Ham’s Life Threatened
© Jeannie St. John Taylor
“Now the serpent was more crafty than any other
beast of the field that God had made.” Gen. 3:1
Shem ran toward the river, alternately yelling his prayers and listening for his brother. Every time he paused, Ham’s faint voice floated to him on the breeze. As Shem neared the river, the water sounds he had earlier wished would drown out Ham’s voice, now upset him because their roar was drowning out Ham’s voice. And Shem desperately needed to hear his brother.
After a while, Shem stopped praying aloud because he could barely pick up Ham’s voice and doubted his brother could hear him above the river noises. He occasionally yelled for his brother at the top of his lungs, but Ham never answered. Not once. At least not that Shem could hear. He continually assured himself that because God was in charge he could, and would, be strong and courageous. He would believe Ham would live.
But he didn’t believe and he wasn’t strong or courageous. He was afraid.
Two red foxes appeared behind a fallen log and watched Shem for a moment before slinking away.
Soon, the river came into view and only a broad flat sandy area separated him from the water. Traveling over the beach would be faster than battling the thickets he’d been pushing through. “Thank you for the flat beach, Almighty God,” he whispered gratefully.
But before he could step onto the sand, a warning whispered in the back of his head. There were no crocodiles sunning on this beach. No branches littering the sand. He picked up a small stone and tossed the pebble to the middle of the flat. The rock sank immediately, dragging Shem’s heart with it.
Quicksand. He couldn’t run across quicksand.
A nerve worked in Shem’s cheek as he swiftly weighed his options. Would he be smarter to flatten himself out face downward, spread his arms, and pull slowly across the quicksand? Or should he travel down the beach and fight through the thick masses of roots in the cluster of Mangrove trees he could see in the distance?
He took only a moment to decide on the grove because it offered less risk. Even though the trees would take him further from Ham, he’d be more likely to survive, and his brother’s life depended on him.
He proceeded to the trees, staying in the vegetation alongside the beach because he knew the ground beneath growing plants would hold his weight. Once he reached the Mangroves, battling through the tangled roots took more time than expected, but eventually, he arrived at the water’s edge. Fighting desperation because he’d been out of contact with his brother for so long, he waded in with all his clothes on, allowing the flowing water to wash off the venom. As soon as he felt clean, he filled the water skin and scrambled back over the Mandrake roots and up onto the friendlier solid land that would take him to his brother.
The return trip progressed in slow motion. Shem’s legs stumped along like wooden stubs. The breath locked in his lungs. Thick foliage fought him, blocking his way. A low-hanging branch smacked him in the eye. He prayed aloud. He prayed silently. He shouted Ham’s name until he was too hoarse to yell anymore. He gave himself permission to cry, but his first gasping sob sapped energy. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and ran stoically. When he finally spotted the donkeys he tried again. “Ham!”
A faint voice responded with something unintelligible.
Still alive! With a new surge of energy Shem dashed to his brother’s side, but the sight he beheld stole his hope.
Ham’s eyes were closed. His lower leg and foot, red and hot to the touch, had swelled to something almost unrecognizable. Shem pressed a finger on his brother’s wrist to check for a pulse. Thready and shallow. So much for all the stories about the medical miracles of snake stones! Shem resisted the impulse to rip the useless piece of bone from his brother’s leg and fling the offensive thing into the weeds.
How had the poison worked so quickly? Shem should have sucked out the venom. Why had he listened to his brother? Why hadn’t Shem at least tried removing the venom with his mouth? Ham would leave a widow if he died and Shem would not.
“Ham,” Shem shook his brother. “Wake up!”
Ham’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled faintly. “My hero.”
“You have the energy to smart mouth now?”
“I tried to wiggle my ears. Can’t. Only my mouth moves.”
“See if you can raise your arm.”
Ham lifted his arm half a cubit from the ground before letting it flop back to his side.
“Not bad.” Shem said. Ham might be able to ride in a sitting position. “Take a sip.” Shem held the water skin to Ham’s lips.
“How much pain you in?” he asked as he quickly dumped the donkey’s packs.
“Numb.” Ham said dreamily. “Tingles.” He turned his head sideways to throw up.
Shem hurried over to wipe the vomit from his brother’s mouth. “I’m going to carry you to the donkey now and set you on his back. We’ll be home in an hour or so.”
“I don’t need to be carried. I’m not a girl!”
Ignoring him, Shem lifted with his legs and hoisted his brother onto the donkey’s back. Ham had already commenced the twitching common to snake bite victims. Not a good sign.
Tying the second donkey to the animal Ham rode, Shem walked at his brother’s side with his hand on Ham’s back. Prepared to catch him if he lost his balance.
Shem’s thoughts swirled like whirlpools around a boulder in rapids. What was the shortest way home? Did he need to keep Ham awake and conscious, or did that matter? Why couldn’t he remember? He would stay cheerful so Ham wouldn’t lose hope. Or would Ham notice? What else could Shem do? He suspected his brother might already be delirious.
Pray! The answer came swift and sure. Shem began interceding aloud for his brother. Imploring God to heal him. Over and over. His prayers bounced back from the solid slate sky.
The whiskery face of a warthog peeked around a tree. “Hey, look! Warthog!” Shem said shaking Ham. “And another one. See that? Right behind the first one.”
No response from his silent sibling.
Shem searched for something to say that might grab Ham’s attention. Running at a slow jog as he led the donkey, Shem sweated profusely.
Ham bumped along on the donkey’s back. Eyes closed. Saying nothing. Slumped over. How was he not falling off the donkey? Was he still alive?
Shem rested his hand on Ham’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Faint slow beats rose and fell beneath his fingertips. Ham’s arm felt chilly despite the fact that his leg burned with fever. Shem removed his own outer garment and arranged the warm robe across his brother’s shoulders. The smell of death clung to Ham.
Shem needed to stop yakking and pray.
He again pleaded frantically with God. Begged without hope. Bellowed requests at the sky. How long had it been since Ham had uttered a sound?
Faith. You aren’t praying in faith. The thought came out of nowhere. “Lord, please give me faith I need faith!’ Shem screamed upward, tears pouring down his cheeks.
Ham’s eyes snapped open. “Eudoceda?”
Shem laughed. “Awake?”
“Oh, it’s just you.” Ham’s eyes drifted shut again. “I’m dying.”
“No you’re not! Remember what Father always says,” Shem spoke desperately, even though Ham was already snoring again. “'The finger of God never points where the hand of God won’t lead.’ You really think God would break his word to Father and let you die? God said we’re all supposed to safely ride through the Flood on the ark and we will. Nothing can stop God.”
A certainty that the One True God could and would save his brother settled over Shem like a cozy blanket. God had bestowed the gift of Faith on Shem. “Thank you!” he cried. “Thank you for saving my brother’s life. Thank you for giving me faith.”
**********
The path wound to the other side of their mountain as they neared the ark. Shem removed the snake stone from Ham’s still-swollen leg. Useless thing. As he tossed it over the side of the mountain he caught a glimpse of the City of a Thousand Gods with the land spread out below. The colors of ripe grain and blooming flowers no longer rippled across the fields. Instead a sinister white-gray swathed the world.
Ash. Accompanied by the rotting odors of death combined with the foul smell of feces.
“Phew!” Ham roused and sat up. “Where did that stench come from?”
The sight of his brother’s return to health and the certain knowledge that Ham would live tempted Shem to grin. But the sights and smells from the outside world killed the smile before his lips had a chance to curl upward. “I’m guessing that’s the giant smell Father described to us. Someone must be in big trouble.”
