Daughter of Deliverance Read online

  Very seldom did Kadir have anything to say to his father-in-law. He himself wasn’t able to bring home very much money, but now he said quietly, “We all need to be very careful. Times are hard.”

  Romar, sitting close to her father’s side, quickly agreed. “Yes, it’s—”

  Without warning Makon extended his arm and struck his oldest daughter. He was not a powerful man, so the blow was more insulting than harmful.

  In a soothing voice, Rahab said, “Let’s not argue. I’ve brought some fresh figs.”

  Makon glared at his son-in-law and Romar, but he accepted a lion’s share of the fresh figs. Between bites he began speaking roughly. “Everybody’s talking about those Israelites. They’re terrible people! Terrible!”

  “What have you heard?” Kadir asked.

  “Why, they’re invincible,” Makon snorted. He paused just a moment to plump a juicy fig into his mouth and savor the juices. Then he waved his hand. “They’re like locusts, and they’re terrible warriors. They’re killing everything in their path.” He continued, but in a few moments he pulled a small flask out of his tunic and drank from it. As the fermented liquid hit his stomach, he began to weep, growing maudlin and whining that the Israelites would kill them all.

  Finally he got up and lurched toward the sleeping room. “You mind what I say. Those murdering Israelites will kill us all.”

  Everyone sighed with relief as the old man disappeared. Rahab went to get a few figs she had set aside. “Here, one for you and one for you.” She smiled as she gave the figs to Oman and Zayna.

  When they had finished, Romar said, “You must all be tired. Time to go to bed.”

  “I think I’ll go up on the roof and enjoy the cool air for a while first,” Rahab answered.

  She ascended the ladder to the flat roof, the place where they all went to relax. Rahab sat down and gazed out over the teaming city of Jericho, thinking of the thousands of people who lived there. Then she turned her eyes outward toward the west and thought of the terrible Israelites that everyone was talking about. She leaned back as the thoughts played in her mind. She had heard that the Israelites had only one god, not many. In Jericho there were hundreds of different gods. Each city and town in Canaan had its own god or goddess, and some, like Jericho, had many.

  Her eyes grew thoughtful, and she murmured, “How could there be only one god, as the Israelites say? How could one god alone protect the whole world?” Not able to wrap her mind around the idea of such a big god, and truly tired at last, she went downstairs to bed.

  Chapter 2

  Rahab was awoken out of a restless sleep by the sound of coughing. She sat up, rubbing her eyes in the faint daylight that came down from a small, high window. Oman’s shoulders were shaking. Alarmed, she got up quickly and went over to put her hand on his forehead. He’s got a fever, and the last time it took him two weeks to get over it. A spasm of coughing shook the young boy very hard, as if it were going to rip him apart. Rahab held him to her breast, wishing desperately she could do something to help him.

  “I’ll get you a drink of water, Oman.”

  Getting up, she went into the other room, walking quietly to avoid waking the others, and picked up a large earthen jug. She filled a cup with water, tepid in the hot weather, went back into the sleeping room, and pulled the boy up to a sitting position. “Drink this,” she whispered. His hands were hot in hers as she held the cup and he drank thirstily.

  “That was good, Aunt.”

  “You lie still now and try to sleep.”

  Oman nodded, but his body was hot as a furnace and he kicked off his cover. She picked him up and carried him into the living area, where she laid him on a pallet, then filled a pan with water. Dipping a cloth in it and wringing it out, she began applying it to his thin limbs and body.

  “That feels so good!”

  “I’m glad. Just be still now.”

  “Tell me a story.”

  “No, you need to sleep.”

  “But I’ll go to sleep if you tell me a story.”

  Rahab whispered, “All right, I’ll tell you a story about a little bear and a little deer that became friends out in the forest….”

  Somewhere in the middle of the story, Rahab turned at a noise and saw Romar coming out of the sleeping room. “How is he?” she asked, dark circles under her eyes.

  “He had a fever,” Rahab said, “but I think it’s finally going down.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” Romar said.

  “I knew you needed your sleep,” Rahab replied with a smile.

  “But what about you? You’re the one who’s been up with him, and now it’s almost time for you to go to work again. Oh, how I wish you didn’t have to go work for that awful man!”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yes it is. Couldn’t you find something else to do?”

  Rahab shook her head. There was no point even discussing it because work was scarce. She had been working for the weaver for three years and had become quite an expert. There were other weavers in town, but despite his roaming hands, Gadiah did pay a little more than the others. “It doesn’t matter,” Rahab said, shaking her head.

  Romar reached for her son. “Here, let me hold him while you eat a good breakfast.”

  Rahab fixed a simple meal of rice cakes and dried fish. The larder was almost empty, so she did not eat as much as she wanted.

  “I’ve got to go now,” she said. “I’ll stop by the market and see if I can get something that will be good for him to eat.”

  “Don’t let Father see it,” Romar said bitterly. “He’d take food out of a starving child’s mouth.”

  Rahab did not have an answer for that. She knew that the words were literally true. Things had been a little easier when their mother was alive. To be sure, Makon had abused both her sisters, but Rahab had had enough strength of character to resist him and had been able, at times, to keep him from the worst excesses. No one, however, had been able to keep him from gambling. It was a wild sickness in him, and he lost every bit of money that came into his hands to other gamblers.

  “I’ll try to be back early, Romar,” she said. She leaned over and kissed Oman and saw that he was asleep. “I’ll stop by the temple and leave a gift and pray for his healing.”

  “Little good that will do,” Romar said bitterly. She had no confidence in the gods. Rahab herself had little, but what else was there to do?

  Leaving the house, she turned and headed toward the weaver’s shop. By the time she got to Gadiah’s dwelling, the sun had turned a brilliant red and was lighting up the city. Outside the shop she paused for a minute, dreading to go inside. She knew that her employer had been a womanizer for a long time. He had slept with almost all the women who worked for him. The few who refused to give in to him did not last long in his employ, and Rahab knew that sooner or later she would have to face up to this.

  She entered the house through a small room and then stepped through a door that led into the work area. Three of the other women were already there, and Gadiah was with them. He was laughing and had his hand on the neck of one of them. “Well,” he said, “you’re here on time for a change.” He stepped over to Rahab. “It’ll be a good day if you’re nice to me and go fetch some fruit from the stand.”

  Rahab faced him squarely, and her hand went to the pocket in her robe where she carried the knife. “No thank you,” she said sharply. “I’ve had breakfast already.”

  “Always stubborn! Well, go hungry, then. Now go on and get to work.”

  Rahab waited until he left, then glanced at the other women. “He never stops, does he?”

  “He never will,” the woman named Alma said bitterly. “I wish he’d drop dead.”

  “He’s too evil to die,” the third woman said. She was the oldest of the three, and gray streaked her hair. “Evil people live forever.”

  “No they don’t,” Alma said. “It just seems that way.”

  Rahab sat down at the loom and began to wo
rk. She was paid by the piece, so her hands flew fast and skillfully over the loom. The other workers also came in, and soon there was a steady hum of clicking shuttles, back and forth, back and forth, and the soft voices of the women murmuring to one another. Outside a dog could be heard howling as if in pain, and indeed all the many sounds of the city waking up filtered in.

  As the morning slowly passed, Rahab thought about Oman, worrying about him. There was so little one could do for a fever! There were some physicians, but most of them she considered frauds, and besides, who had the money to pay for such care?

  At noon she ate the lunch she had brought. Gadiah came in and passed out some fruit to his favorites but offered none to Rahab. As he was talking to one of the younger women, his hand caressing her back, his wife suddenly stuck her head in through the door. She was a fat, greasy woman who hated her husband, knowing well of his dalliances with the women in the shop. “You have a customer if you can leave the women long enough.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know, but he has money.”

  Gadiah straightened up and left the room. He was gone for some time—a relief to all the women—but came back accompanied by an obviously wealthy customer. His robes were made out of pure silk, and as he passed close by, Rahab could smell the scent of an expensive ointment used only by the very wealthy.

  “This cloth you see would do very well for the project,” Gadiah was saying. He stopped by Rahab’s area and picked up a piece of the work she had finished. The man took it and examined it closely. “Master Shalmanezer, you will not find finer workmanship in all of Jericho.”

  “It is very good, very well done.” The man called Shalmanezer nodded. He studied it some more, held it up to the light, and then up to his cheek.

  Rahab stole a glance at him. How like a hawk he was with his thin face and beak-like hooked nose. She also noticed his dark complexion and carefully tended fingernails.

  “You did this, young woman?”

  He was watching her now with his glittering dark eyes. His hair was black and oiled.

  “Yes, master, this is my work.”

  “You are an excellent weaver.”

  “Oh, Rahab is the finest in the city,” Gadiah said eagerly. “I’m very proud to have such a craftsman in my shop.”

  “How long have you been a weaver?” Shalmanezer asked Rahab.

  “Three years, sir.”

  The rich man kept running the cloth through his hands as if to examine it, but his mind was evidently on Rahab. “Are you married, Rahab?”

  “Oh no, sir.”

  “You have a family?”

  “I have my father and two sisters and one small nephew.”

  “I see. You are the oldest?”

  “No, my sister Romar is older. I live with her and her husband and my father.”

  “Your house is far from here?”

  “It’s on the city wall, master.”

  Shalmanezer continued to ask questions, and Gadiah did not interrupt, but he watched anxiously as he always did with wealthy customers.

  “Is the work very hard?” Shalmanezer inquired.

  It was indeed hard, but with Gadiah standing there, Rahab said carefully, “I grow tired sometimes, but then all work is tiring, I suppose, if you do it long enough.”

  “You are right, I know.”

  How he would know about work of any kind Rahab couldn’t imagine. He looked as if he had never lifted a finger in his life but had only experienced pampered luxury. As he ran the material through his hand, she watched the glittering rings on several of his fingers and noticed a gold chain around his neck with a green stone that reflected the faint light in the workroom.

  “I will take this piece and give you this reward for outstanding work.” Shalmanezer pulled a heavy leather purse out of an inner pocket. He opened it and laid two coins down before Rahab.

  Her eyes widened, and she gave an involuntary gasp, for it was as much money as she usually earned in a week of hard work. “Oh, you are very kind, sir.”

  Shalmanezer fixed his eyes on her while a smile turned the corners of his lips upward. “Workers should be rewarded. I will, perhaps, see you again.” He turned and left the workroom with a fawning Gadiah close behind.

  Once they were gone, Alma said, “Well, you made a conquest there. How much is it?”

  Picking up the two coins, Rahab stared at them. They appeared to be newly minted, of pure silver. She said, “They’re worth at least ten monias.”

  “I wish he liked my work,” Alma muttered with a shrug.

  Five minutes later the sound of voices ceased, and Gadiah came rushing back in. “Well, this is a good day for me. I think he’s very happy with the work.”

  “Who is he?” Alma asked.

  “A wealthy man.”

  “I can see that. Where does he get his money?”

  “He has many interests, I understand. I think you owe me half of that money, Rahab.”

  “What makes you think that? He gave it to me.”

  Ordinarily Gadiah would have argued and shouted, but he had gotten such a fee himself from Shalmanezer that he let it go. “He’s going to come back. All of you will have to do your best work. We’ll be working for a very rich man now.”

  ****

  After work that evening, Rahab exchanged the silver coins for smaller coins but did not mention her windfall at home. She knew that her father would demand the money if she did. Instead, she bought some healthy food and medicinal herbs for Oman.

  On the third day after this event, in the late afternoon, Shalmanezer returned to the weaving room, wearing a gorgeous robe of green and white silk. The turban on his head had a large jewel in the front. He glanced around the room and then walked over to Rahab, smiling. “Well, Rahab, you are busy, I see.”

  “Always, sir.”

  “And how is your family?”

  “Very well. Thank you for asking, master.”

  “Your employer tells me that you have a nephew who is ill, a child?”

  “Yes. My nephew, Oman. He has some sort of sickness of the lungs.”

  “And the boy’s father. I understand that he is an invalid.”

  “Not so bad as that, but he is frail.”

  Once again Shalmanezer inquired about Rahab and her life. “I have a very fine physician,” he said. “Perhaps he could see the boy.”

  “Oh, I could never afford such a thing.”

  “Well, perhaps I could help. I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you come to my house after you get off from work? We will talk about it. Perhaps we can make an arrangement. I could pay the physician, and you could work out his fee at my house. I always need help there. It’s a large establishment.”

  “Yes, sir, I will gladly do that.”

  “Good. I live in the inner city by the canal. You may ask anyone. It’s a large white house with some pink stones set into the outer wall. Very striking. Anyone in that area can tell you where Shalmanezer lives.”

  “I…I’ll be there as soon as I get off from work.”

  “Very good.” He picked up another piece of her work and shook his head. “It’s always a mystery to me how anyone can be patient enough to sit and work at a loom.”

  “It can be a pleasure, but sometimes it is tiring.”

  “Well, I would imagine so. I will see you later.”

  Shalmanezer left, and once again Gadiah appeared, a look of satisfaction on his oily face. “The man’s made out of money,” he said. “I’ve got enough orders here to keep us busy for at least a month. I’m probably going to have to hire another weaver or two.”

  Rahab did not speak. In her mind she was turning over the possibility of having a real physician see Oman. If only he could be well, I would be happy, she thought. She continued to work steadily all afternoon. When it was time to get off, she noticed that a pile of bits she had saved was growing. She would not think of stealing from Gadiah, but these were bits that were usually thrown away. She was clever, h
owever, and had pulled them apart and each evening had taken some home, where she was using them to make a long, strong rope. She had no idea what it would be used for, but it was simple and kept her hands occupied. She took the scraps, stuffed them into her bag, got her fee, and left the weaver’s. She turned toward the inner city to find the rich man’s home. She managed to get lost more than once, for Jericho was a huge city with soldiers and tradesmen and beggars all jostling one another in the streets.

  At last she saw a house that had some pink in the front. It was a magnificent structure built of imported stone, she thought. It glistened in the fading light of day. She stopped a woman who had a large basket on her head and asked, “Please, is that the house of Shalmanezer?”

  The woman glanced at her coldly. “Yes,” she said briefly.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’d stay away from there if I were you.”

  The remark took Rahab off guard, but she had no time to ask the woman’s reasoning, for the woman turned and walked away in long strides.

  Approaching the doorway, she knocked timidly. She had to knock three times, but then the door swung open. A tall woman had opened the door. She wore an expensive blue gown and her eyes were made up in the Egyptian fashion. “What is it, girl? What do you want?”

  “A man named Shalmanezer told me to come here. Is this his house?”

  “Yes.” The woman hesitated, then shrugged. “Come in.”

  As soon as she stepped inside, Rahab was struck by the beauty of the interior. The walls were smooth and glowing with faint colors. The furniture was of richly carved wood, some with marble tops. She smelled the incense and saw the faint rising smoke trails.

  “Wait here,” the woman said. “I’ll see if Shalmanezer will see you.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  The woman disappeared, and Rahab stood filled with apprehension. She had never been in the home of a wealthy person before, and surely this man had money such as she had never even dreamed of.

  The woman came back and said crossly, “Come along, girl.”

  Rahab followed the woman down a hall that made two turns, and then the woman drew back a curtain. “Go in there,” she said with a nod.