The Dovekeepers
Page 120
“Is this what you came for?” he asked, as he offered me the child.
When he spoke I understood why men would follow him even though they might die and never return, and why they would believe in him. Although I wanted to tell him I had stumbled upon the doves, I found I couldn’t say another word in his presence. He gave the baby up into my arms. I should have thanked him, but I could not speak. He waited for me to do so for so long that the silence itself spoke of what was between us.
Before he turned back to his chamber, Eleazar ben Ya’ir put his hand to my forehead, gently, as he might welcome a daughter. In that moment I knew he was the man for whom my mother had made such sacrifices, the reason she had been cast out of Jerusalem, why she had waited on the Iron Mountain day after day, until the dove returned with the message to come to him at last.
WHEN I WENT to our chamber that night, I did not ask my mother to speak my father’s name aloud. I saw her comb her long dark hair with a wooden comb made of acacia wood from the forests of Moab. I saw the tattoos on her flesh. She was the same, the woman who’d never wished to tell me who I was, who would not offer Yael help if it meant she would be forced to come before the enemy who had used me as evidence so that we might be set into the wilderness.
I gazed at my face as it was reflected in a bowl of water and saw my father’s eyes staring back at me. Now, when people said his name, they were saying mine as well. I walked alone at night, dressed in Adir’s tunic and mantle, seeking out those who spoke of my father, wanting to hear of his deeds in battle and his kindness to those in need. He insisted that all men were equal, whether they were servants or priests, and made certain all adhered to the law that stated we were not to collect the fruit from the four corners of our orchard, as God had commanded, to ensure that even the poorest among us could find mercy in their time of hunger.
I had the desire to speak to him, something I had been unable to do while I was in his presence. When I heard there was to be an archers’ contest among the warriors, I went, like the boy I’d once been, a scarf across my face, the bow I’d used to test my arrows set upon my back. Perhaps I would see my father and he would know me for who I was, as I now knew him. I waited through the day, watching the men, their strong arms and backs wrenching as they drew their bows. They cried out in brotherhood and rivalry, blaming the wind when they missed their mark, praising the best among them when their aim was true.
When it came time for Amram to take his turn, I saw the obvious admiration his brothers-in-arms felt in his skill. I, too, wanted to praise him, but there was something more. I felt the sting of jealousy, a wasp in my heart. Ben Ya’ir was among the warriors who cheered on the young men, and he praised Amram heartily. I thought of how he had blessed me and wondered if he was the reason I’d been born to the sign of metal, why I wanted more than other girls did. Even now, as I spied the throng of young women on the sidelines, I knew I could never watch alongside them and not burn to be among the men.
I might have slunk back to the silence of our chamber, but in the pale hours of the declining day I saw the hawk above us, the one whose feathers I’d used in fashioning arrows for Amram. I thought of the splashes of red dye on my hands from the madder root when I’d crafted them so carefully. I had intended the arrows as a gift, yet I’d never presented them. I at last understood that I’d wanted those arrows for myself all along. I had designed them not in honor of the phoenix that signified my beloved but in memory of the red lily that grows in the fields of Moab, as a reminder of the person I had been.
I carried them now, hidden beneath my cloak.
I found myself at the archer’s line, pushed there by a demon, or perhaps by my pride, an unknown boy allowed to compete, though clearly no one saw the competition within me. They didn’t bother to watch as the first arrow hit its mark. Perhaps the second arrow convinced them to turn and stare. Perhaps it was the third. I was concentrating on one thing alone: the precise moment when I drew back on the bow, waiting, as Wynn had instructed, so that the arrow might dip and rise as birds do. I gave not a single thought to the girl I pretended to be. I heard the wind and no other voice. I thought of both my fathers, the one who had taught me all that I knew and the one I wished to learn from now.
When I narrowed my eyes, I saw my path before me, straight as iron.
My arrows sliced through those which were already in place, casting the other warriors’ strikes to the ground. Those warriors were watching now. The red of the feathers were impossible to ignore, a field of lilies. By the time I was done, there was silence.
When he spoke I understood why men would follow him even though they might die and never return, and why they would believe in him. Although I wanted to tell him I had stumbled upon the doves, I found I couldn’t say another word in his presence. He gave the baby up into my arms. I should have thanked him, but I could not speak. He waited for me to do so for so long that the silence itself spoke of what was between us.
Before he turned back to his chamber, Eleazar ben Ya’ir put his hand to my forehead, gently, as he might welcome a daughter. In that moment I knew he was the man for whom my mother had made such sacrifices, the reason she had been cast out of Jerusalem, why she had waited on the Iron Mountain day after day, until the dove returned with the message to come to him at last.
WHEN I WENT to our chamber that night, I did not ask my mother to speak my father’s name aloud. I saw her comb her long dark hair with a wooden comb made of acacia wood from the forests of Moab. I saw the tattoos on her flesh. She was the same, the woman who’d never wished to tell me who I was, who would not offer Yael help if it meant she would be forced to come before the enemy who had used me as evidence so that we might be set into the wilderness.
I gazed at my face as it was reflected in a bowl of water and saw my father’s eyes staring back at me. Now, when people said his name, they were saying mine as well. I walked alone at night, dressed in Adir’s tunic and mantle, seeking out those who spoke of my father, wanting to hear of his deeds in battle and his kindness to those in need. He insisted that all men were equal, whether they were servants or priests, and made certain all adhered to the law that stated we were not to collect the fruit from the four corners of our orchard, as God had commanded, to ensure that even the poorest among us could find mercy in their time of hunger.
I had the desire to speak to him, something I had been unable to do while I was in his presence. When I heard there was to be an archers’ contest among the warriors, I went, like the boy I’d once been, a scarf across my face, the bow I’d used to test my arrows set upon my back. Perhaps I would see my father and he would know me for who I was, as I now knew him. I waited through the day, watching the men, their strong arms and backs wrenching as they drew their bows. They cried out in brotherhood and rivalry, blaming the wind when they missed their mark, praising the best among them when their aim was true.
When it came time for Amram to take his turn, I saw the obvious admiration his brothers-in-arms felt in his skill. I, too, wanted to praise him, but there was something more. I felt the sting of jealousy, a wasp in my heart. Ben Ya’ir was among the warriors who cheered on the young men, and he praised Amram heartily. I thought of how he had blessed me and wondered if he was the reason I’d been born to the sign of metal, why I wanted more than other girls did. Even now, as I spied the throng of young women on the sidelines, I knew I could never watch alongside them and not burn to be among the men.
I might have slunk back to the silence of our chamber, but in the pale hours of the declining day I saw the hawk above us, the one whose feathers I’d used in fashioning arrows for Amram. I thought of the splashes of red dye on my hands from the madder root when I’d crafted them so carefully. I had intended the arrows as a gift, yet I’d never presented them. I at last understood that I’d wanted those arrows for myself all along. I had designed them not in honor of the phoenix that signified my beloved but in memory of the red lily that grows in the fields of Moab, as a reminder of the person I had been.
I carried them now, hidden beneath my cloak.
I found myself at the archer’s line, pushed there by a demon, or perhaps by my pride, an unknown boy allowed to compete, though clearly no one saw the competition within me. They didn’t bother to watch as the first arrow hit its mark. Perhaps the second arrow convinced them to turn and stare. Perhaps it was the third. I was concentrating on one thing alone: the precise moment when I drew back on the bow, waiting, as Wynn had instructed, so that the arrow might dip and rise as birds do. I gave not a single thought to the girl I pretended to be. I heard the wind and no other voice. I thought of both my fathers, the one who had taught me all that I knew and the one I wished to learn from now.
When I narrowed my eyes, I saw my path before me, straight as iron.
My arrows sliced through those which were already in place, casting the other warriors’ strikes to the ground. Those warriors were watching now. The red of the feathers were impossible to ignore, a field of lilies. By the time I was done, there was silence.
