The Wanderer Scorned

My mother didn’t stay angry at me for long. One look at my bloodied hands that morning and her tender nature kicked in. She bathed them, poured olive oil over them, wrapped them in new linen cloths, then kissed them profusely. So, I blessed the hands that had caused me so much pain but enabled her to forgive me for losing her favourite son.

After a short sleep, I walked to clear my head, thinking I might find Abba who had already left for the pastures when I got home. As I passed the point in the river where we washed our clothing, I heard someone singing. It was Awan.

I had never heard Awan sing alone. Her words seemed too mature for her eleven summers; perhaps that calm demeanour hid a more complex soul. I drew nearer to where she was crouched over the water, scrubbing at some dirty rags. I realised they were the linens Ima had cleaned my hands with, stained with my blood.

‘You sing well,’ I said, lowering my tall frame to sit beside her. She looked up and smiled, her eyes glistening as if they held back tears. ‘What was it about?’

She hesitated then answered in a quiet voice. ‘I sometimes get fed up doing all the chores for Ima. She relies on me so much while the little ones keep her busy. I have taken to singing, to remind myself of Elohim’s goodness. It stops me being ungrateful.’

‘I am grateful for you cleaning my blood off that cloth.’ I smiled. ‘It’s good Ima has you to help her. I used to do many of the things you do.’

‘Yes. In the early days, before I knew my way around the fields, I would stay with Ima while Abba was out working. I helped at the river, as you do now, and collected food. I made it into a game, playing all sorts of tricks on Ima in the forest.’ I chuckled, remembering the time I’d hidden in a thicket and made animal noises, fooling her into thinking I was a predator. ‘We had fewer crops then; we relied more on what we could glean from the land. The crops only multiplied recently, as our family has.’

‘You mean as you have tended them, rather than Abba?’ She grinned. Awan was perceptive. I couldn’t deny it was true and was pleased she’d noticed.

‘Abba never found pleasure in the ground as I do. For me, it brings many rewards. For him, just reminders of the past. He prefers to be with Havel and the sheep now.’

‘I think they told you more about the Garden than they’ve told us. I should think it would make Abba happy talking about his time with Yahweh Elohim, but it seems to make him sad.’

I sighed. It was true that although my parents were now keeping Shabbat and praying, they rarely spoke of what they’d lost. We worshipped the Creator with songs, but He seemed very far away. Besides thanking Him for things and calling to Him in distress, I didn’t know how to speak to Him. Even so, I wanted to help Awan.

‘I know they walked with Elohim, learning from Him, until they ate the forbidden fruit. Has Ima told you about the talking snake?’ I asked her.

‘Oh yes. I once saw a grass snake in the field and she pulled me away from it, giving me a stern warning about listening to creatures that talk, even though it hadn’t said anything. I have feared the serpent since then.’

‘I do too. Did you know it attacked me once in a cave at night?’

‘I crushed it.’ I grinned as Awan gasped. ‘Is that the fear you were singing of? Fear of the serpent?’

‘No, that’s not it.’ She chewed her lip.

Awan raised her lashes to gaze at my face as if assessing my sincerity. Such perception didn’t belong in one so young. ‘I am afraid of darkness and rushing water,’ she said.

‘Though the waters roar and darkness creeps in,’ I quoted back to her. ‘Of course.’

‘That’s why I don’t come out to the fields; why I always stay with Ima. I am afraid of being caught out in the dark, away from the fire. I wanted to help you and Abba look for Havel. As his twin I thought I would know where he was – we seem connected in that way. I tried to find the courage to follow you, but I couldn’t.’ She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest.

‘I don’t think Abba would have let you come anyway.’ I smiled. ‘He’s rather protective over you younger ones. He wasn’t like that with me, but I suppose the creatures are more dangerous now. What about the water?’

‘I have never learnt to swim. I come here, where the water is calm, to clean the linens, but I don’t like it upstream. I fear the day Ima asks me to collect rushes for baskets: the water is much deeper over there.’ She hesitated then refocused on me. ‘How did you do it? How did you cross the rushing river with the sheep?’

‘I don’t really know. I suppose I just knew I had to.’

‘You are so brave.’

Perhaps I should have mentioned how scared I had been and how I had cried out to Yahweh Elohim for help, but it was nice to feel appreciated.

I jumped to my feet and held out a hand. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m going to teach you to swim.’

‘Come on,’ I encouraged, ‘you’ll be safe with me. And as you said, the waters are calm here.’ I unfastened the pouches I kept tied to my waist and discarded them on the bank, then removed my outer tunic, leaving my undergarment.

‘I can’t believe Abba & Ima haven’t taught you yet. They taught me when I was much younger than you.’ Wading into the water, I stretched out my hand and caught hers.

Awan nervously took a few steps. Her confidence grew as she clasped my hand tightly and waded deeper. When she was thigh deep, she suddenly squealed, ‘There’s something in the water!’

‘It’s just fish, don’t worry. Perhaps we can catch some for supper. After I’ve taught you to swim,’ I replied, mischievously. Keeping her eyes on mine, she took a few more steps until she was waist deep. Her breath caught as the colder current swept around her. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as warm in the deep,’ I added.

Our lesson began. Firstly, I showed her how to move her arms in a circular motion. Then how to kick her legs, holding her as she tried it. Once she had mastered these two movements, and I was confident her slight figure would stay afloat, I turned her around so she was facing the water and could try the two movements together.

She wasn’t naturally coordinated, and we regularly burst into fits of laughter when her arms and legs refused to work together. But, by the time the sun had begun to lower in the sky, she had mastered the basic strokes.

‘You’re tired,’ I said, ‘Let’s stop. We can try some more tomorrow.’ I helped her walk back halfway towards the bank then ruffled her damp hair. Her tight curls flicked water back into my face, and she giggled. ‘Now you can help me catch some fish. Stay where you are; it’s a good spot.’

I waded the rest of the way and retrieved a sharp stone from my pouch, then cut a stiff willow reed from the water’s edge and sharpened it.

‘Hold this high, and stand completely still, watching the water.’ I passed it over then stood behind her. ‘When the water settles, we’ll be able to see, but we must be quiet.’ Once the mud had resettled, we could indeed see the fish swimming around our legs. ‘Those with the dark, pointed fins are the tastiest. When one comes near you, plunge the reed in as quickly as you can.’

On her first attempt, she completely missed. Concealing my amusement to spare her pride, I continued to instruct her. ‘Now we must start again because we’ve spooked them.’ I bent down and grabbed a handful of muck from the riverbed. Squirming in amongst it, on the palm of my hand, were some tiny worms. ‘When the water settles, I’ll throw the worms in. They’ll draw the fish back.’

Four attempts later, Awan speared a fish. She squealed with an equal measure of delight and horror as I wrapped my hands around it and lifted it from the water. I slapped it against a rock behind me, then tossed it onto the bank. ‘Now go again; that won’t feed our whole family,’ I grinned.

‘Ah! I’m exhausted. My arms can’t hold this reed high any longer!’

I noticed she had also started shivering so I relented and took the reed. ‘Go, sit on the bank then. Use my clothes to wrap yourself up.’

She nodded, picked up the fish and my sharp stone, and began removing the scales, screwing her face up as the scales flicked off around her.

I caught two more fish and scaled the last one while Awan worked on the second. Once finished, we rinsed everything and began to make our way home.

‘Ima can gut them,’ Awan said as we walked, sticking her tongue out. ‘I’ve had enough for one day. I don’t think I’ll want to eat it now.’

The next day I went to the nearby fields, checking over the vineyard and watering the younger plants. It would soon reach the hottest time of year and I needed to make sure the roots were strong enough to withstand it. By the afternoon my hands were in agony, so I sought out Awan for our second swimming lesson.

She was near the hut, playing with the children. Havel was in charge, but he was gentler than before, and the younger ones crowded around him, seeking his attention and instruction.

‘Awan and I will form caves, like this,’ Havel said. He touched the floor and arched his back. ‘Then Shimon and Channah, you must hide underneath us. The cave is safety. Anytime you leave it, Chayim or Avigail can catch you. But you can only stay in the cave for a count of five. Are you ready?’

Six-year-old Avigail and eight-year-old Chayim nodded their understanding, while the young twins looked rather confused. After explaining it once more, the game began. The little ones weren’t confident moving at speed and kept wobbling or falling over as they tried to run, much to everyone’s amusement. The older ones chorused the count, for the two-year olds, of course, couldn’t.

‘Caves can’t move!’ Avigail protested, and almost left in a temper until Havel tickled her and let her catch Channah again. Then they all swapped roles. I stood watching the game for some moments before I sensed Ima walk up and link her arm through mine.

‘I used to put my arms around your shoulders, but now I can’t reach,’ she chuckled. I looked down at her fondly. ‘I am sorry you had no brothers or sisters to play with when you were growing up. I see now that wasn’t for the best.’

‘It’s fine, Ima. I enjoyed spending my days with you. I was content.’ I placed a kiss on her forehead.

‘At the time, things were still raw from the banishment. It felt hard enough to provide for three of us, let alone more. It took all our time searching out enough food.’

‘I don’t remember that; it seemed to me like we had plenty.’

‘Well, we did once you learnt to climb trees.’ She laughed. ‘Then the pistachio nuts and dates came swiftly in, usually landing on my head from above, as you threw them down!’

‘Ha. I think it is time you took Chayim to the forest. I have a taste for some more pistachios.’

‘Perhaps you could? He reminds me of you. He never sits still; he’s always up to something. The other day I caught him catching ants and putting them down Avigail’s back. She didn’t stop itching all afternoon.’

‘I also wish we chose a different name for him. Chayim sounds far too much like Kayin. I am forever calling him the wrong thing, particularly when he’s causing mischief.’

‘Yes. I think he just has a busy mind. Helping with the sheep has benefitted him enormously, for it wears him out. It’s also done him good to be away from Awan. He’s loosened his grip on her. Awan told me you are teaching her to swim?’

‘She is very fond of you.’

‘And I of her. She has a good heart.’

‘Kayin,’ she looked up at me, suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry I turned on you when Havel was missing. I was so scared.’

‘It’s alright, Ima. I understand.’ I put my arm around her elegant shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. ‘I know how much you love Havel.’