Angels at the Gate (6 page)

I pat my bags, pleased they bulge with honey cakes. Hagar made extra for me.

Lot travels with us to Sodom. He brings six sheep to add to his own herd and a string of young black donkeys from Harran that we will sell for Abram. The finest donkeys are bred in Harran, and they will bring enough to make his journey worthwhile.

Almost fifteen summers older than I, Lot is coarsely bearded, with skin the color of a walnut and large thumbs. Every time I see him, I must fight to keep from staring at his thumbs. They seem too large for his hands, and I cannot help but wonder if the giggling tales of young girls as to the significance of a man's thumb size bear any truth.

I have seen plenty of male organs. The boys of the caravan consider me one of them, and they don't hesitate to fountain their water in front of me. That I manage to avoid suspicion is due to my reputation as a strange boy who keeps to himself.

Eliezer counts the donkeys, and has Lot press his seal into a clay tablet to account for them. This is also a practice taken from Babylonia. In Canaan, only the wealthy carry personal seals. I touch the form of my seal, hidden under my clothing. It makes my mother real, if only for a moment. She too would have worn it next to her heart.

“A safe journey to us, Zakiti!” Lot bellows to my father, though he is not a donkey's length from us. “I will hold you to your promise to sleep beneath my roof when we arrive in Sodom.”

Philot, my donkey, flicks his long ears in agitation at Lot's strident voice, but he is a sturdy, dependable animal and does not move while Father checks the straps of my packing. I scratch his forehead, and he closes his eyes in pleasure.

“Thank you, cousin,” Father says. “We would be foolish not to accept. Your graciousness to guests is famous.”

A smile craters Lot's cheeks, deepening the scarred pits that make a rough landscape of his face. A man's honor is judged by his hospitality to guests. That is a law of the desert, and my people abide by it as strongly as any nomad tribe.

Father smiles and gives Philot a pat, satisfied with my efforts. I sigh in exasperation that he still checks behind me, as if I were a child who would leave a strap loose.

Lot moves closer, his voice lowering. He runs a thick thumb along the coarse hair of his chin and gives a furtive nod toward the tall strangers. “Watch your words around those two.” Lot's words are for my father's ear, but I have sharp hearing. “Abram says El sent them.”

“Yes, so the rumors have been and so Abram told me, as well.”

Disappointment floods Lot's features. Clearly, he had wished to bear such interesting news. He tries again. “The third man—the one who
returned to their lands in the north—is a priest, a shaman, maybe even a king.”

I smell an embellishment.

Father waits.

Lot chuckles. “Word among the tents is Abram asked them to make Sarai's womb fertile.”

Both my father's brows rise at this. “Sarai is still a beautiful woman, but is she not past the age of bearing children?”

Satisfied his gossip had induced a reaction, Lot chuckles and spreads his thick hands. “Not for me to say. If they are truly El's men, what is not possible?”

At that moment, Lot spies Abram emerging from his tent and hurries to his uncle's side. Abram has come to escort Raph, Mika, and Anan as far as the last oak tree, showing them honor. I consider the men who walk beside my tribe's patriarch. They have not confirmed they are messengers of El, at least not to me, but I may not be of sufficient importance to confide such a thing. I think through the strange list of words they wish to know in the southern dialect of Akkadian, but I am unable to parse a meaning from them. If they are angels, they keep their mission to themselves.

The call to move out distracts me from such questions. My job is to guide the newly acquired donkeys, which are not inclined to leave. I cannot blame them. My life, since I was three summers, has consisted of moving from place to place, but these young animals have never left their mothers' sides.

At the braying of one of the donkeys, my mind returns to my task, and I circle around to stand between the new ones we are taking and the lure of the familiar, positioning myself at the herd's back flank to discourage them from making a quick reversal around me. Animals attend primarily to body movements. I raise my staff. “Hiya!”

They move off, ears flicking in consternation, but following the donkeys that Chiram's son leads. I will stay in this position between them and their home until we are well out of sight of Abram's tents. I must stay alert and anticipate the first testing move from one of the donkeys. They do not have the strong herd instinct of sheep, being more independent. But if one gets away with turning, another will do the same, even if they do not go the same way, and chaos will erupt. The staff extends my range
a bit, and if I keep my mind from wandering, I can manage. Philot does not need me to lead him, so accustomed is he to our traveling.

Nami is no help. She only looks at me when I signal her to move the donkeys. I wish our old herd dog had not died. He was a wonder, and I still look for him whenever we break camp or need to move the herds. From habit, I also look for Dune, but he is gone, a victim to my foolishness. At the cost of my horse and my ribs, I have bought another summer with my father and the caravan. Then Father will surely insist I stay with Sarai … but I cannot worry about that. Who knows what will happen in such a space of time?

This was the same place where Abram had built the altar, and there he worshiped the Lord again.

—Book of Genesis 13:4

T
HAT NIGHT WHEN I AM
with my students, my father sweeps into the tent without requesting entry. I have a cup of tea to my mouth and choke on the strong liquid.

Mika, who is the one I would expect to react to this rudeness, looks up calmly.

It is Raph who jumps to his feet, his hand flying to his left hip, the movement of a swordsman, but he carries no weapon. He has also stepped protectively in front of me, which I notice, even though I am coughing.

“Why is my da—” My father catches himself, and his cheek spasms with the effort of control. “Why is my son in your tent?”

Raph quickly drops his hand and takes a breath before answering. “He teach words, so we speak more skill. Is this a difficult?”

“Difficulty,” I correct.

Raph amends, “A difficulty?”

I admire how he smoothly slips from battle-ready to negotiator, though he remains in front of me.

Father's mouth opens and then closes. “Yes, it is. He is too young, too—”

He struggles to give a coherent reason. “We leave tomorrow. He must rest.” With a glare at me, he says, “Adir, go to our tent.”

“But father, I—”

His hand slashes the air in the gesture that cuts further discussion.

“It is late,” Raph says to me. “You filled my head to sloshing.”

I cannot help a smile at his analogy, though my stomach is starting to clinch with the expectation of my father's anger and an end to my plans.

I
N OUR TENT
, my father turns his fury on me. “What are you doing?” he hisses to keep from shouting.

“What Raph said I was doing, teaching them our language. Why are you so angry, Father?”

His fists knuckle in frustration. “Why?” He turns and paces into the depth of our tent where my pallet lies in the shadows. Whirling back, he approaches me, keeping his voice under control with an effort. “That is exactly the problem. You have no conception of danger!”

Danger? I am lost to his meaning. “I thought they were El's messengers and friends of Abram. Why would they mean me harm?

My father blinks. “They are men, Adira.
Men
.”

Finally, I understand. This is related to my father's worry about raising a daughter alone. If my mother had lived, he would probably not be so anxious about the subject. I suddenly wonder why he never married again. Most men would have. Why have I never questioned this before?

“Why didn't you marry another woman, Father?”

My father appears to swallow the barrage of words he is about to spew, though his mouth remains open. “What?”

Feeling bolder, now we have left the tents of Abram behind, I say, “All this deception about my gender would have been unnecessary had you married and let me grow up as other girls.”

His face slackens, all the anger drained away. “Have you been unhappy? I thought you wished to be with me, or was it more you did not wish to stay with Sarai?”

I want to laugh, but I see the pain in him and do not. “I have been most happy, Father. I would not trade my life for any other.”

He brightens, until I add, “I just do not want to be a woman.”

“That is not a choice you have.”

This time I stop the fear that uncoils like a serpent in my belly, remembering the last time I thought to run from my fate. A wolf almost ate me, and Nami lost her pups.

Eventually, I must deal with the fact I am a woman, but it is not important at this moment. “Neither of the strangers knows I am a girl,” I say quietly in the most reasonable voice I can muster. “I am just a boy to them.”

Father sighs. “Perhaps, but I forbid you to go alone into their tent. One day you will want a husband, and your reputation will matter. I want no one spreading falsities about you.”

I grind my teeth. This is exactly why I do not want to be a woman, at least not one of our tribe. Men never worry about such things. They do exactly as they please, but let a woman step her toe beyond the boundary men mark, and she is ruined, not worthy of being a wife. Concubine, perhaps. For a moment, I consider that possibility. Is it any better a choice than being a wife? Or perhaps one of the priestesses in the five cities of the Vale or Babylonia? The followers of the goddess in the cities are free to lie with any man, and it is a holy act. The priestesses hold property and make important contributions and decisions. No king would quickly act against their advice. Nomad and city dweller alike respect the power of the goddess. Her figurine has a special place in every woman's tent. Even Sarai asks for the goddess's blessing on her empty womb. El may not dwell in any form, but the goddess likes her slender carvings, her trees, and her high places.

I sigh. Father would not approve of my being a priestess; besides, I wish to remain with the caravan.

“Adira,” my father's voice, still low, so we will not be heard beyond the tent walls, calls me back from my mind's wanderings.

“Yes, Father,” I say, trying to sound obedient and calm him.

“I forbid you to go alone into the tent of the strangers.”

I can only stare at him.

“Into any man's tent,” he adds, his dark eyes boring into mine with all the force of his authority as my father.

“But this is important,” I say. “You do not understand.”

“Nothing is as important as your honor.” He grasps me by the shoulders.
“This is for your own happiness. It may not seem like it now, but I do this for your happiness.”

I realize it will change nothing to explain about Nami. It will seem a minor issue next to my honor and future happiness.

I do the only thing I can—bow my head in acquiescence.

The Lord said to Abram, “Look as far as you can see in every direction—north and south, east and west. I am giving all this land, as far as you can see, to you and your descendants as a permanent possession. And I will give you so many descendants that, like the dust of the earth, they cannot be counted! Go and walk through the land in every direction, for I am giving it to you.”

So Abram moved his camp to Hebron and settled near the oak grove belonging to Mamre. There he built another altar to the lord.

—Book of Genesis 13:14-18

But the land could not support both Abram and Lot with all their flocks and herds living so close together. So disputes broke out between the herdsmen of Abram and Lot… Finally Abram said to Lot, “Let's not allow this conflict to come between us or our herdsmen. After all, we are [brethren]!

—Book of Genesis 13:6-8

W
E TRAVEL SOUTHEAST FROM ABRAM'S
tents through the hills. Lot rides beside my father, talking most of the way. He is a great talker, mostly a great complainer. I stay as far from them as I can. I wish I could simply travel with Raph and Mika and instruct them as we go. In that way, I could fulfill my bargain and obey my father, but that would mean failing my duties. We are short two men, so I must stay with the animals.

At least I have Nami's presence again, although she periodically runs to the donkey that carried her pups to sniff in worry and hope. I distract her by trying to teach her to keep the stubborn donkeys in a pack. My hand signals confuse her. I am certain she has been trained as a hunter, but I do not know what signals she understands. She knows I want something, but is not particularly interested in herding donkeys. I think she would, however, be happy to chase them, as she is off after any sight of a rustle in a clump of grass.

Danel comes to walk beside me. For the first time, I wonder how he sees me—as the favorite of my father, the caravan master, while he is merely the son of the cook? I cannot help being that, but perhaps it is a source of discontent for him. I have never tried to be nice, as I despise his father, Chiram … but Danel did fight for me, earning a few bruises too.

“Thank you for coming to my aid,” I say stiffly.

“I didn't ask for your thanks.”

“No,” I reply. “But I give it.”

He grunts, sounding exactly like his father.

“Why did you come to walk with me, then?” I demand.

He shrugs. “I don't know.” He looks at the sky and the hills. “Well … I came to thank you for asking Eliezer not to report our fighting.”