Young Writers Society

XXIII

The day dawned bright and glorious. The ibises sang, and the servants just had to sing along.

Asenath rolled over to get a glimpse of the outside. The brightness stung her eyes, but she looked forward. The great temple of Ra met her eyes.

It’s my eleventh birthday.

She blinked harder and realized that she was just waking from a dream. No, she was a confused twenty-eight-year-old, not a carefree eleven-year-old.

Manasseh! He didn’t cry all night!

She rushed into the adjoining room. Manasseh still slept peacefully, watched over by Reziya. Asenath smiled and lifted her son. There was something comforting in holding his warm body close to her own and feeling his steady heartbeat.

“Did you get someone to feed him?”

“Yes, my lady. He got squirmy a few times, but I had one of the young mothers in the harem nurse him.”

“I think I’ll do it instead, even if you have to wake me.”

Reziya cackled. “I tried, my lady, but you would not wake. You were very tired. Even snored. Master could not sleep with the baby crying and you snoring. So he told me to send for someone. He said also that your ward will be here in, let’s see…” Reziya counted on her fingers. “An hour.”

“An hour,” Asenath sighed. She stared at the long, black eyelashes of her son. She wanted to stay with him and feel his soothing heartbeat against her chest all day. “An hour it is.” Reluctantly, she laid him back in the cradle. “Will you get me a female waiting servant who is not busy? The first official day of mourning is today, and I must look proper.”

The waiting lady came and dressed Asenath in the proper mourning clothes, a cheap white tunic bound with a rope at the waist. She plastered a plain wig with mud and covered Asenath’s face also with thick, hot mud. It was exceedingly uncomfortable, but it was the correct way to show mourning. The time of mourning would last until the corpse was embalmed, about seventy days. They would be in On for quite a while.

Once finished, Asenath made her way to the main portico to wait for Amnon. She forced herself to not scratch off the already drying mud.

Joseph met her on the portico. He also wore a mourning cloth around his waist tied with a rope, but he had not smeared any mud on his face. He grinned when he saw her.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Well, I mean, I could hardly see coming. Your face blends in with the sand.”

“I am in mourning.”

“I’m sorry. Really I am. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“We don’t mourn like this in Canaan. I suppose it just seems silly because I’m not used to it.”

“I’m sure.”

He grabbed her at the waist and pulled her close. Touching his lips to her dirty face, he whispered, “With or without mud, you are still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

A lone tear ran down her face, leaving a dark streak from her eye to her lips.

“What’s the matter, my dearest?”

“I don’t know. My emotions are everywhere. I can’t seem to understand anything I’m feeling. First, there was pain, then numbness, now, I’m just confused.”

“That’s called grief. Go to Elohim. He understands even when we can’t explain it.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Joseph put a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that?”

That?

A rustle of the breeze, the song of the laboring slaves, wild screams from the temples, wails of mourners, grinding of millstones, and… a bellow of a nearby wooden horn.

“Is that Amnon’s horn?”

“Possibly. Excuse me.” Joseph spoke to a passing slave boy carrying a basket of rich figs. “Please go tell the guards to open the gate.”

The boy was off without a word.

In a few minutes, the huge carved front gate swung open. A procession of slaves was coming down the street. Amnon rode in a bronze chariot pulled by a black stallion at the front. He was plastered in mud from his waist up.

“Are you excited to see him?”

“Yes! I can’t wait another moment!”

“Who says we have to wait?” He addressed another slave. “Please, fetch my horse as quickly as possible.”

This boy dropped the pile of linens he was carrying and sped off to obey. Before the procession had reached the end of the road, the boy came back, leading Joseph’s prize charger. “I didn’t get it hooked up to a chariot, sir.”

“That’s just fine.”

Grabbing her hand, he rushed down the stairs to the waiting horse. When they reached the ground, Joseph swung her onto the horse’s back and jumped on behind her. He squeezed his heels into the horse’s flanks and cried, “Ride!”

The horse was off.

Asenath dug her fingers into the horse’s coarse mane, more out of habit than fear. Joseph held her securely at the waist as the priest’s gardens rushed past. She took a deep breath of the air. Maybe life was simpler than she was making it. Maybe.

In a short amount of time, they had reached the gates to meet Amnon. A much too short amount of time.

Asenath dismounted and ran to her brother. “Amnon! What took you so long?”

He embraced her. She could smell the dirt and salty tears on his face. “When I heard, well, what happened to father, I knew we would be here for a while. So I gathered up everything we might need. Msrah stayed home, but Oni and the kids came to support you.”

“That was good of her. But, Amnon, horrible things have happened. Mother kept you from getting you rightful inheritance. And…father is dead.” The tears came again. She sniffled, trying to compose herself.

He hugged her again. “I know, I know. I am here for you.”

“But, Mother…she stole from you. You deserve so much more.”

Amnon took her shoulders. “Look at me. Are you listening?”

Asenath nodded. His face was blurry through her tears.

“Jehovah is my inheritance. I don’t need anything else. How about you?”

She wiped her eyes, smearing her makeup over the cracked mud.

“Have you also forgotten why you are here?”

“To mourn father’s death.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought there was something else.”

Something else?

She glanced at the floor, then the wall. Ivy was pushing through the cracks in the wall. “Um…”

“You know what I am talking about.”

“Restoration,” she whispered.

“That’s it. What have you been doing?”

I was so focused on being mad at her, I forgot.

She swung back onto the horse. “Joseph, take me back.”

************

Asenath opened her mother’s door.

Quibilah lay prostrate on her bed. She wasn’t wearing her over-sized wig, and her whole body was splattered with mud. She looked like a skinny brown stick.

“Mother?”

She didn’t move.

“Mother!” Asenath ran to her bedside. She felt for her mother’s pulse.

It was only a dull thump-thump. Quibilah shivered. Asenath pulled a thick blanket over the sick woman.

She went into the side room where her mother’s maid slept. The young maid sat against a mud wall with her bright eyes wide. “Help your mistress. She is ill.”

“No, no! Don’t make me! She has the plague! She will take me with her to the afterlife!”

“Silly girl. Get up.”

“NO!” the girl screamed, clutching her knees to her chest.

Asenath rolled her eyes and looked at her mother who shivered convulsively. “If no one else will take care of her, I will. Since you aren’t going to come in, get me a bowl of cold water and clean rags.”

The girl scurried off, happy to be away from the shadow of death.

Asenath sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her mother’s sweaty hands. “Please don’t. We have to talk. Not now, but when you wake up.”

Quibilah continued to shake. Beads of sweat streamed down her wrinkled face, getting caught in pockets of skin. “You have to rest. Stop struggling.”

She stood to close the curtains and noticed a small bronze harp in the corner of the room. After closing the curtains, she brought the harp and a stool to the bedside. “Momma, I hope you will come to know Elohim like I do.”

Her fingers flew deftly over the strings. Her words spilled out of her mouth without effort. She sang of Elohim and His mercy. She sang that He was God alone.

Quibilah stilled and her breathing regulated.

After an hour of playing to steady breathing, Asenath went looking for the missing slave girl.

Reziya met her outside with the baby. “My lady, Manasseh wants you.”

Asenath wiped sweaty mud off her brow. “Let me hold him.” She gathered him into her arms.

He squealed with delight.

“How can I help my lady?”

“My mother is ill.”

Reziya took a step back. “She has the plague.”

“Not you too.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. But I will not go in there.”

Manasseh clutched Asenath’s finger and stuck it in his mouth. Asenath smiled at her perfectly contented son. “You get the easy life. Reziya, bring me cold water and rags. Just leave the other servant if you find her.”

“I won’t let you take the baby into that room.”

“…No, I won’t. Bring his crib, and I’ll put him in her servant’s room.”

Reziya scanned Asenath’s face with concern. “Do you need anything? Not mistress Quibilah, or the baby, but you.”

Asenath weakly smiled. “Yes, I need food.”