A Just Farewell (9 page)

Abraham shuddered as he climbed from his
subterranean home to enter the shadow thrown upon the Earth from
one of the unbelievers’ castles floating overhead. That bastion of
blinking lights and dormant guns seemed closer than every before,
and Abraham felt he could nearly reach up to touch its rocky
underbelly. The clerics preached that a great victory would arrive
on the day the tribes reached those orbiting citadels, but Abraham
felt crowded by castle’s shadow as darkness slowly flowed across
the ground. Suddenly, he felt that the shadow possessed a weight he
had failed to before notice, and suddenly he felt his breath
quicken beneath such an unnatural creation. Was such doubt another
sign that the great devil touched him? Why else would his faith in
the clerics, his faith in the Maker, waver?

“Your visit honors my home, Abraham.”

Josef raised a hand to attract his arriving
visitors’ attention to where he stood in the shadow. Rahbin hurried
ahead to embrace Josef, the men laughing as they joyfully slapped
one another’s back. Josef’s grin stretched even wider when he
released Rahbin to take Abraham’s hand in a crushing, welcoming
grip.

“You’re dressed well,” Josef nodded at
Abraham.

“I’m afraid my other tunic was stained with
too much blood,” Abraham responded.

Josef squeezed Abraham’s upper arm. “And
that is nothing to feel ashamed of, son. A butcher’s trade is a
fine place within a tribe, and it is one that will make you a fine
husband for my girls in their marriage to the Maker. Alexis and
Cassandra are prepared for you, Abraham, and we’ll be ready to
proceed once the high cleric arrives.”

Abraham peeked at his father. “The high
cleric is coming here?”

Rahbin winked. “He seems to take a
particular interest in you, son, and many would consider that a
blessing from the Maker.”

Josef welcomed Abraham and Rahbin into his
home, where his guests found the host’s central living chamber
decorated in his family’s finest carpets. Josef’s wife hurried into
the room, balancing a fine tray of tea china. Abraham peeked into
her face as she poured him tea, an offering he had never before
experienced in anyone’s home but his own, one that made him feel
many years beyond his actual age. He hoped that a glance into the
face of Josef’s wife might give him some idea of the marking he was
expected to soon leave upon the skin of his host’s daughters. But
the woman’s tattoos of swirls, runes and flourishes only further
confused Abraham by covering so much of her skin. He could guess at
no history expressed by those tattoos, and he thought that perhaps
whatever meaning was to be read by the marks a ward husband placed
upon his wife was to be shared only between them and the Maker.

Yet that thought didn’t at all help Abraham
imagine what he would tattoo upon Alexis and Cassandra’s face when
Josef placed the inking needle into his hand.

Echoes from the ladder announced the high
cleric’s arrival, and the community’s spiritual shepherd smiled as
Josef’s wife offered a cup of tea before retreating out of the
central chamber. No one said a word for many minutes as the
assembly enjoyed Josef’s tea service, which tasted strong, and a
little bitter, upon Abraham’s young tongue. The silence magnified
Abraham’s anxiety, and he was pleased when the high cleric spoke as
he poured everyone a second helping.

“Your wife brews excellent tea, Josef. I
must remember to ask her for advice before returning to my quiet
study. Forgive my tardiness in accepting your invitation. I stopped
by a home to hear another family describe the strange, colorful
cockroaches lately seen scurrying about our community.”

Abraham gulped, and his eyes locked on the
contents of his cup.

Rahbin’s eyebrow arched. “My wife claimed to
have seen such a thing this morning. Do you think the great devil
might have sent spies into our flock?”

The high cleric sipped at his tea before
answering. “It is too early to tell, nor have I seen such a bug for
myself yet. Perhaps the Maker sends color into those bugs to remind
us that even cockroaches count among his blessed creation. Or
perhaps such bright shells are merely the handiwork of a foolish
child.”

Abraham shivered at scurrying sound that
echoed from opposite wall’s shadows. It was so faint that he
doubted he would have been aware of the noise had it not been for
his recent familiarity with the creature responsible for the noise.
The bug hid well in the shadow, but Abraham spotted its orange
carapace a second before it retreated from his vision, perhaps
nesting deeper within some crack in the wall, or perhaps exiting
Josef’s home altogether through some concealed and tiny tunnel it
had already burrowed through the ground. Abraham’s instinct led him
to suspect, however, that the bug remained close, its fine antennae
no doubt wavering in the air, its eyes likely finding a nook from
which it could spy on the gathering. What if the great devil
watched them through that bug? What if the Maker looked through the
cockroach’s sight? The uncertainty pained Abraham, but perhaps that
too was another challenge of his year of man-making.

The high cleric softly cleared his throat,
and Abraham thought the cleric’s eyes stared in the direction of
the bug’s shadow before the old man’s dark eyes squared upon his
own.

“I realize I haven’t asked you yet, Abraham,
but do you agree to serve as the Maker’s husband to Josef’s
daughters, Alexis and Cassandra?”

Rahbin quickly answered. “The Maker will
bless Abraham with twins. He is honored to accept.”

The high cleric shrugged. “Tell me, Rahbin,
has your son dug his own hole?”

“He has.”

“And did you not notice the injuries your
son carried home after that digging?”

“I did, and they made me proud.”

The high cleric frowned. “And yet you ignore
them?”

“I do not,” and Rahbin’s eyes cast upon the
floor.

Abraham took a breath when he saw a fire
catch in the cleric’s eyes. “Then you will show your son the
dignity he has thus far deserved and close your mouth before I cut
out your tongue.” In a breath, the high cleric with the long beard
was once more the instrument of the Maker’s law and wrath, and
Abraham dared not deny anything that high cleric demanded. “So tell
me now, boy, will you be the vessel for the Maker? Will you open
your body to the Maker when he chooses to plant his creation within
their wombs?”

The moment felt as confusing to Abraham as
it felt momentous. Strangely, he recalled how one of those twins
had waved at him on the day the clerics’ great horn had summoned
the tribes’ men to witness the butcher’s execution. He didn’t
intend to hesitate before answering the cleric, but he felt so
foolish, and so young. He felt lost, and he prayed that the Maker,
and not the great devil, moved within him when he answered.

“I will open to the Maker, and I will accept
the girls.”

The high cleric smiled. “Then you must mark
them both as yours.”

Josef clapped his hands. “This way, Abraham.
Alexis and Cassandra wait for you in another room.”

The high cleric and Rahbin followed Abraham
as Josef guided the boy through the dim hall that lead to his
daughters’ chamber. Inside, Alexis and Cassandra lay on a pair of
cots spread upon the floor. Abraham hesitated in the threshold to
that chamber, for the sight of those girls surprised him. He had
expected the girls to welcome him, to smile at the boy the Maker
sent to be their husband. He thought they might have a moment to
laugh and to play together, to perhaps even sing a song. Yet he
found the girls’ arms and legs bound together so that they could
not move, and he saw that gags covered their mouths. He thought
they would be pleased to accept his mark upon their face and so
start the story of a family. Yet those girls called no image of
celebration into Abraham’s mind. Instead, the way those girls were
bound, and the way their eyes widened at the sight of him standing
in the door, recalled the image of that lamb tied next to the
butcher shop’s drain. He remembered the panic and the cry of that
creature after he failed to deliver it a merciful death, and he
worried that his hands lacked the skill, strength and resolve that
would be needed when Josef put the ink needle in his hand and asked
him to mark his daughters.

Rahbin, likely mistaking Abraham’s hesitance
for shyness, gently pushed his son into the room. “Do you know what
shape you’re going to mark on each girl’s cheek?”

“The harder I think about it, the less I
know what to mark. I’ve never learned anything of the language
husbands employ to record their family’s history upon the faces of
the Maker’s wives.”

“There’s no language to teach,” commented
the high cleric. “The Maker guides the marking of those tattoos.
That’s all that matters.”

Abraham winced as his father punched his
shoulder. “Enjoy this moment, son, because you can never travel
backwards through the years. I still cherish the memory of the
first mark I sketched onto your mother’s face.”

Josef withdrew a long, hallow needle and a
vile of black ink from a mahogany box set between his daughters’
cots. “Here you are, Abraham. Forgive Alexis and Cassandra for
their fear. They’re still young.”

“That fear will pass soon enough after you
finish,” commented the high cleric.

Abraham didn’t need the high cleric to
elaborate. His experience the last several mornings killing the
livestock the old man with the long beard brought to the butcher
shop educated him in the kindness of swift and confident hands. His
father helped him fill the hallow needle with ink, and Josef
mimicked moving the needle in the air to show Abraham the proper
way to manipulate the tool. Alexis and Cassandra squirmed against
their bonds and moaned against their gags as Abraham gripped the
needle and turned towards them. Abraham looked at the girls and
tried to decide which girl to first mark. They looked identical to
him. Green eyes sparkled in both of their faces. Autumn hair tinged
with a sheen of red fell to the shoulders of both. Abraham took a
moment to consider the shapes of their lips, the contours of their
chins, the arch of their noses as his imagination stretched for
something to etch upon their faces. Alexis and Cassandra appeared
the same, and Abraham knew it would not be long before dark glasses
covered their green eyes, before their hair was stained that color
of silver known by each woman among the Maker’s faithful
tribes.

Abraham gripped the ready needle and
approached the girl to his right. Josef pinned his daughter’s
shoulders against her cot, and Rahbin squeezed her legs, the men
using their strength to keep the child from squirming. Abraham
resisted his urge to flinch as the girl struggled against her bonds
and captors. He set his knee upon the girl’s chest, and with his
free hand pressed a side of her face into the cot so that the
opposite cheek provided an unmoving canvas. Reminding himself to
work with a steady and strong hand to show that girl kindness,
Abraham poked the needle in and out of his subject’s cheek, his
fingers suddenly confident of the design needed to be etched below
the skin’s surface. His needle worked efficiently, as if the Maker
himself entered Abraham to guide the boy’s effort. Abraham left a
red, bleeding mark upon the girl’s face and then applied his
efforts to the other sister. The high cleric smiled to watch the
boy work. As he hoped, the task of killing those creatures he had
delivered to that child had well prepared that boy for the needle.
The high cleric never doubted the ability of Abraham’s artistic
craft.

Josef clapped his hands as he looked upon
the blossom of swirls Abraham left on each of his daughter’s faces.
“What a glorious beginning. I don’t doubt that with time you will
see those swirls expand and grow to write such a wonderful history
upon Alexis and Cassandra.”

“The Maker moved within you, Abraham.” The
high cleric nodded.

Abraham breathed a long sigh of relief. He
felt proud of the marks he placed beneath the skin. His hands had
not shaken and trembled so badly to force a poor effort with the
tattoo needle. And most importantly of all, the high cleric said
that the Maker moved within him. The designs etched upon the faces
of those twins, those swirls that were very similar to those
Abraham had painted upon an orange shell of a cockroach, were not
tainted inspirations delivered by the great devil. They were
glorious decorations whispered from the divine Maker’s grace. He no
longer needed to fear that the great devil possessed him. A future
and a place within his community and tribes unfolded before
him.

Rahbin gave his son a short embrace. “You
transform into a man before my very eyes.”

“He’s not a man just yet,” spoke the high
cleric. “Abraham must undergo another passage before he acquires
his tribal cape.”

Josef rubbed his hand through Abraham’s
hair. “Oh, but I’m sure we won’t have to wait long.”

“We shall see,” the high cleric nodded.

A rare, salvo of joy rushed Abraham out of
that room. Rahbin invited Josef and the high cleric back to his
home, where his wife greeted them with a celebratory feast.
Neighbors and other clerics visited briefly throughout the
afternoon to congratulate Abraham on his engagement to Josef’s
daughters, and the high cleric even excused Abraham from any
afternoon duties within the butcher shop. Abraham no longer felt
like such a frightened child. He felt like a man, whose faith in
the Maker was rewarded with a long and grand future.