They joined the singing of the moon, singing for Lamech, whose years had been long, whose life had been full, and who, at the end, had been reconciled with his son.
Noah and Matred’s older daughters, Seerah and Hoglah, and their husbands and children, stood in a cluster, wailing loudly. Mahlah stood to one side with her baby. Ugiel, she apologized, was not able to come. She looked curiously at Dennys.
Sandy, Noah told Mahlah in the same words she had used of Ugiel, was not able to come.
“Why?” Mahlah asked. No one answered.
Oholibamah spoke in a low voice, for Japheth, Dennys, and Yalith alone “Mahlah will ask Ugiel about Sandy when she goes back.”
Yalith whispered, “Will he know?”
Oholibamah shook her head. “If he does, he won’t tell. I suspect the nephilim have something to do with this.”
Japheth frowned. “I hope you aren’t right about that.”
Dennys looked at them with fresh fear.
The grave was dug.
As the son and grandsons picked the old man up to place him in the grave, Dennys sensed, rather than heard, presences behind them, and turned to see the golden bodies of seraphim standing in a half circle. Once again, he could hear clearly the singing of the moon and the stars.
Aanel called, “Yalith!”
Startled, she let out a small cry.
Aanel raised arms and wings skyward, and the song increased in intensity. “Sing for Grandfather Lamech.”
Obediently, Yalith raised her head and sang, a wordless melody, achingly lovely Above her, the stars and the moon sang with her, and behind her the seraphim joined in great organ tones of harmony.
Japheth took Oholibamah’s hands and drew her out onto the clear sands, and they began to dance in rhythm with the song. They were joined by Ham and Anah, and the four of them wove patterns under the stars, touching hands, moving apart, twirling, touching, leaping. Shem and Elisheba joined in, then Noah and Matred and the older daughters and their husbands, and then Yalith took Dennys’s hands and drew him into the kaleidoscope of moving bodies, an alleluia of joy and grief and wonder, until Dennys forgot Sandy, forgot that Grandfather Lamech would never be in his tent again, forgot his longing to go home. The crimson flush at the horizon turned a soft ash-rose, then mauve, then blue, as more and more stars brightened, and the harmony of the spheres and the dance of the galaxies interwove in radiance. Slowly the dancers moved apart, stopped. Dennys closed his eyes in a combination of joy and fierce grief, opening them only when the requiem was over. The sky was brilliant with the light of the moon and the stars. The seraphim were gone. Yalith stood beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Noah and his sons tamped down the earth over Grand-father Lamech’s grave.
Sandy opened his eyes and could see nothing. His limbs felt numb. Whatever had pricked him had temporarily paralyzed him. There was a strange tingling in his limbs as feeling began to return. He knew about the tiny darts that Japheth and Yalith and some of the others in Noah’s tent-hold used, and guessed that something similar had been used on him.
Why?
He smelled goat, urine, sweat. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that he was in a small tent. The smoke hole was covered, so that very little light came through. It was a much smaller tent than Noah’s or Grandfather Lamech’s. He tried to move his arms and found that his hands were tied, bound firmly with thong. So were his feet.
As sensation returned to him, he wriggled around and finally managed to sit up, his back against the rough skins of the tent, his bound hands in front of him. He raised them and tried to bite at the thongs. The taste made him gag. The thongs had been wound about his wrists so many times that it was futile to try to chew through them, nor could he find a knot to try to bite. He stopped his useless reflexive efforts and tried to think. He had been kidnapped on his way from Noah’s tent to Lamech’s. Why? When terrorists hijacked a plane, they wanted something. What use would he be to anybody as a hostage? This was a world still without money, without political prisoners. As far as he knew, nobody held anything against Lamech or Noah.
So, why?
His stomach growled. How long had the poisoned dart kept him asleep? What time was it? He could not see even a line of light to indicate where the tent flap was. The light from the covered smoke hole was so faint that it might even have come from stars.
There had to be a tent flap. He wriggled around so that his feet touched the tent wall, and kept wriggling, feeling with his toes. Wriggled until he was exhausted and had found no way out. Rested. Wriggled again. Again. At last his feet felt a line of roughness. He pushed, and the flap moved slightly, enough so that he could tell that it was indeed night outside. Stars. A single palm tree silhouetted against them. He had no idea where he was, or even if he was still on his own oasis.
Worn out from his efforts, he fell asleep, his head just out of the tent. Sunlight blazing against his lids woke him, and he managed to slither back into the tent and sat leaning against the taut skins by the entrance. His stomach made loud, hungry noises. What wouldn’t he give for a mess of Grandfather Lamech’s pottage.
Grandfather.
When he got out of this tent and back where he belonged, there would no longer be the tiny, shriveled old man tending the hearth fire.
Come on. Sandy. He’s old. Seven hundred seventy-seven years. And Noah was pushing six hundred years old. It didn’t make any sense. Except, he believed them. And after the flood people weren’t going to live that long. At least, he thought that was how it was going to be.
“Twin!”
It was a girl’s soft voice. His heart leaped. Yalith.
Then smell followed sound. Not Yalith. Tiglah.
“Twin?” she repeated.
“Hello, Tiglah.” He did not sound welcoming. He remembered what Dennys had told him about the people in Tiglah’s tent. So it was they who were the terrorists. Terrorism was not just a twentieth-century phenomenon. It was evidently part of human nature, and it didn’t get wiped out by the flood. There seemed less and less point to the flood.
“You recognized my voice!” she chortled.
No, your smell, you slut, he wanted to say.
She pushed in through the flap and pegged it back to let in the light. She had taken unusual pains with her hair, so that it glistened brightly. Her loincloth was of white goat-skin. “Dennys?” She was tentative.
“Sandy.”
“Oh, I’m so glad it’s you! Dennys doesn’t seem to like me, and I think you do, don’t you?”
“Why would I like anybody who’s kidnapped me and tied me up and starved me?”
“But I didn’t do that!”
“You obviously knew about it.”
“But I didn’t do it! My father and brother did. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything!”
“But you don’t mind if your father or brother hurt me?”
“Oh, beloved Sand, I can’t stop them! I’ve come to bring you food and comfort “
He sniffed. There was a nourishing smell of stew beyond the odor of the tent, as well of Tiglah’s perfumed and unwashed body. If they’d already used some kind of poisoned dart on him, was it safe to eat the stew?
Tiglah said, “I made it myself, so I know it’s alt right, and it’s good, too “
“I can’t eat with my hands tied up.”
She paused. Appeared to be thinking. “I’ll feed you!”
Her dimples came and went with her lavish smile.
“No. I’m not a baby. Untie my hands.” He did not say please. How could he ever have been attracted by this girl?
She paused again. “All right. I’ll untie your hands and stay with you while you eat.”
“My feet, too,” Sandy ordered “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“What?”
“I need to urinate.”
“Oh, for auk’s sakes. Can’t you just do it in the tent?”
“No. You can come with me if you want. I don’t care, but I need to go.”
She knelt by him and began working at the thongs, first on his wrists, then his ankles. When he was freed, he stood up, feeling very wobbly. This tent was not nearly as high as Grandfather Lamech’s or Noah’s, and he bumped his head on the roof skins.
She took his hands and rubbed his wrists where the thongs had chafed them.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“I told you. I need to relieve myself.”
“Come along, then.” She pulled him out of the tent and to a small, grassy hummock a few feet away. There was no grove to provide privacy or a modicum of sanitation. “Go ahead.”