MY TIME AT Noah's camp passed quickly, filled with never-ending chores delegated by Emzara, laughter with the men, and interrogations with the women to further probe about their God. I learnt quickly how to handle Japheth's jokes, how to manoeuvre around Shem's silences, how to make Noah's tea perfectly right ——
And how to murmur quietly to Ham without my cheeks growing heated with a blush.
"Na'el? Na'el?" Ada's annoyed voice shattered my daydreaming, and I shot her a guilty look and hastened to uproot more carrots from the soil. "Thinking about your betrothed again?" she teased, and I knew she was talking about the wildflowers I'd woven into my hair.
Ham had given them to me that morning, his cheeks ruddy with boyish charm and wearing his chuffedness as earnestly as any adorned simlah. Despite the simplicity of the gift, I'd been delighted to show them off whilst it was the men's rest day, so that they could all see his efforts in courting me.
I kept my eyes on the ground, begrudging to admit that she was right. "What does Elohim say about patience, Ada? I need some encouragement."
"Maybe you should build your own Ark," she replied, "that way you'll learn."
I groaned at her response, wishing she would be serious sometimes. Often I would go to Sedeqet instead of Ada for advice, as I didn't want to bother Noah — lately his eyebrows looked permanently pinched, his blue eyes dull with exhaustion — but now she was tending to Shem's hand. I'd learnt his injured wrist gave him trouble, and had to be massaged when it ached, although I'd never mustered up the courage to ask him how his accident had occurred.
I guessed it was similar to Ham's own. The men had been but boys when Elohim had told Noah to build the Ark, though I struggled to picture them as children. It was too sad to imagine, their boyhood replaced by frightening concerns about the end of the world.
The Flood, Noah had called it, once.
"I'm worried, Ada," I admitted, hoisting my basket full of vegetables on my hip. "Sometimes I wonder if Noah will ever let me marry Ham." It had kept me up at night, before —— remembering how my father had bartered with Shem for a bride price, more than a year ago, and I was still not yet a bride.
Had I not done enough to earn Noah's approval? I bit my lip at the thought. Under Ezmara's watchful gaze, I knew I could provide for him —— I could cook, and make clothes, and I knew I wasn't barren, by my monthly bleeding. I'd learnt about Elohim.
And I cared for his son. Deeply. It was still something I had to fight to get myself to admit. Often the guilt was unbearable; it felt like I was replacing my love for Naamah with my growing affections for him.
Ada halted, and pressed a hand to my shoulder. For once, I didn't mind that her hand was coated with dirt, and she was touching my beloved green kēthanoth. "Noah is a man of his word," she said firmly. Her eyes searched mine, imploring me to believe her. "He knows Elohim is his judge, and wouldn't dare wrong Him."
Flickers of uncertainty still burnt in my chest, but I knew that much was true, at least. Elohim didn't take kindly to liars. Sedeqet had told me the story about Cain and Abel; the brother who'd killed his own kin out of jealousy, and tried to hide it from God. He'd been banished from his lands for being the first murderer, and an awful liar.
That alone could inspire anyone to be a truthsayer for the rest of their days. And Noah would be the most devoted one.
"Na'el, let me take this." Ada tugged on my basket, and I released it gingerly, askance. "You go bathe. You need to relax."
"But lunch ——" I protested. Ezmara had put me on cooking duty, and I couldn't disappoint her.
"Sedeqet and I handled the food just fine before you arrived," Ada rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then jutted out her chin. "Go! And don't come back until you've gotten over these foolish worries of yours."
I had to admit, I was excited at the prospect of escaping my duties, if only for a moment. And I knew a good swim in the calm, refreshing water of the river could only do me good.
Once I reached the bank I stripped to my sadin, the fine underdress I wore beneath my kēthanoth, and splashed my face with water. I didn't bother to extricate the flowers from my hair as I moved to dip my toes in, hearing rustling footsteps behind me.
"Ada? Does Ezmara need me after all?" I called over my shoulder, trying to relish in my relaxation for at least one final moment.
"Ada?" Ham's voice was low and shaped by his smile. "Who do I look like to you?"
I could do little else but dive into the water to save my dignity, clutching my breasts through the linen cloth and keeping my back to him. "You fiend," I tried to growl out, but my voice was far less threatening than I had intended. "How dare you intrude —"
"This seems familiar," he interrupted, savouring my outrage. Out of the corner of my eye, he took off his sandals and dipped his feet in the water, stretching luxuriously like a cat. "I would call us even, now."
My cheeks flushed. "I had hoped you had forgotten about that," I muttered.
"Na'el." His voice had suddenly gone from teasing, to serious. "Look at me."
I gnawed on my lip, certain I was drawing blood by now. I was worried if I faced him that he'd see my face blazing as bright as the sun with embarrassment. But I knew I would listen to him. He could have ordered me to walk to the ends of the earth in that moment, as I was set aflame by his gaze, and I would've. For him.
I dipped lower into the water, and then turned to observe him, curious about what had evoked the change in his tone.
It was like I was staring at him for the first time. I committed his face to my memory; the thick, curly hair that tumbled down his ears, the straight nose, freckled by the sun, the beard that had thickened over my stay at the camp. The eyes that blazed down to my soul.
My feet tingled, and I had to hold myself back from fidgeting, worried any slight move would cause me to look indecent. "Well?" I breathed. "Are you satisfied, now?"
"Of course not," Ham replied, a deep tremor in his throat. He pursed his lips and looked at the water, then back at me. "You're not my wife yet. I doubt I can fully be content until then."
So he feels the same way. I was touched by his words, and a smile bloomed on my face despite a strange, twisting feeling in my gut. Deep discomfort wriggled within me, like a parasite I rather wanted gone.
"Not content enough with Elohim?" I asked, not meaning to be accusatory; maybe a year ago, I would have accepted his words without a qualm. But I had learnt many things since then, and I had changed, warped by grief and a desire for the comfort I had hoped his God could provide.
Ham's hands flexed against the ground. I'd said the wrong thing, but I felt no guilt. "Elohim, I feel like, is testing me," he said slowly.
I drew closer, curious. "How do you know? What does it feel like?"
"Na'el," Ham's hand moved, and I knew if he extended his arm, he'd be able to reach me. For a moment, I wished he would. A dark and carnal part of my heart, the part that writhed against my need to be patient, my need to obey, wanted Ham to press me against him, decency be damned.
I was relieved when he remained the way he was.
"You look beautiful," he said, instead of answering my questions. My flush deepened.
"Only because of the flowers you gave me," I explained, waving my hand to my hair. Ham appraised the adornments and smiled.
"I hadn't meant that, but now I agree. You're just wonderful when you talk about Elohim. When you first came here, I thought you'd waft away from me. You looked so forlorn and uncared for." His smile softened and grew crooked. He leant forward, his muscles rolling beneath his kēthanoth.
"But now ... You look happy."
I learnt towards him, like a moth drawn to a torch's flame. His words were a honeycomb and I, a bee. I wanted to nestle in his strong arms forever.
"Ham, I..."
He tilted his face down towards mine. The twisting in my gut sharpened to a knife's edge. I looked away.
"I need you to leave."
He hesitated but for a moment. But he listened to me. And my skin was unburdened by his gaze that night, and the next, and the next after that.
He obeyed me to the extent that I regretted my rejection of him —— my rightful rejection, after all, we weren't yet married, and the way he had spoken to me ... I knew if I had waited a moment longer, my willpower would not have been enough to stop him.
It scared me, how much I yearned for his presence when he became absent.
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It was a few days later when the men took longer to return than usual.
Emzara waited alongside the firepit after bidding us to light the torches, but Ada paced, chewing on her knuckles. Sedeqet stared into the darkness, murmuring a prayer under her breath.
"Shouldn't we go see if they need our aid?" I ventured to ask. Something was wrong, no doubt, and we had waited hours. Surely every second counted, if the situation was dire.
"They'll be back soon," Emzara said quietly. Her eyes were lit with a determination that left no room for argument.
I must have fallen asleep eventually, waiting in the grass, though I did not remember shutting my eyes. But Ada shook me awake, her words harried and strangled. I heard a deep wail that made my bones shiver, and groggily tried to focus on what the russet-haired woman was saying.
" —— his leg needs to be set. Fetch water and beer to dull his pain, and then we have to try and move him to one of the tents ——"
"Ada," I muttered, then swallowed to wet my mouth and tried again. "Ada, what's happened?"
Her eyes flared with desperation. "It's Ham, Na'el.
"He fell."