No Hope
“And God said to Noah, ‘I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence through them. Behold I will destroy them with the earth.” Gen. 6:13
While the women bustled about preparing everyone’s first meal in the ark’s family quarters, Shem sat like cold marble in a chair beside the loom fighting a dark depression. Across the room, Father lay on the floor, knees up, pampering his aching back. Japheth snoozed before dinner old-married-man-style splayed out on a couch with his feet propped in a chair. Ham trailed after Eudocea helping with her chores like a love-sick buck. Whatever that meant.
Shem reached for a hank of yarn, sorted out the end and began lethargically winding the fiber loosely around stretched-out fingers. Though he loved his family, cooped up with all these happy people could drive a miserable man crazy. He would need to stay busy to keep sane.
Mother came up behind him and positioned her cheek close to his. “Why don’t you take a little nap? You were up early.” She held doughy hands stiffly while she squeezed his shoulders with her arm, kissed his cheek and returned to her kneading. The well-meaning gesture only made him feel worse. Lonelier. He removed the yarn from his fingers, flipped the loop sideways and wrapped in the other direction, beginning a ball.
From his position he could see the carved door of his room. His ridiculous fancy stupid room. He turned his chair sideways to shut out the embarrassing sight. He no longer needed or wanted it and planned to trade spaces with Ham and Eudocea soon. Tonight. Someone should enjoy his hard work. He’d rather sleep on a pile of hay in one of the food storage rooms than spend time in the place where he’d hoped for so much for so long only to be bitterly disappointed. Time had run out. The family was already on the ark, they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and a wife wasn’t going to saunter up the ramp calling his name.
His sister-in-laws set platters mounded with fruit and vegetables on the table and called the family. They’d brought freshly picked produce and recently-butchered meat aboard with them this morning. The perishable fruit like peaches wouldn’t last more than a few weeks, but even after that rotted and supplies ran low they’d have abundance. Even after foods changed from fresh to dried and smoked. Even if their time on the ark lasted longer than the year Father predicted.
Shem held back while the rest of the family gathered to eat. He knew his behavior mimicked that of an immature youth, but he couldn’t force himself to engage in the festivities. He’d make himself do so later. Just not yet. Mother and Father exchanged significant glances.
“Shem, come have a bowl of this delicious goat stew,” Mother urged patting the bench beside her.
“You’ll need the energy,” Father said.
Obviously they knew what he was feeling and were trying to help. Or thought they knew. If they truly understood, they’d know he couldn’t eat. He cast around for a way to avoid sitting at the table with them. Just for tonight. He could see his plight caused them pain and he hated that but . . ., “Uh. My stomach feels sour. I don’t think I can eat.”
“Go lie down,” Father said. Father wasn’t suggesting. He was commanding. “We have work to do tonight.”
Okay then.
With no other choice, Shem drew a resigned breath and stepped inside his room. He reached for the oil lamp by the door and lit the wick. A warm glow suffused the room helping him find the large chair in the far corner of the room. He sank into the chair’s pillows and, hoping not to think of Atarah, closed his eyes.
Immediately, a rustling from his bed startled them back open. His hand moved to the knife at his side and his heart thumped, beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. Holding the lamp before him to light the way he crept toward the bed, following the circle of yellow light.
A woman lay sleeping between his sheets, her soiled robe crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The blue-embroidered tunic showing above the top edge of the linen quilt rose and fell with her soft breathing. Shem’s eyes drank in her delicate features and the line of her jaw. Framed by glossy dark hair, her smooth skin glowed like the pearls studding the embroidery of her neckline. Air locked in his throat. How could she still be so beautiful after all she’d been through?
“Atarah.” He didn’t realize he’d breathed the name aloud until her eyes popped open. He lurched backward. “I’m sorry.” His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I . . .” He should stop talking now. “I’m Shem.” He couldn’t stop talking. “Um . . . I didn’t introduce myself before.”
“My name is Atarah.”
“I know. I heard . . .” He heard the men who killed her baby say her name. Shut up, Shem.
Tension hung in the air between them. Did she have a husband somewhere? Was her husband one of the men trying to kill her? Neither moved or spoke for several seconds. Finally, Atarah pushed herself into a sitting position.
“I’m sorry,” Shem said again. With his gaze still fixed on hers he took a step backward, knowing he should leave the room and give her some privacy, but unable to make himself go. “I should leave you alone.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“You stole my line.” He forced a playful grin, hoping to alleviate any fear she might have. They both giggled.
She scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over the side. Shem averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly dry.
“This is your room?” she asked. “Your bed?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never slept between more luxurious sheets.” She ran the flat of her hand over the silk. “And this quilt . . . beautiful. The entire room is remarkable. But I had no right.” Regret shimmered on her features.
“Of course you did.” He longed to tell her that every detail of the room had been crafted for her. Belonged to her. “You’re welcome here.”
Did she have a husband or was the baby conceived . . . ? He couldn’t think that way. God had said she was his wife.
“Not without being invited.”
Shem grinned. “You have to know Father’s been begging people to come onto the
ark for years.”
“I guess he has.” Atarah laughed.
Excitement threatened to burble out of Shem. God had actually brought her here! His wife. And he’d actually spoken to Shem when he told Shem Atarah was his wife --just as he spoke to Father. Maybe not just like he spoke to Father since Shem hadn’t heard an actual voice. Shem could hardly hold his emotions in check.
“Did you create all this?” Atarah asked.
“Just this room.” He’d never seen such thick, long lashes.
“That’s what I meant. This room. Amazing.”
She looked well, but he wondered how she’d fared during the night. Had those men hurt her? Concern overrode his better judgment and he asked a direct question. “Are you all right?”
An overwhelming sadness filled the room making Shem regret he’d asked such a personal thing. Atarah dropped her head and traced the quilt’s stitching with her forefinger. He chided himself, realizing she barely knew him. He shouldn’t have been so intrusive. “Of course you’re not all right,” he apologized. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” What a dolt he was!
“It’s warm in here.” She looked at him as though willing him to understand something difficult to explain.
“My brother built a fire. The heat filters through.”
“No. I mean I have a warm feeling here.” She tapped a hand against her heart, looking him with large sapphire-blue eyes that made his heart flutter. “Your ark feels peaceful -- like a safe haven.”
A blank look must have settled over Shem’s countenance, because Atarah continued. “As soon as I stepped into the ark I knew I was safe.” Apparently she guessed he still didn’t understand. “What did you feel in the city?”
Finally Shem understood. Darkness and oppression characterized that place. “You’re right. I’m so used to the ark I think of the atmosphere here as normal.”
“But it isn’t. Wickedness is normal for the rest of the world.” Her eyes glistened with raw grief. “Like an evil bog threatening to suck you down.”
“You’re right.” Shem longed to pull her into his arms and kiss away the sorrow in those lovely eyes.
“I’m trying to answer your question about how I’m doing.” She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I feel safe here, so I’m doing better. But I’m still sad and I don’t know if the sadness will ever go away.” Her eyes pooled.
He wanted to comfort her, but he could only say, “I’m sorry.” She twinkled through her tears as he spoke the words. He laughed with her then sobered and said, “I truly am sorry.”
She blinked, and a single tear escaped the fringe of lashes. He wiped away the moisture with his thumb and electricity surged through him.
“This all defies logic,” she murmured. “I’m a stranger here yet I’m home for the first time in my life. The peace is so thick I think I could float.”
He paused to regain his composure. “You’re feeling the presence of the One True God. His protection surrounds the ark.”
Her face lit with joy. “I know! I was pretty sure, but I wanted to hear you say so!” The happiness faded and anguish filled her eyes. “We chased him away from our city when we chose to serve other gods, didn’t we?”
We? She was including herself in those who chased away God. Atarah was telling him that she had been fully integrated into the evil City of a Thousand Gods. He’d dared hope otherwise when he witnessed her try to rescue her son.
His heart tumbled off the mountain of hope and slogged through the swamp of gloom. If she’d grown up in the city, and he assumed she had, how could she be otherwise? He shouldn’t blame her, but he couldn’t help himself. She had chosen false gods and all the depravity required by those monstrous spirits. He needed time to sort through his emotions.
“We told the One True God to get out of our city and leave us alone, didn’t we?” She didn’t intend to let the question slide. She needed an answer.
He hesitated before answering, unwilling to hurt her. “Yes. God allows each of us to choose our own destiny.”
Strangely, his blunt reply calmed her and she reasoned through the situation aloud. “And now it’s too late. Nobody in the city will change.” She narrowed her eyes in thought, “Maybe think they can’t. That’s why the Flood. God has to wash the earth clean with water to cleanse away the evil of the people. Even more so the Nephilim and the giants.”
“You understand the reason for the Flood!” he exclaimed. Atarah had stated the cold facts in a way Shem had failed to see them. She was either very bright or God had revealed the truth to her. Maybe both. He watched her mind continue to click along.
“God is saving the human race by preserving your family on the ark when the water falls from the sky. And Noah is not hiding giants here like everyone says, is he?”
“No.” Shem stared at her in awe. “How do you know all that?” She hesitated as though afraid he wouldn’t believe her. “Your Father’s God spoke to me. First in dreams and then when I was wide awake last night. Back home I might have tried to convince myself the vision was a hallucination, but here the peace helps me think more clearly. I think evil causes confusion.”
“God told you all that?”
“No. He told me other things. But while I slept, I dreamed about something I heard your Father say and that woke me up. I remembered information from my mother and puzzled everything together before I drifted off to sleep again.”
“You met Father?”
“Once.” She seemed lost in thought for a full minute before looking up at him, eyes shining with hope. “Even when I rejected the One True God, he still loved me. He told me so last night. Since he never left me, maybe there’s still hope for my mother.”
Shem only partially followed her zigzagging logic. He opened his mouth prepared to warn her that just six days remained until the Flood and the time for hope had passed. He started to remind her how unlikely it would be for her mother to come up to the ark on her own as Atarah had. He fully intended to remind her that if she tried to go back to the city to find her mother she’d certainly be killed. Worse, with weather conditions in the valley and city growing worse every day, it would be impossible to get to her mother.
“There’s always hope with the One True God,” he said. Though he knew that her mother and everyone else she’d ever known would die in the Flood in less than one week, he couldn’t bear to hurt her by removing all hope. She’d been through too much.
With Atarah at his side Shem tentatively opened the door and stood waiting for someone to notice. No one looked up. Nothing but the clink of metal on pottery broke the silence as the family ate without the customary jovial conversation. Shem could see that his plight was causing them all pain. Father pointed at a fruit platter still piled high with paw paws, mahogany-colored Jujube and thin sweet-tart slices of quince. Ham scooted the fruit toward him. Father nodded thanks and reached for a fragrant golden-brown paw paw as long as his hand. So like Father. No one in the family cared for the wild-banana flavor of the fruit – not even Father, but he always saved the best of everything for others.
Ham took a persimmon from across the table. He hated paw paws, of course, and would eat Jujube only when it was crisper and yellow with red spots. And he didn’t like quince. At all. Shem wondered if Ham would be a picky eater once the Flood had been under way for a few months.
Shem cleared his throat, inexplicably embarrassed. The six people around the table froze, eating utensils midair, staring at Shem and Atarah open-mouthed.
After a beat, Father jumped to his feet and strode toward them with open arms. “Daughter!” He clutched Atarah’s shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks before standing at arms’ length to examine her, his eyes shifting back and forth over her face as though he wanted to drink in every detail. Atarah’s cheeks flamed.
“I knew God was speaking to your heart!” Father said.
The rest of the family swarmed Atarah, welcoming her. Shem studied her face as she interacted with each of them. The word innocent fit best. And kind. She seemed extraordinarily kind. Even better, her eagerness to hear about the One True God was evident in her face and posture at every mention of his name. She treated Mother and Father with respect. Maybe even admiration. Shem didn’t take long to decide he didn’t care what she’d been, he only cared who she’d become. A woman of character. A woman he could love. Maybe already loved.
A dull thud in the corridor outside the door brought the introductions to a sudden halt. Father held up a hand for silence and Atarah glanced immediately at Shem for reassurance. His palms began to sweat. Not because of the very real possibility of danger, but because of Atarah’s eyes. If necessary, he would give his life for her.
Father gestured the women to the back of the room for safety. Shem wrapped his hand around the knife he always kept at the ready and moved toward the door.
