After Abel and Other Stories (27 page)

Gallim

W
e mourned her loss. We tore our clothes, draped ourselves in ashes. We knew she was as lost to us as if she had died. We tried to console ourselves with memories of her beauty, her resilience. The elders pointed to the smoldering patch where the pines used to stand, reminded us that it was David's forces that had pushed the Moabites back and kept them from destroying us. “Be thankful,” they scolded. “He could have been angry, but he chose mercy.”

We pretended loyalty after that, sent our boys to fight in his army, our taxes to fill his treasury. When guests came through Gallim, we sang songs of praise to Israel's king. But during the long seasons of windy isolation, we remembered Michel, and how we had sheltered her. She had walked among us like a queen, left us like a ghost. It's hard to keep a secret in a village, but we keep hers yet.

Palti is still the best among us. He married the neighbor girl, who is sweet and yielding. She brought him out of his grief. They are raising three girls. The oldest walks shoulder to shoulder with him now, her brown hair tapping against the middle of her back. When she passes, the old ones sigh. She is so like her mother.

AND ALL THE LAND BETWEEN THEM

“When she came [to him], she induced him to ask her father for some property. She dismounted from her donkey, and Caleb asked her, ‘What is the matter?' She replied, ‘Give me a present, for you have given me away as Negeb-land; give me springs of water.' And Caleb gave her Upper and Lower Gulloth.”

Judges 1:14-15

I
n the days of the conquest, after the generation of the wandering had passed from the earth, the borders were still being mapped, and men rushed out to vanquish the peoples of the land. Caleb, spy, revered leader,
resolute warrior, came into the City of Arba, home to the giants of the hills. Each man there stood twice as tall as the Judeans. Each woman was broader across the hips than her Israelite sisters. The children, it has been said, were the size of grown men.

In the days of old they had been feared, but Caleb strode through the city, his sword sharpened to a murderous point. The battle was short, and Caleb victorious. He cut the giants down. The ground shook with the impact as each monstrous body fell.

When it was over, the Judeans rushed through the alleyways and courtyards, taking the houses as their own. Caleb surveyed all he had wrought and was pleased. He claimed the largest compound for himself, installed his wife and concubines, his many fine sons, and one beloved daughter, whom he had named Achsah after the gentle chimes of the bracelets that circled women's ankles. She was as beautiful as the almond trees, as graceful as the gazelles who bound through the length of the wadis. Her laugh rang like bells in a doorway as the breeze moves them. Her hair flowed like water over wet rocks.

After the City of Arba fell to him, and the last survivors of the giants had been driven from the city, Caleb called the Judean elders to dine with him in his new home. They came from north and south, east and west, to witness their people's latest victory. When they
arrived, Caleb opened the gates and his arms to them.

“Welcome to the new home of Judah,” he said, his voice resounding off the distant hills. Then, proud homeowner, he showed them the great extent of his domain. He took them into the houses, whose ceilings seemed to recede above their heads as if to the height of the sky. He displayed the grain silos, which were so wide a man could not see around them to the other side. Finally, he led them up to the highest roof in all of the City of Arba, swept his arm in an arc that took in all the countryside. Green fields of grain stretched out in every direction.

“All this and more is ours, my brothers,” he said, and he was content. His family prospered. His wives still gave him pleasure. His sons had grown to be fierce warriors. His daughter's wisdom was revered throughout the land. He had lived a long life, had battled on behalf of God and his tribe, and now, in the fullness of his years, he could enjoy the fruits of his labor. Everywhere his eye fell gave proof to his great achievements. Every inch, every acre, every bubbling stream and well that watered the great expanse of farmland belonged to him.

He looked to the north, where his sheep and goats fed off the scrub that lined the sides of the pebbled mountain. He looked to the south, where the grass grew green and thick. Two blue veins bowed and circled the land. The water there glinted in the sun's reflection.

Just as Caleb was basking in the delight of his great accomplishment, he caught sight of something between where he stood and the verdant fields below. Distance made it look small. To Caleb's eyes it appeared as a modest square of limestone chiseled by a human hand. It was the only thing not made by God within the span of his vision.

“What is that?” he asked.

“It is Debir, my Lord,” said one of Caleb's advisors. “A Canaanite city.”

That evening, as the elders of Judah gathered with him to feast, Caleb sat, surrounded by family and clan, distracted and deep in thought. His mind was clouded. His sleep, he knew, would be disturbed until everything in the landscape belonged to him. Debir would have to be subdued. But Caleb had grown weary of battle. He had done his duty. It was his time to rest. Someone else would have to go take the town.

While the men around him ate, drank, and rejoiced, Caleb surveyed the room, his eyes alighting on his kinsmen from far and near. He saw how sturdy the young men had grown, how capable and enthusiastic.

Caleb's brow cleared. He ate and drank. His laugh joined again with the other sounds of merriment. He had found a solution.

At the end of the meal, when the men had filled their bellies with meat and wine, Caleb rose. He called
his daughter to come stand next to him and addressed his guests.

“Brothers, cousins, kinsmen,” he said. “We have all seen how God has given this land into our hands. We have gone from victory to victory. But right here, in the midst of our joy, lies proof that the work is not yet complete. Today, we saw that our dominion does not extend even as far as our eyes can see.”

Achsah, called away from the women, stood beside him. Silently, she wondered why her father required her presence by his side. What had talk of war and conquest to do with her?

“I propose, therefore, a contest. Whichever man among those gathered can defeat Debir will have my daughter, Achsah, as his wife.”

A cheer went up among the men. As is well known throughout the land, Judeans liked nothing better than a challenge that pitted one man against another. More than that, each man imagined himself sitting by Caleb's right hand, his treasured son-in-law. The elders called their families around them. Sons huddled tight around their fathers. Whispers filled the firelit air as champions were chosen. Arguments flared between brothers anxious to claim the glory of the challenge and were quickly quenched. Only Achsah, the object of the men's desire, did not exult.

Her eyes went black. Her voice came low and hard.
“Did you not think to consult me before making such a rash promise?” she said out of the side of her mouth. “Because of your vow, I will be tethered to one of these men, no matter if he be wise or foolish, good or mean-spirited. Do you account me so little that it doesn't matter what manner of man my husband will be?”

All around them young men argued as they jockeyed for favor with their elders. No one paid mind to the impassioned debate that raged between Caleb and his daughter.

“Daughter, be still,” he said. “I have given my oath. It cannot be rescinded. Besides, the men in this room are the best among us. You should be grateful. I am guaranteeing you a hero for a husband.”

Caleb felt wounded. He had thought his idea perfect—his daughter would be married to a great warrior among the people, and Debir would be his. He had already begun to imagine tearing down its buildings, stone by stone, until it was just another pile of rock on the hillside. Then, nothing would impede his view of the vast property he owned. In just a few words, his daughter had ruined his great moment.

“Will his heroism keep me warm at night?” Achsah demanded. “Will it fill my plate? Will it keep his eyes from wandering to every passing bosom or backside that comes into view?”

Caleb didn't have time to answer, for at that moment,
the first aspirant to Achsah's hand stepped forward. He was a mountain of a man who stood a head taller than anyone else and twice as wide. The giants' quarters they now occupied seemed built to hold him while the rest of them scuttled around his knees.

“See,” said Caleb to Achsah, as if nature itself had just offered proof that he was right. “This is the finest specimen of a man.”

“I have seen him among the others,” Achsah said. “He wrestles them to the ground, then sits on their chests until the breath is almost out of them. He laughs the whole time, while under him men squirm. His bulk is all that recommends him. There was not enough matter left over in his making to fill his brain.”

But Caleb exulted. Surely this colossus of a man would bring back news of Debir's defeat.

He was destined to be disappointed. Early the next morning, the man led a small group out of the City of Arba in the direction of Debir. Everyone, from Caleb to the smallest child, waited expectantly for this first challenger's successful return.

That night, the few who remained alive of the band that had left in such high spirits hobbled back into the city, their shoulders bowed in defeat. Even the champion, who had appeared so massive just one day earlier, looked shrunken and small. Debir remained untaken. The people of the City of Arba groaned. Only
Achsah was pleased. She sighed in relief at what her life could have been had this first contender succeeded.

That night, the next challenger presented himself. His nose and chin were like spear heads, thin triangles that ended in needled points. He wore a sly look on his face and watched the world as if with a sidelong glance.

Once again, Caleb turned to his daughter. “This one will surely have more success than the last. Where brute strength failed, his cunning will prevail.”

“And if it does,” Achsah replied, “I will live as a cunning man's wife, never sure if his next cruel trick will be played on me.”

Achsah was spared that fate. The next morning, all the assembled of Judah gathered again to see this second group set off. When evening came, no one returned at all. Debir still lay untouched in the distance.

Finally, a third man stepped forward. He looked neither strong nor crafty. No muscles popped off his arms to indicate great strength. No sword hung at his side to show that he was already skilled in battle. There was nothing, in fact, that distinguished him at all other than a quiet assurance that spoke of self-regard, but not necessarily achievement.

“Is this what it has come to?” Achsah asked her father. “This man does not look like he could defeat a house cat, much less an entire city.”

Even Caleb, who had brought this multitude of
kinsmen into his town, didn't remember this young man. “State your name,” he said.

“Othniel son of Kenaz,” the young man replied.

“And you think you can be successful where the others have failed?”

“I do.”

Achsah listened carefully. She had watched the other two aspirants with growing unease. Trapped by her father's promise, she had feared that they were the best she could expect of a man. Beside her, Caleb also paid close attention, because he was growing tired of waiting for victory.

“Why is that?” Caleb asked.

“Because I have studied the others' mistakes, and I will not repeat them.”

“Very well, Othniel son of Kenaz, I wish you better luck than those who came before you.”

Unlike the others, Othniel didn't wait until morning. Without delay, he called his men to him and set off, cloaked in the night's deep shadows.

Achsah took notice. “Perhaps he has learned from the errors of those who went before him,” she said to her father as the men slipped out of the City of Arba in the direction of Debir. Achsah felt a small hope stir in her that this man would be wiser than the rest.

“I fear you are wrong,” Caleb said, with a sad shake of his head. “I have gone to war in this land many times.
God cannot make the sun stand still for us if it does not shine at all.”