Second Touch (30 page)

PART III We all, like sheep, have gone astray, Each of us has turned to his own way; And Adonai has laid upon Him The iniquity of us all. Surely He took up our infirmities And carried our sorrows. ISAIAH 53:6, 4

220 “Let me hold him one more time,” Deborah rasped as Lily finished packing. Food enough for the journey home. Baby Isra’el, belly full from a supper of goat’s milk, slept in a woven basket opposite Deborah’s mat. Lily scooped him up carefully and placed him beside Deborah. He did not awaken but instinctively turned his face toward his mother’s breast. “He’s perfect,” Deborah whispered. “Isn’t he, Lily?”

“Perfect. Yes.” Lily could not look at her. She resumed the task of preparing for the journey. “We were all like this once. Look at his skin. Perfect. Little ears. His eyelashes. Oh, look, Lily! Once I was . . . beautiful . . . once.” “No use thinking about what was.” “Your mother will love him.” “Yes. Mama will.” “Tell me again, Lily. Tell me about her. About your mother.” “Her hair was gold. Like mine. Eyes blue. Like mine. She had a bright and happy laugh. Loved to sing. Always she was singing around the house and . . .” “You’re a lot like her.” The thought of such a thing made Lily stop, raise her eyes, look at the cloudless sky beyond the Valley. Was Mama thinking of her at that moment? Somehow knowing Lily would return? What would she do after so many years? So many silent, lonely years? “I suppose I would have been like her. If things had been different.” “And she’ll rock him to sleep at night. Tell him stories. She’ll love my baby boy, won’t she, Lily?” “Yes. Yes. Mama will . . . she’ll love . . . him.” “Look. Look, Lily. He looks so much like his father, ¬don’t you think? So much like Jekuthiel? He’ll grow up to be strong and handsome. He’ll marry and have children. Our grandchildren. And . . . won’t he, Lily?” “Yes. Yes. Deborah.” “He’ll never know. Never. Never know about us.” “No. Never.” “Well, then. Well . . . then. Farewell.” She kissed his silken skin with ragged, blackened lips. “Farewell, my little boy. Someday. Someday. Oh! Take him, Lily! Take him now! Now before I change my mind! Go! Take him away! Away!” The child began to wail. Lily took him from her arms. Deborah turned her face to the stone wall and sobbed quietly as Lily left.

A final farewell. Lily climbed the path to Cantor’s stone for one last look over the Valley of Sorrows, which had been her ¬only home since she was rejected. She knew as she looked down that she would never return. What use? Cantor dead. Deborah and Baruch slipping from life. She would carry baby Isra’el back to Mama. Leave him, whole and beautiful, in her care. A parting gift of life to say, Here, Mama. A child for you to love . . . a life for the one taken from you. . . . I always loved you, Mama. And then Lily would die content . . . die Outside. There, among thousands of graves, was the mound of Cantor’s grave. Smoke spiraled up from the cook fires. Her people, the half ¬people—people of half hands and half faces—had loved her with whole hearts. The chains of suffering had bound them to one another.

How Lily loved them as they lived out their dying lives! Hideous faces. Marred beyond human appearance. Those Outside could not look upon them without terror. Despised. Rejected. Acquainted with grief. And yet how Lily loved the people of this Valley! ¬I’m praying again, God of Suffering. Someday when ¬I’m freed from this grim vision of life on earth, let my soul unite again with their souls, whole and beautiful! And let us who die without tongues sing praise in the presence of assenting angels. For now? Against my will my heart beats on between the hammer blows of grief. My hope? That someday ¬every stroke drummed on my spirit will be music for some great chorus sung before your throne! And then? Will you smile then, God of My Anguish? Will you turn your eyes on me then . . . and clap your hands in pleasure of my part? Then . . . then, how I will cherish this long night of my affliction! And I will regret the hours I could not bend my knee and bow more deeply and thank you for my suffering!

Slowly the long shadows of early morning rolled back from the deep Valley of Mak’ob. Halfway up the steep climb Lily paused and took a final look at the place that had been her home for so many years. She was afraid. More afraid to leave than she had been to enter. She knew firsthand how those living in her village treated tsara’im. They killed the wounded and called the judgment righteous! ¬I’m praying again, Unyielding One. Even if I die for daring to come back from this grave into their world, have mercy on Isra’el! Save this baby! Everything familiar seemed so insignificant, so toylike from this high vantage. The rabbi’s house. The stone bema where even now a few limped out for morning prayers. The well. Groves of ragged trees. Shacks, shanties, hollow shelters scratched out from the sides of the cliffs. The cave where Deborah lay dying. The larger cavern where those severely crippled were laid. The vast, crowded rubble of the graveyard, where so many more would likely be buried before Lily would return to the Valley. Only 610 souls remained below now as Lily and the baby climbed out. And yet the rabbi had told her there was always enough to refill the cup of suffering in the Valley of Mak’ob. Who would descend into the colony and replace Lily and Isra’el by the end of the day? The bell of the Hawk tinkled as he swooped from rock to bush to outcropping. The bird kept a constant pace as he followed Lily up and up the switchback trail leading from the Valley. The rope of the milk goat was secured around Lily’s waist. The creature, undaunted by the steep climb, nipped at stray blades of grass along the

way. Baby Isra’el was asleep in the sling that hung from Lily’s neck. From the switchback above her sounded a warning. A battered, filthy woman cried out from behind her veil, “Unclean!” “Shalom,” Lily replied, smelling the decay of number 611. So Lily met her replacement at the hairpin turn. “¬I’m also a leper.” Relief and terror mixed in the woman’s question. It was clear to Lily this one had not yet accepted her fate. The filth-caked garment showed some remnant of flowers embroidered on the hem. It had been a pretty dress, Lily reckoned. And maybe this leper had also once been pretty. “This is it then? The Valley of Mak’ob? The colony for . . . for . . . tsara’im? But you ¬aren’t . . .” Lily presented the remnant of her left hand. “Yes.” Desperation gushed from the wild-eyed stranger. Unconscious, babbling near to madness. “I’ve been wandering. Wandering. Driven out from ¬every place. Weeks. They threw stones at me! Drove me out! ¬I’m half starved! Weeks since I left home. Weeks!” So. The Outside had not changed in the six years since Lily had been cast off. Lily averted her gaze from the haunted eyes. The newcomer’s feet were bloody stumps. Worms wriggled in the flesh of her toes. She would not last long, this one, unless the feet were amputated. Fingers too. Rabbi Ahava would have a job to save this one from her neglect. “Home?” Lily asked. “Gaza. My family. My husband and . . .” “You’ve come a long way.” “You’re just a girl. Is that a baby in the sling?” The woman leaned forward and reached out as if she would touch Isra’el with a gangrenous claw. Lily drew back. “He’s not sick.” “He? I have three boys at home.” The voice of the woman broke. Then she remembered herself and pulled the veil close over her mouth. Hiding what she has become behind the memory of what she once was. “Why is he here? A baby! In such a terrible place?” “¬I’m taking him Outside. Born here. Mother and father both tsara.” The outcast began to sob. “I ¬didn’t know. How can this be? Children here! I have three boys . . . three sons . . . at home.” Lily had heard it a hundred times before. She lowered her head and tugged the rope of the milk goat. “I’ve got to go. Let me by. ¬I’m taking him up from here. Outside.” “I . . . ¬didn’t know. Children!” The stranger stepped aside, clinging to a sagebush for balance as Lily passed. Then, a reprise of terror. “Tell me, girl!” she called after Lily. “What are they . . . like? Down there?” Lily kept her eye on the Hawk as he flitted to a fallen stump. She was just as frightened to be leaving the familiarity of Mak’ob as this woman was to be entering it. Lily focused on the Hawk’s bell. Guiding her up and up, away from her home, her people. She trudged on. “We’re just people. Like you. Go on. There’s a good rabbi

named Ahava. Expecting you. At this hour he’ll be making morning prayers with his congregation.” “Where?” she called. “The flat rock. The bema of our synagogue.”

The sky seemed no closer at the top of the precipice than it had from the bottom of the Valley of Sorrow. Blue. So blue. Yes. Wide and deep like the Sea of Galilee. Unbroken blue except for a few clouds in the west. The west. Where Lily’s home had been so long ago. Home. Where Mama lived. The little house Papa had built with his own hands the year of Lily’s birth. Home. Where Papa farmed his patch of earth for the great landlord of Capernaum. Home. Her brothers would be nearly grown now. Like young trees with thickening trunks and hardened bark. Home. The sky seemed no closer, but memories tumbled down on her with an avalanche of grief. She remembered ¬everything! Mama! Papa! Lily ached for what was as though it were yesterday when she had lost her life! Step followed step. Certain. Unhurried. The bell of the Hawk preceded her, announcing her return from the tomb of Mak’ob. The milk goat behind. The baby in her arms. She approached the stone cottage of the Overseer, who guarded the entrance to the Valley. The gatehouse was ancient, built between the two enormous boulders that served as the upper entrance to Mak’ob. It was outside this station that charitable supplies were delivered. Overseer took a cut of ¬everything for himself before he allowed the goods to be retrieved by the lepers and carried into the Valley. No one entered or left without his permission. Overseer was a large, heavyset Samaritan with a bulbous nose and eyebrows that sprouted like miniature broom trees above his black, dead eyes. He had deserted the Roman legion, it was rumored, and had fled to the wilderness for refuge. He got no farther than this gatehouse, where he lived for twenty years with the old man who had preceded him in the post. Sometimes young women from the Valley whose disease was not far advanced made trips to his hut by night. They returned in the morning with food or clothes. Lily had never before known what the women had exchanged for these gifts. Now, after her one night with Cantor, she guessed. How would she get past him? ¬I’m praying again! Praying . . . Oh! Please! The Overseer sat in a chair beside the entrance to his hut. Sausagelike fingers curled around the neck of his wine jar. His head lolled to one side. Sleeping! A half-jackal dog slept at his feet. Lily hung back a moment, like a deer trembling at the edge of an open

meadow. Waiting. Watching. Fear made her mouth dry. ¬I’m . . . praying . . . how? Show me! Invisible One! ¬I’m praying! Hawk launched from the branch of a bristlecone pine. His bell tinkled as his shadow traced a path directly in front of the Overseer. The Samaritan did not awaken. Hawk passed beyond the barrier, flared, and landed Outside on the flat table rock where supplies were deposited. Lily took a step forward. Then another. ¬I’m praying again, God Who Soars. Give me wings! Like Hawk! Lily followed the path of the shadow. She approached Overseer. The stink of wine and urine was heavy in the air. Baby Isra’el stirred and whimpered. The goat bawled and pulled against its rope! Suddenly the dog leapt up! Snarling at Lily, it blocked her path! She froze, her heart beating like a small bird. Praying! God of . . . Unseen . . . ! Hawk launched again, swooping just above the hut. Overseer awakened with a start. His grizzled head jerked up in drunken irritation. “What? What?” He slapped the dog and gazed around. His eye passed by Lily as though she was not there, then caught sight of the Hawk. “Just a shadow! Look there! A hawk! What now? You! Shut up! Shut up! There’s nothin’ there! Nothin’ there a’tall. A shadow on the ground! Daft!” Another blow cowed the creature. It slunk back to its place, where it glared sullenly at Lily. Hawk swooped over her again, brushing her head with his wing tip. His shadow urged her forward. Lifting her chin, she fixed her eyes on the way. She took a step. Overseer did not seem to notice her. Praying again! Frightened! How could this be? The dog growled, low and menacing. Its master slapped the creature to silence, took a draught of wine, and wiped his greasy chin with the back of his hand. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his keffiyeh as Lily walked, unseen, within two yards of him. Outside! The dog sprang to its feet in a fit of wild barking at her back. She whirled around as Overseer stood and glared at her. “You! Hey! What’re you here for, miss? Delivery day ¬isn’t till next week. New moon. That’s the rule.” So he thought she had come to the Valley to make a delivery. “I’ve come to . . . to bring this goat. To my . . . my sister.” He eyed the milk goat with interest. “Nothing goes in to them dead ones without my say-so. You can leave the goat. I’ll see she gets it.” “No . . . I’ll come back.” She turned from him. Would he recognize her as one of those who had carried loads of supplies down the switchback trail to the Valley? Would he remember she was one of the dead who inhabited Mak’ob? “What’s that you got there?” he demanded gruffly as he strode unsteadily toward her. “An infant is it?”

“My baby.” The shadow of Hawk touched her face as he circled restlessly above her. “A baby is it?” He reached for Lily. “Newborn, eh? Well. You’re a pretty young thing. Pretty. Yes. Care to come inside and rest yourself awhile?” “No!” she shouted as he grasped her arm. At her cry the Hawk shrieked and swooped, flashing between Overseer and Lily. The Samaritan cursed and lashed out as sharp talons lacerated his scalp. Hawk careened to the side, hitting the dog with a loud crack on its skull, sending it yelping toward its master. “What’s this? What’s this!” The Overseer stumbled over the dog. Kicked at it. “Get by, you! What’s this!” The Overseer shielded his face as Hawk dove a second time, then a third, and fourth. The Hawk flailed at the Overseer’s head, his neck, his ears. Each pass brought a hiss of wings like a flying serpent; each screeching plunge and stab came nearer the Overseer’s eyes. He flung up his hands to shield his face and lurched blindly toward his house. Lily ran from the struggle as the guard took shelter inside. Overseer roared after her, “You! You! Woman! What are you doing here? Go on with you! Nobody gets by without my say-so! You hear me! Nobody!”