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Community © Jeannie St. John Taylor
“’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.’” Jeremiah 29:11
Rising cautiously to her feet, Atarah’s gaze swept the area, evaluating her surroundings. This wasn’t the temple. Like the temple, the space was hewn from mountain rock and large enough to accommodate many people, but the similarities stopped there. A single central room held many of the comforts of home and almost looked as though it had been lifted from one of the poorer homes in the city above.
Mismatched furniture constructed of wood and arranged for work and relaxation clustered around the space. In one area, a table with one leg missing was propped up with a stone. It stood between two rough straight chairs much like the ones found in the slave quarters behind Atarah’s home. Chipped cups and bowls of fired clay rested on small tables. Oil lamps with broken handles flickered from table tops and niches cut into walls. Except for the four long polished tables carved from the granite walls, the space appeared to be furnished with objects city residents had tossed out.
At the far end of the room, bright-white lambs snuggled with their mothers, and chickens pecked at pebbles scattered across the floor. Strange what chickens would consume to make gullets function smoothly. Atarah marveled that the place could feel cozy even though it reeked of livestock odors.
Around the perimeter of the space, multiple wooden doors blocked the view into what Atarah suspected might be family living and sleeping quarters. A few thick doors hung open, offering glimpses of cramped dark interiors.
Evidentially she and Shua had barged into the communal dwelling of the fifteen to twenty people clustered around them staring as though the two women were an entirely new species. Hadn’t Shua told her that sometimes escaped slaves lived down here? Fatigue and hunger so muddied Atarah’s thoughts she could only vaguely remember words and events from mere days earlier. Several of these people who wore rough brown clothing similar to Atarah’s had the hardened appearance of slaves. But one beautiful young woman with large dark eyes and nearly-black hair didn’t look like a slave at all. She carried herself with an elegance that belied her attire.
Atarah wiped the baby’s face and swayed from foot to foot hoping to quiet him. With her hands shaking and knees threatening to buckle under her, she gathered her wits to speak. “Thank you for. . .”
“Oh, she’s thanking us.” The mocking voice of the older woman who had spoken at first left the distinct impression of a person not pleased.
Atarah didn’t blame her. Them. They likely all felt hostility toward the trio. Who would be thrilled with strangers breaking in uninvited with a shrieking baby? She started over. “I’m sorry . . .”
“Sit.” An older gentleman with a wart on his nose, apparently the leader of the group, interrupted Atarah by pointing to a backless bench dead center of the room. Atarah and Shua obediently walked over and settled themselves on the hard surface. He stood directly in front of them, shoulder to shoulder with the woman who had spoken earlier, studying them. Were the two husband and wife?
They appeared to be a matched set. Both were as wrinkled as elephants and nearly as large. Folds of fat hung from under the man’s chins. Her eyes bulged with fat. Though he bald, thick nose hair grew from his nostrils. The woman’s hair hung thin down her back in strings of non-descript shades of gray. Both wore dirty linen, a step up from the rough brown apparel of the other residents. Atarah picked up their unwashed odor even though she couldn’t remember the last time she herself had bathed properly.
With raised eyebrows and an intimidating look, the man dismissed the rest of the inhabitants. Without a word they spread across the space, busily attending to pre-assigned chores. Atarah counted eighteen people in all, none emaciated. Obviously everyone got enough to eat. Good news for the newcomers.
The woman waited a few beats then, never taking her eyes off Atarah, turned her head slightly and addressed the man in harsh tones loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You made a huge mistake.”
“Hush, Hoda!” His snarl trumped her nastiness. The odor of rotten teeth made Atarah’s stomach roll.
“You had no right to welcome them,” Hoda said.
This was their version of a welcome?
With narrowed eyes, the man slowly pivoted to glare at the woman. Hoda pressed her lips into a line, jutted out her chin and folded arms over her drooping chest. The couple stared at one another. Atarah felt Shua’s damp fingertips slid over and make contact with hers. Atarah wanted to pat her reassuringly, but sensed she dare not move.
Tension sizzled through the room and activity increased. A pale red-haired woman bent to concentrate on threading her shuttle through the yarn on a loom. A grey-haired woman loaded a pan into one of the dome-shaped ovens. One man kneaded a loaf of bread while two more worked at a wine press. The dark-haired woman kept her sad gaze on Atarah as she stirred a large metal pot with a wooden implement.
While the man continued to glare at the woman Atarah and Shua sat rigidly, reluctant to draw attention to themselves. No one spoke. Not a word. Unnerving.
Finally, Hoda snapped, “Fine. Just make the right decision, Peleg.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.
Peleg crossed his arms over his protruding middle and planted his feet defiantly as he watched Hoda retreat. “I already decided,” he shouted just before she exited the room.
Hoda stopped, her back to him.
A man and woman drinking from a bowl at one of the long tables exchanged smirks. The woman at the loom worked faster. Another woman hurried to collect a kitchen utensil. The dark-haired woman paused on her way to set a bowl on one of the large tables, her eyes dark pools of sorrow.
“I’m keeping both women and the baby,” Peleg taunted. “They’re mine.”
Hoda’s shoulders drooped.
A horse-faced young woman with strong arms wandered into the room leading three brown spotted goats with swollen teats. Noticing Hoda and Peleg, she stopped and glanced sharply at Atarah and Shua.
A goat bleated.
Hoda straightened. “Never too many wombs for Peleg,” her voice sang out in derision as she exited the room.
Goose flesh raised on Atarah’s arms. She shut her eyes and envisioned the Light. Fear not.
Cursing, Peleg tore across the room and disappeared after Hoda. Scuffling and shouting reverberated through the corridor for several minutes. Eventually, the shrieking receded into the distance and Atarah could no longer understand the garbled argument, but knowing the fight revolved around her and Shua was frightening.
“Wombs?” Shua gripped Atarah’s hand hard enough to cut off Atarah’s circulation. Gadreel jabbered happy nonsense.
“Hold my animals for a minute, will you?” The woman with goats handed her animals off to a man about her age and tiptoed off toward Peleg’s and Hoda’s voices.
The aroma wafting from an oven near the tables floated into Atarah’s awareness. Her stomach growled. How long had it been since they’d eaten? The baby started to whimper softly and Atarah rubbed his back. His suffering caused her pain and she could do nothing to help him at the moment.
Shua trembled visibly, sending a pang of guilt through Atarah. She blamed herself for Shua’s misery as well as the baby’s. “You hungry or scared?” With the room still full of people, Atarah mouthed the choice.
“Both,” Shua mouthed back. Tears shone in her eyes. “And tired.”
“Me, too.” Atarah could see into a small room directly across from them. Dried grasses filled long narrow trenches hollowed into the rock. Beds? Oh to sink into one of those and drift peacefully off to sleep! But first she’d feed the baby. Then she’d sleep forever.
The goat-girl ambled cheerfully back into the room. “They’ll be awhile,” she announced with a laugh. “Let’s enjoy!” She twirled and pumped her arms in the air. The inhabitants snickered, visibly relaxing. A murmur of conversation filled the formerly-silent room.
“Gehazi! Milk them for me, will you?” the girl called to the man who held the goats for her. “Bring some milk in a skin for the baby.”
“Will do.”
Atarah watched him lead the animals to one of the areas bordering the main space. The girl retrieved a loaf of bread fresh from the oven, wrapped her scarf around it to protect her hands from the heat and hurried over. “You must be starving.” She split the loaf in half for Atarah and Shua. Atarah broke off pieces for the baby as she ate. “I’m Tirza. And you are . . . ?”
Atarah told her.
“We could hear you for the better part of a day,” Tirza told them. “Near the end, I thought those men were going to catch you. Did you know you were running in circles a lot?”
She left no time for Atarah or Shua to answer before she turned her attention to the baby.
“What a cutie! His eyes fill up most of his face, don’t they?” Talking so fast Atarah could barely follow her, the girl held her arms out for Gadreel. “Here. Let me take him for you. You must be totally exhausted and he looks heavy. Love those lavender eyes!”
“Um.” Atarah stiffened, searching her brain for a response. She didn’t want to hand over the baby. “I’m afraid he’ll scream for anyone else. Maybe when he gets used to you . . .” She settled him on her own lap and gave him another piece of bread. He sucked noisily.
“Oh, that’s okay.” The girl grinned. “What a sweet little guy.” She reached out, pinched his cheek and patted his arm. Too tired to think quickly, Atarah didn’t cover his hands in time. “Look at those fingers! How cute!” The girl sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, elbows propped on her knees and ran her forefinger down the length of Gadreel ’s fingers one at a time counting them. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six!” She finished with a gentle tickle to the baby’s tummy.
Gadreel giggled. Blood pumped into Atarah’s ears and she exchanged a look with Shua. “Could we have a drink of water?” Atarah’s mouth was so dry she could barely ask the question.
“Oh! How thoughtless of me. You’re thirsty!” The girl turned and shouted, “Elath! Bring something to drink!” Without missing a beat she continued to prattle.
One of the men carried over a bowl of liquid and offered a sipping-reed to Atarah. She didn’t want to take the first drink since Shua was thirsty, too, but she thought it better not to offend. She shot an apologetic glance toward Shua, hoping the slave understood. Placing the reed between her lips, she greedily pulled in a deep draft of the liquid. Immediately, she doubled over choking and wheezing, her throat on fire.
Tirza jumped up to whack Atarah on the back several times while Atarah continued to gasp repeatedly, unable to catch a normal breath. “Someone bring water!” Tirza shouted angrily.
Shua snatched the baby from Atarah’s useless hands.
“You buffoons gave her barley wine!” Tirza accused, her face crimson with rage. “Idiots!’
The woman with the sad eyes thrust a bowl of water into Atarah’s hands and she drank, but several minutes passed before she could finally control her breathing again. By then Shua had quenched her thirst, the baby sucked on a skin of milk and the woman with the sad eyes had withdrawn. Atarah continued to tremble.
“He deliberately gave you strong wine!” Tirza scowled at Elath who was continuing to laugh with several of his fellows. “Offering the wine to thirsty people is a great joke down here. No one can drink that stuff straight at first, and they know that. I still mix water with my wine and I’ve lived here my entire life.” Still frowning and shaking her head, she handed Atarah the bread she had dropped onto the floor when the spasms first overtook her. “Better eat a little.”
Tirza tossed a curse Elath’s direction. “That wasn’t funny. You trying to kill the woman?” She was even less attractive when angry. Her words did nothing more than elicit more guffaws from the men. Elath lifted his drink with an elegant bow and drained the remainder of the wine. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and burped. Laughter rippled around the room.
“Buffoons!” Tirza muttered. “Bullies! Let’s get out of here. They’re worthless.” Without a word, she took Gadreel from Shua and swung him around to ride on her hip. “Looks like you could use some sleep. Come on. I’ll show you a place where you can hide from Peleg until he forgets about you.”
Atarah wasn’t so sure he’d forget, but with sleep calling she didn’t care.
“Watch out for Hoda, too,” Tirza warned. “She sees you as a threat and she would just as soon kill you as look at you. Do not trust her.”
Tirza chattered non-stop through the trek to supposed safety. Atarah and Shua told her they were from the City of a Thousand Gods but not much else -- though Tirza did guess correctly that Atarah was not a slave. Shua prodded the girl with questions. Gadreel seemed content to be carried by her and Atarah was too deadened by fatigue to argue. Tirza seemed kind enough.
They climbed one flight of stairs, wound through several connecting rooms and down more steps. Atarah tried to keep her bearings, but the dizzying numbers of chambers and hallways and steps left her completely confused.
Remembering the voluminous amounts of information gushing from Tirza proved impossible for Atarah’s fatigued brain. She hoped Shua could take everything in because Atarah felt like a dead person walking. She’d heard of some primitive cultures hiking as they slept and suspected she might be doing just that -- fading in and out of consciousness as she trailed after Tirza.
Still, Atarah managed to focus on occasional snippets of news. One such morsel astonished her right out of her drowsiness.
“Oh, I’m used to their nonsense,” Tirza was saying. “They’ve shrieked at one another like that my whole life. The fights can continue at high volume for hours and hours.” Atarah assumed the girl spoke of Hoda and Peleg. “I don’t know where they find the energy to drag things out so long. Mother usually comes out of her sleeping space a day or two after one of their nights-of-fury with a few bruises and they both seem as happy as lions eating zebra.”
Was Tirza saying Hoda was her mother?
“They like fighting?” Shua asked incredulously.
Tirza chuckled. “I think they’re addicted to the emotional highs and lows that come with the fights. And I know Mother enjoys holding some sort of weird power over the man who terrifies the whole community.”
“So you’re saying Hoda is your mother?” Shua seemed at ease questioning Tirza.
“She is.”
A surprisingly brief answer for a talker, but Atarah didn’t think she’d want to admit a relationship with Hoda either.
“Peleg’s your father?”
“Might be. Mother says any one of a hundred men could be my father. She was a temple prostitute back then.”
The way the girl alternated between calling Hoda by her given name and using the woman’s parental title struck Atarah as strange. Of course now she understood why Tirza could get away with bossing the other inhabitants. Her parents’ power gave her influence when they disappeared for awhile. Tirza could take charge without anyone disputing her right to do so.
Tirza continued to lead onward. Unlike the tunnels they’d wandered earlier, this place held room after room after room. The area the group occupied was massive. Atarah’s guess about the tiniest rooms functioning as sleeping quarters turned out to be correct. But more than the few residents they’d met at first lived down here. The women passed people everywhere. Scores of them. Atarah lost count. The place teemed with inhabitants going about daily lives who, Tirza assured them, had no interest in giving the women up to Peleg. Atarah began to believe they really could find a safe place to sleep where Peleg wouldn’t molest them.
“We’re almost there.” Tirza moved Gadreel to her shoulder where he could look around more easily.
She pointed out pits scattered throughout one of the more spacious rooms they walked through. In one of the holes, Tirza explained, animal skins were soaked in a solution of lime and cold water to burn hair off the hides in the first step toward tanning. After the skins steeped in the bath for several days, women would scrape away the remaining hair and stretch them. Two women fastening one of the finished hides to wooden planks waved as they passed.
Pits in another place held ash soaking in the water that would transform the gray powder into lye for soap-making. Another pit aged pickles in salt brine. An olive press had been set up in another of the hollowed out holes.
“Almost there,” Tirza finally promised again. She patted Atarah’s shoulder. “You’re tired.”
They passed a room where a number of the cavities were grouped together. “This is where we ferment spirits. That pit is for stomping grapes during harvest season. The others are storage holes. If you get thirsty, you’re close enough to bop in for a drink.” Grinning, Tirza pointed to a great bowl filled with the barley wine Atarah had choked on earlier.
Wearily, Atarah smiled and rolled her eyes. “Any water?” She liked this girl.
“Water is right there.” Tirza indicated a bubbling well. “And . . . here we are.” With a flourish, she led them into a tiny room a few steps from the well. The space held two sleeping trenches filled with dried grass. Atarah longed to collapse into one. Instead she lifted the baby from Tirza and gently laid him down.
“Let’s see. Anything else?” Tirza tapped her chin with one finger. “Oh. Relief area. Right over there.” She pointed. “Water from the well flushes away the elimination then crashes out of the underground as a waterfall. Keeps everything nice and fresh.” She winked and quirked her mouth. “Genius, don’t you think? You were wondering why it smelled only musty and not stinky here, right?”
Shua laughed, obviously at ease with Tirza.
“I’ll bring food in the morning. And goats’ milk. There shouldn’t be anyone else coming down here so you’ll be safe. During wine-making season people from other communities use our presses, but the entire area stays empty this time of year.”
“Other communities?” Atarah’s mouth dropped open.
“The numbers change all the time, but there may be as many as fifty different communities down here. I may have to switch you to one of those to keep you away from Peleg.” She stepped out the door. “See you in the morning.”
Sinking onto the bed beside the baby, Atarah closed her eyes.
“How could people like Hoda and Peleg raise someone like Tirza?” Shua’s question roused Atarah only momentarily.
“She’s very kind,” Atarah mumbled, but somewhere down deep she had already begun to doubt. If only she could stay awake to keep guard or maybe . . . the unfinished thought transformed to a misty cloud as she drifted off to sleep.
Atarah had no idea how long she’d slept when she awakened to a hand clamped over her mouth and hot breath on the side of her face. Kicking and clawing at her assailant, she blindly fought for her life.
