Among the Gods (18 page)

“Nathan, you’ve been warned about playing in these reeds. The crocodiles—”

“There aren’t any crocodiles around here.”

Joshua gripped Nathan’s arm and marched him back to the beach, silently praying for patience. He pushed Nathan down on the sand, then crouched beside him. “Do you have any idea how hard Miriam has been working to prepare this feast for you?”

“I never asked her to.”

“Then why do you suppose she did it?”

Nathan shrugged.

“Because she loves you.” He waited, but the boy stared sullenly at the ground. Joshua’s anger tempted him to lecture and rage at his son, but he recalled Jerimoth’s words and stopped himself in time.

“I want to tell you two stories,” he said, his voice calm and controlled, “and when I’m finished we’re going home so you can apologize to Miriam and all of our guests.” Nathan rolled his eyes, but Joshua decided to ignore it. “The first story is one of my earliest memories—the day my sister Dinah was born. When Abba brought me in to see her for the first time and I saw the shiny-eyed way he and Mama looked at her, I hated Dinah with all of my three-year-old strength. I wasn’t the baby anymore. Someone else was the center of attention. Then when Dinah started toddling around, learning to walk, I would push her down on her backside and make her cry every chance I got.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “I was jealous. I loved my parents, and I didn’t want to share the new baby with them. I can’t condone your actions this morning, Nathan. They were disgraceful. But I certainly understand them.”

“I’m not jealous of—”

“The second story,” Joshua continued, cutting him off, “took place the day I turned thirteen. My birthday is right before Passover, so I was doubly excited—I would be able to participate in the festival with the men that year. I barely slept the night before, and first thing in the morning, before the sun was even up, Abba gave me a new prayer shawl to wear, just like the one I gave you. ‘Today you are no longer a child but a man,’ Abba said. ‘A father is responsible for the deeds of his son until he’s thirteen, but starting today, you are accountable as a man in Israel.’

“I felt so proud walking up the hill beside my father wearing that shawl, I thought I would burst. At the Temple in Jerusalem, Abba always stood with King Hezekiah on the royal platform to worship, so I expected him to leave me with my grandfather and my brother, Jerimoth. But Abba stayed by my side. He gave up the honor of worshiping with the king of Judah to worship beside me that day. I realized then that it wasn’t just a special day for me, it was a special day for Abba, too.” Joshua paused, then added quietly, “I wanted it to be like that for us.”

Nathan stared past Joshua for a long moment, gazing at the marsh. “I’ll never be the son you want,” he finally said.

“That’s your choice, Nathan, not mine.”

“Miriam’s baby will be your real son.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” he shouted, turning to glare at Joshua.

“You must be because you’ve built a wall around yourself that’s higher and thicker than the one I’m building around the temple grounds. You won’t let anyone past it. I’ve tried, but you won’t let me inside.” He paused to take a breath, to ease the suffocating pain in his chest. “Why didn’t you come today?” he finally asked.

“Rituals are stupid. I don’t see why we need all that stuff.”

“Those rituals act as a gateway into God’s presence. We go to the sacrifices to find forgiveness for our sins. There’s a gulf between God and us, Nathan. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you sense how far apart we are from Him? It’s like you and me. We’re so far from understanding each other, from getting inside each other’s hearts—” He stopped again, unwilling to admit to Nathan how much it hurt to see the other men worshiping with their sons, knowing that he and Nathan weren’t like them.

“You’re doing this to hurt me,” he said when he could continue, “but you’re really hurting yourself. You’re so afraid to let God inside your heart, so afraid He’ll disappoint you like I have. Or worse, that like your real father, God won’t be there at all.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Nathan scrambled to his feet, but Joshua moved just as quickly and pulled Nathan into his arms. The boy struggled, trying to free himself, but Joshua held him fiercely, resting his face against Nathan’s hair, praying that he would feel something besides anger and disappointment toward this child.

“Let me go!” Nathan shouted as he tried to break free.

“I won’t, Nathan. I’m not giving up on you.”

“When are you going to get it through your head that I don’t need you?”

“Maybe I need you.”

After a moment Nathan stopped struggling. When he sagged in Joshua’s arms, sobbing, Joshua felt his own anger fade. He held him for a long time, until Nathan’s tears finally subsided.

“We can worship together at the evening sacrifice,” Joshua said softly. “Let’s go home now, son.”

The Egyptian sun blazed like a furnace in the afternoon sky as Nathan walked home with Mattan from their Torah lesson. He wiped his arm across his gritty forehead. “I don’t remember it ever being this hot in Jerusalem,” he grumbled.

“Quit griping,” Mattan said. “You always talk as if Jerusalem was perfect, but it wasn’t.”

“It was better than this place. I hate being banished here.” Nathan had lived in Egypt nearly half his life, yet he still hated everything about it. He carried with him an aching restlessness that seldom went away. “Don’t you ever wish we could go home?” he asked.

“No. This is my home. I hardly remember Jerusalem anymore or—hey, you’ve got company.”

They had entered the family compound through the rear courtyard, and Nathan saw Jerusha standing in the doorway of his house, talking to two other women. The cluster of adjoining houses where his extended family lived was usually tranquil this time of day, the children and servants resting to escape the heat. He heard Jerusha thanking the women as she said good-bye to them, and he sensed something was wrong. Jerusha’s voice was hoarse with emotion, her eyes sorrowful and red-rimmed.

“What’s wrong?” Nathan asked in alarm.

She hesitated much too long before answering. “Let’s sit down in the shade where we can talk. I … I need to tell you both …” Jerusha’s eyes filled with tears. Mattan took his adopted grandmother’s arm and walked with her to the bench beside the outdoor oven. He sat beside her, but Nathan was too tense to sit.

“What’s wrong, Mama Jerusha?” Mattan asked. “Who were those women?”

“They were midwives.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Nathan demanded.

“I don’t know how to tell you this …” Jerusha’s voice broke and she wiped a tear. “You know that Miriam is expecting a baby. Well, something went wrong … we don’t know what … and the baby died in her womb. It happens to women sometimes, but it’s especially sad because Miriam waited three years for a child.”

Nathan’s heart pumped with fear. “Is she okay?”

“The midwives said she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I want to see her.”

“Not right now, Nathan. Wait a little while. Joshua is with her.”

Her answer infuriated him. How dare Joshua exclude him? “She’s my sister!” he said angrily.

“I know,” Jerusha said. “But Miriam and Joshua need time to grieve. Why don’t you go to Mattan’s house for a little while? Joshua will send for you later.”

“Are you coming, too, Mama Jerusha?” Mattan asked as he helped her to her feet.

“In a few minutes,” she said sadly. “I need to take care of a few more things first. You boys go ahead.”

“Come on, Nate,” Mattan said as Jerusha went back into the house.

Nathan didn’t move. Two conflicting emotions battled inside him: immense relief that his rival for Miriam’s affections was dead, and enormous guilt that he had wished for it. He’d been angry enough when his sister had married Joshua and he’d been forced to share her with him; the idea of sharing her with Joshua’s baby had enraged him. He had hated that child since the day he’d learned Miriam was expecting and had wished it would die a thousand times over. Now his wish had come true. As Mattan took his arm to steer him away, Nathan jammed his elbow into his brother’s ribs.

“Ow! What was that for? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m not going to your house.”

“Fine. I’ll go home without you. I don’t care if you come or not.” Mattan stalked away.

“It’s my fault that Miriam’s baby died.”

Mattan stopped and slowly turned to face him. “How do you know that? What did you do?”

“I kept hoping that it would die. I wished for it. One of the gods must have answered my prayer.”

“Don’t be stupid. You know there’s only one God. Why do you even talk like that?”

“When I lived with the Egyptians, they told me about the evil eye. They said that sometimes—”

“I’m not listening to any more of this.” Mattan strode to the door of his house and opened it.

Nathan hurried to catch up. “I’m telling you I wished it! All I could think about was how much I wanted Joshua’s kid to die. If he has a son of his own, he won’t want me around anymore. Now his baby is dead, and I know it’s my fault.”

“My father had two more sons and nothing changed for me.”

“That’s different.”

“How? How is it any different?” Mattan asked. “Abba adopted me the same day Uncle Joshua adopted you.”

“Joshua isn’t like your father. Besides, your parents were married when we met them, but Joshua and Miriam … I don’t know, I can’t explain it. Just forget it.” He turned and strode away.

“Where are you going?”

Nathan kept walking without answering. The truth was, he didn’t know. When he reached the street corner and glanced back, he was relieved to see that Mattan hadn’t followed him. He wandered aimlessly for a while before reaching the riverbank, then gazed with longing at the distant forbidden shore, watching the ferry approach and tie up at the dock. The Jewish boys on Elephantine Island weren’t allowed to mingle with the Egyptians or travel off the island without an adult, but Nathan suddenly had an overwhelming urge to visit the mainland.

It was much too easy for him to sneak on board the ferry without paying. Nathan hadn’t stolen anything in more than three years, but as the boat shoved off with him onboard, he savored the familiar addictive rush of pleasure that came from getting away with it. He loved to take chances, to live on the edge, to flirt with getting caught. Nothing could compare with that feeling.

Once the boat reached the mainland, Nathan slipped ashore as easily as he had boarded and made his way to the marketplace. He wandered among the crowds for a long time before stopping to gaze at a display of Egyptian amulets—scarabs, the eye of Horus, ankh crosses. The craftsmanship was exquisite. He wished he could learn to carve that beautifully.

The owner interrupted his thoughts. “If you’re not buying anything, Jew-boy, move along!”

Nathan knew that the way he dressed and wore his hair marked him as Jewish, strikingly different from the Egyptians. He fingered the long locks of hair on the sides of his ears, hating them. He looked like a freak because the stupid Torah forbid him to cut them off.

With anger and resentment building inside him, he wandered down the row of brightly colored booths, pausing in front of a display of knives. He could carve all kinds of beautiful things with one of those knives—except that Joshua had forbidden him to even own a knife, much less carve anything. The memory of how Joshua had banished him from the island for doing what he loved made Nathan angrier still. As an idea began taking shape in his mind, Nathan crossed the narrow lane to observe the booth from a distance. Out of sight of the owner, he decided which knife he wanted, then patiently waited for an opportunity to steal it.

After nearly half an hour, an Egyptian man finally approached the booth to haggle with the owner over the price of a dagger. When both men were engrossed in their bargaining, Nathan sauntered across the street, weaving between customers. He carelessly bumped into the display, lifted the knife from the table as he steadied himself, then slipped his prize into his sleeve. For the second time that day an exhilarating rush of excitement surged through his veins. He had done it! He forced himself not to hurry and draw unwanted attention, then turned the corner to blend into the crowd clustered around baskets of fruit, sacks of grain and spices, and cartloads of vegetables. The thrill of victory felt heady.

Eventually, the novelty and excitement of the marketplace began to fade and Nathan drifted away, wandering down a narrow side street. A group of Egyptian boys a few years older than himself crouched in the dirt, playing a game of
senet
. The wooden board was homemade, with flat stones for markers and a pair of knucklebones for dice. He stood on the sidelines watching as each pair of contestants moved their stones in an S-shaped path around the board. One boy, whom the others called Hassan, won every game. Nathan had learned to play the game during the months he had lived on the mainland working for the Egyptians. He’d watched the older men play during their lunch breaks; he still remembered a few moves that he hadn’t seen Hassan use. When everyone else had been defeated, Nathan elbowed his way to the front.