Chapter Twenty-Nine

Unexpected Visitor

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“And now, the giants, who are produced from the spirits and flesh, shall be called evil spirits upon the earth, and on the earth shall be their dwelling. Evil spirits have proceeded from their bodies. Because they are born from men, and from the holy Watchers is their beginning and primal origin, they shall be evil spirits on earth, and evil spirits shall they be called.” Book of Enoch, Section One 15:8 – 10

            When Atarah returned to the corridor where she’d left her slave, a vacant-eyed Shua huddled in the same spot against the wall where Atarah had left her. Still rocking. The odor had already dissipated slightly. Atarah didn’t know if that was good news or bad news. The fainter smell likely meant the giants had retreated, but it could also mean the monsters were already searching for a way into the underground.

            Atarah once again wrapped the baby in a sling and pulled the slave to her feet. “We have to go!”

Shua stared with eyes as dark and empty as stagnant pools.

Atarah gripped the slave’s arms and looked intently at her. “You have to come with me.” Afraid that saying anything about the giants would cause her slave to withdraw further, she said nothing about them. “Do you understand?”

A spark of recognition glimmered in Shua’s eyes. She nodded hesitantly. “A-are they gone?”

“For now. But we have to hurry.”

They traveled purposefully. Atarah felt confident she had learned enough during her time in the underground that she could find another hiding place. She watched for appropriate fresh air tubes and for figures carved on walls that might lead to a temple. However, if she now had a sense of the way to traverse the labyrinth and was already learning her way around, Peleg and Dagaar would both know how to find her. She suspected Dagaar had spent enough time down here to get familiar with the place. And of course Peleg knew the underground better than Dagaar. Only the giants would require extra time locating a way in and wandering the tunnels.

Gadreel squirmed in her arms, flailing his arms, kicking his feet and shrieking insistently.

“What’s he doing?” Shua drew back and stared at him fearfully.

“Temper tantrum.”

“He’s too young to start tantrums.”

“He is not.”

“He’s becoming one of them already.” 

Anger exploded from Atarah. “Don’t say that!” But even as she reprimanded the slave, she realized the thought had been hovering at the back of her mind ever since she first saw the two faces together. Gadreel had looked exactly like the monster for one brief second. “All babies his age have tantrums. He is not one of them!” she insisted desperately.

“He even smells like them.” Terror shone from the slave’s eyes.

“We both smell like them. The odor lingers on us because we spent so long in the vicinity of the giants.”

“No it doesn’t. You don’t smell. He does.”

“Stop it!!” Atarah shouted. Fury at the slave’s words simmered deep inside rendering Atarah’s arms so weak she could barely hang onto the screaming writhing child. The baby was too young for such behavior. Shua was right. Atarah knew it. But she refused to accept the truth. “We’re going to love him so much he’ll have to love us.” She finished passionately and waited for the slave to continue the mantra.

Shua said nothing.

Gadreel’s screams grew louder.

*****

A few minutes later Atarah spotted the signs of a temple ahead. She hurried forward and found an open entrance. Her heart leapt when she thrust her torch inside she saw another empty temple. “We’ll find food here!”

They entered to find a temple similar to, but larger and more magnificent than the first one. A spring burbled near the far wall. The fire-pit beside the water was three times the size of the one in the last temple. Once again columns bordered the darkness shrouding the four walls. But this time a sarcophagus-like altar carved from ivory occupied a square bronze platform directly in the center of the room. Blood stains covered the altar and dripped onto the bronze below. Rows of stone benches encircled the room. Life-sized limestone statues of Nephilim and humans engaged in unspeakable acts surrounded the grouping.

Atarah held the baby out for Shua, but the slave shrank back. With a sinking feeling, Atarah crossed the room and deposited the heavy baby onto the floor where she could keep an eye on him while she sealed off the entrance. He pushed out his lower lip and snuffled -- the after-effects of too much sobbing.

Two mice scuttled over to him and he reached out to touch one. She couldn’t help smiling. She’d let the cute little things entertain him while they worked. Keep him out of harm’s way.

Together the two women muscled the stone seal over the hole, found another entrance and rolled the stone over it, too. Each time they closed one off, Atarah’s sense of security increased exponentially. Relief settled over her and for the first time in days hope tickled the air around her.

“We did it!” Atarah hugged Shua, eliciting a faint smile. See. The slave was warming up already. Atarah could still see the slave’s pain, but she didn’t want to address Shua’s problems head on. Not yet. Give her a little space first. She’d get better. Things like that just took time.

“See if there’s food in the sarcophagus while I get the baby,” Atarah instructed. She started back for the baby. But just before she reached him, he picked up one of the wriggling mice and lifted it to his open mouth. “No, no, sweetie!” Atarah shouted. “Mustn’t kiss the mouse!”

She dove for him, but before she could prevent it, Gadreel thrust the mouse into his mouth and bit off the head. Dropping the mouse’s lifeless body onto the floor, he grinned up at her. Scarlet specks danced in his lavender eyes.

Atarah’s stomach lurched.

Shua screamed and froze.

Quickly Atarah stuck her finger into the baby’s mouth, dug out the bloody head and tossed it aside. Fighting nausea, she frantically scrubbed at Gadreel’s tongue and four teeth with the tail of her tunic while he screeched and fought.  She rushed to the spring, rinsed his mouth repeatedly then set him on the floor before washing her own hands and clothing. Her insides quivered.

Shua backed up against one of the columns, wide terrified eyes fixed on the baby.

“He only meant to kiss the mouse,” Atarah dried her hands, but didn’t go near the baby.

The slave continued to stare dumbly. Not moving. Not speaking.

“He’s teething. You know that.”

Shua edged to the far side of the column, keeping the baby in her line of vision.

“He’s not a monster,” Atarah said, but she was shaking. Shuddering with revulsion. Not at Gadreel. At what he’d done. “He didn’t understand. He loves mice.”  When Shua failed to respond, Atarah snapped, “I told you to go check the sarcophagus.”

Shua obeyed, then nodded stiffly. Yes. There was food. They would survive.

No one could get in here with them all sealed up. Even if it took months, Dagaar and Peleg and even the giants would eventually give up. She and Shua and Gadreel wouldn’t leave the temple until they knew the giants had departed. Atarah would take that time to talk Shua through her fears again. She’d done it before. And then the three of them would find a far-away place where they could live safely.

She lit a fire with her torch. Orange and yellow flames leapt in the pit. She knew she should lift Gadreel high over her head and dance around the fire-pit. She should puff on his tummy and make him giggle. All babies needed that sort of love. She just needed few minutes before she touched him again.

Shua wandered into the shadows and emerged a short time later carrying two red apples. She handed one to Atarah.

Surprised and delighted, Atarah accepted the fruit from her. “Thank you.” Shua concentrated on buffing another apple, her face a dull mask.

“Are there more?”

“Yes. Stored in straw.”

“Any rotting?”

“They last for months,” Shua said refusing to meet Atarah’s eyes.

Even under the difficult circumstances, Shua’s behavior struck Atarah as strange. 

She crunched the apple and wracked her brain for a way to distract the slave who had slipped back into passivity so easily. “Did I tell you Hoda helped me escape?” She sat on the floor at arms’ length from the baby and stole a sideways glance at Shua. Her slave showed no flicker of interest. She stood as though carved from pale marble.

“And we’re safe right now thanks to Mahli,” Atarah continued the idle chatter. “She is a good woman.” Chewing up a bite of the fruit, she reached out to pop the masticated treat into the baby’s mouth. His face shone with delight and her heart melted. “Delicious, isn’t it?” she said to him. He crawled onto her lap, smiling. She returned the smile.

 “What a lovely sight.” The melodious voice of a Nephal drifted out of the darkness. “I knew you’d deliver my baby safe and sound.”

Atarah screamed and her eyes shot to the slave. Shua looked away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

Face to Face with Giants

“And they became pregnant, and they bare great giants, whose height was three thousand ells: Who consumed all the acquisitions of men. And when men could no longer sustain them, the giants turned against them and devoured mankind.”

 Book of Enoch, Section One 7:3,4

Locating the giants proved simpler than expected. Because of Mahli’s earlier detailed instructions, plus information gleaned from Peleg, Atarah knew the direction to go to find Tirza and the baby. As they started down the tunnel, Atarah snatched up one of the lit torches tucked into a wall-niche and Shua did the same.

That action proved a lifesaver once they left the lighted corridors leading from the community complex to the cave and plunged into the impenetrable darkness of the unlit underground. Even with torches illuminating their steps, they nearly missed the first staircase in the semi-darkness. Fortunately Atarah had decided to lightly drag her hand along the wall as they ran even though it slowed their progress a bit. As soon as she felt empty space she shone her flame that direction and saw the stairs. They descended without missing a beat.

At the bottom of the steps uncertainty set in. Mahli’s instructions were to always go right to get out of the underground, but Mahli hadn’t known Tirza would kidnap the baby. So they now traversed a different level than the one Mahli had described. All Atarah could do was hope the principle layout was the same throughout the complex and assume Tirza would be talking to the giants on that side of the mountain. Peleg had mentioned a fresh air vent which would mean Tirza was at an opening big enough to hand the baby out to the giants, but too small for the giants to enter the complex.

Atarah paused for a moment on the last step before squaring her shoulders and choosing to once again turn right – this time into a long corridor. The tunnel wound downward, and changed directions so often she soon completely lost her bearings. Worse, she heard nothing -- hadn’t heard battle sounds since leaving the cave. She assumed she’d find giants wherever the battle raged and, if Tirza was negotiating with giants, that’s where she would find Tirza. And Gadreel.

Time crept along. Seconds felt like hours. Panic began to build in Atarah. They should have reached the second flight of stairs by now. Atarah considered turning and retracing her steps. Fears that they were going too slowly and Tirza had already handed the baby over to the giants tormented her. She struggled to deaden her emotions and focus all her energy on finding the path. An impossible task. Every moment away from the baby tortured her.

Atarah concentrated on regulating her breathing and resisting the urge to run faster. She understood she couldn’t afford to be too out of breath when they found the baby. She pushed negative thoughts away and forced herself to think only of kissing the tip of Gadreel’s nose and puffing raspberries on his tummy until he giggled.

Eventually, it was the smell that led them to the giants.

The odor didn’t develop gradually the way Atarah had expected, but slammed into her suddenly as though swept in on a tidal wave. The stench like the smell of snake feces, a combination of human elimination and dead bodies, hit her full in the face and she stumbled backwards.

So did Shua. Both torches spluttered and then flared. Both women bent forward coughing and gagging. Evidentially they hadn’t missed a staircase. The tunnel itself had lowered them to the next level and taken them directly to the giants.

Every cell in Atarah’s body screamed to flee the suffocating odor, but she drew  the neck of her tunic over her nose and pressed toward the stench rushing from an air tube which was waist high and just big enough to crawl through. When she reached the opening she could hear Tirza’s voice -- carried on the same wind that brought the odor. Even though she picked up the terrifying sounds of battle in the distance, joy leapt in her chest.

“Tirza’s still talking,” Atarah whispered over her shoulder. “That means she hasn’t given Gadreel to the giants.” Yet.

When her slave didn’t respond, Atarah glanced back. Shua crouched on the floor rocking, knees drawn to her chest, face ashen, eyes vacant. Atarah understood instantly that the smell had flung the slave back into the horrors of the giant attack on her village many years earlier, forcing her to once again relive those events.

“Move back! Away from the smell,” she hissed. Lost to reality, Shua continued to rock.

Atarah was powerless to help. Right now she had to save the baby. Wrapping several thicknesses of scarf around her nose and mouth, she dropped to her hands and knees and started the gently-angled upward crawl in the air tube. She breathed through her mouth, but instead of preventing her from smelling the putrid odor, she tasted it. Bile rose to her throat.

Before long, worried that her torch would divulge her presence to Tirza and the giants, she wedged her only light into a crack in the rock and continued without it. Darkness closed around her. A sense of malevolence far worse than the smell enveloped her. A dense wall of wickedness seemed to rise up before her, blocking her way. The wind grew stronger, driving her backward. The optimism she’d experienced at hearing Tirza dipped into thick black depression. She lay face down in the tube, unable to move, fighting to breathe.

What was going on? Was she imagining the wickedness? Was she simply afraid of the tight space? Could the smell be causing confusion? Or was the evil real? Despite what Mahli had said about Noah, Atarah suspected his God had helped her every time she called to him. In desperation, she whispered, “God of Noah, protect me from evil.”

The malice surrounding her seemed to shift. The wind still blustered. The stench still saturated the air. She still had to struggle to breathe. But the heaviness no longer pressed down on her. She could move again. 

She edged forward until the tube widened, allowing a clear view of a small cave. Benches carved from rock lined both sides. Tirza stood at the far wall with one hand over her nose and mouth talking to a giant through an opening to the outside. The hole was slightly larger than the baby – just big enough for her to hand him through. But the giants couldn’t get in. Atarah guessed this place had been hollowed from the rock to protect the people of the underground in precisely this situation. Apparently Tirza didn’t plan to offer the giants an opportunity to accost her.

Further back in the cave, midway between Tirza and  herself Gadreel cheerfully banged a rock on one of the benches, oblivious of the stifling smell. Safe for the moment. At the sight of the baby, and despite the chill of danger hanging in the air, instant relief warmed Atarah. Carefully emerging from the tube she stood in the shadows where her eyes could drink in every detail of Gadreel while remaining invisible.

From her position, she could observe two male giants through this opening clinging effortlessly, almost magically, to a narrow out-cropping of rock on the face of the smooth granite cliff. Tirza had lied about their size, possibly to calm Shua’s fears so she wouldn’t cause trouble, but more likely because Tirza had never seen the beasts in the flesh before. Approximately the size of the Nephilim, they held onto tiny outcroppings of slippery rock with six-fingered hands and bare six-toed feet, displaying the agility of gorillas. How had they gotten to that height? Leapt like toads?

 Tirza stood well back from the opening. Apprehensive, but more relaxed than Atarah would have expected. She removed a hand from her nose and mouth long enough to speak a quickly, “He’s staying with me until you bring food.”

“Tell us how to get in.”

“No. Bring the grain right here.” Secure in a space the giants couldn’t access, her voice rang out confidently.

“Why do you want so much food?” The giant’s words flowed smoothly with the mesmerizing power of a Nephal.

Standing at a distance and knowing the baby was out of harms way for now, Atarah scrutinized the creatures. The giants only slightly resembled their Nephilim fathers. The angular features which were handsome on the Nephilim, were twisted almost imperceptibly on the giants, rendering the creatures grotesque. The furthest giant sported a long scraggly beard and what Atarah at first assumed was a multi-colored turban. Except that the turban lay across his head at an unusual angle. Atarah squinted to examine the head-dressing more closely only to realize with a shock that the turban was an enormous serpent coiled atop the giant’s head. She tensed, swallowing a gasp. 

The closest giant, the one conversing with Tirza, was clean-shaven and nothing but unkempt soot-colored hair adorned his head. Festering sores held more appeal than either of these corrupted beings. Rotting potatoes exuded more charm. Carnivorous dragons ranked higher on the scale of innocence. It was as though all the evil the Nephilim managed to keep hidden in their souls visibly flaunted itself on their giant offspring.

When Tirza hesitated, confused, the smooth-chinned giant repeated the question with more force. “Why do you want us to bring you so much food?”

With each word the monster spoke Atarah felt intense evil like the thrusts of a poisoned sword stabbing into the cave. And yet, though she couldn’t explain why or how, she knew something held the evil at bay. Something that wouldn’t allow the wickedness to harm her.

“My people will go hungry if you don’t give us food,” Tirza replied.

“There are many more humans with you, aren’t there?” The giant wasn’t asking a question. He knew. “Show us the way in.”

Suddenly, the rumors about giants as cannibals rang true for Atarah. These evil creatures were the consummate monsters. Given the chance, they would eat the people of the underground as well as the people of the city.

“There are no more people here.” Tirza’s expression and posture revealed a different story.

A smirk quirked the corner of the giant’s mouth. “You can trust us.” The cunning spark of red in his lavender eyes belied his wheedling tone. The hairs on the back of Atarah’s neck lifted. The giants might be lousy actors, but the overt presence of evil was confusing Tirza. Atarah could see uncertainty in her eyes.

“We can’t deal without trust between us,” the giant continued.

“I do trust you.” Tirza’s voice faltered and Atarah caught a glimmer of fear. “It’s just . . . The space here is too small for you.”

Dropping all pretense, the giant roared. “The ash destroyed the crops. There is no food anywhere.”  He moved nearer the hole and hatred like red fire flamed from his lavender eyes. “You think us stupid?” His sizzled with murderous scarlet.

Tirza shrank back and the giant resumed his position on the rock. A chill skittered down Atarah’s spine on spider legs. Gadreel crawled closer to Tirza and Atarah’s lungs compressed.

“You will supply our food.” His voice smoldered with fury. “You will hand over our young one.”

Tirza jutted out her chin. “Bring food and I’ll give you the youngster.”

“You can’t keep him from us.” Raucous laughter burst from the giants. “He belongs to us!”

The shout startled Atarah and she jumped. That movement caught Gadreel’s eye. Squealing with delight he crawled rapidly toward her.

Momentarily distracted, Tirza glanced back -- first at the baby then her eyes met Atarah’s. In that instant, the giant lunged. Shooting a long arm through the opening he yanked Tirza through quicker than a rattlesnake strike and tossed her over the side of the mountain. She didn’t have time to scream.

Atarah stood paralyzed with shock. One moment the woman was standing there. The next she was gone. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t fit through. But she did fit through -- like a snake sliding into a too-narrow crack in the rock.

Time stood still. She could see Gadreel’s upturned face at her feet while the face of evil watched through the opening. Matching faces. One huge, the other small. She struggled to breathe, to think.

Two small six-fingered hands gathered handfuls of her hem. Her vision cleared and the innocent face of the babe once again smiled up at her. She scooped him from the floor. He smelled of monster.

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.