on the streets of Jerusalem. She prayed her father had not made arrangements with Azor. Even as her feet skimmed this sacred ground, she longed to be with Gil and lie by his side.

“It is a simple task for a seasoned warrior to dip in the pool.” Gil backed his way toward Naabak, his eyes constantly assessing the closeness of Konath and Susa. “A wise soldier would heed the prophet.”

She helped Gil raise Naabak. Reumah scolded Mereb for his laziness.

“Go,” Gil whispered in her ear. “Ask the prophet if you can dip with Naabak.” He urged her onward, excitement sparking in his eyes.

Hannah turned toward the prophet. The old man's eyes drooped. He pitched forward as if he would tumble off the boulder he sat on.
Can he not stay awake with us?

Lightly, she tapped his shoulder. The prophet's eyes beheld her as a misbehaving child.

“Why not a prayer over Naabak or a touch of his flesh? I know this healing can be done with ease. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

The prophet's face was unmoved like the rock that held his weight.

Her lungs cinched for having woken the prophet, but she remembered her father saying that once water is drawn from the well, it may as well be poured. She was determined to dump the pitcher. Naabak clung to the ledge of the pool. Her curse clung to her soul.

“And what is to become of me? Will I someday be a clean woman?” Her voice warbled.

The prophet flailed his hand and cast her off like a gnat. He stood and hobbled toward the clearing where his tent was staked. “There is a time for everything.”

Her mouth fell open. “You are leaving us? Here? Now?” Her voice sputtered.

“I am no stranger to Jerusalem. I will see you again. And your commander has men to attend to him. For now, I must rest.”

She watched him leave, her feet heavy as millstones, her body as empty as a wineskin after a week-long wedding. She was still unclean. Still cursed. Still held captive. Her fists hammered at the heavens.

A boisterous laugh caught her attention.

Gil shouted, “Three.”

She ran toward the basin. Rounding a corner, she skidded to a stop. Susa blocked the trail.

“Your holy man is tired?” Disbelief tainted Susa's voice.

Is that all Susa had heard? Had he heard of her curse? He did not pull away from her, frightened by God's outcast. She dutifully dipped her head. “It is customary for him to rest and pray.”

Susa chuckled and let her pass.

When she entered the clearing, Naabak clung to the edge of the pool. Water spurted from his nostrils, hissing like water sprayed on hot coals.

“They are making a fool of you,” Konath shouted. “Will you not drown before you finish this mockery?”

Blasphemer! How dare that seducer insult her God?

Hannah raced toward the cistern to help Gil. No daughter of a Levite priest was going to be enslaved any longer on holy ground.

24

“Four,” Gil counted, bending and gripping Naabak's wrist.

Hannah scanned the man-made well. She didn't want Gil to find out its depths by retrieving Naabak's corpse.

Naabak surfaced. His body shook like a vibrating tambourine. Flesh peeled from his face.

“Give up this farce,” Konath instructed. He battered the ledge of the basin with his leather boot. “What salve does this cistern hold? Were your sores not washed in Aram? You will drown. Then who will heal you? That old man?”

Reumah trembled. Sitting next to the stone wall, she rested her head on her knees and hid her face like a chastised child.

Gil glared at Konath. Turning his back on the naysayer, he said, “Breathe. Now.” His voice was as calm as if he was keeping order in the gleaning fields. “Three more.”

Her master did not submerge his head, his shoulders, or his chest. Was he giving up? Doubting the prophet? She shivered even though sun drenched the clearing, searing every edge of chiseled rock. Naabak could not give up.

Hannah removed a bandage from her belt. “This is not for sport.” She stood by Gil, forming a wall of encouragement. “Nor folly.” She reached out to Naabak and offered him the cloth to cover his nose.

Naabak shook his matted hair. “My burden.” He rasped out water and blood. He slipped under the sapphire slate of water.

She took up Gil's count. “Two more,” she said as Naabak resurfaced.

“And then it will be your turn.” Gil's eyebrows rose, expecting her to agree.

Her heart labored against her rib cage. The prophet had not given her any new revelation. He had not told her to dip in the pool. No mention was made of freedom from her ancestor's sin.

Gil eyed her over his shoulder.

“You are losing count,” she teased, not wanting Gil to search out the prophet.

Konath stomped closer. “Our commander will have no strength left to return to his men. Where is the new flesh?” Konath's fingers tapped the hilt of his sword. He drummed his fingernails in an antsy rhythm as if the bronzed blade craved revenge.

Mereb handed Reumah a raisin cake. “Be done with this nonsense.”

Reumah pushed the sweet cake away. She crawled nearer her husband and sat sideways on the ledge. “Finish this,” she said to her husband. “Do as their advisor says.”

Reumah's support of her husband made Hannah cheer her master all the more.

Gil called out, “Seven.”

Naabak twisted free from Gil's grasp. He sunk, flailing his stumped hands to keep his bones from crashing to the bottom of the pit.

Hannah stretched over the edge of the basin to glimpse the water's surface. She tried to calm her breaths but they came out in pants of anticipation. Everyone hovered over the pool. A forest of bodies shaded the cream-colored stone.

Bubbles appeared, popping instantly at the water's surface. They stopped.

“Is he drowning? Or dead?” Konath retreated from the basin.

“No. It is not so.” The denial sprang from her lips. She needed Naabak alive. Living and whole to spare Gil's life. To give her complete faith in the prophet. To give her complete faith in God.

She thrust her arm into the water, and knocked Gil out of the way. “You cannot leave me.” She dug in the water like it was wet river sand.

A hand shackled her wrist and pulled against her weight.

She would not go down.
Lift.
Rearing back, her calf muscles tightened.
Lift.
Gil cinched his arms around her waist. She braced her other hand on the rocks for leverage. She and Gil pulled together as one.

Susa ran to their aid. “What can I do?”

Konath sheltered Reumah from the commotion. “Evil spirits are at work.”

Naabak released her wrist. She clawed to hold him anew. Her hand treaded water. “Hear, O Israel…”

Instantly, Naabak shot out of the water like a spawning fish, showering her face with cool droplets. Her master's face was whole, healthy, handsome. Fingers, not rotting flesh, slapped the ledge of the basin.

“Hallelujah,” she shouted as Gil flung her around in celebration.

Susa fell to his knees. “Praise be to your God.”

Reumah cried out in Aramean. Sobbing, she reached toward her husband.

Konath stumbled backward. His face was pale, his jaw slack.

Naabak lifted himself out of the water. His arms bulged with strength. His feet slapped stone.

He had toes and sinewy legs. He had thick thighs. He had—

Gil's hand covered her eyes. “That's enough gazing,” he said, his voice uneasy. “Mereb, get your master a garment.”

Mereb tossed a tunic over Naabak's bountiful shoulders and covered his loins.

Naabak had been restored. The God of Israel had answered her prayer. Could a healing of her own be far behind? She clasped her hands over her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks. God was near. God was here.

“God is good,” she sang.
“
Selah
.”

Hannah stared at a miracle. The commander of Aram's army had been wasting away in a hammock of hides and now he embraced his wife forcibly, with passion. She had never seen two people kiss other than in a customary greeting. Naabak and Reumah's kiss lasted and lingered. Gil did not shield her eyes from their desire. Her belly warmed knowing that the heir Reumah desired could come to pass. Joyous laughter jiggled Reumah's chest.