Sunrise on the Mediterranean (26 page)

Finally the dishes were removed, the drinking had slowed, and people grew quieter. Dadua reached for a
kinor.

I could not believe I was here.

The room fell silent. He flexed and relaxed his hand, then stroked the strings to test the sound.

Who can stand on the mountain of Shaday? Who can dwell on his sacred hill?

Walk uprightly, walk righteously, speak truth from your heart

Slander not anyone in whole or in part.

Work well with your neighbor, lift up your tribesmen Despise those who curse Shaday, and honor those who trust in him.

Truth keepers through pain, freelenders all.

Stand up and walk through Shaday’s holy hall.

It was a pretty melody, embedding itself into one’s brain. As the last note died away I glanced at the
giborim.
Tears streaked every face. Dadua lifted his head, looking out on their expectant expressions.

“I speak of a place that is not yet ours,” he said. “It is a place where my
nefesh
cries
el ha
Shaday must dwell.”

My lexicon held up a sign:
Nefesh = ka = psyche = soul.

“There,” he said, “I will build a palace for us, and a palace for the God of our fathers. No longer will he live in a tent,
like a pagan deity on a journey. He will have a home, with his people.”

They were stunned.

“You, my faithful thirty, my
giborim
, will be given homes on border properties. You and you,” he said, pointing to two bearded younger men, “will be on the south
side, protecting us against the marauders of the Negev. You and you,” he said to two others, “will go north, between the tribes
of Zebulon and Asher against the Tsori, Tsidoni, and Mitanni.” In this way he parceled out homes to his men. Homes that cost
him nothing but provided him with border patrols. The men would be fighting not only for their liege, but for their own homes
and families.

I looked over at Cheftu. He was agog.

“We will build a fleet,” Dadua continued. “Thus the land will stretch from the desert to the cedars!”

The men cheered; they liked being in control; they liked their victorious God. Dadua sang the song again, teaching it to us
until we were all singing. Not exactly a drinking song, though that didn’t put off anyone’s efforts.

I was pouring from my fourth jar by now.

Dadua talked about a library he wanted to build. Also a residence for students of Shaday’s words and a section of town where
foreign artisans and craftsmen could share their skills with the highlanders. All of this was to be built on a hill.

A hill? I felt razor-stubble goose bumps against the fabric of my skirt. Not that hill; surely I wasn’t here for that? I clenched
the jar to steady my trembling.

“This hill lies just beyond our reach,” Dadua said. “However, I offer a challenge of the ages to you, my best, my most sacred
brothers. We who were outlaws together in the caves of Abdullum, we shall rule together.”

Enthusiastic shouting drowned him out. “For the commission of this one act, I will offer the greatest reward.”

“Learned from Labayu, did you?” a
gibori
suggested laughingly.

Dadua smiled. “
Ken.
I learned a man will do a lot to bed a woman!”

They all laughed. Cheftu whispered in my ear, startling me since I didn’t know he was standing that close. “According to Holy
Writ, David gave his king Saul the foreskins of two hundred Pelesti to take Saul’s daughter Mik’el to wife.” He kissed my
ear as he moved through the crowd.

“
Lo
,” Dadua said. “This is not for the bed of any woman, who can choose to deny you even that pleasure when it suits her,” he
said in an undertone. The men hooted as I wondered what woman ever had refused him. He was gorgeous, charismatic … heck, he
was even a musician. None of my friends would have refused him. I glanced at the woman beside him,
G’vret
Avgay’el. She was his second wife, exquisite and looking at him with pure adoration, even after that comment.

Dadua continued. “For this feat, if he should survive, Shaday willing, he will become, for now and ever after, the
Rosh Tsor haHagana.
”

The lexicon in my head threw out visuals. I saw a picture of George Washington as general; then MacArthur saying, “I shall
return”; finally Colin Powell. Dadua was giving an open call for the highest-ranked officer.

“He must give me Jebus.”

Silence fell like a stage curtain, straight down and blacked out. Dadua smiled at them. “Abdiheba, king of Jebus, claims that
only the blind and lame can defeat his mountain citadel. Moreover, he claims that any man who invades will become blind and
lame. I fear I don’t understand this logic.” Dadua chuckled, and the
giborim
joined him. “So here is the challenge: I want, and Shaday wants, to celebrate the Feast of Weeks in Jebus! As my city!”

Jebus? Why Jebus?

The lexicon showed me the map again, marked with the cities of the Philistines. To the east of them, high in the mountains
I read the word
Jebus.
Then the letters melted into English, into modern English, revealing Dadua’s desire. I was braced, but imagination is nothing
like reality.

Jerusalem.

David and Jerusalem. I didn’t know much about the Bible, but I’d heard a lot about Jerusalem. My father had spent the latter
part of his career on Jerusalem. Still, I hadn’t a clue as to chronology. Did David conquer it now? Or was there a period
of waiting or siege?

Cheftu moved behind me. As I turned to trade my empty jug for his full one, I whispered, “Our children are going to memorize
their history books.” That way, if they happened to stumble into a time-traveling career, they’d be better equipped than their
clueless mother.

“
Nachon
,” he said as I moved off, a fresh jar on my shoulder.

Would Cheftu know the timing here? If it was in the Bible, he would. Was it in the Bible, though?

“Get me the city and the
haHagana
is yours,” Dadua said to the
giborim.
“The first man to open the doors to Jebus is forever my first in command.” This position wasn’t already taken? I glanced
at Yoav, sitting motionless, his eyes like green glass. Was his job up for grabs here?

In a single voice they responded, “Thy will be done.”

I poured cup after cup of wine as I listened to the men’s mutterings, while dancers and jugglers entertained, in addition
to the many musicians.
HaMelekh
Dadua, King David, reclined, a satisfied smile on his face. He knew how to motivate his men.

The night passed on, the
giborim
fell asleep in their places, several of them staggering to their rooms, the others snoring by the doors. We slaves moved
silently among them, picking up cups, plates, shooing away cats and dogs that thought it safe to dine while the soldiers rested.

Cheftu waited for me so I would know where to go to sleep tonight. I couldn’t believe we’d just arrived this morning. “We
are in a watch house,” he said as we walked through the vineyard. The leaves had just started to grow on the vines. Unlike
French vines, these weren’t espaliered. They were left in little bushes, with one cord holding them in a line.

In the center of the field was a cylindrical building, with a spiral staircase to the door. “Our home,” he said, squeezing
my waist. We were going to live together, like a married couple. After two years of being married, we were finally going to
play house. I leaned my head on his shoulder.

It looked like paradise to me.

Dawn was breaking as we mounted the steps, opened the door. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The interior was only
slightly more luxurious than the exterior. It was dug like a pit, deep enough that I could stand and still see out, for the
walls ended about two feet from the roof, giving a 360-degree view.

A cursory glance revealed a few niches in the wall stocked with a pallet, musty and torn; two blankets, both of scratchy wool;
a round, unglazed clay dish; a water jar; and an oil lamp.

We made up the pallet, and Cheftu fell onto the bed. He was a fieldworker and had to be there within the hour— though the
Israelites didn’t have a designation for times as short as an hour. A little light fell on the blankets across his calves.
His hair was growing out, and he’d decided the reason highlanders had beards was because their bronze blades were too dull.
He wore scabs from his attempts to remain clean-shaven.

“Are you finished thinking?” he whispered. “How did you know I was thinking?” I whispered back. I thought he’d fallen asleep.

“You frown.”

Oh. I hadn’t known that.

“Come to bed, beloved, let me remove that frown.” As he spoke he leaned over, propping himself up on his arm, blinking sleepily.

“He’s set his men against each other as a competition to make it into Jebus,” I said as I removed my sash. “Does David wipe
out Jebus at this time? I know he does somewhere along the way.”

“How do you know that?” Cheftu asked, pulling back the blanket for me.

“Because it is called the city of David …” I paused as I slipped out of my sandals. “Unless that is Bethlehem?”

He chuckled. “Jebus is also David’s city.”

I unbraided my hair, running my fingers through it, finger combing through the knots. “Why are we here in this time period?”
I asked. “I came back just for you. This is the big time, Cheftu. We’re not in the middle of unknown history, or something
most people think is fable. We are living a history that all of Western civilization inherits!” I heard the edge in my voice;
I was really wired. I turned away, embarrassed at my emotion.

As I slipped my dress over my head, I suddenly felt Cheftu against me, the sleepy warmth of his body against the night-cold
skin of mine. His arms embraced me, pulling me safe into the cocoon of his heat. We were almost of a height, cheek to cheek
in the dawn.

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you fear?” I felt his words on my neck.

“This is real,” I said. “What are we doing here? What if we screw up?”

He kissed my shoulder, then picked me up and carried me to the pallet. His body followed mine down, and as I felt the familiar
rush of heat at the thought of being joined with him, he spoke. “What mistakes are there to make?”

Instead of naming the millions of ways I could imagine, I drew him to me. His mouth was hot, sweet, his body growing to mine.
“Look at me,
chérie
,” he said. “What mistakes are there to make? You speak of history as though it is carved from stone.”

“Isn’t it?”

“History is daily life, beloved. History is a couple making love, making a family, laughing and crying. No one knows what
history is until that couple is ash and their children’s children are making love and making families.”

“This is one of the reasons I love you,” I whispered, raising up to feel him enter me. What a miracle to be connected like
this. What a freeing paradigm shift he suggested.

“History is perspective,” he breathed against my skin, his pupils wide. I held him tightly with my arms and legs, tears trickling
from the corners of my eyes. For me this was prayer.

Cheftu pulled my arms over my head, holding me fixed, facing him. “Look at me, beloved. We are history. God has placed us
here, who knows why. But”—he drove into me— “we will learn. Time passing will become history.”

I leaned forward and licked a drop of sweat off his chin. “So are we about to make history?”

“
Lo
,” he said with a devastating smile. “We are about to make ice cream.” Then he began to melt me, harden me, taste me, and
revel in me, his delicious treat.

From that apex, my day raced downhill; I met the millstone.

Suddenly the clichés made sense to me. Tying a millstone around your neck could easily drown you. Bad news could be just like
a millstone.

And a woman’s work was never done.

The basis of every ancient people’s diet—on which I’d become quite an expert—was bread. Bread required dough. Dough was made
of water, yeast, and flour. God made water, yeast was kept from the last batch of bread, and making flour was my task.

It was a mindless, backbreaking, two-person job.

My teammate was a girl, a homely thing with bug eyes, buckteeth, and a lisp. She was all knees and elbows. Her mother had
sold her into slavery when she was ten. Now she was twelve, with barely budding breasts. However, she was the first platinum
blonde I’d seen this side of Malibu Barbie. White blonde, Viking blonde, California-dreamin’ blonde. She was called ’Sheva
and didn’t speak, even when spoken to.

Shana, the bossy redhead, showed me the millstone, which was a foot in diameter with a hole in the middle. It looked like
a granite doughnut. “I need seven measures of grain,” she said. “There is the storeroom. ’Sheva here will help you.”

She walked off. I looked at the girl. “Do you know what to do?”

She stared at me blankly.

“Do you? I don’t.”

No response.