Forbidden (8 page)

The temperature dropped and the air turned colder. As I approached our bedding, which lay on top of tarps under a shelter of scrub brush, I heard Leila crying and I crawled into bed next to her and reached out to take her hand.

“Leila,” I whispered. “Are you all right?”

She didn’t speak at first, her back to me. And then she rolled over, shielding Sahmril, who was fast asleep between us for extra warmth. “My thoughts are hateful and horrible. At least you’ll think so.”

“I would never think that.”

“I can’t help wishing that our mother had lived, and Sahmril had not.”

I reached out to wipe away the tears that rolled down her chin. It seemed evil to wish for our mother’s life instead of Sahmril’s, but I didn’t blame Leila for how she felt. “Perhaps it’s a good thing
we
didn’t have to choose between them.”

There was silence between us and little comfort out here, without shelter. My baby sister would be crying again before dawn. A moment later, Leila threw the blanket over her head and fell asleep. She usually hid when life became too unbearable, just as she had disappeared while Kadesh was being doctored.

I rolled onto my back, unable to get warm. Finally I rose
and hovered over the remains of the fire, but I still felt chilled.

The camels huddled together, softly chewing their cud. I was tempted to curl up next to one, but I needed to do something first.

This day must end with my last thoughts for my mother.

Stepping around the sleeping forms of my sister and my father, I tiptoed to the perimeter of the camp toward the litter, now taken down from the back of our camel and sitting on the ground for the night. Not having a candle, I parted the curtains, using my hands to sweep under the piles of pillows and blankets. At last my fingers touched the hard piece of wood wrapped in one of Leila’s scarves.

I rocked back on my heels and caressed the dark golden piece of wood. In the moonlight, the figure’s polished strands of hair cut from the terebinth bark were glossy, her legs firm, her hips and breasts lovely.

“What secrets do you hold?” I whispered in the night air. “What music do you dance to? Certainly not the music of my tribe. Is this why you are forbidden, as my mother always said?”

No immediate answers came, and I finally placed the dancing woman back under the pillows so Leila wouldn’t be screaming at me in the morning. Then I found a large, flat rock away from my sleeping family and sat down, shivering inside the folds of my old, worn cloak.

A shooting star dropped out of the sky, sizzling at the horizon. I wanted to hear the voice of my mother one more time. I tried to recall the sound of her laughter, the music of her singing, the vision of her dancing.

Her soul had gone somewhere else, somewhere I couldn’t see. I tried to conjure her beautiful face, her strong arms, the touch of her hands stroking my hair. “I’ve never felt so lost in all my life,” I told her softly, hoping her spirit was nearby and could hear me. “I’m afraid I will lose Leila to the desert’s harshness—or the Temple of Ashtoreth. I’m afraid Sahmril will die because I don’t know how to take care of her. And—” I paused, knowing I shouldn’t say this out loud. “And I’m afraid to marry Horeb, even though I know you wanted me to, and it is my duty to our family and tribe.”

Only last night I’d danced with my mother and sister and grandmother. Eaten sweets until my stomach ached. Laughed at the women teasing me about the marriage bed, and shivered with fear as I stood in the circle to dance by myself for the first time.

“Turn to the dance of our ancient mothers,” a voice seemed to whisper to me along the wind.

With the memory of my mother’s face before me, I dropped my cloak to the rock, raised my arms, and began moving them in slow half circles—first my right arm, then my left, swaying to the silent music of the desert.

I dug my toes into grains of sand still warm from the day’s sun, and outlined the moon overhead with my wrists and arms, gazing at the white, perfect sphere encrusted by a galaxy of stars. Closing my eyes, I pressed my legs together to form small, tight hip circles. Four to the right, and then four to the left. With each change of direction I increased the speed of the circles until my body began to warm up and loosen all the fear
and grief I’d been holding in all day.

Then I brought my arms higher and clasped my hands flat together overhead. In this position, I began a series of hip thrusts, holding the rest of myself as still as possible. My mother had once shown me how to balance on my back foot while putting my front foot forward.

I practiced hip drops, bringing my hands down and holding them at my hip bone so I could experience the movement more fully. When I ended my dance with a series of final slow circles, there was a film of sweat on my forehead. Finally, I was tired—not from stress and grief, but from physical exhaustion.

I raised my eyes and hands to the sky, hoping I could pull down the powers of heaven.

“Life for Sahmril,” I whispered like a prayer. “Safe passage to the northlands. Abundant rain and life for the families of my father and Shem. A tender heart and flowing milk for Dinah.”

I began to drop my hands, and then added, “And healing for the stranger, Kadesh, as well as a safe journey back to his uncle.”

I picked up my cloak to return to bed, trying to get Kadesh out of my mind, and then realized I’d forgotten someone—my sister Leila. Perhaps she was the person I needed to pray for the most.

As I finished, a dark shape crossed my path. The saltbush crackled and I let out a small shriek. “Who’s there?”

A male voice spoke from the darkness. “It’s only me, Kadesh.”

“By the god of heavens,” I hissed. “You scare me again!
The second time today.”

“It wasn’t intended. Either time.”

“You lie, sir. Jumping down from the bluff was no accident.”

“That’s true, but I didn’t want you to run away. Blame it on crazed thirst, or a delirious fear that I was going to die.”

I took a step backward, every nerve along my skin raw and exposed, knowing he’d watched me—again—as I danced in the darkness. He was too close, too personal, listening to my prayers.

His face had invaded my mind all day. His voice rang like music in my ears; his touch stirred my emotions. And now he was here, as if I’d called to him; as if our souls were speaking to each other without using any words.

“What are you doing up from your bed?” I asked him. “You need to sleep, to heal.”

“The burned skin makes my sleep restless. I needed some cool desert air.”

“Let me get you a wet cloth. The first hours are the most painful.” As I turned, my arm accidentally brushed against the soft weave of his cloak. He was closer than I realized. Too close. “Just now, you were watching me again, weren’t you?”

“I confess my shortcomings, daughter of Pharez.”

“It’s not right.” I lowered my voice. “You know that.”

A heartbeat passed, and then he asked, “What is this dance you do when all the world is asleep?”

“A prayer for strength.”

“Strength for who?”

I stared into his eyes, feeling parts of me pulled in every direction. My heart pounded so fast my face was hot, even in the chilly air. “You ask too many questions. Go back to bed. You need to heal.” I needed him to leave me alone. I needed to encase my heart with stone so that he couldn’t penetrate it. Emotions surged over me, mystifying, and yet powerfully real. Even as I tried to push the feelings away, I wanted to draw them close.

Perhaps the young man wasn’t so dangerous to my family. Maybe Kadesh was only dangerous to me.

There was silence and I took a step toward camp, then paused. “Do the women of the southern lands dance for prayer and childbirth and celebrations?”

He frowned, and I wondered what he was thinking. “No,” he finally said. “They celebrate in other ways.”

I rubbed at my arms and stammered, “Please don’t—don’t watch me again.”

“Your warning is noted. But what if I stumble upon you—or what if I can’t resist?”

I took a sharp breath, noting his words and his meaning. I felt his eyes on my face in the starlight. “Restraint is a virtue,” I said simply, and turned and headed back to my bed. I was proud of myself that I didn’t look back.

T
he sun plowed a path over the ridge of approaching mountains, baking the earth even though it was only midmorning. I stood in the shade my camel, Shiz, provided, holding Sahmril, who Dinah had nursed that morning and would now sleep for a few hours. Nalla had helped me create a sling out of two lengths of linen and wrap it around my shoulder, making a pouch to hold the infant. The sling made walking easier, but I was already sweating from my sister’s body heat as I listened to the men discuss the route north. We had been traveling for the last two days and were getting close to Edomite land and the canyon lands that lay before Tadmur and the oasis.

“The dunes here are hazardous,” I heard Kadesh say. “They’ll collapse under the weight of the camels.”

My father stroked his beard, nodded in agreement. “We
must go around the dunes.”

Shem crossed his arms, throwing Kadesh a look that wasn’t quite confident. “That will take an extra day. We can’t spare the time,” he said abruptly.

“I doubt the main tribe crossed them either,” Kadesh said. “They’re probably also skirting the dunes. Here are the fresh tracks. Do you recognize them as your tribesmen?”

I squinted into the emptiness, hoping to see a line of distant camels that would indicate the tribe up ahead, but the horizon was vacant. Only the ragged range of mountains glittered in the morning heat.

“We’ll avoid the line of dunes, and go north toward the mountain canyons,” my father finally said decisively.

“The land of Edom lies ahead in those mountains,” Shem spoke up. “We need to avoid that at all cost.”

“The Edomites make no war with our tribe,” my father said. “If we go too far east at this point we’ll miss the line of wells completely. Besides, straight east puts us in the heart of the Assyrian desert. We must continue north, then part at the crossroads as originally planned.”

Shem threw his hands in the air. “I’ve said my warning. Your family may be killed in their sleep if you take the path through Edomite country. Thieves lurk in those hills.”

I was curious to know what my father and Kadesh’s opinion was about Shem’s warning. The fear of murdering thieves made my gut tighten, but I saw Kadesh quickly shake his head, as if to reassure me that the Edomite country wasn’t as bad as Shem insisted.

“You should listen to Kadesh,” I blurted out. “He knows this country, these people. His caravans travel through here on their way to Salem, right?”

My father and Shem gave me long, hard looks while Kadesh appeared startled that I’d vouched for his knowledge and wisdom. I should have kept my mouth shut, but the words had burst forth. There was something about Kadesh that made me bold. Awareness of his silent, unspoken language toward me rippled like a hot wave along my spine.

Muttering curses, Shem stomped off. I was glad that my father and Kadesh were in agreement. As Kadesh went past me to get the line of camels moving again, I reached out a hand to stop him.

“How is the wound after these days of healing?”

“Your father and Shem worked a small miracle with their torturous piece of hot metal. I think I’ll live after all.”

“That’s good.” I started walking back to my camel.

“Jayden,” Kadesh called.

I turned, my pulse pounding in my throat.

He smiled. “Thank you for your concern.” He continued to watch me as he placed his scarf around his lower face.

“I’d be worried about anyone that came so close to death,” I said lightly as I turned and kept walking. But that wasn’t true, and I knew it deep within my soul. With each step I felt Kadesh’s eyes on my back, and I wondered if he could discern that I was not quite telling the truth. That the sight of him each morning as we ate breakfast made my heart fly into my throat. And each evening as I set up our beds and gathered
firewood, pretending nonchalance, I actually hung on to his every word.

Our journey continued, and hours later we finally reached the last well before we entered the worst part of the trip—the land of desolation. With a heaviness dragging at my soul, I filled the waterskins. The well was low, the water poor and brackish. The female camels’ milk had already turned watery without much to eat for a week. The animals complained and grew stubborn, slowing their pace, dragging out our journey.

Our food supply was also depleting. I had to cut back on the flour for our nightly bread. The bag of dates was growing lighter as we used up our winter stock. During the heat of the day when I was sleepy and sluggish, I dreamed of the fat, juicy dates at the oasis, of eating until my belly burst. I awoke drenched in sweat and lethargic as if I were ill.

Everyone was irritable—the desert harshness taking its toll on our little group. Sometimes I wondered if we were wandering in circles. To our left, a ridge of hills rose like the sharp, skeleton ribs of a dead animal. Slippery gravel shale caused the camels to lose their footing and our pace slowed dramatically.

The shimmering sand of the flat infinite desert to my right was a constant mirage, tricking my mind with the lust for water.

I lay against Shiz, listening to the men argue as they did each afternoon during the worst of the heat when we stopped to rest for an hour or two. And I began to wonder if we would
ever catch up with our tribe’s caravan, or if we would die out here.

I didn’t remember the journey being so difficult before. Was it really taking longer this year? Was the desert heat fiercer than usual? Perhaps life just seemed more miserable because Mother wasn’t here with her stories and songs to make our burden lighter.

Burying my face into Shiz’s coarse hair, I bit back tears of misery. The camel’s huge, black eyes peered at me through the dirty tassels hanging over her forehead, and I wondered if she sensed my grief and worries.

Suddenly, fresh shouts echoed in the searing temperatures. The men were arguing worse than ever, and I turned to see that Shem and his family were repacking their camels, in spite of the fact that we wouldn’t be leaving for another hour, when the sun lowered a bit.

I jumped to my feet and felt my legs buckle, feverous heat sucking the little energy I had.

Shem and my father’s voices took on a different quality as I flew to my father’s side.

“What are you doing?” I said, sounding shrill.

“Look at the dust cloud up ahead,” my father said grimly. “Those are Shem’s relatives at the crossroads. It’s time to part ways.”

His words slammed into my mind. “I thought we’d get to the mountains before we separated.”

My father shook his head with a grimace. “Shem was
determined to avoid the Edomite canyons—and now we have to go through them alone. I’m sorry, Jayden.”

“We have to face the Edomites by ourselves?” I reeled on my feet. Even though the Edomites had no feud with our tribe, it was always safer to go through another tribe’s territory with a large group. Since the Edomites had water and a village marketplace hidden inside their valleys, there were sure to be roving hunters or scavengers, ready to steal what we owned.

I hurried over to Nalla, who should have been happy to see her husband’s family coming toward us across the plain. Instead, she was angrily throwing bundles of clothing and food jars into baskets. Sahmril was in Dinah’s arms, finally asleep after crying most of the morning.

Without a word, Dinah strode over to me and placed my sister into my arms.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Our relatives are here and I’m going with them. So here is your sister.”

“But if you leave her with me, you will be dooming her to starvation! You promised to feed her.”

Dinah wouldn’t look at me. “Dinah,” I started again, trying to keep my voice calm. “Watery camel’s milk isn’t enough. She’ll starve. I’m begging you, please care for her.”

Dinah whirled around. “What about my own child? What if I don’t have enough milk for him?”

“I’ll give you my best camel, anything you wish. Please keep her with you and keep her alive until we can meet again.”

Snapping the baskets closed, Nalla spoke in a terse voice. “Dinah, I’m ashamed to have raised such a selfish daughter.”

“We may all die before the journey’s end,” Dinah said, drawing herself upright.

“You’re right,” Nalla said, taking her daughter’s hands in her own. “The desert is cruel and we live one day at a time. And if we die helping someone else, then God will reward us in the next life.”

“I’m supposed to take her out of guilt?”

“Guilt is a start at being a charitable woman!”

I tried not to panic, but words I hadn’t planned burst out of my mouth. “What if I came with you to help care for her?”

There was silence as my father and Leila and Kadesh all stared at me. What had I done? I didn’t want to leave my family. Leave Leila—or Kadesh. But I also didn’t want to leave my baby sister to Dinah either. The woman would treat her with derision or disregard. But if I went with Shem’s family, I may never see my own again. Both choices were unimaginable.

“No! Jayden, you can’t leave me,” Leila screamed, stumbling toward me. “I need you. We can’t be parted.”

She clung to me and I realized how thin she was getting. Her weak fingers pawed at my arm as her eyes pleaded with me. Leila had never been very strong. The cooking, the cleaning, the dirty work, tending Sahmril—she did very little of it. Maybe she really wasn’t made for this kind of life as I was. She needed attention, to be pampered and fed and admired. If I left her alone to make the rest of the journey—a single
girl, even with our father—it was more likely the Edomites might kidnap her.

My heart was shredding into pieces. Both my sisters needed me for survival, but how could I part with either one of them?

“Sahmril needs Dinah’s milk,” Leila went on in a quieter voice. “She and Nalla can take care of her until she’s weaned and we can find her again in the city of Mari. When
we
are stronger. And Father’s herd is replenished—” Leila broke off, and her face turned red with shame to speak of our father’s meager circumstances so plainly in front of others.

My father’s expression stiffened when he stared at me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and weep for a week. None of this would be happening if we’d saved my mother. Losing her was too enormous to even comprehend, today worst of all as I watched Shem’s family resolutely packing up and tying their herd together.

My father took a step forward. “Shem. Dinah. Nalla. We will do whatever you will us to do.”

I bit my lips, but the tears I’d been fiercely holding back slipped out anyway.

Nalla stared hard at her married daughter and there was a terrible silence in the camp.

“Please,” Leila whispered again, so softly, I swore the wind had taken her plea and stolen it.

Finally, Dinah started throwing pillows and cooking pots right and left. Her thin face flashed. “Fine. I’ll take her. I will expect to see you in one year’s time or less to get her back. But if my son dies because of her—I will make you pay dearly.”

My legs turned weak with relief. “Thank you, Dinah, thank you,” I whispered, embracing her even though she stood rigidly before me. “Always, you will be my sister for this.”

She didn’t answer, just turned away and kept packing.

I could hear the sounds of Shem’s shouting, Nalla’s frustration, Leila’s weeping, but I tried to block it all out as I buried my face into Sahmril’s soft, sweet neck. I didn’t want to say good-bye. I wasn’t sure which good-bye was more painful. Preparing my mother’s body for burial and letting her spirit fly away into the empty sky—or watching Dinah take my sister and treat her as she would a slave.

It would be so easy for Dinah to leave my little sister on the desert trail to die. When we met again, months from now, all Dinah would have to say was that Sahmril had taken sick. And I’d never know the truth.

I swayed on my feet, unable to doom my baby sister to such a fate. But as my mother’s face swam before my eyes, I also knew I couldn’t let her down by not doing everything I could to save my family.

A moment later, my father’s hand was on my shoulder. “Sometimes the desert gives no choices,” he said quietly.

Impatiently, Dinah turned toward her crying toddler, who was trying to pull a piece of bread out of one of the baskets.

“Tell me, Dinah,” I said, swallowing past my raw throat. “Which camel do you want? I will have my father untie the animal and bring it to you. May her milk help care for my sister and your own son, too.”

Dinah pointed to the camel that still lay where I’d been
resting. “That one. With the tassels falling over its eyes.”

Shiz
. I felt myself choke. Dinah had picked one of our very best animals, and my favorite.

“Fine,” I said, my eyes swimming. “She’s yours.”

“There’s something else,” Dinah added, and the unpleasant glare she gave me caused me to prickle with dislike. “The camel will provide milk for your sister when she’s weaned, or perhaps meat if needed, but I want something for me.”

“What else could you possibly want besides my beloved camel?” I swallowed the harsh words, willing myself not to be selfish. After all, Dinah would sacrifice much to care for Sahmril. She should be given a token of payment. My mother would want me to do that.

Dinah stepped closer, and her eyes were like slits of yellow in the harsh sunlight. “I want your jewelry. Your necklace and earrings and bracelets.”

I sucked in a breath.
“No,”
I whispered. “It was my mother’s last gift—it’s all that I own.”

Instantly, Nalla shuddered beside me. “Dinah!” she exclaimed. “How can you ask such a thing?”

Dinah ignored her. “They are very fine and worth much. Just like your sister Sahmril. I believe I ask for a fair trade.”

I was so outraged I couldn’t find any words. My jewelry was the only thing of worth that I owned. My dowry. My measure of beauty and worth as a woman. Even poor women had their blood jewelry, though it might be the only jewelry they ever owned their entire life.

“Sahmril’s life for your jewelry,” Dinah repeated.

I couldn’t believe she was doing this—robbing me of these precious possessions. A stabbing pain throbbed behind my eyes as I unhooked the earrings. The strands of the silver necklace, the symbols of my clan, the moon and evening star, disappeared into Dinah’s outstretched, grimy hands.