Deborah Calling Read online

  The heavy rain blurred the opposite side of the tannery, and the torch at the end of the women’s pavilion was reduced to a hazy point of light in the darkness.

  Back on the sleeping mat, the moist fragrance reminded her of better days. Lying on her side, she rested her head on her folded arm and conjured images of Tamar and their parents, of happy times together at Palm Homestead. Deborah imagined that she was back there, among the loving family she’d once had.

  Chapter 10

  The pain woke Deborah up. She rubbed her lower abdomen, trying to decide whether to hurry to the latrine. It was still dark. The path to the latrine would be slippery after the rain. She changed position, and the pain eased up. Around her, everyone was asleep. Unlike most nights, which were hot and humid, a cool breeze carried the scents of soggy earth and wet vegetation.

  The pain worsened, and she sat up in alarm. She felt dampness between her legs. Her first thought was that her undergarments hadn’t yet dried from the rain, but when she touched the dampness and held her fingers up to the dim torchlight, she saw blood.

  Deborah groaned, not because of the physical pain, but because of the crushing disappointment. She recalled Seesya touching his saddle and holding up his hand, red in the light from the torches, his voice mocking: “Look at this! From a stupid girl to a stupid woman!” She had hoped that the first dose of the Male Elixir would not only accelerate the growth of her muscles and physical resilience, which it had done successfully, but also cause her body to shut down that single most explicit manifestation of womanhood.

  This is the last time, Deborah told herself. Never again!

  With the long shirt bunched up between her legs, she tiptoed through the tight mass of sleeping men, careful not to step on anyone. The infirmary was upstream, just beyond Kassite’s house, but halfway there, the pain made her stop. Bent over, she pressed on the area where the pain centered and waited for it to ease. Meanwhile, she considered what to tell the two women in charge of the infirmary. As groggy as they might be, waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, would they miss the real cause of her bleeding?

  She changed direction and went to the river. Stepping into the water up to her thighs, Deborah shuddered from the cold. Everyone was asleep, but there was always a risk that one of the slaves would get up to relieve himself, which at night most did at the river’s edge rather than risk the walk to the latrines. She quickly removed her undergarment, rinsed it well, and cleaned her private parts as best she could.

  With her wet undergarment back on, she stepped out of the water. Going back to sleep was tempting, but if she bled again and one of the slaves noticed it, the result would be nothing short of disastrous.

  Kassite’s house was dark. Deborah stepped from the muddy riverbank onto the short bridge, which swayed and squeaked.

  She knocked on the door, and one of the servants opened it, holding a small oil lamp. He wore only a loincloth, and his smooth chest was ghostly white.

  She cleared her throat. “I need help.”

  He showed her in, closed the door, and went to the bedroom.

  A moment later, Kassite appeared.

  Deborah was filled with relief. “You’re back!”

  “Barely.” He hopped on one leg, supported by the servant, and sat in a chair. Under the bottom of his robe, his left leg ended above the ankle. “This is an odd time for a visit.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “What is it?”

  Deborah pointed at her crotch. “I’m bleeding.”

  “Ah. Your female side is fighting back.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t happen with the first dose already working in my body.”

  “At least we know for sure that you are not pregnant.”

  Her face flushed. “That would be impossible.”

  “There.” He pointed at a cabinet. “Take one of my servants’ loincloths. The female slaves use a similar thing.”

  She opened the cabinet door. Folded clothing items were neatly arranged, including at least twenty linen loincloths.

  “Put it on as flat as possible,” he said. “And make sure your long shirt fits over it normally.”

  With her back to him, she lifted her long shirt, lowered her wet undergarment, and tied up the loincloth.

  When she turned back, he was watching her.

  “I like the way your thighs look,” he said. “Come closer to me.”

  She shook the long shirt to loosen it off her wet body and stepped toward him.

  Kassite leaned forward and reached for her.

  She jumped back.

  “Do not flatter yourself.” He chuckled. “I have all the flesh I desire, and there are plenty more who would rejoice at the opportunity.”

  Embarrassed, Deborah stepped closer.

  Pressing her thighs and biceps, exposed by the sleeveless shirt, he nodded in approval. “You are getting stronger. Show me your hands.”

  She did.

  He touched the rough skin that had grown over the blisters and nodded in approval. He pointed at her feet, and she lifted each one to show him the soles, which had thickened and become black.

  “Very good,” he said.

  “The women at the infirmary helped me with the blisters, but I couldn’t go to them with my female bleeding.”

  “You are changing faster than I anticipated.”

  “It’s been many weeks since I drank the first dose.”

  “And it is working perfectly.”

  Deborah stopped herself from asking again when he would give her the second dose. Appearing too eager, she feared, would show femininity and make him think she wasn’t ready yet.

  “Give me the sling,” he said. “I want the craftswomen to make a few copies.”

  She reached under her long shirt, untied the knot, and gave him the sling.

  “Your shooting match against the Hebrew boy was impressive, both in distance and in accuracy. It exceeded my expectations.”

  “A lucky shot,” she said.

  Kassite shook his head. “Nothing to do with luck. It showed that you have the capacity to become a killer when necessary.”

  “A killer?” Deborah took a step back. “I’m not a killer.”

  “When circumstances force a choice between getting killed and becoming a killer, most men fall apart, beg for their lives, or start weeping like children, whereas the truly brave harden up with firm resolve, total focus, and icy determination to kill.”

  “I’m not a killer,” she repeated.

  “When you looked at the tip of that boulder on the other side of the river, what did you imagine seeing?”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “You imagined the head of the Hebrew boy, did you not?”

  Deborah nodded, embarrassed.

  “Elixir-making,” Kassite said, “is not only about mixing exotic ingredients. It is about knowing human nature, seeing what is in a person’s heart, and identifying their true desires. Do you understand?”

  The Elixirist in him was speaking now, not the old slave who had managed to carve out a comfortable life for himself amidst the misery of a tannery. She was trying to comprehend what he meant. Was he able to see what was in her heart? Did he know what she was thinking? Could he tell that she doubted his honesty and questioned the value of his promise to help her?

  “No shame in justified rage,” Kassite said. “That boy’s mockery was foul, and you wanted to kill him. In your head, he became the target. Correct?”

  “Yes, I imagined his head where the boulder was, but only to help me focus my anger. I would never shoot a stone at a boy for real.”

  “You have it in you, girl.” He chuckled. “Don’t forget this experience. Deadly focus is a rare quality, even among men, most of whom are mere shadows of masculinity.”

  “Obviously, I’m not a man.” She gestured at her crotch. “And I’ll need a fresh loincloth in a few hours.”

  “After the morning meal, come in and put on a clean one.”

  “He
re? At your house? During daylight?”

  “The time for caution is over. We will be leaving this place very soon.”

  Deborah was already at the door, but his words stopped her. Had she heard him correctly? Turning back to face Kassite, she saw his expression and knew he wasn’t joking.

  “What changed your mind?”

  He rose slowly, leaning on the table for support. “Orran changed my mind.”

  “You went to Orran?”

  “He is my benevolent owner. After eighteen years of loyal service, having built for him a great tannery and much wealth, I naively hoped that gratitude would make him grant my wish.”

  “What wish?”

  “I traveled to his homestead, north of the city, and asked him to let me go home to Edom and spend my few remaining years among my people. I promised to train a new master, of course, and make sure the tannery continued to work smoothly. It is a reasonable request, is it not?”

  “What did he say?”

  “He laughed.”

  “That’s it?”

  “There was an explicit warning, too. Look here.”

  Kassite pointed at his right leg, above the ankle, where the skin was scraped off in a tidy circle all around the leg. It looked like a moist red ring, and when Kassite put his legs next to each other, she could see that the ring marked his good leg at the same height where his left leg had been amputated.

  Deborah gulped, shocked by the sheer cruelty of it. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Also with Sallan. Why would an owner maim a good slave, or a horse, or a cow?”

  “Or a woman.”

  “Yes,” Deborah said. “A woman, too.”

  “Remember strategy?” Kassite said. “A slave who can read and write, add and subtract, buy and sell, and manage the workers in a factory, doesn’t need good feet. In fact, they can get in the way of obedience by enabling an escape. For a rich owner, it would be good strategy to chop off the feet of such a valuable slave.”

  Chapter 11

  Deborah and her group worked for two hours before Kassite rang for the morning meal. It was enough time for them to salt another batch of hides and peg them up on the inside of the perimeter fence. She was puzzled to see female slaves come out of their curtained pavilion and take down many hides that were clearly not dry yet, especially after last night’s rain. The women took the hides into their pavilion. Deborah wondered what they were doing there, and why.

  She collected her meal and bowed before Kassite.

  “Good morning, Borah. Are you well?”

  “Yes, Master. The pain is gone.”

  “Excellent. Are you ready?”

  “Ready?”

  He held up a wooden goblet.

  It took her a moment to digest this unexpected surprise. “Yes! I’m ready!”

  Kassite handed her the goblet.

  It smelled of rotten eggs and spoiled meat, but it didn’t repulse her as the first dose had. She pulled back her shoulders and stood straight as a proud young man. By giving her the second dose of the Male Elixir, Kassite was implying that she had completed the first of the three phases of transformation: “Building the physical strength of a boy means not only growing muscles, but also developing resilience, tolerance for pain, and capacity for hard labor.” Now it was time for the second phase—developing a masculine character. She again recalled Kassite’s words: “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.”

  “Go on,” he said. “Drink it.”

  Right there, with other slaves watching curiously, she tilted the cup and drank all its content.

  The second dose was thicker than the first one and tasted even worse. It contained floating chunks of unidentifiable origin, which were hard to swallow and left a sticky coating on the inside of her mouth. The odor now resided in her palate, filling her nostrils from within. She gulped, and some of the elixir came back up, making her gag, but she swallowed and kept it down.

  Sitting under the pavilion with her meal, Deborah ignored the slaves’ curious glances, sipped water, and took small bites of food, which calmed her stomach.

  After the meal, she went to Kassite’s house, put on a clean loincloth, and tossed the blood-soaked one through the window into the river. She hoped that this was the last time she would experience female bleeding. Once she completed the second phase and satisfied Kassite that her character had transformed, as well, he would prepare the third and last dose of the Male Elixir, which would cause her private parts to actually change, propelling her over the final barrier into a complete male in every respect. Though she had never seen a naked man, she assumed it couldn’t be much different from that of male animals. The idea of growing a male organ made her cringe, but it was a price worth paying for a life of freedom and independence that Hebrew men took for granted.

  Work continued as usual for the men, but the women remained inside their curtained pavilion. After the midday meal, as Deborah’s group returned to work, Kassite summoned her. Seated on his chair in the empty pavilion, he gave her the original sling back, as well as six identical new slings.

  “Teach your group how to use these.” He pointed at the riverbank. “Shoot out over the water.”

  “Yes, Master.” She took the slings. “May I ask a question?”

  Kassite nodded.

  “What about the rule against slaves and weapons?”

  “Girls and weapons, too, yet here you are.” He chuckled. “You must make up your mind about rules, one way or the other. Do you prefer conforming or rebelling?”

  Deborah didn’t know how to answer.

  “Questioning, I guess, is what you prefer most.” Kassite patted her shoulder. “Here is why I would like you to teach your group to shoot. Antippet, Patrees, and the other four are Edomite men, like me. They cannot escape with the rest of the slaves to Philistia—it would be worse there than here for them. They are strong and loyal men who will be useful on the journey to free Sallan and then on to our homeland.”

  “Do you have a plan for freeing Sallan?”

  “I am working on it. Go teach them the art of the sling. Our lives may depend on it.”

  Deborah glanced at the gate. “What about the guards?”

  “They are busy with a barrel of good wine I gave them. The potent herbs I mixed in will soon put them to sleep, blessed with the sweetest of dreams.”

  She laughed, wondering what kind of herbs would cause grown men to fall asleep and have sweet dreams. Then again, Kassite was the Elixirist, and if he could turn women into men, surely he could put men to sleep and give them sweet dreams.

  Deborah paused at the door. “We still have a few hides to wash and pickle. Left in the tub, they’ll be ruined.”

  “You are worried about ruining a few animal skins?” Kassite opened his arms wide. “This whole place will be ruined tonight.”

  His words kept ringing in her ears as she gathered her group at the water’s edge and demonstrated shooting the sling. The Edomite slaves were hesitant at first, watching Deborah with awe as she rotated the sling and shot a few stones over the water. They kept glancing toward Kassite, who was busy giving instructions to a group of women slaves near their pavilion. Deborah passed out the new slings and showed each man how to hold the tab and loop, size up a stone to fit in the pouch, and prepare to shoot.

  They started practicing. Once they overcame their initial hesitation, they proved to be enthusiastic students, quickly improving their skills. Antippet and Patrees competed with each other, and their stones hit the water at close increments, gradually reaching further. Meanwhile, Deborah improved her own skills with repeated shots until her stones flew in perfect arcs over the whole width of the river, landing on the opposite bank, over two hundred steps away.

  The other groups of slaves, working at the tubs or scraping hides on the ground, paused to watch. With the sun descending, many of the m
en left their work and wandered closer to Deborah and the six Edomite men, who kept picking up stones and shooting them over the water.

  Satisfied that she could reach the other side every time, Deborah began to work on her aim. She selected a large mound of sand as a target. When her shots landed there consistently, she chose a smaller target—a tree stump at the edge of the vegetation above the opposite riverbank. She missed it four times, and by then everyone was watching her, having figured out what she was trying to do.

  Finding herself at the center of attention, Deborah wanted to stop, but Antippet was ready with a stone for her, holding it forth with a grin that contained equal parts glee and encouragement.

  She shook her head, but he insisted.

  “Take it, boy,” he said. “Maybe you will get lucky now.”

  The word “boy” grated on her. It was the first time any of the Edomite slaves in her group had shown her disrespect.

  Deborah took the stone and set it in the pouch. She stepped to the edge of the water, hooked two fingers in the loop, and grasped the tab between her forefinger and thumb. The weight of the stone pulled down the pouch, which swung gently by her ankle. Her eyes found the tree stump on the opposite side of the river. She tried to concentrate, but couldn’t ignore the murmuring of the hundred set of eyes focused on her back. Her body tensed, and she struggled to take a deep breath. There was no way she could hit the small target she had foolishly chosen. In fact, she doubted her ability to shoot this stone across the river.

  A few of the men cackled and made derisive comments in the Philistine language. Anger bubbled up inside her, and she recalled the Hebrew boys at Aphek, calling her a “dirty slave.” She had beaten the tall Hebrew boy, and she could do the same now.

  Leaning forward, Deborah focused on the tree stump, conjuring the tall boy’s face from memory. It was a vague image, perhaps because there wasn’t enough rage left in her against that boy. And as she stared hard at the tree stump, Seesya’s face started to emerge, framed by oily black hair that went down to his shoulders. His lips were severed diagonally by the red scar, giving him a permanent ugly smirk, and she could hear his voice, slick with venom, when he had shown her Barac’s knife and said, “My soldiers took it from your friend, Abinoam’s boy, before we chopped off his head and kicked it around like a ball.”