A stranger has big eyes, but sees nothing.
—African proverb
I AM AGITATED WHEN LOT DECIDES to sleep in our bed. Perhaps he is jealous of El’s angels and the attention they have paid me. I need not have been concerned. Lot drank heavily after the meal and snores almost as soon as he lies down. If I had wanted sleep, I could not have found it at his side. When I slip from the room, I am not surprised to see both Mika’s and Raph’s pallets empty. I am surprised, however, to see Lila sitting up against the wall, her blanket around her shoulders.
“Where did they go?” I ask her quietly.
She points to the window.
I almost laugh. “How did they know?”
She shrugs.
My smile dissolves. “What now?” I ask softly.
She does not answer, knowing the question is not hers, but mine. I go to her and she stands, knowing how arduous it is for me to sit on the floor or at least, how difficult to rise to my feet afterward. “You know I often go out that way at night?”
She nods.
“Do you know why?”
She starts to shake her head and then stops. “I believe it has to do with the sorrow in your heart.”
I consider her. “You are a wise woman, Lila.”
She pulls the blanket tighter. “Will you go tonight?”
This is the question I am asking myself. I turn and step to Philot’s side to give him his treat and a scratch. He is getting gray around his eyes and muzzle, as I will here in this house.
Somehow, Philot has settled my mind. I cross the remainder of the floor to the window and climb out. A chill wind from the sea makes me wish I had brought a warmer wrap, but I will not return for one, because I might lose my courage. The soft slosh against the shore is as familiar as my heartbeat. Only the fiercest storm can lift the heavy salt-laden water into higher waves. It is said diving beneath the surface is impossible, that the sea will spew out anyone who tries. Hurriya did not try. She just lay face down upon its breast.
As always when I walk this path, my heart aches for Nami. I still look for her every day, remembering how she chewed her tether and returned to me when the Hurrian horsemen took her. I think I will always look for her.
I climb with care around the fallen stones of the wall and walk the path I have trod so many times. My eyesight is limited on the right side and so when the path turns that way, I almost run into Raph where he sits on a flat stone. His hand flies out with a warrior’s speed to catch me as I stumble.
“You are always saving me, Raph.”
“You have no debt to me. I should never have left you in the hands of those cursed Babylonians.”
I sigh. “Should we count the choices we regret? How do we know what would happen if we chose differently? If you had not left, the guards might have planned more wisely and killed you in your sleep. Then you would not have been there to save me.”
“I never thought of that.”
“You were waiting for me here?”
“Yes.”
I look up at the overhang that blots a piece of the moon, the place where I once sat with Raph and Mika and where Mika held the blue fire. “He is there?”
Another choice. Another path split from the trail. What would it mean were I to turn around and go back to my house with Hurriya’s window and my snoring husband?
But I had known what I would do since Philot took his fig—perhaps before that, when I rose from the bed. Perhaps even when I heard there were angels at the Gate.
And so I climb the path, something I could never have done if I had not spent night after night making incremental progress and strengthening my leg in the process. I take my time, trying to slow my heart and bring to my mind what words I will say to Mika, but I can do neither.
Never has the journey up the cliff taken so long or gone so quickly. When I finally begin to climb the last bit, Mika’s hand reaches out for me and pulls me up to stand with him on the overhang. Below us is the sea, brushed in a bold stroke by moonlight. To our left, the torches of Sodom flicker against the dark. Wind whips around us, a clean wind tonight, singing in my ears. Mika pulls me tightly against his chest, and the world goes still about us.
When at last he releases me, he holds me at arm’s length and only breathes my name. “Adira.”
“What do you see, Mika?” I whisper the question, afraid of the answer even in the dimness of the night.
He frowns, taking my face between his hands and tilting it up so I am looking directly at him, the moonlight full on my features. He does not hesitate. “I see the girl who pulled me from a raging flood, the girl who stayed with me and shared her water in the desert and cared for me, though she risked her own life to do so. I see the girl who crossed a wasteland to find my brother, though she could have returned to the safety of her family.” His hands still firmly cup my face. He is not finished. “I see the woman who was the goddess for me, though she had never lain with a man, the woman who dared heaven with me. I see beauty and strength. I see the person I wish beside me for whatever time the goddess grants me of this life.”
I close my eyes, not knowing what to do with this, though it is what my heart has cried for since I climbed the steps of Ishtar’s temple.
Finally, he gives me a little shake. “What are you thinking, Adira? Tell me.”
My mouth makes a sound that is part laugh and part sob. “I am thinking I have never heard so many words out of you at once.”
He smiles, and pulls me again to him.
I am not certain if the tremble of the earth beneath us is real. In his embrace, I allow myself to stop thinking and simply to be where I am. I absorb the press of his arms, the smell of him, the solid wall of his chest. I do not think of tomorrow or when I must pull away from him.
Finally I mutter, “Why did you come?”
He rests his chin on my head. “I came to see if you found happiness, because without you, I am not.”
A bark of a laugh escapes my lips. “I taught you to speak better Akkadian than that.”
He gives me another little shake. “Do not jest, Adira. I have suffered without you.”
“Then why did you send me away from Babylon?” It is then I realize anger resides in me, nestled between the desire and sorrow.
“To protect you.”
“And to protect the stone?”
“Yes, and the stone.”
“Is it safe?” I ask with irritation. “I think it should be dropped into the sea.”
“It is hidden, but not yet in the hands of our people. After Raph took you to Abram and Sarai, he returned to Babylon.”
“I thought you told him not to return.”
“Apparently,” Mika says wryly, “he acquired some of your love of obedience.”
I ignore this. “So the king allowed you to leave as he promised?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did you escape?”
“With Raph’s help and the aid of your friend, the priestess, who honored the word of her king, even when he did not.”
“Then I am grateful to Raph and Tabni for your freedom.”
He smiles and strokes my hair. His touch is tender, yet I feel as if his blue fire crackles down my spine. I step away from him, afraid if I do not, I will never be able to.
“Adira,” he says. “No matter what you decide about … me, I need the knowledge you have of the tale of Enoch. It is what my people have lost and sought for countless seasons.”
“Why is it so important?” I demand.
“It is not just a tale; it is instruction for building a time-keeper temple.”
I think about all the description given in the story of Enoch’s ascent to heaven, the careful details and measurements of the structure there that Enoch was made to memorize and that the children of Abram now recite.
“My people see time differently,” Mika says. “They look into the distant past and the distant future.”
“You spoke of this in the desert. Tell me again.”
“Long ago, when the great stones came from the sky and fell into the water, the sea rose up and ate the land, destroying the time-temples and all but a few of the priests who knew their secrets. Such destruction could happen again. So the knowledge was spread to other chosen people and lands—to Enoch and others.”
“Yes, I remember that now, but why lug that stone around with you? Why not leave it in a place of safety?”
“It is a dreaming stone. We hoped I would dream of where to find the lost knowledge.”
“And did you?”
“I tried, but the stone did not speak to me.”
“It spoke to you in Babylon.”
He looks away then. “I am not certain of that. I followed the rite and did dream of chariots attacking, but who is to say the dream came from the gods or what I had learned listening to the talk of the people?”
I consider this. That he shares his doubts is a gift of intimacy. “So why did you come to Sodom that first time, if it was not at the stone’s guidance?”
“We searched for peoples who followed different ways, hoping to find a heritage that preserved the instructions for the time-keeper temples. I heard of the gods of Babylonia and of Abram and El and of this place where Baal and Asherah rule.” He took a breath. “I must fulfill my task, Adira. It is not merely my oath. Without it, we will lose the power to read the stars and predict another disaster from the sky.”
This is the burden he carries. I look up at him. “I will teach you the words of Enoch.”
He grasps my shoulders. “You can teach me as we travel to my people.”
I meet his intense gaze, though I feel my bad eye shift to the side, and I hastily look to where red-gold hairs curl almost up to the hollow of his throat. “Lot would never allow that. He will not even let me go to the pastures just beyond the city to tend our herds.”
“Are you happy here, Adira? With Lot?”
I do not have to search for that answer, but I do not understand its relevance. “I am wife to him.”
“That is not my question.”
I sigh. “No, I am not happy.” How could I be happy in a city that greets me with stench every morning; daughters who hate me; a husband who cares nothing for me; and not even the comfort of my beloved Nami?
“Then come with me,” Mika urges. “The Adira I know would not stay here in unhappiness.”
A flame of anger ignites in my belly. “Come with you so you can have your knowledge conveniently at your hand?” And then leave me. I am not the woman he thinks he loves. My wounds lie deeper than my face. I am no longer the daughter of the wind. The sight of a scar on a man’s face can freeze my blood, turn my bones to wood.
“No, Adira, not for that reason.” He takes a careful breath. “I have hurt you, and I did not mean to. I meant to protect you.”
“What was done to me was not your fault.”
“It would not have happened if I had not sent you away. Adira, I am so sorry. If Raph had not killed those men who hurt you, I would have hunted them down.”
I say nothing. He does not understand that the pain of having him and losing him was worse than the pain of blows.
“If I had not let you lie with me—”
“No,” I stop him. “That was my choice.”
He hesitates. “Was it so … unpleasant for you?”
My anger melts. I close my eyes. “No, Mika, it was not unpleasant.” This is dangerous ground. I can feel my heart pounding, and my breath is still shallow from standing close to him. How can I explain what holds me here?
I look up at the sky where the brightest stars shine beyond the moonlight’s reach. “Your ancestors, the Watchers, studied the stars for time uncounted. As you once told me, ‘Every star has its path.’ My father tried to teach me I have a place. Trying to be out of that place is like the stars fighting to move outside their path. I am on that path now, and I must stay there.” I swallow. “I gave an oath to my father. I cannot dishonor his memory.”