Chapter Twenty-Six

 Paw Paw patch

©  Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Also take with you every sort of food that is eaten, and store it up. It shall serve as food for you and them.” Gen. 6:21

            Not even the river rushing beyond the trees had been able to drown out Ham’s nasal complaining. He’d been griping nonstop since early morning. Shem assumed his brother was upset about having to leave Eudocea for the day, but disappointment was no excuse for whining and Shem was weary of listening. “Go ahead, Ham,” he snapped sarcastically. “Tell me again why you don’t like paw paws.” Shem reached up and plucked one of the shiny green fruits with dark spots.

“Well . . . ” Ham tilted his head, looking up and to the side in an attempt to feign concentration.  “Let’s see . . . I don’t like the slimy texture. I don’t like enormous black seeds in my fruit. I don’t like that wild-banana flavor. And especially I don’t like the snakes that lurk around here.” He scratched his arm.

“Were you unable to detect the sarcasm in my tone?” Shem walked to his donkey, shaking his head, and tucked the rest of the oblong paw paws he’d collected into one of the packs slung across the animal’s back.

“I detected your tone and didn’t care.”  Ham grinned and wiggled his brows, then scowled and scratched his other arm. “Don’t ask me to tell you something if you don’t want to hear.”

“We’ve got enough paw paws for now,” Shem said. He had to admit Ham won that battle of wits. “Let’s grab a few huckleberries from the bushes by that rock over there before we start home.”

“Stupid chiggers!” Ham scratched harder, his arm a raging red color. “I hate chiggers.”

Shem sighed and led his donkey toward the low shrubs heavy with blue berries. “I don’t like chiggers either, but I choose not to yammer on about them.”

Completely disregarding Shem’s words, Ham followed with his own donkey. Still complaining. “I think we should keep chiggers and paw paws far away from the ark. I, for one, would prefer a world without either of them and we have the power to make that happen, don’t we?”

He waggled his brows again, further irritating Shem who felt like popping him one.

“Won’t keeping chiggers off the ark be hard to do since you appear to have a whole family of the miniature insects living under your skin and as soon as you walk onto the ark . . .” Shem turned to flash a grin at Ham so he could observe his brother’s reaction. “Those chiggers will be right there with you, ready to reproduce and populate a post-flood world. We’ll have to keep you off the ark if you plan to exclude chiggers.”

Ham grimaced, showing his dimples. “We could at least ‘forget’ to take those paw paws aboard.”

“Won’t stop them from growing after the Flood.” Shem had resigned himself to the fact that the Flood rapidly approached, but a residual depression brought on by that acceptance plagued him.

“Why not? If we don’t take them to Mother there will be no seeds to dry . . .” Shem glanced back, and Ham took the opportunity to flash a victorious smile. “And without seeds . . . no paw paws to plant.” 

 “These are just for tonight’s meal. The only seeds Mother or Father plan to save are the ones we’ll and grind and eat during our voyage”

“No, Father said he intends to plant crops afterward. Grapes and spelt and . . . ”

 “And paw paws?” Shem interrupted, “Don’t think so. All the trees will sprout again without any help from us. Like olive trees, for instance. We’re not going to start new ones from seed. They’ll be in leaf and ready to produce fruit by the time we leave the ark. Food will already be growing from the earth.”

“How do you know that?” Ham asked.

“Because God always provides. And because he told Father to take every sort of food onto the ark so we’d have plenty to eat during the Flood, but he didn’t say anything about seeds for replanting the entire earth.” Shem snorted in derision. “Father must have told us that a thousand times. Don’t you listen?”

Shem’s conscience smote him as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew thinking about the Flood and his future made him anxious and he was venting at his brother’s expense. Treating Ham unkindly wouldn’t solve anything.

Shem opened his mouth to utter a rare apology when a terrified scream from Ham cut him off. Whipping around, Shem caught a movement of grass as something slithered away from his brother. Ham bent forward holding onto his right leg just above the knee, his face ashen and contorted in distress.

“Snake?” Shem rushed to his brother.

“Mmmhhhhhhh,” Ham groaned. 

“Up that high?”

“No. Shin.”

“Did you see the snake?”

“No. Aghhh. Hurts.”

“Hopefully the snake wasn’t venomous,” Shem said, though he knew Ham’s level of discomfort indicated otherwise. He supported his brother’s head and back while lowering him to the ground where he could examine the wound. “Two fang punctures. Poisonous.” Nonpoisonous snakes had rows of teeth. No fangs. Shem began squeezing around the wound, hoping to make the punctures bleed so poison would come out with the blood. “Keep holding your leg until I can wrap some strips around it. You need to calm down so the venom doesn’t pump through your system faster.”

Even as he said the words, Shem realized he was nearly as frightened as his brother and if he didn’t get his emotions under control, panic would compromise his judgment. He deliberately walked, instead of ran, to his donkey and fished around for the snake bite supplies they always kept with them though neither had been bitten before. A bar of lye soap, a walnut-sized bit of blackened bone and cloth strips. Finding them, he snatched up their last skin of water.

Kneeling beside his brother he ripped off a portion of a strip poured the last of the water on it. He washed the wound with soap and water, then wrapped the leg a hand-width above the punctures. Not too loose. Not too tight. “That should keep the venom in the lower leg. If you start wanting to move the leg that’ll mean the strips are too tight and we’ll need to loosen them,” Shem said evenly. “Now let’s see if we can bleed it out.”

Shem pulled the knife from his belt, crisscrossed two shallow cuts over the puncture site and carefully scraped the wound with the side of his knife. Venom-laden blood oozed down his brother’s leg and covered Shem’s hands.

“Eudocea,” Ham moaned, his face a mask of pain and fear.

“You’re not going to die.” Shem pressed around the wound, bringing more blood to the surface. “I’ll get you safely home to your wife.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can promise!” Shem insisted vehemently – almost angrily. He hoped Ham couldn’t read his thoughts because Shem didn’t believe his own words. Ham’s pallor and dull eyes didn’t bode well and Shem was terrified his brother would die before they returned home. “I’m going to suck out the venom.”

“No!” Ham shouted with unexpected strength. “That won’t guarantee my survival and it could kill you.”

“Okay.” Shem grudgingly relented. “You have to calm down. The more upset you get the more quickly the blood will circulate poison through your system.” Ham understood that, of course, but a reminder couldn’t hurt right now. “Do you want me to use the snake stone?” Shem asked.

He had no idea if snake stones actually pulled out venom as reported. After all, the “stone” was simply a small piece cut from a cow’s dry thigh-bone and baked in a charcoal fire. But anecdotes from all over claimed it worked, and anything that could give Ham confidence and soothe him was worth a try.

“Yeah. Use the stone.”

“We’re completely out of water.” Shem placed the black bone against the puncture marks and tied it on with one of the extra strips. “You’ll have to stay here while I run to the river and get some.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you shouldn’t move around more than necessary.” Hadn’t Shem explained the reason for that moments ago? Was Ham already confused? “Just relax. When I get back I’ll unload your donkey so you can ride him home.”

“I’ll do that . . . “ Ham said in the midst of a low moan, “while you’re gone.”

 “No!” Shem practically shrieked the command. “Lie still! Concentrate on controlling your breathing and staying calm.” Could he trust his brother not to do something stupid in his venom-muddled state of mind?

“Okay.” Ham took a few deep breaths. His eyes cleared and color returned to his face. “Don’t touch anything until you wash the venom off your hands.”

“Problem-solving skills intact I see,” Shem said, smiling. He would not have forgotten that simple life-saving rule, but he was glad his brother appeared to be thinking rationally after all. “I’ll wash off in the river. You pray while I’m gone.”

“You pray.”

“Oh, I will.” Shem said. “I’ll yell my prayers loud enough for you to hear me all the way to the river and back. You do the same.” Shem knew God could hear a mere whisper, but Ham could not. Ham needed to anchor himself to Shem’s voice so he would know his brother hadn’t abandoned him when Shem disappeared from view. Even more importantly, Ham needed the assurance that Shem was interceding for him and asking God to clear death from his body.

Conversely, Shem needed the comfort of Ham’s voice guaranteeing that his brother still lived.