Angels at the Gate (7 page)

I laugh. “That was more for me than you.”

He grins, and I am surprised at the happiness that gives me. I do not have friends among the boys of the caravan, perhaps because I need to keep my distance to protect my gender or perhaps because they all resent me as Zakiti's son, much as the boys of Abram's camp resent Ishmael.

“I have a grandmother in Sodom,” Danel says.

“Is she nice?”

“She is tiny and frail, but full of spirit.”

I envy the love in his voice.

Danel helps with the donkeys until Chiram calls him away on some errand.

Despite the distraction of Danel's presence, my belly has stayed in a tight coil at my predicament over Nami. I should obey my father, but he has also taught me to honor my oaths, and I have made one to Nami. She followed me, sacrificing her own pups, and she saved my life. I do not know what to do. I cannot let her future pups be destined for Chiram's pot.

That night after the evening meal, I claim weariness and pain in my ribs. Neither is a lie. I crawl into my pallet and wait. Father is late coming to the tent and I chafe, but keep my back to the fire. When he calls my name softly, I do not answer.

I wait until his breathing steadies, and then I ease from my bedding, leaving the large lump of stone around which I had curled my body. Satisfied it will be taken for my form in the shadows, I slip out of the tent.

I love the morning, but I also love the night—the stars caught in the gauzy veil spun across the ebon sky.

A hyena coughs and is answered by the stuttering bleat of a doe goat. Not far away, a campfire burns, silhouetting the shape of men that stand between it and me. The wind shifts, and I smell something familiar and not pleasant.

Lot.

“Adir,” he bellows, and I move quickly away from our tent, lest he wake my father. “Where are you off to, boy?”

I shrug.

He squints at me. “Not going to ride out into the night again, I hope?”

“No.”

“El does not tolerate such foolishness. He demands obedience to him through a child's obedience to his father. Obedience is honor.”

These words feel like an arrow through my throat. Does he know I am disobeying my father as I stand here before him? Does El speak through him? I am not certain whether El is angry, but Abram says he is a jealous god, and I do not wish his anger with me to fall on my father's back.

“I hear you, Lot, my cousin,” I mumble, looking humbly at the ground.

Chiram approaches. He gives barely a glance, acknowledging my existence without commenting on my worth or lack thereof, and puts a hand on Lot's shoulder. “You said to call you when we were ready.”

I smell fermented camel's milk on Chiram's breath and know he has not waited for Lot.

When their attention is off me, I slip into the shadows and make my way to Raph and Mika's tent. A stab of pain stops me at the opening, and I press my hand against the bandage. They have lowered their tent sides, though it is a hot night.

“It is Adir,” I say when the pain has subsided. “May I enter?”

“Wait,” I hear, then some shuffling noises. When they bid me to enter, I do not look directly at the bear fur covering the object, but I notice it is not in the same position as the previous nights.

“Adir,” Raph says, “it is late. We thought you not appearing.” He is on his feet, but Mika remains seated, a distant look on his face.

“My apologies for the time,” I say. “My duties kept me. I hope it is not too late for you?”

“Late,” Mika says.

My heart freezes.

Raph rolls his eyes. “No, it not too late. We need words. Come, sit, Adir. I think today I need know many. I told all to my grumpy brother; he remembers better. Truth, Mika?”

Mika scowls at him, which makes Raph grin. “So settled. Sit, Adir.”

And so far into the night, we talk and practice. I stay intent and focused despite the weariness tugging at my bones and the pain in my chest. Finally, Mika holds up a hand. “You are pale.”

I take a careful breath. “I am fine.”
I want my goat
.

Mika rises and steps before me.

“No,” I say, suddenly panicked. “I am fine. I need only to rest.”

But he ignores my words and kneels beside me. “Lift robe.”

My heart pounds. If my father wakes and finds a stone in my place and me here and Mika's hands on me—I cannot even complete the thought. Yet Mika is not to be dissuaded. I know this somehow. Unless I jump up and run, which I do not think I can even do, I am trapped.

Reluctantly, I lift my robe the minimum amount, glad I still wear a young boy's pants beneath it and thus can expose only the bandage. In a move camouflaged to look as if I am merely keeping my free arm out of the way, I press my little breasts flatter than the narrow band I tie around my chest. Surely, they are too small for him to notice, but I want to cover the band as well. Mika's fingers press against the flesh below it.

I think my heart will burst through the cloth. Dispassionately, he checks the other side. “Too cold,” he snaps and stretches his open palm toward Raph.

With no further instruction, Raph hands him a worn leather bag. From it, Mika selects a slender knife, which he applies to the bandage. There is instant relief when he removes the pressure. Quickly, I lower my tunic. “The bandage felt much better at first.” My voice makes it a question.

“Sometimes swelling,” Mika replies. “Should checked.”

I am not certain if he is blaming me or himself for this.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
I bring my goat to Chiram. His thick brows lift in surprise, and he examines it suspiciously. I am not worried. I picked her out myself, and she is perfect. I step between him and the goat. “For Nami.”

A frown arcs his mouth. He has thick lips like Lot, mostly covered by the black hairs beneath his nose. “She is worth silver, that dog.” With the nail of his last finger, he picks something from between his yellow-stained front teeth. “I won her in a game of senet.”

“You told me that before, but we have a bargain.” I cut the air with the blade of my hand in my father's gesture.

With a snort that passes for a laugh, Chiram concedes. “All right, the bitch is yours then. Good riddance, I say. She has not brought any silver to me. Just another mouth to feed.”

The thought of touching Chiram makes my skin twitchy, but I press my palm into his to seal our trade.

My heart is lighter than it has been for days when I go to tell Nami. She is less dejected, picking up my mood, though her almond eyes are still sad. If I had my own tent, I could bring her inside. This is the first time it occurs to me to wonder what I will tell my father.

Lot took a long look at the fertile plains of the Jordan Valley in the direction of Zoar. The whole area was well watered everywhere, like the garden of the Lord or the beautiful land of Egypt. (This was before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.) Lot chose for himself the whole Jordan Valley to the east of them. He went there with his flocks and servants and parted company with his uncle Abram. So Abram settled in the land of Canaan, and Lot moved his tents to a place near Sodom and settled among the cities of the plain.

—Book of Genesis 13:10-12

As it happened, the valley of the Dead Sea was filled with tar pits. And as the army of the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah fled, some fell into the tar pits, while the rest escaped into the mountains.

—Book of Genesis 14:10

A
T LENGTH, WE REACH THE
cliff's edge bordering the great rift. In the fog-shrouded distance, facing us, stands a sister cliff. The two mountain ridges run straight as lances, north and south. Between them, far below us, lies the Dead Sea, sparkling like lapis lazuli in the sun. We will descend here, but first we stop at the temple to pay our respect to the gods and toll to the priests, so we may enter the oasis of En Gedi.

Afterward, we make our way carefully down the steep slope, our presence scattering a family of ibex. One male stops to regard us, the scraggly beard under his chin quivering as he continues to chew.
Danel loosens a quickly strung arrow that ensures dinner and the prize of the horns.

A small settlement exists at the cliff's foot to support and protect the priests. The men here make a balsam from the resin of a thorny plant that grows at the cliff's base. Its making is a highly-guarded secret men have died to protect, and the scent is meant only for use in the temple, but an exception is made for one trusted trader—my father. We stop long enough to share a meal and procure a tiny bronze vial of it.

We leave the oasis too soon for me and head south, following the line of cliffs, banded in colors of spice, that rise to our right. On our left, the Dead Sea gleams in the harsh sunlight, its depths ending abruptly in green shallows as clear as dragonfly wings. We camp in caves set into the cliff walls. Father knows the ones that hoard fresh water in their hidden recesses.

In the days that follow, we cross the broad, flat valley that wraps the southern end of the Dead Sea. The cliffs we leave behind are now hazed, and the eastern bluffs rise before us. Beyond their heights, toward the rising sun, stretches a desert and beyond it, the great cities of Babylon and Ur. Of course, no one is foolish enough to travel straight across the desert. The caravan route to Babylon and Ur lies along the Kings' Road, following the great, verdant arch that begins in Egypt and ends in Babylonia. But this day, we go to Sodom for a load of pitch and salt to carry to Egypt.

We come at last to Lot's southern pastures. Fed by fresh waters from the east, this land is said to be as lush as the region tipping Egypt's great river. As an experienced traveler, I say this is not so. Still, it is rich grazing and dotted with yellow, white, and red flowers eager to take advantage of spring rains.

We set up tents for our return. The caravan will stay here. We take only what we need for the short journey to Sodom. As much as I want Nami with me, I decide to leave her at the tents, because I do not know how welcome she will be at Lot's house. Besides, wild dogs—eaters of rats and garbage—roam city streets, and I do not want her mixing with them or getting into fights with a pack.

Danel agrees to make certain Nami has food and water and a chance to relieve herself. I do not like trusting him, but we have talked more on the journey from Abram's tents than we have my entire life, and he is my best choice.

“I will return, Nami,” I tell her, but I have to tie her, as much as it pains me. She strains against the camel-hair rope as we leave. It is the first time she has not been at my side since her pups died, even when she belonged to Chiram. So far, I have not mentioned her change in status to my father, and I do not think Chiram has thought to, either. Why stir trouble into a pot already salted?

We travel along the southern shore of the Dead Sea. When Sodom looms before us, I can also see Gomorrah in the distance. Lot has a house inside the city gates of Sodom. He insists that we be his guests. As we approach the main gate, we are careful to stay on the path. To our right are the charnel houses and shaft tombs of the dead. To the left, between us and the sea, pools of bitumen dot the rocky landscape. The stones glare white in the sunlight, a stark contrast to the black pitch they cup. Some call this the land of Mot, the underworld god.

“Here is where King Bera fell, in the wars before your birth,” Lot instructs, as though I am a child bereft of any learning.

I wrinkle my nose. I hope Bera died of a sword and did not drown in the slimy pits. It seems an unworthy death for a king trying to defend his people.

We enter through the main gate. Two towers built on stone and wood foundations flank the gate and loom above us. The area just inside spreads out around a central well into a large open square, known as the Gate. All along the city's wall, merchants sell wares, livestock, and food. Men and women crowd the area, as eager for the exchange of gossip as for the purchase and sale of goods.

Roads radiate from the Gate, like spokes of a wheel, where the sellers of finer goods have more permanent structures or even houses for their merchandise. People, mostly of Canaan, fill the streets. I note some wearing the garb of Hittites and a couple of Hurrians, men of the Horse Tribes. Not long ago, Egyptians ruled here, but I see no sign of them now. My father says they are busy with their own problems, but that does not mean they will not turn their attention again to Canaan.

Sodom prepares for the Spring Rites. Gold and red flowers adorn the women's hair, and red ribbons gaily decorate slender asherah poles honoring the goddess.

Many eyes turn to Mika and Raph, who are noticeable even in this crowd. I am busy watching the women who are busy watching Raph.

Mika seems lost in his own thoughts. Raph bends to pluck a handful of dates from a basket set between the owner's brown legs. The man looks up to protest, but as his gaze continues up, he seems to think better of it and waves his hand, as if it were his idea to offer dates to Raph, and in fact, Raph should help himself to more.

Raph tosses him a small nugget of copper, more than fair compensation for a handful of dates, and turns to Lot. “Abram claims Asherah is El's consort, but these people speak of a Baal?”

I had not thought him interested in talk around us. From this, I tuck away the knowledge that he hears, even when he appears not to be listening.

“Asherah
is
El's wife,” Lot says, “but these people wrongly believe that she is Baal's wife.”

I am happy not to have to understand the intricate politics and pairings of the gods. Gods do what they wish. Should a son take his mother as wife in our human world, it would be considered an abomination. Sister and brother, of course, are another matter and almost common among royalty. Sarai and Abram are half-siblings. Still, the ways of Sodom are not the ways of my tribe.