Where the Jackals Howl (29 page)

“At night you go out to fight and you win, and in the daytime you sleep, and then even the flies on your face are stronger than you are.”

Jephthah said:

“Everybody has to sleep.”

Pitdah said:

“Snakes never sleep; they can't even close their eyes, because they have no eyelids.”

Jephthah said:

“It is written in the holy writings that the snake is more cunning than any other beast of the field.”

Pitdah:

“How sad to be more cunning than any other beast of the field. And how sad never to sleep and never to close your eyes and dream at night. If the snake was really cunning, it would find a way to close its eyes.”

“What about you.”

“I love watching you sleeping on the ground after your night fights, with the flies walking all over your face. I love you, Father. And I love myself, too. And the places where you never take me, where the sun sets in the evening. You have forgotten the sea, but I remember. Now, put this cloak over your head and moo, and I'll watch you and laugh.”

 

In his dreams Jephthah saw a procession of princes and powerful men coming to ask him for his daughter's hand. Their faces were crooked; like dogs they must be chased away with a stick or a stone, because Pitdah was not for them. Very slowly and heavily his father Gilead appeared in Jephthah's dreams, and he, too, put out his broad, rough hand to touch Pitdah and she ran away from him and hid behind the troughs and he ran after her and Jephthah cried out in his sleep. Or else the boys appeared, Azur and Jamin and Gatel and Jemuel, and they surrounded Pitdah in his dream with hundreds of white fingers to tear off her clothes and she laughed with them and he screamed at the sight of them because they had no eyelids and their eyes were wide open and gaping at her not closing not blinking and they closed around her and he woke up with a cry and found that he was holding the dagger and his hand was shaking.

Touch me, O God, you have not touched me yet, how long shall we wait for you. Reach out for me with your hand and with fingers of fire. Here I am before you upon one of the mountains, holding the lamb for a burnt offering, and behold the fire and the wood, but where is the knife. I shall desire your shadow all the days of my life. If you appear in the mountain I shall be burning dust. If you shine forth in the crescent moon or in the reflection of the moon in water, there your servant will be in the white sands or in the depths of the water. If the dogs howl and pour out their hearts in their howling, that is a sign that you are loving and wrathful. Send me your wrath, O God, and let me be touched by it, surely you are a solitary God and I, too, am all alone. You shall have no other servant before me. I am your son and I shall bear witness all my life to your inscrutable terrors, O Lord of the wildcat stalking the lifeless riverbeds by night, night after night.

 

In the course of time Jephthah became the chieftain of the nomads. He spoke little, and when he did speak his voice was very soft. Anyone who wanted to hear him had to lean toward him and listen attentively.

At that time the king of Ammon invaded the land of Israel. He conquered all the cities and farms and made slaves of their inhabitants. Some managed to escape, but the rest were under the sway of King Gatel. The king never left his palace, but passed his time filling scroll after scroll with orders for his generals, and also writing the
Book of the Wars of King Gatel.

One day Jephthah's three brothers, Jamin, Jemuel, and Azur, came to the desert to the Land of Tob, to the place where Jephthah dwelt. They were fleeing from the Ammonites and they had come here because Jephthah's fame had spread all over the land, as he and his nomad band, the Jephthahites, snapped at the heels of the Ammonite army, robbing the caravans and flouting the king's guards like a bird playing with a bear.

Jephthah did not conceal his identity from his brothers. But neither did he fall on their necks and weep. With the passage of the years his two eldest brothers had become even coarser. Jamin, the eldest, was now a heavily built, corpulent man who resembled neither his father nor his mother but looked more like the household priest. Jemuel could not rid his face of an obsequious smile accompanied by a lecherous wink, which seemed to be saying, Come over to my house, my friend, and let's have an orgy. Only the youngest brother, Azur, had developed the speed and sharpness of an arrow in flight; he resembled his half-brother the son of the Ammonite woman, rather than the two sons of Nehushtah daughter of Zebulun.

When the three brothers had bowed down and prostrated themselves before the nomad chief, Jephthah said:

“Rise, fugitives. Do not bow down to me. I am not Joseph and you are not the sons of Jacob. Stand up. At once.”

Jamin, the eldest, spoke as though reading from a written text:

“My lord, we have come to tell you that the Ammonite foe has conquered your father's estate. And now our father is an old man and cannot fight against them. We, your servants, say to you: Arise, Jephthah, rescue your father's house and your father's land, for only you and no other can defeat the Ammonite serpent.”

They pleaded with Jephthah and Jephthah said nothing. He merely ordered that they be accepted into his band. Day by day they said to him: How long will our lord tarry. He did not answer them and he did not rebuke them. In his heart he said, O God, grant me a sign.

 

The Jephthahites harried the armies of Ammon. Fear and panic seized the city of Abel-Keramim at night because of the Jephthahites who raided the caravans. Jephthah's men were as swift and cunning as their lord. His footsteps at night were like a breeze or a caress. He sent silent-knived assassins by night to the Ammonite captains. Gatel's soldiers were seized by terror whenever they heard at night the sound of a breeze or a wolf or a bird of prey, lest it be Jephthah's nomads in the night making the sound of bird or wolf or breeze. The Jephthahites penetrated the walls of Rabbat-Ammon and infiltrated the squares of Abel-Keramim and its temples: they entered the city by day with the caravans, disguised as merchants, by night they sowed panic, and in the morning they were borne away by the wind and were no more, and time and again Gatel sent forth his army to pursue the wind. In the book of his wars King Gatel wrote:

“Surely this is the way of the fainthearted, to strike and to flee. Let them come by the light of day, let us meet face to face, and I shall crush them and have peace.”

But the Jephthahites did not choose to come by daylight. Day by day the lord of the nomads went out and stood alone on the hill, with his back toward the camp and his face toward the wilderness, as though waiting for some sound or scent.

 

Then King Gatel sent word to Jephthah:

“You are an Ammonite, Jephthah. We are brothers. Why are we fighting each other? If you choose, come and I shall place you in my second chariot, and none shall lift up hand or foot without your word in all the cities of Ammon and of Israel.”

By the hand of his adjutant Azur the nomad chieftain sent back word to Gatel king of Ammon saying:

“Gatel, I am not your brother or your father's son. You know that I am a stranger. I do not fight for the Israelites, I fight for one you do not know. In his honor I shall put you to the sword and your enemies, too, for I have been a stranger all the days of my life.”

P
ITDAH DREAMED
a dream one night in her tent in the Land of Tob. In her dream she was a bride in a bridal gown. The maidens were dancing around her with lyres and timbrels, and there were bracelets on her arms.

When she told her father about this dream he flew into a panic. He shook her by the shoulders and whispered frantically: Tell me who was your bridegroom. As he pleaded with her his hands twisted her shoulders violently, and she suddenly started to laugh, as she often laughed, without cause. Then he slapped her face wildly with the back of his hand and shouted: Who was your bridegroom.

Pitdah said:

“You are looking at me like a murderer.”

“Who was it, tell me who it was.”

“I couldn't see his face in the dream, I could only feel his hot breath on me. Look at you, you've got foam on your lips, leave me alone, go and wash your face in the brook.”

“Who was it.”

“Don't you hit me again or I'll laugh aloud and the whole camp will hear.”

“Who was it.”

“But you know who my bridegroom is. Why did you shout at me, why are you trembling so.”

 

She stood laughing and he stood facing her wearing a dazed look. His eyes were closed and his lips said to him: Of course I knew, why was I so startled. They were still standing there when the elders of Israel rode down to prostrate themselves at Jephthah's feet.

He opened his eyes and saw them coming, and he also saw his father Gilead riding with them. He was just as broad and heavy and ugly as in the old days, only his beard had turned gray.

The elders of Israel raised the hems of their cloaks because of the dust of the desert. They fell flat on their faces before the chief of the nomads. Gilead alone did not bow or prostrate himself before his son. Then a delicious bubbling joy began to course through Jephthah's veins, such a joy as he had never known before and would never know again.

With an effort he controlled his voice as he addressed the elders:

“Arise, elders of Israel. The man to whom you are bowing down is a harlot's son.”

But they remained on their knees and would not stand up; they merely looked at one another, not knowing what. At the end of the silence Gilead the Gileadite said:

“You are my son, who will save Israel from the Ammonites.”

Jephthah contemplated their broken pride distantly as though it were a wound. Then he was touched by sorrow, not the sorrow of the elders, perhaps not sorrow at all, but something that was not far removed from gentleness, a taste of scorched earth. Gently he said to them:

“I am a stranger, O elders of Israel. No stranger should go before you in your wars, lest the camp be unclean.”

At this the elders rose. They said:

“You are our brother, Jephthah, you are our brother. See, today we have made your father Gilead judge of Israel and you, our brother, shall be the captain of our army, you shall fight for us against the Ammonite; as captain of your father's army you shall be our commander, you shall have power over all your brothers, Jephthah, because from your earliest youth you have known the skills of war. To this day the story is told around the shepherds' campfires how you tore a wolf with your bare hands.”

“But surely you hate me, elders, and when I have crushed the Ammonite for you you will chase after me like a rebellious slave and my father here will put me in irons because he is the judge of Israel and I am a stranger, a nomad and a harlot's son.”

“You are my son, Jephthah. You are my boy who put his hand into the fire without crying out and who tore a wolf with his bare hands. If you come back and fight the Ammonites for us I shall bless you before all your brothers, and you shall be the one who leads the people out and brings them in all the days of my life.”

“Why do you not leave me alone, elders. And you, too, judge of Israel: stop pleading with me. You are not children: why are you playing these games. Go while you can and save your hoarheads, and take your priests and all your scribes with you. Only leave me alone. I can see through your plot. Jephthah will not be the warhorse of Israel, and this old man will not ride on my back.”

Then Gilead the Gileadite spoke, with lips pressed tight together as though he were straining to break an iron chain.

“Your father will not judge Israel. You shall fight and you shall judge.”

The elders were silent; their tongues failed them at the sound of these words.

Jephthah spoke quietly, like a fox, and as he spoke the yellow spark glimmered in his eye.

“If you are really and truly appointing me to be judge of Israel this day, then swear to me now in the name of our God.”

“As God hears and witnesses: you shall be judge.”

“A whore's son shall be your leader,” Jephthah said, and he laughed so loudly that the horses were alarmed.

And the elders soundlessly repeated:

“Our leader.”

“Then clap this old man in irons at once. The judge of Israel commands you.”

“Jephthah, my son—”

“And cast him into the pit. I have spoken.”

 

The following day Jephthah inspected his army and appointed captains and commanders. He dispatched his brothers Jamin and Jemuel to assemble speedily all the fighting men among the tribes of Israel. And he sent his adjutant Azur the Gileadite with a message to Gatel king of Ammon:

“Get out of my land.”

At nightfall on the following day, the judge of Israel commanded a large tent of honor to be pitched in the middle of the camp, and he ordered his father Gilead to be brought up from the pit and installed in this tent and furnished with wine and servant girls. To his daughter Pitdah he said: If the old man dashes the wine pitcher to the ground and smashes it, tell the servants to hurry and bring him a fresh one quickly. If he breaks the second let them fetch him another, because this old man sometimes takes a fancy to the sound of breaking glass. Let him smash to his heart's content. Only do not dare to enter the tent yourself; stop laughing now. Go.”

 

Gatel king of Ammon was driven to distraction by the Jephthahites who picked off his soldiers by day, and by night seemed to be swallowed up by the earth. He sent his army after them, but it was like chasing the wind. He became a laughing stock in Moab and in Edom a byword: the fly bites and the bear dances.

Gatel sent Jephthah a message by the hand of Azur his adjutant: Leave me alone, Jephthah. You are an Ammonite; why should you harm me; surely I loved you deeply. But Jephthah knew Gatel's mind, he knew that he had set his heart on being like one of the mighty kings of old but that even the smell of horses in the distance was enough to make him feel giddy. Calmly the judge of Israel waged a war of words with the king of Ammon by means of envoys who passed to and fro: to whom did the land really belong, whose forefathers had settled it first, what was written in all the chronicles, who was in the right and who had justice on his side. Eventually Gatel came to imagine that it was a war of scrolls that he had to wage, and he multiplied scroll upon scroll.