The Wanderer Scorned

Not wishing to fight with my father again, I stuck to my old evasion tactics, rising earlier than everyone else and retiring later, always swimming before venturing home. During the day, Chayim and I cleared the damaged field and salvaged what wheat we could, but by the following Shabbat, I could ignore my father no longer. I had to speak with him.

He nodded. ‘I believe there’s some along the banks of the Euphrates, near the intersection with the Khabur.’

There was a scuffle as my mother nudged Abba in the ribs and he cleared his throat. ‘I should come with you.’

I blinked, surprised by his offer, and not displeased. Although I felt trepidation at being alone with him, I remembered with warmth the time we had travelled together when I was a boy. But then I recalled the grapes I had seen earlier, almost bursting through their skins and ripe for harvesting. The vines would need Abba’s attention this week. They were the only plants he tended faithfully.

‘Actually, I need you to thin out the olives this week so the best ones can catch the sun. I’ll be alright alone.’

I left early the next day, knowing I’d need to be swift to get back before the fruit harvest. Several times on that three-day journey, I regretted refusing the offer of company. My foot throbbed at the end of each day, and I dared not venture far from the river, needing to bathe it to reduce the swelling. Fortunately, when I found the wild wheat, it was dry enough to cut and thresh, but I still wished I had help. I collected as much as I could carry in a sack on my back, then turned for home.

Although indirect, I walked back via our old storage cave. Most of our barley harvest had been carried there by the rest of the family when my foot had not allowed the climb. I’d noticed a proportion of it had produced a better yield than usual and coped with getting dry.

Fearing Elohim might strike a proportion of the crop again, I decided it would be wise to plant more seed than ever before. At the cave, I put aside all the better barley seed – along with a good portion of the wheat. Then I explored the area, looking for another storage cave, so this seed wouldn’t accidentally be used for food.

Crossing the stream onto the next hill, I found what I was looking for hidden behind some vines. After gathering the best seed into Avigail’s carefully woven lidded baskets, I carried it to the new cave.

By now it was dark. I had a quick drink from the stream then settled down for the night in our old cave, tucking myself beneath the skins we kept there. As I began to fall asleep, I heard the familiar hiss of the resident serpent. I wondered what the lifespan of a snake was. Was this the same one I’d met before, or its offspring? I propped myself up on my elbow. It was too dark to see anything, yet the serpent no longer terrified me. I relaxed, laid back down and dropped almost immediately to sleep.

When I returned home, the early grape harvest was in full swing, as predicted. The firstfruits could be eaten fresh, but the ones following a full moon later were the most delicious and we also dried and stored them. As this second round of grapes ripened, the figs and early olives were ready. We treated the figs similarly – eating some and drying others – whilst the early olives were pressed for oil. As soon as the grape harvest concluded, Abba returned to the sheep fields and we settled into our familiar pattern of avoidance.

Soon, high summer hit and when the sun scorched the land, we brought in the rest of the olive harvest, along with berries gathered from hills and groves. I dried a little of every seed carefully, sorting it into clay pots I’d made. These went into my new cave with a portion of each harvested crop. I decided to keep the cave secret. I couldn’t risk revealing it and having my preparations questioned – or ruined.

It wasn’t that I wanted to hold anything back from my family; I just needed to keep enough for next year’s planting and for my planned experiments. I intended to discover how to increase yields in every variety, rather than relying on what already grew. It would mean less food this winter, but I was sure we could manage with some careful planning.

For respite, I often joined Awan at the river. We sat on the bank with our feet in the water, splashing and talking. Sometimes I initiated a physical moment, such as the touch of a hand; occasionally, she returned it. When I made her laugh, her smile was radiant. I especially treasured her blush, when I suspected she was thinking of me the same way I thought of her. Those were precious moments, ones that gave me hope.

Once the summer harvest slowed and autumn could be felt in the air, I turned my spare time to new discoveries, often wandering in the hills. I was keen to find materials that might be useful for working the land and new plants to cultivate. I studied the trees more, taking samples from seeds and barks and boiling, drying or crushing them.

The previous winter, I had taken cuttings from a fig tree and coaxed them into producing roots. The possibility of making trees grow myself, rather than relying on Elohim to plant them, was exhilarating. Several moon cycles in, it was time to check what was happening under the fertile soil dug from the riverbank. I gently lifted the most robust sapling as my mother came round the corner.

I showed her the tender roots at the base of the tiny branch, as healthy as those on a fully grown barley stalk.

‘Yes, I took these cuttings from branches of trees. I can scarcely believe they have grown root! Isn’t it incredible?’

‘I cut them last winter, and potted them here in the spring. I think they’ll be ready to go in the ground next spring.’

‘I’m not Elohim, Ima,’ I laughed, ‘I cannot hasten their growth. But I am so excited they have taken at all; this is such a discovery. If it works with other trees, imagine how we could increase our yield in years to come? Perhaps in these fig trees, I can create something for the next generation.’

‘That would be wonderful, Kayin. I’m so pleased to see you enjoying this success.’ As she embraced me, warmth flooded to my fingertips.

‘When they are ready to plant, would you come with me to the riverbed to choose a spot?’ I asked. ‘I have five saplings here. We adults could have one each.’

‘It’s mine. I had it first.’ Shimon wrestled the stick from his sister and hit her on the leg with it.

Ima rolled her eyes and rose to sort out the altercation. Chuckling at them, I turned and continued my work inspecting the other saplings, pleased I had reconnected with my mother.

With harvest over, it was time to prepare the fields for next year’s grain. Anticipating more planting, Chayim and I crossed the river at the laundry point and began to work on the other side, digging new trenches to water the ground.

One day my father came out with Shimon in tow. ‘We thought it was time this one learnt to farm,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay with him at first, so he’s not a burden to you.’ I was glad for that, as my youngest brother and I still didn’t see eye to eye. True to form, Shimon glared at me.

Ignoring him, I extended a peace offering to Abba. ‘I have left the area further downstream to grass. One of Havel’s wayward sheep grazed there years ago and it looked like good land. You’ll probably need it this winter as we have less animal fodder.’

Over the next few weeks, he stayed with us in the fields. He hadn’t forgotten what to do and had always been a hard worker when he put his mind to it, so we made good progress on the hard, untamed ground.

Shimon, however, wasn’t cut out for hard work and spent most of the day moaning whilst Abba tried to keep him occupied. The camaraderie between myself and Chayim dampened with them there. I wished we could get back to the days before things became awkward, I just didn’t know how to get there.

I faltered, unsure what to say. I appreciated the offer, but if I let him come with me, that would mean revealing the location of my new cave and the fact I had hidden food from the family.

‘It’s no trouble. You won’t be able to carry it all on your own anyway.’ He drew a little closer to me so he could lower his voice away from Shimon’s earshot. ‘In truth, I have been seeking a moment with you since our confrontation at the river.’

I had no decent excuse to get out of this. I supposed we could fetch a couple of baskets from the family cave today and I could go back on my own later. I too wanted to have this conversation – to hear what he had to say. Perhaps his help in the fields meant he had realised the truth of my words and was trying to amend his ways.

We began walking towards the hills together. My chest constricted in anticipation of his words. As if sensing my nervousness and feeling it himself, Abba spoke first of how the work was going, the progress we were making, and what Shimon had learned so far. I told him about my fig saplings and he expressed admiration at my success. He even laughed when I retold the young twins’ argument. I could tell from his frequent pauses that he wanted to address deeper things, but he was certainly finding it hard to start.

We neared the area where the sheep were grazing in the fainter light of the waning sun. He finally began. ‘Kayin, I want to talk to you about what you said at the river the day the locusts came. I think there has been difficulty between us long enough. When repenting before the altar that day, I felt Yahweh prompting me to speak to you regarding our relationship. I intended to that night but it all went wrong when I grew angry with you.’

I breathed deeply. This wasn’t so bad. He sounded genuine and humble. Hope rose in my heart that our relationship wasn’t irreparably broken. Just as I opened my mouth to respond, a loud call sounded from a distance away, the noise carrying on the wind. It was a holler, with a kind of tune to it. Havel’s call. It meant wolves.

Abba stood for a moment in indecision, not sure whether to break off our conversation or not. Then a second call reached us.