Chapter 2
The Lion and the Lamb ~ continued from Chapter 2 | Two Farmers
The tired boys finally came to the small, quiet village and made for their house just as dusk was falling.
Obed unhitched the donkey and slapped his rear.
“Celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles for seven days after you have gathered from the threshing floor and winepress,” he said tiredly.
The next day the hot autumn winds brought the workers out to Obed’s lands for harvest; Shimea and David looked out over the valley as men and women stood in the deep fields wielding plowshares and sickles. They bent low and moved the sharp edges against the wheat and barley that fell time and time again. At the end of the field the large piles of crops were stacked for threshing.
“We live and die by rainfall, my boys,” Obed said. He picked up a stone and placed it on the retaining wall made of larger stones on the hilly terrace.
“See the two streams; one is for the orchards the other for drinking now.”
Obed wiped his hands on his worn wool pants and looked out over the sun-drenched valley. The mountain water trickled slowly down as far below the villagers worked the fields.
Iram stopped in the middle of the fields and wiped his brow. “We have half the field to cut.”
Hannah, his wife, passed him a water bag.
“Strange things happened in that house last night,” she whispered to her husband. Her apron and yellow blouse were wet with noonday sweat.
“Woman,” he breathed heavily. “Strange things happen ever since Nitzy was born.”
He touched his sun-beaten and tattered head cloth. “She’s been blessed by the Lord.”
“It’s not right.” She took a drink herself and held the sickle by her plump body. “Something is not right and the boy David wanders the hillsides alone. No friends. No company. What does he do all day?”
Iram started swinging his sickle and watched as the barley tumbled down. He lowered his 60-year-old body and began to get into a rhythm, the sun beating down while his hand held the sickle; shush, shush, shush went the blade against the strong barley husk. He loved to work the fields and even as a poor, young boy he worshiped the sound of the sickle and felt his power over the land.
His father, Reuben, who had traveled from Damascus, was a poor tradesman but Iram dug his hands into the soil and never forgot the feeling. He felt renewed each autumn when Obed would knock on his door and ask if he would help work the fields. It made him feel young again.
Shush, shush, shush, shush went his blade clean and true. His wife had moved onto another woman, Haga, and she handed the water bag to the slight, white-haired woman. “It’s not right,” Hannah whispered.
Haga wiped her smock and smiled at Hannah. “Yes,” she said.
She looked away from Hannah, for she had lain with Iram not two years ago and thought her words would give her away. She remembered how lustful and responsive he was to her needs. A thin smile appeared on her face.
She turned away and began to swing at the barley with renewed vigor.
Continue reading… Chapter 2 | King of the Universe
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