Forbidden (4 page)

“She’s already a thousand rays of sunshine,” I said, taking one of my sister’s tiny fists in my own giant palm. “She’s perfect.”

“Where’s my other baby?” my mother asked. Her mouth clamped down as a spasm of pain crossed her face when Nalla knelt to massage her belly. “My son,” my mother called again, staring up at the tent’s ceiling. “I want to see him.”

Nalla had given the wrapped bundle that held Sahmril’s twin brother to her younger daughter, Brasia. I watched as Brasia rocked him and crooned, tears running down her face.

“Mother,”
Brasia whispered to Nalla, her eyes dropping to stare down at the ground.

I followed the young woman’s gaze to the floor of the tent, watching in horror as my mother’s blood began to fill the hollow in the floor.

I may never have witnessed a birth before, but I didn’t need to be told that something was terribly wrong.

“Dear God in heaven!” Nalla said. “There’s too much blood! I need rags, cloth, or camel’s hide. Turmeric and henna—quickly!”

There was a roaring in my ears as I jumped up to retrieve the container from the kitchen supplies. My hands shook as I
searched the baskets. A fear, deeper than any I had ever known, shot through my gut as I added water and mixed the herb. Every moment felt like a hundred.

Finally, I thrust the bowl of thick, reddish liquid at Nalla, who was working feverishly.

“Jayden!” my mother cried out, her fingers fumbling for my sleeve.

“I’m here,” I said, shocked at how cold her hands were in mine. “You have two beautiful children,” I told her, trying to distract her from the pain. “Sahmril, your daughter, and a handsome, big son. But you need to name him. What will be his name?”

My mother’s lips parted. Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts. I placed a cool towel against her sweat-soaked skin. “I—Isaac. He will be Isaac,” she said, so faintly I barely heard the words.

“Isaac is the perfect name,” I told her softly. “Just rest now. We’ll take care of everything.”

My mother’s eyes widened and she choked out another breath, as if every word was more painful than the last. “Be sure my babies—Isaac—Sahmril—are raised here. Desert children.”

“Of course they will be,” I told her.

“Promise me.” Her voice grew even fainter and I watched my mother’s dry, cracked lips mouth the words. “Promise.”

I leaned close to her ear so she would be sure to hear. “Mother, I promise with all my heart.”

There was no response. “Leila!” I called out. “More water!
She’s parched dry as a stone.”

My mother continued to stare upward as if she saw something heavenly and wondrous etched into the tent ceiling. I kept talking to her, gripping her hands to give her warmth and assurance, but after a moment I noticed that her eyes had stopped moving.

I stared at my mother’s motionless face, trying to tell myself that she was in shock, that she was just terribly ill and weak.

“No,” I whispered, bringing my mother’s cold hands to my chest. I clutched them fiercely, my eyes filling with scalding tears. This wasn’t happening; she was merely resting.

Dinah suddenly sat back, her words coming out in jerks. “She’s not moving. Because she is dead.”

Her words slammed into me as though I’d been pelted with a stack of mud bricks. “No,” I whispered again. It couldn’t be true. But then I heard sobs all around me. The other women looked so far away I couldn’t seem to bring their faces into focus.

Then I heard Leila begin to wail, followed by the sound of feeble screeching as the babies cried for milk. Already I recognized Sahmril’s tiny voice, and it pierced me to the core of my being.

But there was only one cry, I realized with sudden awareness.

“Let me see him,” I said, not letting go of my mother’s hand. “Isaac—bring him here.” If there was any way to give my mother strength or renew her life, I would do it, even if I had to breathe into her mouth or give her my own blood.

I stared hard at Brasia again. “Let my mother see her son.
The sight of Isaac will give her the will to live.”

Brasia’s glance darted first to Dinah and then to Nalla, who gave a silent nod. She shuffled forward, unable to meet my eyes.

When I peered past the folds of the blanket, my little brother appeared to be sleeping. His miniature lips were puckered into a solemn bud, his hair black and thick like Sahmril’s. But my brother was cold, and now I knew why Brasia was so reluctant to let me see him. Isaac had never lived at all.

“No!” I clasped his small, stiff body to my chest and buried my face into my brother’s tiny form, grief roaring in my head.

“Where’s my father?” I screamed. “Let him come and bless our mother back to life.”

Nalla put a hand on my shoulder, tears falling down her face. “Please. It’s too late, Jayden. But Brasia has run to fetch your father. He is almost here.”

Before I could speak again, the back door of the tent was thrust aside and Leila let out a sudden, piercing scream. “Look,” she said hoarsely. She held aside the tapestry draperies so we could see the expansive view of the desert campsites. All the tents were gone.

Nalla’s face went pale.

My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

The valley was completely empty.

I
touched my mother’s eyelids with my fingertips, and then leaned down to softly kiss each of her cheeks. For an hour, Leila had been sobbing noisily, tearing at her hair and clothes. Now she stood silently on the far side of the main tent, nose swollen, her face wet with smeared kohl.

My eyes burned with the fire of unshed tears. I wanted to lie on the floor and cry for days, but I didn’t have that luxury. It was midday already, and we had to catch up with the rest of the tribe. We were already hours late. My family might get lost or attacked without the safety of the rest of our clan. But first Leila and I had to perform the burial for our mother. And right now my sister was useless.

“As the oldest daughter I should be dressing her,” Leila told me, handing over the silver coins that would be placed on my mother’s closed eyes when we laid her in the ground.

I bit my lips. “You’ve said that three times now, but you’ve made no attempt to help me.”

“I can’t touch her!” Leila cried. “Her dead body scares me. What if there are evil spirits lurking about, waiting to take us to the land of the dead, too?”

I stared at her. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

She turned away from me. “Nowhere.”

“Is that something you’ve heard people say in the caves or cypress groves where Ashtoreth’s priestesses meet?”

“You know nothing about it!” Leila turned on her heel and threw herself on a pillow.

I tried not to scream with impatience.

Taking off the small knife I kept strapped to my leg, I cut strips of linen for washing my mother’s body. Over and over, I had to wipe my eyes, my face, in order to see more clearly. One moment grief threatened to drown me. The next I was so angry I wanted to bite Leila’s head off.

Last night my family had celebrated one of the most important events of my life. Today, less than twelve hours later, my mother and my little brother were dead. And my new sister, as perfect and sweet as she was, would soon die as well without my mother’s milk.

I tried to steady myself, even as hatred rose in my chest. Dinah had a toddler whom she was still nursing, and I’d hoped she would volunteer to become a wet nurse for Sahmril. But then I overheard the quick burst of words between Dinah and her mother.

“There’s no point in my feeding her,” Dinah had said.
“The baby will die without a wet nurse, and I don’t intend to do it. Besides, we depart for the city of Mari halfway along the journey. I might be able to keep the baby alive for ten days, but after that she would surely die.”

“Hush!” Nalla had hissed, darting a glance behind her.

I sagged against the tent door. Dinah and her husband had been keeping their plans to leave the tribe a secret. The news just added another dose of misery. I couldn’t understand how anyone would willingly leave the freedom of the desert to live in a city far from family and friends, or to walk on crowded, dirty streets each day.

This news also meant my family would travel alone. We’d never survive, not without a group. Sickness, running out of food and water—all meant death. Not to mention a raiding tribe who might take what we had and leave us to die.

“Nurse the child, at least for a few days,” Nalla urged. “The girls will be grief-stricken and unable to make the journey if the babe dies now. They’re already burying two this day.”

Nalla’s husband, Shem, arrived at the tent just as Dinah strode away, clearly unhappy with her mother’s advice. The conversation between Shem and my father had gone no better.

“We can travel together for the first half of the journey north to Tadmur,” Shem had said. “But we’ve made arrangements at the crossroads to meet my brothers who will take us to Mari in the East, across the barren desert.”

Watching from the doorway, I saw my father’s face fall as he studied Shem astride his camel. “Why would you want to leave the tribe, Shem?”

“We’ve had news that Nalla’s mother in Mari is ill. And there are signs that the Tadmur oasis is shrinking. It’s a good time to move to a city. Come east with us and we can travel together. Mari is still a free city, and far enough away that Babylon’s grasp will never reach it. A walled city with farms and plenty of grazing by the great river.”

My father shook his head. “I don’t trust the land of Mari any longer. Haven’t you heard that King Hammurabi of Babylon has taken over that part of the world? It’s not safe.”

“This is no time to discuss the politics of Mari,” Shem replied with impatience. “I suggest you bury your wife as fast as you can and get your camels moving before we all die out here.” He wheeled around and galloped off in a cloud of dust.

“I hate him,” I said from behind the tent door. “He feels nothing. And his daughter, Dinah, is just like him.”

My father heard my words and silently wrapped his arms around me. He held me for several moments, and when he released me my hair was damp where his own tears had fallen. My eyes fell to his cloak, which hung in two jagged pieces. My father had torn the cloth in half the moment he saw my mother’s dead body. Then he’d banished everyone from the tent for so long I began to fear he’d died of grief right over my mother’s body.

“Shem’s right,” he whispered. “We must leave immediately. If we hurry there’s still a chance we can reach the tribe’s first stop by nightfall.”

“But, Father,” I began.

“We have no other choice, Jayden. There will be time to mourn your mother when we rest at the oasis.”

I now stumbled about the tent as the burden of a hundred tasks weighed me down.

I leaned over my mother’s freshly washed body. I’d dressed her in her favorite embroidered gown and then washed and combed her dark hair. Now it lay drying, falling in silky waves across her shoulders. I applied fresh kohl to her eyelids and the henna dye to her hands.

The last step was to put my mother’s jewelry around her neck, the bracelets on her wrists, rings on her fingers and in her ears. I took my time, slipping on each ornament and jewel slowly, wanting it to last, not ready to say good-bye.

When I was finished I kissed my mother’s forehead and held her hands. I would do anything to turn back time and talk to her once more. Ask her all the questions that would never be answered. I was alone now, despite my sister being here. Leila could never take my mother’s place.

“Good-bye, my dear mother,” I whispered, staring at her face, memorizing every feature so I could remember her lovely beauty the rest of my life.

Behind me, Leila’s voice rose. “How can you be so calm?”

I wondered myself how I could remain so composed. I wasn’t wailing and tearing my clothing. Somehow, deep inside of me, I knew that if I did, there would be no hope for my family.

My legs were shaking as I went over to Leila and pulled her to me for a brief moment, stroking her long hair, feeling her sobs against my chest. Then I forced myself to drop my arms
and walk to the tent doorway.

“I’m finished,” I said to my father. “It’s time.”

It was strange to be moving around the tent, empty now of our personal belongings. Usually the bustle of packing and the collapse of the tent were so quick, there was no time to walk the empty spaces, to linger and reflect and remember. The tent, no matter where it was, would never be the same again without my mother’s voice and laughter.

Taking a bit of water on a rag, I watched my father wipe the dust from his hands before kneeling next to my mother. He stroked the line of her cheek, touched her hair, and bent to kiss her lips.

That was the kind of love I’d hoped to have one day, and I couldn’t help wondering if it would ever happen. I’d known Horeb my whole life, traveled together, played games, tended camels, but he was distant now, changing each day into someone I didn’t recognize. A boy distracted by his goal to become tribal prince and groom our many family clans into a fierce and powerful tribe. These things were important for our safety and survival. I just wished he seemed a little more interested in courting me and talking about our future life together.

I was becoming surer every day that I didn’t matter to him. Horeb probably didn’t give me a moment’s thought when I was out of his sight. Our marriage was merely a stepping-stone to his goal of status and riches.

Watching my father weep over my mother, I had a sudden, desperate urge to ask my father to break the betrothal, but I could never do that. Horeb’s father was his oldest friend. Every
one of my father’s older brothers had died over the years from raids or illness or accidents. He and Abimelech had known each other since childhood, protected each other, and had become brothers in every sense of the word without actually sharing blood.

Clutching the wall partition in my fists, my gut ached with the knowledge that the only possible way to break the promise to Horeb and his father would have been through my mother. She could have pleaded for my happiness and tried to negotiate another betrothal. And now, with her death, that chance was gone.

I wiped away fresh tears, hot and grimy and miserable. My whole body ached as I bent down to feel Sahmril’s breath against my cheek. She was sleeping so quietly and yet she was so vulnerable. She’d never survive the long, hot journey through the desert. Losing her would tear my heart to shreds. I’d do whatever I had to do to keep her alive.

Finally I lifted Isaac’s tiny, stiff body into my arms and waited for my father outside the door. I could hear his whispers as he said good-bye, and I glanced away, not wanting to eavesdrop.

I found myself rocking my brother back and forth, just like I saw mothers around the camp comforting a whimpering child. Only I wanted someone to comfort me. As my father lifted my mother’s body from the rug, I wished I could hold this final moment forever, all of us here together, for the last time.

We walked silently through the empty desert—our only listeners the rocks and ravines and a flaming ball of orange
overhead. Half a mile away, nestled below the buttress of a cliff, my father had chosen a shaded spot for the grave, protected from the worst of the hot winds. Slowly, he lowered my mother’s body into the hole he’d been digging while I dressed her for burial. Staring down at her lying in the shadow of that hollow, he ripped another section of his cloak, letting out a wail as he flung his head back to stare up at the expanse of empty sky. I followed his gaze and saw a cloudless, sharp blue. A cutting brilliance that hurt as if designed to hack at my heart.

He dropped to his knees beside the open grave, his face in his hands. My chest tightened into a hard knot as I knelt beside him and put Isaac into his arms. Tears streamed down my father’s sunburned skin as he pressed the baby to his face, not wanting to let go of his only son. Finally, he placed Isaac into my mother’s arms, arranging the folds of the blankets with tender hands.

Taking the last of our silver coins from my pocket, I placed them on top of my mother’s closed eyelids. A silk shawl went over her head to cover her face and I knotted the ends with shaking hands. A shiver ran down my neck despite the brutal sun. Imagining dirt and scorpions seeping in through my mother’s mouth and ears and nose was too awful to contemplate.

When my father threw the first scoop of dirt into the grave, Leila ran screaming back to the tent, seizing Sahmril to her chest. I winced, but it was just as well. There was nothing Leila could do here and it was a relief to have her gone.

Tiny shards of gravel covered my mother’s feet, then her
knees and hands and arms, obscuring the threads of red, violet, and yellow that she had painstakingly sewn into the dress she’d made last year for Brasia’s wedding. Could we have ever dreamed that it would become her burial gown? Sitting beside my father as he shoveled dirt, I felt as though I’d aged ten years.

And yet, only a few hours ago we’d danced and celebrated and laughed. Only hours ago, my mother had held my hands and kissed me and assured me I’d have a good life. She’d beamed at my first solo dance. We’d rejoiced that new life was coming, and made plans for my wedding.

When the soil began to cover Isaac, I glanced at my father, worried, but didn’t speak. A never-ending stream of grief flowed over his cheeks like so many precious raindrops.

I turned my head toward the vacant desert, noticing that our tent was not visible from here.

After my father packed down the dirt, we rose to gather rocks, not speaking, just piling the biggest stones we could find on top of the grave to ensure its protection from wolves or hyenas.

When we were finished, he put his arms around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “The sun is at the zenith,” he said quietly. “We must leave within the hour.”

“I’m coming,” I answered, but I couldn’t seem to take a step to follow him. The burial felt unfinished; it was all happening too fast. “Father!” I called to his retreating figure.

He looked back at me, his figure stooped as though he carried the weight of all sorrow upon his shoulders.

“Will we forget where they’re buried?” The hot breeze
snatched at my shaky voice. “This bluff, this spot?”

My father shook his head, giving me a sad smile. “Don’t fear, Jayden. I know the desert like I know my own hands. And I could never forget where your mother is.”

He turned, and as he disappeared over the sandy rise that hid our camp, I was all at once aware of what I needed to do. There were no other women or neighbors to share this enormous, battering grief, but I had to do something. I couldn’t leave my mother alone under the brutal sands with only wolves and beetles for company.

Raising my arms, I slowly clapped my hands to a silent drumbeat, swaying my body in the flowing hip circles. The noises of the desert, hot wind and shifting sand, the soft drone of insects and rustling lizards filled my ears like familiar music. The heat and pulse of the earth rose through my toes.

Digging my heels into the dirt clinging to the edge of the grave, I sensed my mother’s sudden presence. In my mind, I could see her hands kneading a lump of dough beside the hearth.

Hands stripping milk from a camel’s udder.

Fingers gliding a needle through a piece of fabric.