~~/*\~~ Leahe ~~/*\~~
Time passed. Then years. Then decades.
Most of the older ones had died off, except for Moses. His sister Miriam had died at Kadesh, his brother Aaron at Mount Hor.
And Israel kept walking.
Leahe noticed that all the things they did to pass the time, swapping clothes with the other women, the games they played with other families… All of it had faded into the ongoing routine. Her son was a man now, and that was almost the last standard on time passing that anyone had, watching the younger ones age.
“Anyone my father’s age is gone.” Leahe said to Takarut one night as they lay together, ready for sleep. “We’ve buried them all over the wilderness, camp by camp.”
Takarut shuddered. “If I had one lingering superstition of my Egyptian days, it’s how I’m to be buried. Where I grew up, the tombs were worth as much as the Palace. How a person entered the next world was… well, everything to an Egyptian. They drummed it into me every day..”
“Not having second thoughts again?” Leahe murmured, not really worried, though she took his hand in hers.
“No. Moses didn’t take any special measures for his own brother and sister.” Takarut admitted. “I just can’t stop thinking about all the people I knew who… well, made their lives harder because they were so concerned for the next one.”
“Mm.” Leahe said nothing to that. “I remember my father saying once that if we treated our dead the way Egyptians treated theirs, we’d never be able to leave Egypt. But now… with all our fathers scattered across the wasteland… You know what I heard Sha'al say the other day?”
“He said: ‘next time we’re in the area, he can visit his father’s grave’.” Takarut nodded, holding her closer. “I heard it too.”
“He doesn’t really think he’ll ever leave these tents.” Leahe whispered. “I don’t think Emet does either. They’ll be forty years old then, and they don’t even realize that their lives haven’t begun yet. They’ve never known anything but these tents, these same faces… This suffocating sameness that was driving their parents to rebel is just… the way things always will be to our children”
Takarut held her tighter. “We’re coming closer to the Edom trading routes. I was thinking about taking Emet with me for the next trading expedition. If nothing else, he’d meet some new people. Get a look at something other than dust and manna.”
~~/*\~~
The trading expedition began its trek away from the Camp.
Yaldborth waved at Takarut as they headed towards the trade route. Giddel and Emet hurried to meet each other. Yaldborth moved slower, falling into step beside the only man on the expedition who was close to his own age.
The two of them made conversation as they travelled.
“I expected Leahe to argue the point when I suggested bringing our son along.” Takarut said quietly, not wanting the rest of the trading party to overhear. “The Moabites might not be as happy to see us as other traders.”
“I had the same thought, but Yaldborth was quite insistent. I get the feeling that he was looking for a reason to… be elsewhere, for a few days.”
Takarut smothered a grin. “You can speak plainly. Your daughter in law is having pregnancy cravings, and we’ve got nothing to serve but manna. We can hear them ‘discuss’ it from our own tent. Your son is fleeing his own home.”
“My daughter in law has never had anything but manna. She doesn’t know what else there is; she just knows she’s craving it right now.” Yaldborth said with affection. “I thought there might be something available for trade that could help; or at least something new. Something that could distract her.”
~~/*\~~
Yaldborth swatted his son. “You’re getting distracted.”
“Yes, I am.” Giddel breathed, not even trying to stop staring. “I need to blink, but I can’t seem to do so.”
They were beautiful.
After years in the wilderness, word had spread about some of the more salacious aspects of the Baal Temples. Seeing the Priestesses in person, Giddel had no doubt that it was all true.
The trading post was large. Like their Camp, it was all mobile, set up only for this meet. The many market stalls and their goods were laid out at one end of the camp. An icon of Baal was set up at the other end, where a sort of plaza was cleared for living arrangements. There were small sleeping tents, some areas to reline for eating, and around the firepit was a space for dancing and music, which the women were making use of now.
Giddel walked towards the firelight in something of a daze, watching the dance. The priestesses and acolytes were young, and beautiful, and fully at ease with being watched. Indeed, as the men gathered around the firepit watched the dance, clapping along with the musicians, the women all seemed to be competing to get noticed first, playing to particular men, sweeping their bodies about to display their charms.
The display was natural and normal to those in attendance, but the Hebrews, coming over and seeing it for the first time, were stunned. There was nothing like this in their own Camp.
One of the women in particular noticed Giddel’s stare. She wasn’t put off by the intensity. Instead, she turned to him directly, each dance step bringing her closer to him on the beat; twirl by twirl. Her silken robes were almost translucent with the bright firelight against her. Giddel barely noticed the shadows she cast dancing over the Statue of Baal, which stood over everything, at the centre of the gathering.
The girl swept off one of her gossamer veils and held it out Giddel, strung between her extended arms. Giddel reached out automatically-
-and his father swatted him across the back of his head. “We’re here to trade, son. The fruit stalls are back that way.”
The young woman giggled, as though embarrassed for him. Giddel felt his face burn, being so blatantly put in his place by his father. Like he was a child. In front of her. He didn’t even know her name yet, but he wanted to impress her more than he wanted anything.
“Would you like me to introduce you later?” A voice said playfully, and Giddel turned. The woman was older, more maternal. She wasn’t one of the dancers, but she smiled warmly at them, keeping back with the two men. “I’m Donatiya. And our little delegation is more than a trading post, you know. You’re welcome to join us for a meal, try some of the finest wines in Moab.”
“No thank you.” Yaldborth said before his son could answer. “Our laws forbid taking part in worship to… other gods.”
“Who said anything about joining us in our worship?” Donatiya challenged. “We’re showing you all about the land you’re going to enter soon. The girls are planning a selection of music and dances that you won’t find anywhere else in the world.” Donatiya grinned at Giddel. “I can think of one or two girls who would surely love to teach you that dance. It’s always more fun with two.”
“Another time.” Yaldborth interrupted again. “We only came to trade some fruit and veg.”
“Oh please, let us honor your traders properly.” Donatiya nearly begged. “The girls have come a long way to greet your people. To be honest, there’s a lot of talk about you in town; and they want to know what you’re really like. And after Balaam suggested that the sons of Israel receive a warm welcome-”
Yaldborth froze so swiftly that Giddel nearly walked into him. “Balaam arranged this?” He asked, surprised to hear it.
“After he was done laying his blessings on your people, he came to the lords of Moab, and suggested we come out to join you here, closer to your Camp.” Donatiya nodded. “He was very concerned that our first ‘official’ meeting should be a warm welcome for you, as honored holy men. Such men are revered highly by our people.” She smiled warmly at Giddel. “Someone who was blessed by a God like Jehovah should be treated to the best our lands can offer, don’t you think?”
Giddel still hadn’t blinked, gazing at her. “I agree.” He said, ignoring his father’s sharp look.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
When he was first arrested, they had taken him from his local police station to the Camp in the back of a truck. From the Camp to here in a private staff car. He didn’t know where this house was, or how far from his hometown it might be. Judging by the view, he was still in the same general area…
It was an expensive, luxury home. One of a short row of luxury homes on a mountainside, overlooking the country. Oskar had never had a view like it before. With a sunny day, and a gentle breeze, the view was wonderful, and he found himself pausing to take it in, appreciating the beauty.
The driver barked at him in German, reminding him that he wasn’t here to appreciate anything. Oskar followed as smartly as he could.
The house was immaculate. If he was here to clean, Oskar couldn’t tell what needed work. Reschke led the way through the house, and Oskar saw the faded markings on the wall, showing where pictures had recently been taken off the wall. But it wasn’t for lack of money. There were artworks hanging in every room. All of them were excellent pieces, surely very expensive.
This isn’t his house. Oskar realized. He’s taken it over for his own family; removed all the family pictures, and put up these artworks. I wonder who he stole them from…
Reschke led the way into the kitchen. There was a woman there, wearing a headscarf and apron. The clothes didn’t match the huge dark circles under her eyes, and she wore no makeup, but she would have been undeniably attractive if she wasn’t so raw with worry. When they came into the kitchen, she jumped, but came swiftly to attention, saluting Reschke automatically.
“This is Juliette. You’ll take instructions from her.” Reschke said shortly to Oskar. “Beyond that, I don’t want to see you unless you’re working.”
The phone rang in the next room, and Reschke forgot they existed immediately, turning and walking out without another word.
Juliette noticeably relaxed once he was gone, and she gave Oskar an appraising look. “Where’d they dig you up?”
A Frenchwoman. Oskar thought. “A labor camp.” He rasped aloud. “You?”
“I worked in a restaurant. They were going to put me in a munitions factory, but the last guy spilled a bowl of hot soup on Reschke, and suddenly a big chunk of the staff had to be executed. “ Juliette said, sounding exhausted, pouring him a cup of water. “Just in case it was a ‘planned conspiracy’, you know?” She gestured around. “After that, they limited it to me and one other, for the labor. I’ve been here longer than the last three guys in your job.”
“Terrific.” Oskar said, repressing a shudder as he drank the fresh, clean water. She saw how fast he drank, and poured him another. He drank it gratefully. “What do I do?”
“Chop firewood, haul water, tend the garden, keep the car and house spotless… Basically, all the jobs that the kid used to do for pocket money.” Juliette smirked at him. “For now, help me clean out this oven.”
Oskar looked around the kitchen. Before the war, as a Banker, he had a fairly comfortable life. But never anything as extravagant as this kitchen. He had little taste for luxuries, even before becoming a Witness.
After the awful rough sameness of the Camp, this was like something out of a fairy tale. From the life he’d been living for more than a year, to this house, so comfortable and luxurious, while he was still rough and gaunt from the Camp…
It was impossible to imagine both places existing in the same world, at the same time. He’d been in the Camp long enough that finding something new was startling. Even unsettling.
So different. He thought as he bent to his new task, feeling like his body was ten feet away from him somehow. Something new.
~~/*\~~ Giddel ~~/*\~~
“So different. So new. Something like that shouldn’t be real.” Giddel breathed. “It was impossible to believe what I was seeing.”
“They were something, weren’t they?” Yaldborth admitted, as they wandered back to the Camp, carrying their traded goods.
“I’ve never seen anything like them before.” Giddel said softly, not even aware of the ground in front of his feet as he walked.
“No, you wouldn’t have. All you’ve known is the Camp.”
“We will be going back, won’t we?” Giddel asked his father eagerly, asking more questions before he could answer. ““Is… is everywhere else like that? Like them?”
Yaldborth glared at him. “Son, man-to-man? Get all this out of your system before we get back to your wife.”
“Well, of course.” Giddel scoffed. “I’m not an idiot.”
~~/*\~~
“This is your new plan?” The Boy seethed as they passed.
“Don’t blame us for this one.” The Merchant grinned, raising his hands innocently. “This one's on you. Your God keeping them out here for a full generation? Your God making sure that not even their clothing wears out? Don’t blame us if something new is appealing to them.”
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
The house was luxurious, but it wasn’t a mansion. There were no servants quarters. Juliette and Oskar slept in the basement, on cots. There was stacked furniture covered in sheets, as well as boxes of assorted homewares, and their narrow cots in between.
Still less cramped than the barracks.
Juliette noticed him looking at the boxes. “They belong to the family that lived here before… well, before. I don’t know what happened to them.” She gestured at the empty wine rack. “This place was seized by the Nazi’s almost immediately. The soldiers looted everything, until the Gestapo man rolled in and claimed the house for himself. By then, the wine cellar was empty, and the silver was gone, but he managed to seize plenty of ‘evidence’ from the neighbors.”
“Spoils of war.”
“Including us.” Juliette remarked. “Frankly, I’m lucky. I wasn’t the first woman in my section to get tapped as a Domestic servant to some military official, but so far, he only seems to want my cooking.”
“I’ve been in a labor camp for most of the war, Miss.” Oskar said seriously. “Most prisoners there started by dreaming of their sweethearts. Eventually, you dream of bread.”
Juliette smiled a little, despite herself. “You Jewish?”
“Jehovah’s Witness.”
Her head tilted. “I don’t know much about them.”
“We’re a minority.” He acknowledged, settling into his Cot. “But since we’ve got the time, let me tell you about it.”
~~/*\~~
As staff, the two of them were up before dawn. Juliette’s first job was preparing breakfast for the family. Oskar had to draw water for the cisterns and top up the firewood.
“Everything goes to the family first.” Juliette told him the house rules. “We can eat, but the rationing is tight, so our meals are accounted for.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t worry. I can stretch the rations out a bit. Any chef worth having knows how. But Hans will ask for seconds at dinner, so-”
“If his parents can’t make him eat his vegetables, I’ll take them.” Oskar drawled, daring to hope that he might get properly fed. “Last night was the first time I slept without the temperature keeping me awake half the night.”
“It’s better than the factories, or the camps.” Juliette agreed. “But remember, this is still a prison cell for us. If you steal food, you’re a dead man. If you look through the desk upstairs, you’re a dead man. Listen in to calls, or talk back to the boss’ wife and kid, you’re a dead man. I’ve given three different workers these rules, and I don’t know where any of them went once they were dragged out of here. Understand?”
“I do.” Oskar nodded.
“Our job is to make the Gestapo-man’s life convenient, and never make his family think about where we came from, or how they got this house; or what’s really going on in the country.” Juliette summed up. “Be invisible, and you’ll be able to eat a hot meal once a day.”
Oskar nodded. It was the best offer he’d gotten since the war began. “Don’t suppose there are any oranges?”
“Afraid not. Even if the usual rationing rules don’t apply to this house, it’s the wrong season.”
Oskar wasn’t surprised. “I do miss fresh oranges.” He admitted wistfully.
~~/*\~~
Oskar was given a change of clothes from the boxes downstairs. They didn’t fit right, but his frame had become so lean from the camp that it barely mattered. He pulled the belt tight, and buttoned up the jacket as tight as he could. Reschke barely looked at him as he served the family breakfast. Annegret, his wife, noticed the new worker, but said nothing, eyes flicking to her husband, afraid to ask.
Their son Hans was a teenager, and looked at Oskar sideways, as though they’d met before. Oskar didn’t recognize him, and knew better than to ask. Once the food was served, he ducked back into the kitchen. There was fresh toast there, and even some butter. Reschke had all the best that rationing could afford, as well as whatever he got by virtue of his position.
The soft crunch of toast and butter felt like a miracle in his mouth. He felt his stomach roar at the hint of actual nourishment. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t had real food in a lifetime.
When that thought hit him, he was suddenly struck by a wave of fear. He was one wrong word away from being put back into the camp. Or worse. This taste of toast was a reminder of life. Real life. And it could be taken away so quickly.
He gave himself a mental slap. It wasn’t a bribe, just a different punishment. Before the War, he’d had toast for breakfast every day. It was almost like normal life.
“The riches of his grace.” Oskar quoted to himself quietly as he ate his breakfast.
“That’s from the Bible.”
Oskar jumped, turning to see Hans peeking in the kitchen door. A sudden spike of fear made his heart rate speed up. “Yes. Yes it is.”
But Hans moved on from the door without another word. Oskar waited for a long moment, expecting to be dragged out of the house any second, but there was nothing.
Praying to himself silently, Oskar went back to work.
~~/*\~~ Leahe ~~/*\~~
Hilkiah shook his head. “It’s not like I don’t understand the appeal, but we know better than most that shiny, pretty things are the most dangerous.”
Tavi scoffed. “They aren’t idols to be worshipped, sir. They’re women.”
“I know, but don’t forget where we are, and why.” Hilkiah counselled. “There have been many open attacks on us, and they all failed. We may be in Exile, but we’re still under His protection.”
Tavi froze. “You think this is an attack?”
“Historically, we’ve done far more damage to our own people with a Golden Calf than all the armies coming at us combined.” He lowered his voice. “It’s not like the Egyptian Priestesses were so eager to get to know us, even after we were freed.” Hilkiah said seriously.
“With one or two exceptions.” A voice said darkly.
They both turned to see Leahe approaching. “It’s almost funny how fast this camp goes from really big, to really small, when there’s gossip about.” She came over. “I have been… invited to go and meet with the trading caravans myself.”
Tavi blinked. “They invited the women, too?”
“And I want to say no, except a lot of my friends are going.” Leahe admitted. “I remember when the Golden Calf happened. My father was… besotted with this Egyptian Priestess who had decided the path to God was with us. She was thrilled when the Golden Calf was made, because it was something she knew. My father followed along right to the altar, and never took his eyes off her the whole time.”
Hilkiah sighed. “I’m sorry, Leahe. But that was a long time ago.”
“Was it? I honestly can’t tell.” Leahe admitted. “Emet is getting older. That’s almost the only measure of time passing that seems to work anymore.” She looked away. “I don’t want my son going to the Moabites, Hilkiah. But his friends are already going to meet the trading caravans. I do want him to… to eat something other than the Manna before he’s forty years old.
Hilkiah scoffed. “I can understand that.”
“But I can’t…” She looked shamed. “I just can’t go. I can’t face it. If someone… someone responsible, mature, and…”
Hilkiah sighed. “I suppose it makes sense. Enough people are coming to me with worries about the Moabites, and what might happen. I guess someone should supervise.”
Leahe let out a breath like she’d been holding it for days. “Thank you.”
~~/*\~~
Hilkiah rode his horse to the edge of the Moabite camp, and slid down to the ground, his gaze sweeping over everything like he was bringing an angry wind with him. He saw the Israelites at the trading stalls as expected, doing deals. By the look of the goods going back towards the pack animals, they were getting very generous terms.
Hilkiah wasn’t worried about the deals being made. Instead, he followed the music, over towards the Bonfire. Even at that distance, he could see the firelight casting shadows.
~~/*\~~
“Put your hands right here.” One of the women said sweetly in Giddel’s ear, guiding his hands up her hips. “Now, follow my steps, okay?”
There were musicians playing constantly, in the presence of the Baal idols. While the caravan’s trading was done a fair distance away, the music was audible. The dance that she taught him was enticing, exciting. Her warmth was everywhere, the perfume of her was instantly addictive. It wasn’t dust, or livestock, or woodfire smoke. His wife had never had perfumes like that…
“Giddel!” A voice called harshly.
Giddel jumped away from the young woman, who looked at him pityingly. She looked at him like he was a child, caught doing something naughty by his parents.
Not again. Feeling his face heat, he turned to face Hilkiah. “Yes, sir?”
Hilkiah gave him a pointed look. “Have you seen Emet?”
Giddel pointed to the trading stalls. Hilkiah glanced in that direction. Then back at him, and the young woman attached to his arm. He said nothing, but Giddel defended himself anyway. “She was teaching me a… a dance that the Moabites do.”
“Tell the others that it’s time to go home.” Hilkiah said firmly, letting him retreat.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Oskar was eating better here than he ever had at the Camp. If nothing else, there was variety. The Camp had given them rations that were never exactly nutritious. Sometimes he wondered if the soldiers ate the same thing.
As much as he’d have liked to stay in the kitchen all day, he had responsibilities; and an ‘employer’ with no mercy. He worked much of the day on household tasks; and found they were all blessings in some form. When he was tending to the garden, or chopping firewood, he was outside in a cultivated garden. He had all but forgotten flowers and green grass, after the mud of the Camp. When he was cleaning the house, he had to be clean. After the roughness of the Camp, being able to wash was heartening.
And then of course, there was Juliette. They had nothing in common, other than their imprisonment in this gilded cage, but it was the first time he’d even spoken privately with a woman since his wife had died. The ‘civilizing’ effect of women had been all but forgotten to him after so long in the Camp.
Her accent was naturally intriguing. Enough that she noticed his attention one night while they were chatting in the kitchen, as the household ate dinner. “French is a language created to be beautiful. They wanted words that would feel like music, or poetry.” She told him. “French, Spanish, Italian… they call them the Romance languages for a reason.”
Oskar flushed. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was so… obvious.”
“Like reading a book.” Juliette wasn’t offended. “All men are. No shame in that.” She gestured subtly towards the door with her chin. “Even them. Now, German? That’s a language meant for armies. It’s so harsh on the ear. Every word sounds like it should be shouted at a soldier on the march.”
Oskar snorted, not refuting that.
Juliette lowered her voice, speaking softly. “You’re the only man in this house that I’m not afraid of, Oskar. You were chosen to work in Reschke’s house, because you don’t have violence in you. If any of the others, including Hans, ever decided to try it on with me, what would happen if I said no? For that matter, what would happen if I said yes?”
Oskar had no idea how to respond, and she gave him an unreadable look, before heading out of the room, without so much as a look back.
~~/*\~~ Hilkiah ~~/*\~~
“You don’t have to be so scared, you know.” A melodic voice said with amusement, and Hilkiah turned to see a woman closer to his age. She was reclining comfortably, in a spot that gave her a view of the dancers, and the music; with a small plate of olives, and an amphora of wine. “Your older men act like my girls are predatory serpents, but they really aren’t.”
“No insult intended, miss.” Hilkiah said evenly. “But your dancers are Priestesses to Baal.”
“”You can call me Donatiya. And we know your laws forbid you from taking part.” The woman wasn’t concerned. “But what’s wrong with watching? Would you expect any devotee of your God to forget his duty? Would you demand that any servant of Jehovah refuse to enjoy themselves?”
“Of course not. But we’ve heard of some of the rites that take place in Baal worship.” Hilkiah said seriously. “Such ‘relations’ are sacred to our people. It’s why we limit them to marriage. To do otherwise is to dishonor our mates and our God.”
“These ‘relations’ are holy to us, too, Chieftain.” The woman said gently, though her amusement at his phrasing was obvious. “Such euphemisms. We heard that Hebrew families are generally quite large. Word is your forefathers multiplied fast enough that Egypt had to enslave you for fear of your numbers. I can’t imagine how talking about sex would make you blush.”
Hilkiah said nothing to that, turning to make sure the younger men were indeed getting ready to leave. He looked back and forth, searching for any sign of Emet, but he wasn’t there.
~~/*\~~
Takarut was out, looking around the Camp of Israel, just in case Emet had gone looking for friends of his own. Leahe felt more useless than ever. She prayed, for a lack of anything else to do. Please, God. Please. Please. Please…
“Mama?” Emet called as he came in. He had a basket slung behind him.
“Emet!” Leahe jumped up from her kneeling position, throwing herself at him. “You’re back!” She pushed him back immediately, worried. “What happened?! What did you do?!”
Emet rolled his eyes. “Well, nice to see you too.”
“Emet, you know what’s going on. The Chieftain has been warning about-”
He put the large basket down and drew out a bunch of grapes.
“-warning about…” Leahe’s voice went thin and hollow instantly. Her eyes tripled in size, just seeing the fruit. From within the basket, he drew out a clay jar full of honey. Her mouth went dry. What did he do, for this bounty? And who did he do it with?
Bundles of onions and leeks and garlic came next, and she realized she wasn’t even going to ask. She hadn’t seen anything like this in years. Even decades. Her son was of age now, and was free to-
She gave herself a quick mental slap. Of course she was going to… to what? Force him to tell her? Force him to give these things back? Throw him out of the family?
And then Emet drew a cloth bundle out of his basket, and gave it to her. She took it automatically, feeling the silk under her calloused fingers. She was holding her breath and didn’t even notice.
Her son kept hold of the bundle, looking in her eyes. “No.” He said succinctly. “I didn’t stay for… anything else. I was getting a bad feeling from some of the Moabite women there, and I decided to leave.”
“Then… what did you trade for all this?” She asked awkwardly.
“I didn’t. These were gifts.” Emet admitted. “Everyone’s getting something.”
“Some of the boys are getting something entirely different, from what I hear.” Leahe said darkly.
“I am not one of them.” He promised. “And they’re not boys, they’re my age.”
“Fine, fine. Go find your father. He’s been out looking for you in the Camp, just in case. We should probably share some of this food with him.”
Emet nodded, smiling impishly. “I may have eaten some of it on the way back to camp. What are these ones called again?”
“Grapes. You’ll probably grow your own, one day.” She said affectionately, relief making her eager to dig into the ‘gifts’ from Moab. He left the tent, and she untied the cloth bundle.
It was a dress, made of sheer, soft cloth; smoother than milk, light and colorful. With a gasp, she shook it out, holding it against herself. In her entire life, she’d never seen anything so beautiful. The idea that she could wear it herself, right now…
If I can get into it with only one hand.
She found she was almost tearing off the old, familiar robes before she’d even finished the thought.
~~/*\~~ Oskar ~~/*\~~
Oskar finished chopping wood for the household, and went downstairs to where he and Juliette slept. Reschke was away from the house; and wherever he’d gone, he’d taken his staff car, which meant Oskar wasn’t needed to wash the car. He could probably grab a quick nap-
When he let himself into the cellar, he found Juliette there, perched on the end of her cot.
And she was naked, bathing herself with a washcloth and a pan of hot water.
“Oh!” Oskar turned his head quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t-”
“It’s okay.” She said immediately. “Sorry. I should have warned you I would be in here.” She called him back. “Wait! Wait, Oskar!”
He hesitated, already closing the door between them. “Yes?”
“Can you stay right there for a few minutes? Please?”
“O-okay.” Oskar called back, and shut the door.
Five minutes later, she opened the door, now fully dressed, hair damp. She had a pan full of water in her hands “Thank you.” She said to him quickly. “I was relying on nobody looking for me, but having someone stand guard is better.”
“I thought we were allowed to use the servant’s quarters for bathing and toiletries.” He said, still blushing.
“We are. But they all know that.” Juliette said, quickly leading the way back upstairs. “It’s what I said the other night. I’m a prisoner, but I’m still a woman. I have to be aware of who’s around me at all times. Especially when I’m bathing.” By this time they had returned to the kitchen, and she dumped the pan she carried into the sink. “The kitchen gives me access to hot water and clean cloth. And more importantly, being down there in the basement gives me a little seclusion.” She looked at him sideways. “Well, present company aside, of course.”
And despite himself, Oskar was certain he got a hint of approval from her. Maybe even a little suggestion. “I-I don’t know what to say now.”
She chuckled, a little. “Oskar, you don’t have to make an issue of it. I’m French. We aren’t uptight about such things.” She was already halfway out of the room.
It took a few moments for Oskar to notice he was holding his breath.
~~/*\~~ Emet ~~/*\~~
Emet found his father. He was speaking with some of the older men. When Emet got closer, he saw they weren’t as old as he thought, but they sure carried themselves that way.
His father wasn’t that old, but he walked like an ancient man, carrying the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. Looking around, Emet couldn’t help but notice that most people his father’s age were doing the same.
Takarut saw him, and wandered over. “There’s a lot of worry in the Camp right now. Rumors are going wild about the… well, the people coming out to meet us.”
“You won’t put ideas in my head, father.” Emet scoffed, setting his baskets down. “You’re worried about the women leading our young men away from Camp forever.”
“There are reports that it’s a deliberate attack.” Takarut warned him. “The Moabites know that the only real losses Israel has suffered were when God was punishing us for our disobedience. If they can get us to disobey, they don’t have to do anything else.”
“The one downside to fighting people who believe in false gods.” Emet nodded dryly. “They don’t mind playing one god against another, because ‘one more’ isn’t a problem for them.”
“I’m serious, son.” Takarut said harshly. “The older men are terrified. We don’t know where half our sons are right now. Your mother was completely frantic.”
Emet dropped his voice, taking it seriously. “Father, I didn’t do anything wrong. I saw it coming, and I got out of there before… before anyone could make the offer.” He hesitated. “Some of my friends decided to stay. What’s going to happen to them?”
“I don’t know.” Takarut admitted.
“It’s not just… y’know.” Emet said awkwardly to his father. “It’s that they’re… different. And I know that’s the problem, as far as Moses is concerned, but for us, it’s…”
“New. New is Tempting.” Takarut supplied. “You’ve got eyes, son. Noticing someone is attractive isn’t a sin. It’s not even avoidable.”
“It’s not just tempting, it’s proof.” His son said, and his voice was getting passionate and eager, the further he went. “We always knew there was a world beyond the wasteland, but the only thing we know is what you know, and what we’ve seen. Two invading armies, and a nation that beat our mothers and fathers with whips whenever they did anything. Is that really all there is?!” He waved out over the Camp. “This assembly is the edge of the world for people like me. And whatever the Promised Land is, all we know is that it scared four-fifths of our parents so much that they’d rather go back to being slaves than try for it. That’s everything we know about the world outside. I’ve never seen trees, or grapes, or… or anything but dust and rocks.”
Takarut sighed. “We tried to prepare you for-”
“You prepared us for insidious attacks, or outright invasions, and the follies of false worship. You never prepared us for delicious food, or bright colors, or kindness from foreigners.” Emet shot back. “You warned us about evil people. It never occurred to us that there could be good things out there. It never occurred to anyone my age that we might be happier out there.”
Takarut winced hard enough that his face was unrecognisable for a minute. “God, no…”
“I’ve been your apprentice since I was old enough to hold a stylus, father. I’ve been in the room as you transcribed Moses and all his dealings with God. The history of God’s dealing with all mankind, in fact.” Emet put up his hands, trying to calm his father. “But in all honesty, in all sincerity… Moab is offering something new, and it isn’t as terrible as our parents told us it would be. They are beautiful.”
Takarut sighed, and let it go, hugging his son tightly. “When you’re a father, your most important job in life will be to prepare your children.” He said seriously. “But it wasn’t until I became a father myself that I realized what that meant. The lessons you learn from transcribing Moses’ words are important, but the ones that will stay with you the longest are… memories. The most important things about your mother and I now, are the things that you will remember, after we’re gone.” He smiled, despite himself. “And unlike your own children, we know exactly how long that will be.”
“I don’t like to think about that.” Emet admitted.
“I’m not that thrilled for it either, but it means I know how long I have to make some good memories for you to fall back on, when you’re doing things, and experiencing blessings that I can’t imagine.” Takarut said simply. “I want my grandchildren to have more than I had. And the only way that happens is if you make it into the Promised Land. Forgive me if I erred by going too far in my warnings. Blessings, you will get after I’m… gone.”
~~/*\~~
“Look, I know you think we’re here to fool you into something. We aren’t.” The older Priestess said seriously. “Yes, we include ‘relations’ in our worship. How can we not? You said it yourself: such things are holy and sacred. Sex is to us, what prayer is to you. Or singing songs of praise. Would you refuse to pray with others? Don’t your people make rejoicing to your God a community thing?”
“I’ll concede that, but our worship works just as well with our clothes on.” Hilkiah said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Less awkward, that way. At least, when a family worships together.”
She laughed delightedly. “I’ll grant that.” She sobered. “But my point is, we don’t want you to stop worshipping Jehovah.” She remarked. “Our leaders are terrified this is going to become a war. Our leaders are terrified of the great, and powerful men who ripped through the Amalekites, the Ammonites, and the Egyptians like a knife. Because you will have no trouble going through us.” She gestured back at her Shrine. “Our leaders put their trust in spears and swords. I put mine in the gods. That’s why I'm out here. I want to know if your arrival means I’m going to be killed, for the crime of having faith of my own.” She gestured at the younger men. “Isn’t that why you came? To make sure your people weren’t taking part in worshiping some other god?”
“It was.” Hilkiah admitted.
“I’m afraid of you. We all are, really.” She said simply. “Because to you, it’s bringing down false idols and altars. To me, it’s being killed.” She bowed her head, suddenly smaller before him. “My sister, my daughter… They worship as I taught them. Unless we can find a way to make peace, your God is going to order us all put to death, isn’t He?”
Hilkiah said nothing. He knew the likely answer, but saying it to this lovely woman’s face as she humbly looked up at his eyes was something else.
“I understand that you don’t want your young people led astray. I’m a parent myself.” Donatiya sighed softly, peeking up at him submissively. “Look, why don't you come back yourself, later on. Just you and me, with none of the ‘children’ watching for any faults in our leadership. We’ll discuss the matter like adults. I’ll tell you what goes on in our worship, and why. You can tell me the same about your faith. If there’s… if there’s anything approaching common ground, we might be able to save some lives. At the very least, we can try and arrange some rules on how my girls will behave around your boys.” She smiled, impish. “And if you’re scared, I promise to keep my clothes on the whole time.”
Hilkiah chuckled, charmed by her, despite himself. “Fine. I’ll return later.”
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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