Escaped from the Nations. Alexandra Glynn

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      “No,” Beulah said, the dust sheening the mottled paleness of her cheeks. “I’m too weak to sew today. Where was everyone this morning?”

      “Different places,” Zillah said. “Some were at the tabernacle, others were gathered around drinking water where the jars of water are kept. Quite a few were at my parent’s home, actually.”

      “Really?” Her tone was deferential, undemanding, but tinged with an undefined ache.

      “Yes. My mother and father agree with Zed the Levite. He is a close work companion to Korah. They think something must be done to Moses.”

      “Who is Zed?”

      “He wears a gold cord around his waist, you’ve probably seen him. He usually tents near our family’s tent.” Zillah went over to the corner of the tent-space where the food was. She lifted a gourd to her lips and tilted her head back. “This tastes so fresh,” she said.

      Beulah remembered the conversation between the two men that had woken her up this morning. “I think I know who he is. Short? Kind of young? He has a soft and friendly voice.”

      “Yes,” Zillah said. “He has the gift of discerning spirits, and he has a list of all the people, including Moses, who he says are proud.”

      Beulah opened her mouth to protest, but then she heard her mother’s voice above the din of the pack animals all around them. Around them the desert surrounded, ensnaring and unforgiving. She felt like Noah for a moment, letting a dove fly off, out of a window, wondering if it would come back.

      “My dear Zillah!” Beulah’s mother greeted Zillah. She had dropped back from her fast pace up ahead so she could check on Beulah.

      “What?” Zillah asked her, warily, baffled.

      “Zillah, I heard what you just said. That’s not right,” Beulah’s mother said, her eyes unhappy pools, looking pitifully at Zillah. “Nobody should make lists of the bad and the good. Only God knows those things. He will reveal them in his time.”

      “But Zed does know,” Zillah insisted. “He has the gift of discerning spirits.”

      “If he says he knows the conditions of the hearts of men, then he is putting himself in the place of God.”

      “But Moses really is proud.” Zillah was angry now. “He is.”

      “Zillah, did your mom and dad say that?” Mother’s voice was sad.

      “Of course. And my mother and father are good people. They cannot be wrong!” The brown of her eyes shimmered with bitterness, stormy and scrambled.

      Beulah’s mother went close to Zillah and hugged her, as if by her embrace she could cause her to cast off her veil of distaste. “Oh, Zillah, I don’t know what to say. It is not for our righteousness that we are able to go into our homeland with our Redeemer, for we are a stiff-necked people. But because he loves us, and is faithful to the promises he gives.”

      Beulah said, “We are all proud. At least that’s what I have noticed.”

      “Yes,” Mother said. “And Moses is doing what he is doing because God commanded it. Not because he decided to do it himself. Now I have to go up ahead and help again. You girls watch over each other.”

      “Okay.”

      When she had left, Beulah gently asked Zillah, “Zillah, do you remember Eldad and Medad, some time back? How they came and prophesied in the camp?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, they spoke about love, just as their names mean. ‘El-dad’ means ‘God loves,’ and ‘Me-dad’ means ‘love.’”

      “So?”

      “So I am just saying, we have to remember love. To be charitable. To put the best interpretation on what other people are doing.” Beulah thought about what she had learned of ancient stories. When Noah sinned after the flood, one of his sons went around and talked about it. The others went in and covered it, showing how God’s mercy covers our sin and nakedness. That was love. She knew this, but how could she explain it to Zillah?

      “Sure,” Zillah said uncertainly, as if she yearned for her heart to twist.

      The beats of Beulah’s heart pulsed in a commotion of compassion. She put her hand on her friend’s hand.

      “What do you think of me?” Zillah asked.

      “I think you’re my wonderful sister that God gave me,” Beulah said wistfully. She was still, as still as if somebody had switched something off inside her. Zillah’s stumbling confusion filled her heart like a story told in hieroglyphics written all over a huge wall. Zillah was journeying along merrily with the crowd going to Canaan. But, will I get there, Beulah wondered?

      Zillah twirled the ribbon in her hair and laughed lightly, “And you’re my sister, too.” Then with a final kiss goodbye, with tresses discomposed and glowing cheeks, she scurried off.

      5.

      That evening seemed sharp with waiting, and they paused for the night earlier than usual. Far away the bleating of a great herd of goats sounded restlessly. Beulah watched as her mother quickly put up the tent. Her mother’s gaze was huddled, as if something ominous meddled with her thoughts. Other mothers were putting their tents up nearby. Soon Beulah’s vision was obscured by the soft skin walls of the tent. “Do you want me to drag you outside so you can look around more? It’s a while until bedtime.” Beulah’s mother’s question was tender.

      “Yes, if I could,” Beulah responded, hoping the vision of the vast clear sky would stifle the sad unfoldings wrestling inside her.

      As Beulah lay with her head propped up on pillows she watched some boys playing outside the neighbor’s tent. “I’m going to put your eyes out!” a child cried.

      “Like Moses wants to do!” another replied savagely.

      Beulah looked over at her mother. Her mother’s looks were covered with gray worry. She had heard the boys. They both turned to watch them playing. One boy took a rock and threw it at the other boy. It wasn’t a very big rock, and it missed the boy by quite a bit. Beulah’s mother started toward the boys and then backed up. Then she saw the child who had thrown the rock pick up another one. This rock was much bigger. Beulah’s mother ran toward the child like a gentle minister of chastisement.

      “Put that down.”

      The child had curly brown hair and he turned wildly toward Beulah’s mother, surprised. “Why?” He sneered foully, like a bad inmate.

      “We don’t hurt other people.”

      The boy hesitated, then snarled a mean word at Beulah’s mother. But he put the rock down.

      “Your mother is tough.” Beulah turned quickly. It was Zillah. She had come up while Beulah was watching her mother and the two boys. She had seen the whole altercation.

      “Yes,” Beulah said.

      Zillah raised her eyebrows. “Well, I hope she listens СКАЧАТЬ