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Authors: Rebecca Kanner
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unruly flock back to therighteousness of the Lord. Immodesty is an abomination in His eyes.”
On days when Noah lost patience with the sinners, immodesty was one of the many things he complained to God about as he ranted around the loom, through the rows of clay pots full of lentils, over our sleeping blankets, and beneath the nets full of fruit and nuts that hung off lines strung up from one end of the tent to the other. Fornication was another. He did not omit any details when he talked to God about the flock he was trying to bring Him: “Among all the children as much as ten years of age—both male and female—I am certain there are no virgins. Even some of the younger children are no longer pure.”
I could not keep myself from interrupting him. “What about Javan’s daughter, my lord, the one who is simple? Surely she is a virgin.”
Noah kept pacing as if he had not heard me. When enough time had elapsed that I had given up on receiving an answer, he said, “Unlikely.”
During his silence, I had thought about it myself, and I doubted a man had known the child. She had not seemed wanton or harmed by men. She appeared to possess the boldness of an innocent, one who does not yet know the evils of which men are capable.
So as not to seem as though I were questioning Noah, I said, “This saddens me, my lord. At least the God of Adam has left her heart innocent.”
“She is not innocent. She is just too depraved to know the seriousness of her misdeeds in the eyes of the Lord.”
I said nothing. After a few more paces, he continued, “She is Javan’s daughter; wickedness has been sown into the very center of her soul.”
I knew that was the child’s true crime in Noah’s eyes. He seemed to have a place in his heart for all the sinners but Javan. “Yes, my lord,” I said quickly, hoping to end the conversation. He snorted.
When Noah was not talking to or about God, he seemed to be at an utter loss for words. Perhaps this was why, when he was not tending the herd or sleeping, he spent most of his time in the road yelling about wickedness.
One day I put down the lentils I was sorting and watched out the tent flap as he moved slowly down the road on the back of the ass, shouting at the people of the town to repent. “It is not yet too late to atone and find favor in the eyes of the One True God!”
“This One True God must have a lot of time on His hands, to listen to the ravings of a lunatic,” a man coming out of one of the tents shouted back at him. “Why do you wear His ear out, along with ours, all night and day?”
“If you did not blather on so much,” another man added, “maybe more than one god could bear to listen to you.”
Often at night I lifted the flap of the tent window and saw these men in the light of the fires they roasted goats over. Their clothes were tattered, despite the new ones I was always making. A few times I saw a man close enough to decipher the scarring on his face. The more I looked from the window at night, the clearerit became that all the men were marked not only by an X upon their forehead but also by the sword, spear, or club of another man. Broken, bloodied noses, busted lips, small craters where eyes had been—these were the features of the men’s faces. A couple of the men even had holes in their cheeks through which, at a shorter distance and in a little more light, I might have seen teeth or a tongue. Unwieldy gashes jaggedly separated one part of a man’s face from another. Infections ate at their skin, and pus bubbled from their wounds.
Time had not managed to mark Noah’s face as deeply as battle had marked these men’s. Noah’s skin was thin and wrinkled, yet his features were easily recognizable. I was afraid for Noah and his unscarred face. What if the God of Adam broke from His vigil over him? I thought that surely someday a mercenary would take the opportunity to make his mark upon this unscarred surface, there being so few such surfaces in
On days when Noah lost patience with the sinners, immodesty was one of the many things he complained to God about as he ranted around the loom, through the rows of clay pots full of lentils, over our sleeping blankets, and beneath the nets full of fruit and nuts that hung off lines strung up from one end of the tent to the other. Fornication was another. He did not omit any details when he talked to God about the flock he was trying to bring Him: “Among all the children as much as ten years of age—both male and female—I am certain there are no virgins. Even some of the younger children are no longer pure.”
I could not keep myself from interrupting him. “What about Javan’s daughter, my lord, the one who is simple? Surely she is a virgin.”
Noah kept pacing as if he had not heard me. When enough time had elapsed that I had given up on receiving an answer, he said, “Unlikely.”
During his silence, I had thought about it myself, and I doubted a man had known the child. She had not seemed wanton or harmed by men. She appeared to possess the boldness of an innocent, one who does not yet know the evils of which men are capable.
So as not to seem as though I were questioning Noah, I said, “This saddens me, my lord. At least the God of Adam has left her heart innocent.”
“She is not innocent. She is just too depraved to know the seriousness of her misdeeds in the eyes of the Lord.”
I said nothing. After a few more paces, he continued, “She is Javan’s daughter; wickedness has been sown into the very center of her soul.”
I knew that was the child’s true crime in Noah’s eyes. He seemed to have a place in his heart for all the sinners but Javan. “Yes, my lord,” I said quickly, hoping to end the conversation. He snorted.
When Noah was not talking to or about God, he seemed to be at an utter loss for words. Perhaps this was why, when he was not tending the herd or sleeping, he spent most of his time in the road yelling about wickedness.
One day I put down the lentils I was sorting and watched out the tent flap as he moved slowly down the road on the back of the ass, shouting at the people of the town to repent. “It is not yet too late to atone and find favor in the eyes of the One True God!”
“This One True God must have a lot of time on His hands, to listen to the ravings of a lunatic,” a man coming out of one of the tents shouted back at him. “Why do you wear His ear out, along with ours, all night and day?”
“If you did not blather on so much,” another man added, “maybe more than one god could bear to listen to you.”
Often at night I lifted the flap of the tent window and saw these men in the light of the fires they roasted goats over. Their clothes were tattered, despite the new ones I was always making. A few times I saw a man close enough to decipher the scarring on his face. The more I looked from the window at night, the clearerit became that all the men were marked not only by an X upon their forehead but also by the sword, spear, or club of another man. Broken, bloodied noses, busted lips, small craters where eyes had been—these were the features of the men’s faces. A couple of the men even had holes in their cheeks through which, at a shorter distance and in a little more light, I might have seen teeth or a tongue. Unwieldy gashes jaggedly separated one part of a man’s face from another. Infections ate at their skin, and pus bubbled from their wounds.
Time had not managed to mark Noah’s face as deeply as battle had marked these men’s. Noah’s skin was thin and wrinkled, yet his features were easily recognizable. I was afraid for Noah and his unscarred face. What if the God of Adam broke from His vigil over him? I thought that surely someday a mercenary would take the opportunity to make his mark upon this unscarred surface, there being so few such surfaces in
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