The Days of Peleg (80 page)

The boy looked up.

“But don’t be expecting any handouts,” he stated bluntly. He turned away quickly, dismissing Shem, and resumed his dusting.

Shem returned to the street, and made his way towards the southern gate, walking, not running, this time. He was astounded at the general uncleanliness as he passed by mounds of garbage, animal waste, and broken stoneware tools.

He pushed through the obligatory vendors surrounding the gate and exited the city, heading towards the main ports. He soon identified the sun symbols of Reu on banners over a set of storehouses, and headed towards a small group of men who were standing near one of the large open doorways.

There was some stifled laughter at Shem’s appearance, but these dockworkers were accustomed to the many clothing styles of travelers from around the world, and they managed to maintain a civil exchange with Shem as he spoke with them.

“Where might I find Terah?” he asked the man who seemed to be in charge. Shem suddenly realized that he was the only man without a beard, and that, in fact, none of the men in Ur were clean-shaven. He mentally added one more reason for his cold reception.

“Why do you need to see him?” asked the man standing next to the one that Shem had spoken to.

“I need to speak with him and his family,” Shem stated, slightly unsure of himself.

“About business?” asked the first man.

Shem said nothing for a moment, and then replied, “It’s a personal matter.”

The men stared blankly at him for a moment, until Shem felt compelled to add more information.

“I’m family,” he said, awkwardly, “somewhat distant family.”

“Who isn’t?” laughed a third man, looking around at his coworkers with a grin. A round of laughter ensued, followed by one of the men commenting that everyone wanted a piece of Nahor’s inheritance.

The first man drew closer to Shem and said, “Don’t mind them.”

He pointed back behind Shem, towards the city gate.

“Terah’s sons work at the finishing plant, putting the final touches on our products and maintaining inventory. You will find it just inside the city gate, to the left. Ask for Haran. He is the eldest son of Terah.”

Shem nodded his thanks and began walking back towards the gate.

“Master Terah will usually stop by there later in the day,” the man called after him. “You’re sure to meet him then.”

Shem waved back at the men, who mumbled something among themselves, resulting in another wave of laughter. He then proceeded back through the Southern gate (passing under the disapproving eye of the gate officer) and turned left.

He immediately recognized the faded sun-motif of Reu on a banner hanging from a canopy under which a large assortment of
Anunnaki
icons, representing the usual natural forces and mystical animals he had come to expect. He passed under the canopy into the main shop, and began looking around.

It wasn’t long before a young man of about thirty approached him, wearing a short burnt-red robe with a loose belt made of finely woven gold links. He looked up at Shem.

“Yes?”

The man spoke dispassionately, his eyes droopy, as if anticipating a boring exchange. He glanced around the room, waiting for this peculiar customer to speak.

“My name is Shem,” Shem began. “I am looking for Master Terah, but I was told to come here and ask for Haran, his eldest son.”

“I am Haran,” the man responded. “My father is not due here for several hours, but you may wait here if you wish.”

He shrugged and pointed to the far corner. “And you may pour yourself some tea, or feel free to go out for something to eat and return later. I’ll be sure to tell him that you called.”

It was obvious that the offer of tea was to be the extent of Haran’s hospitality. He hadn’t even offered to serve it. Shem pushed aside his resentment at the young man’s rudeness and nodded, indicating that he would wait.

He began walking among the inventory, sipping the harsh herbal tea, as a powerful feeling of dread and oppression began to spread over him. He was surrounded by carved manifestations of the very forces that desired to supplant the Creator. They sought to focus the minds of people on created
things
, rather than on the Creator Himself. He shook off the feeling, allowing the Creator to remind him that he was doing His will, and that his objective was, once again, to reestablish the lineage of the
Zeh-ra
.

He suddenly realized that his objective ought to be Haran, since he was Terah’s oldest. He turned back to Haran, only to realize that the young man had disappeared, abandoning Shem with what could only be a deliberate and callous statement of disinterest. Shem decided not to pursue him. Somehow, Shem simply had no desire—or patience—to speak with this rude individual. He looked around and slowly wandered into an adjoining room.

The brilliance of this next room surprised him, as he saw shelves filled with shining brass statuettes and busts, along with numerous delicately etched vases. He surveyed the room, actually impressed with the fine workmanship, and soon he saw who was responsible for their care and maintenance.

Two small boys were working in the room, moving from one piece to the next, carefully dusting, and polishing each article before placing it gently on the shelf and continuing on to the next. One seemed to be about five or six, while the other could not have been more than four. However, the younger one (who stood directly in front of Shem) seemed to be working confidently around the shop, while the older one (who was working partially obscured on the far side of the room) moved slowly, looking down at his feet; but whether it was from insecurity or boredom, Shem could not tell.

Haran suddenly appeared behind Shem, startling him.

“My son, Lot,” he said.

Shem turned to look into Haran’s face where he saw a father’s pride coming from the same eyes that, earlier, had seemed so indifferent.

Lot glanced up.

“Hello Father,” he said politely. “Who is this?”

Haran looked at Shem with subtle contempt, yet disguised so his son would be unable to decipher it.

“This is someone who wants to visit your grandfather,” he answered. “His name is Shem, and he is going to look around while he waits.”

Lot looked up at Shem.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” he said with a slight bow, as sweetly and properly as a four-year old possibly could.

Haran grinned in pleasure at his son, but then turned to Shem with a scowl and a shake of his head. It was clear he did not approve of this awkward, strangely dressed man.

Shem decided to try for one more exchange.

“And who does the other boy belong to?”

Haran looked past Shem at the older boy who was carefully returning a large vase to a high shelf just barely within reach.

“Oh,” he said, “That’s just my little baby brother.”

Haran stared back into Shem’s eyes, daring him to ask more questions.

Eventually Shem looked away, and Haran turned and exited the room with a slight huff. Shem brushed off the disrespect, and turned back to look at Lot.

Shem was quite taken with the youngster’s poise, but a rushing waterfall of excitement was overtaking him as he began to consider who this child might actually be!

Could he be the one?

This child might be the final step in his search for the lineage of the
Zeh-ra
! The firstborn of Haran—who was Terah’s firstborn! He knew from his experience with Eber and Peleg that the principle of the ‘firstborn’ was not always true, but he allowed himself to be carried away with the joy and relief of coming this far—after all these years.

His next step was to explain the message of the coming Seed to Lot—but his excitement abated slightly as he considered the prospect of imparting truths about the Creator and His redemption to a four-year-old.

He would have to share his message with someone older. However, he still did not feel comfortable engaging Haran, so he resigned himself to waiting for Terah.

In the meantime, it would not hurt to develop a rapport with this fine boy. He moved alongside Lot and hunkered down. He winced as a stab of pain shot through his knees with the grim reminder that he was aging—and he remembered how Peleg had complained of similar aches during their travels. It was his turn now, and at the age of four hundred and fifty-five, he wasn’t getting any younger. He again suppressed the hope that he might see, or at least hear, something of Peleg.

Lot watched him from the corner of his eye, but dutifully continued polishing. The other boy had disappeared around the far row of cabinets, but could still be heard shuffling items around on the shelves.

“So your name is Lot,” Shem stated lamely, hoping to build some camaraderie with the child.

Lot nodded, but said nothing.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Shem tried again.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“I have one sister, Karin-gan,” he answered quickly. “She does sewing.”

“And the rest of your family?” Shem pushed.

“Well, you met my Father, and I have several cousins.” Lot finished polishing the urn he was working on and set it aside. He turned to face Shem and finally decided it was all right to speak to this stranger.

“My grandfather’s name is Terah, and his son is my father, and his other son is my uncle Nahor who was born right after my great grandfather Nahor died, and that’s who he was named for, and then his other son is my uncle Abram who I like to play army with, and I think that Uncle Nahor is going to marry my friend, Thanod’s, sister because I think my grandfather likes her, and…”

“What are these items that you are cleaning?” Shem interrupted Lot’s breathless, run-on sentence to try and redirect the conversation.

“My family sells
Anunnaki
icons and accessories,” he stated, obviously reciting a business slogan. “The spirits of the
Anunnaki
reside in our fine-handcrafted carvings and sculptures.”

Lot gave a definitive nod, proud of his diminutive sales pitch.

Shem nodded his approval of the delivery, but hid his disapproval of the message.

“Tell me about the
Anunnaki
,” he asked innocently. “Are they wiser and more powerful than people?”

Lot nodded confidently, but somewhat confused at the older man’s ignorance.

“Yes, they bring you luck, and will give you success in health, wealth, and love.” It was another slogan.

“And how do their spirits get into your products?”

Lot’s confidence ceased abruptly as he pondered a question that no customer had ever mentioned before. His little mind churned to fabricate an answer.

“Well,” he began slowly, “Maybe they, probably, are invited in after they are made.” It was more like a question, as if Shem were giving him a test. But Shem pressed on.

“And can one
Anunnaki
reside in more than one item? After all, I see several busts of Nergal. Does his spirit live in all of them, or does he take turns visiting each one?” Shem pointed to a shelf lined with the familiar lion’s head with a sword protruding from its mouth. Nergal was actually the bringer of plagues, but supposedly his appeasement dissuaded him and actually promoted health and well-being.

Desperation spread across Lot’s face as his little mind contorted to find an answer. Shem let him suffer for a moment, but was impressed when he finally came up with a valiant reply.

“I think that, maybe, they are always listening and return to the sculpture when someone wants them.” He looked at Shem hopefully, not sure if he had said anything to diminish the value of his products.

Shem nodded, finished with this line of questions, and Lot smiled at him, relieved.

As Lot moved to his next item, Shem shifted his weight, wincing again as his aging knees protested, and moved on to his next question.

“And you say that the
Anunnaki
are wiser and stronger than we are?”

The boy stopped in mid-reach and nodded, again wondering about the education of this stranger.

“Of course.”

“Then I have another question for you.” Shem shifted again to reposition his aching ankles.

“Why can’t the
Anunnaki
make their own statues? Why don’t they design and create the busts and figurines? Why don’t they carve and forge and smelt the wood, stone and metal, and why is it that they can’t clean, polish, and care for their own dwelling places?”

He stopped abruptly as the little four-year old mind labored with issues he had never considered. Shem waited, determined to make the child respond. On the far side of the room, he could hear shuffling as the other boy clambered up to a new level of shelving to continue his polishing.

Ultimately Lot did not disappoint as he offered a possible explanation.

“Maybe it’s because they need our hands,” he said slowly, “or maybe our tools.”

“But if people are able to do what they cannot,” Shem continued, “Doesn’t that mean that
we
are stronger and wiser? I think that proves that we are more able and more creative than they are.”

Shem was finally forced to stand in deference to his knees.

“What do you think?” Shem asked.

The intrigued eyes twisted upward to follow the stranger’s ascending face. Again Lot tried to conjure an answer, but in the end he simply shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, let me ask you one more question,” said Shem. Lot looked up with an equal mixture of expectation and dread. The rustling at the far end of the room had ceased.

“Where did the
Anunnaki
come from?” asked Shem. “And I don’t mean, from the stars or from the netherworld. I mean, how were they made. Who formed them?”

Without waiting for an answer, he spread his arms to embrace the contents of the room. He was speaking passionately now, forgetting about the four-year old in front of him.

“After all, everything was made by somebody. These icons were created and designed by artists and craftsmen, and the more elaborate an item, the more intelligence was required.”

Lot continued to stare up at the tall stranger who seemed to have gone crazy. Shem suddenly remembered the boy, spun around, and stooped down to look him squarely in the eye.