Deborah Calling Page 5

  “I’d like to see the pyramids one day.”

  “Maybe you will.” He turned his horse back in the direction of Aphek. “Riding north, past the river gorge, the road goes through the land of Manasseh all the way to Megiddo and Hazor, where the Canaanite king, Javin, rules over the other Hebrew tribes with an iron fist. From there, you could circle the Sea of Galilee and travel up to the great mountains of Lebanon, where cedar trees grow taller than ten houses stacked up one on top of the other. All of it was once under the mighty Egyptians. No king could stand up to their power, and no nation could resist being subjugated to the pharaoh.”

  “Except for your nation, because you helped the king of Edom defeat the Egyptians by turning the women into soldiers.”

  Kassite stabbed his knees into the horse’s ribs and sped up. Deborah prodded Soosie and caught up with him.

  “Let me tell you a rule to remember,” he said over the noise of the trotting horses. “Winning one battle does not ensure a lasting freedom. You have to win every battle, again and again, for as long as you wish to remain free.”

  They rode up the last section of the road, passing through the checkpoint at the gorge, where the guards waved them through. Kassite’s words replayed in her mind. Deborah sensed that he had spoken not only about the battle won by the women of Edom, but also about his own experience of a lost freedom and a long slavery, as well as about her struggle for freedom from Seesya, the house of Zifron, and the curse of womanhood. “You have to win every battle, again and again, for as long as you wish to remain free.”

  Chapter 8

  The fairgrounds near the gates of Aphek had not changed since Deborah had passed through during her search for Kassite, but she had changed. Walking through the busy marketplace behind Kassite and the oxcart, leading Soosie by the reins, she felt strong and confident, even though her feet were bare, her body was clad in a slave’s long shirt, and her cropped hair was exposed. She looked around curiously as dozens of vendors peddled their wares to shoppers, who were dressed in a variety of fashions and spoke various languages.

  Orran of Manasseh’s large shop was filled with customers. The oxcart drivers unloaded the products, and the man at the desk gave Kassite a bulging purse.

  Deborah followed Kassite as he visited several vendors, who invariably welcomed him with big smiles and deep bows. He bought bags of flour and barley, jars of wine, honey, and olive oil, as well as large baskets filled with dates, figs, pomegranates, lemons, and carobs.

  Outside the fairgrounds, the oxcart drivers stopped in the shade of a tree to secure all the goods with ropes. Kassite limped to the edge of a steep slope overlooking the head of the river.

  Fed by the springs at the foot of the Samariah Hills, the fast current of the Yarkon River gushed through the narrow gorge below. Several Hebrew boys were shooting stones with slings off the edge of the steep slope. Only the tallest among them managed to shoot close to the opposite bank. Kassite engaged the tall boy in a brief conversation and gave him a silver coin in exchange for the sling.

  Kassite waved Deborah over, handed her the sling, and said to the boy, “Show my slave how to use it.”

  “Slaves aren’t allowed to use weapons.”

  “Use it?” Kassite chuckled, shaking his head. “I just want him to know how it works so he can start making slings for me in my tannery.”

  Deborah examined the sling. It was a simple weapon, with an open leather pouch about the size of a hand. At each end of the pouch was a cord as long as her arm, which made the whole sling more than twice the length of her arm. The cords were woven of plaited flax or some other twine. One cord ended in a loop, and the other terminated in a leather tab.

  The tall boy borrowed a sling from one of his friends. He threaded the two middle fingers of his right hand in the loop, bending them to prevent the loop from slipping away, and held the tab between the forefinger and the thumb of the same hand. The pouch dangled below. With his left hand he picked up a stone and set it in the pouch. The weight of the stone held down the pouch, causing the cords to straighten. He suspended the sling under his right hand, the pouch hanging down by his leg, almost touching the ground.

  “First, you test the weight of the stone.” He swung the pouch gently back and forth like a pendulum. “Then you make sure no idiot is standing too close behind you.”

  His friends sniggered and fell back.

  “I will give you another coin,” Kassite said, “if you can reach the other side.”

  The boy accepted the challenge with a quick nod. He leaned forward slightly, gazed at the opposite bank of the river, and rotated his arm. At the top of the second rotation, he let go of the tab, which released one cord, allowing the stone to fly out of the pouch. It soared in a perfect arch over the river and landed in the shallow water near the bank.

  His friends groaned with disappointment.

  “Go on, Borah,” Kassite said to Deborah. “Your turn.”

  She had watched the tall boy and memorized what he had done. Now she repeated the same steps. Hooking two fingers in the loop, she pressed the tab between her forefinger and thumb, placed a stone in the pouch, and let it dangle down freely. She leaned forward, gazed at the opposite side of the river, rotated her arm once and, as the stone reached the apex halfway through the second rotation, let go of the tab.

  Her stone came out too late, flew downward, and fell into the rushing water at the bottom of the slope, about forty steps below where they stood.

  The Hebrew boys laughed, and one of them yelled, “He can’t do it.”

  “He throws like a girl,” said another.

  The tall boy grinned. “What do you want? He’s a stupid slave.”

  Her face burning, Deborah turned to leave.

  “Try again,” Kassite said, pulling a coin from his purse and holding it up. “Go ahead.”

  The boy searched the ground, selected a stone, and set it in the sling. His shot, however, was only slightly better than his first, hitting the edge of the water on the opposite side. The other boys shouted with exaggerated disappointment.

  Deborah took her time to find a stone that was slightly larger and rounder than the previous one. She repeated the steps methodically, including the one step she had missed in the first attempt—swinging the pouch slightly back and forth to test the weight of the stone. She knew how to throw a stone by hand better than most boys, and the sling, she realized, had the effect of extending her arm to double its length and, therefore, double the power. Her mistake had been to release the tab too late. She would not repeat it.

  The Hebrew boys quieted down, watching her.

  Deborah chose a spot on the other side of the river, where the tip of a boulder showed through the grass on the opposite slope.

  “What’s he waiting for?” The tall boy snorted. “Let it splash, slave!”

  She focused her gaze on the tip of the boulder and imagined that it was the head of the tall boy. She rotated the sling once, and on the second rotation released the tab just before the stone reached the apex.

  It flew in a long arch, over the water, and pounded the slope near the tip of the boulder.

  The boys were stunned, but Kassite laughed and clapped his hands.

  “Great shot,” one of the boys said.

  Another one poked the tall boy. “He’s better than you.”

  “Ouch,” a third boy said. “Beaten by a dirty slave.”

  “Dirty and smelly,” the tall boy said. “Time for a bath!” He stuck his leg in front of Deborah and shoved her.

  She fell forward and rolled down the steep slope, gaining speed. She groped for a rock or a shrub, but could not catch anything that could stop her. She landed in the water. It was shockingly cold, and she swallowed a mouthful before her feet found the bottom. She kicked hard, and her head popped out of the water. Coughing badly, she tried to stand, but the swift current toppled her. She was underwater again, but this time she managed to keep her mouth shut.

  When she came up aga
in, slapping the water desperately, the sling was still in her right hand. The rushing water swept her downriver, indifferent to her frantic struggle. Coughing hard again, she saw the riverbank only a few steps away, but she didn’t know how to swim, and her feet couldn’t reach the bottom.

  The current flipped her over, her face down in the water, then turned her back up again. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Soosie, sprinting along the top of the slope. She managed to inhale and tried to yell, but the water flipped her over again and kept her down. She held her breath, kicked, and flailed her arms, but the water held on tightly, cold and uncaring. She begged Yahweh to help her as the yearning for air grew more and more intense. She wanted to open her mouth, but knew that breathing in would not bring air and relief, but water and death.

  At last, she saw her parents’ faces, glowing with kindness and love, and she started to open her mouth to let the water in, but a glimpse of Barac’s face came to her—not dead, as she had imagined him since Seesya had bragged about playing ball with Barac’s head, but very much alive, his brown eyes wide with alarm, his mouth closed, lips pressed together as if telling her to do the same.

  With a final burst of frenzied kicking, Deborah managed to raise her head above water, but only halfway, not enough to take a breath. To the right, through the mist of water over her eyes, she saw the blurred vision of a horse splashing into the river. The current pulled her down again with a force she couldn’t resist. As her face went below the surface, she bent her right arm and straightened it to pitch the tab-end of the sling toward the riverbank while her fingers remained hooked in the opposite, loop-end of the sling.

  The river sucked her in deeper, and she held out her right arm, wishing it to grow longer.

  Nothing happened. Darkness engulfed her.

  The sling tugged at her bent fingers.

  She kept her grip.

  Another tug, as slight as the first.

  Was she imagining it?

  A third tug, this one harder, then another, violent, trying to yank the sling away. Her two fingers hurt as the leather loop cut through them, but she refused to let go. Her whole arm twisted, threatening to tear out of her shoulder. She held on against the unrelenting force of the water. A moment later, her head popped above the surface and she inhaled, her tight throat producing a thin shriek.

  Soosie, in the water up to his chest, his teeth clenched on the other end of the sling, dragged her toward the shore. Her feet found the bottom, but Soosie continued to pull her up the riverbank and out of the water.

  Deborah coughed hard, spitting water and bile. She began to tremble.

  Kassite arrived and covered her with his coat.

  The trembling made her teeth chatter, and she continued to cough, her throat burning. She felt Soosie licking her face.

  “One thing is obvious,” Kassite said. “Even the horse is smitten with you.”

  Soosie whinnied.

  Chapter 9

  That night, Deborah slept with the sling tied around her waist, the cords knotted at her belly button and the pouch flat against the small of her back. Personal possessions were strictly forbidden, but after her brush with death at the river earlier, Kassite said nothing when she secured the sling under her wet shirt.

  In the morning, when the bell woke her up, Deborah expected him to summon her, but he didn’t even look in her direction before returning to his house. She went to wash her face in the river and lingered there, glancing at the short bridge that connected the riverbank to his front door, hoping he would reappear.

  There was only so much face-washing she could do while everyone started working. Her group was already at the tubs, where the hides had soaked in fresh water overnight. It was time to proceed to pickling.

  She had noticed that two of the men, Antippet and Patrees, always ate together and slept beside one another. Deborah wondered if they were brothers. Taking an opportunity to let them work as a team, she sent them to fetch the salt.

  The group pulled the hides out of the water, covered them with salt and pegged them to the inside of the perimeter fence to dry. The work continued until the bell rang for the morning meal.

  Deborah took her food and bowed to Kassite. He nodded and turned to the next slave in line. Disappointed, she sat under the pavilion and ate.

  The same thing happened at the midday meal, except that she no longer felt slighted. Kassite knew that she hid the sling under her shirt in violation of his rules, and his silence was a form of recognition, even of respect. Soon, he would declare her ready for the second dose of the Male Elixir.

  After all the slaves had received their meals and bowed to Kassite, he limped to the gate, had his horse brought up, and rode off alone in the direction of Aphek.

  They worked until sunset. In Kassite’s absence, one of his servants rang the bell for the evening meal and returned to the house on the river.

  Each slave carried his food and cup of hot drink to the pavilion, bowed to Kassite’s empty chair, and sat on the ground to eat. When the men were done, the women came over to collect their meals.

  In the twilight, Deborah noticed many of them glance at the gate, which remained closed. She understood their anxiety. The last time Kassite had been late to return was the day Seesya and his soldiers raided the tannery.

  The slaves sipped their hot drinks and conversed in hushed voices. They went to wash the cups in the river and returned them to the storage area. Darkness descended, and a torch was lit at each of the two pavilions. Some slaves lay down to sleep, and Deborah did the same. Many others remained awake, including her group of Edomite slaves. They sat outside the pavilion, chatted, and sang melancholy songs.

  Finally, when sleep continued to elude her, Deborah went over to where the men of her group were sitting.

  “We have to work tomorrow,” she said. “Get your mats and go to sleep.”

  No one moved.

  Nearby, a slave she didn’t know said, “Go away, boy.”

  “It’s late,” she said. “Time for sleep.”

  “Who are you to give orders?”

  “That’s right,” another one yelled. “Shut up and wait for Master to return!”

  Many voiced their agreement.

  She looked at Antippet and Patrees. “Get your mats and go to sleep.”

  The first protester got up and advanced toward her. He was short and stout, and spoke with a heavy Philistine accent. “Sit down, boy, or I’ll knock you down!”

  Antippet and Patrees stood quickly and faced him.

  The other Philistine slaves got up, the rest of her Edomite group joined Antippet and Patrees, and everyone clenched their fists, ready to fight. The flickering lights from torches made the men seem even more menacing.

  She felt her knees buckle, and a familiar choking sensation rose in her throat. What had Zariz said about that? “Listen to your fear, but don’t let it control you.”

  Taking a deep breath, Deborah stepped forward, bypassing her group of Edomite protectors, and faced the mob of angry Philistine slaves. “Master forbids fighting,” she said with a voice as deep and as commanding as she could manage. “Master set up a routine for us. After dinner, we go to sleep. Master expects it!”

  Her adversaries grumbled in protest.

  “Master will punish you,” she declared with feigned confidence. “He’ll send you to Aphek to be sold off!”

  They quieted down, but the first Philistine slave to protest, who now stood at the head of the men, yelled, “Who is this boy?”

  “You!” Deborah pointed at him. “You’ll be the first to go!”

  He laughed, but it rang hollow.

  Antippet and Patrees walked to the pile of straw mats. The rest of her group did the same, and she saw Petro leave the group of Philistine slaves and walk over to collect a mat. The others gradually followed, and everyone settled down to sleep.

  Deborah waited until the last slave was lying down quietly. Soon, no one was awake. She lay down, closed her eyes, an
d listened to the usual sounds of snoring, grunting, and passing gas. The confrontation with the slaves replayed in her mind. Why had she spoken up? Why had she taken such a risk, knowing that Kassite was not there to defend her? She recalled the Philistine slaves shouting at her, their fists clenched, their faces twisted in anger as they advanced, eager for violence.

  Her legs began to tremble. She hugged her knees to her chest, taking deep breaths, trying to stop the shaking, but the battle was lost, and her whole body shook uncontrollably. Her eyes filled with tears and, despite her efforts, she broke down and sobbed, her face buried in the crook of her arm for fear of waking up the men lying beside her. She tried to push away the memory of the angry confrontation and think of the future, of leaving this harsh place as a young man, free and strong. It won’t be long, she told herself, remembering the quote from the High Priest: “When you pursue your True Calling, God provides the shortcuts.”

  Her sobs waned, and she wiped her face with the tail of her long shirt.

  An odd tapping noise came from outside the canopy.

  She sat up and looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound. The tapping was slow at first, but sped up quickly.

  Rain!

  She went to the edge of the pavilion and stuck her hands out, palms turned up, to catch the drops. The rain grew heavier. She stepped out from under the thatched roof and raised her face to the torrent of fresh drops, letting the water run down her face and body and wash away the layer of dust and grime. It hadn’t rained since before Tamar’s stoning, and the air filled with the biting aroma of a first rain.

  Completely soaked, Deborah stepped back under the pavilion. She brushed the water off her face and short hair, shook the long shirt, which stuck to her body, and stood silently, watching the downpour.