Nineveh's Child Read online

  Nineveh’s Child

  by

  Gerhard Gehrke

  For Abby

  Copyright © 2017 Gerhard Gehrke

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution—You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial—You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works—You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Edited by Brittany Dory

  Cover Design by Greg Simanson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  Part One: Hunters

  1. The Farm

  Most days were too busy for remembering. Dinah had no time for it. She rarely even thought about her early years in Nineveh except to remember her brother.

  Special days like this one were few and far between. Every now and then, once Dinah and her stepsister Rosalyn did their chores and washed up and the planets were all aligned, Aunt Uma would teach them things in the kitchen. Uma had them mix sugar, ground flour, and goat butter while she prepared leftover apples and dried grapes from an old vine that grew near the farm’s front gate. The fruit she cut and soaked in some of Uncle Karl’s hard cider. Then she added more butter and sugar and put on the topping they had mixed. It went into the oven. While they waited, Uma had them clean the kitchen. Rosalyn grumbled and kept to her side of the dirty floor. Dinah watched Uma while sweeping and wiping down the counters.

  Uma periodically consulted an orange book propped open on a high counter. Everything on that side of the kitchen was off-limits unless they were given explicit permission. Messing with Uma’s things was a bad idea. Even Rosalyn didn’t chance getting into anything stored underneath Uma’s kitchen counter. Dinah had gotten in there a few times, but it was mostly books, paper clippings, and curled and brown magazines that all appeared as if they had been soaked in water several times. Rocks held down each stack of paper. There was a definite order to it all, so she never moved anything.

  Uma took a cinnamon stick from a jar. She had told them several times that this was the last of it, that there would never be any more cinnamon ever again. Dinah wasn’t sure if she believed her, but it never turned up while trading, and it didn’t grow among the foliage she frequently browsed. Dinah used a fine grater to put a thin coat of brown atop the dessert. She set the pan back into the oven.

  Even though Dinah never took any of the cinnamon, when Uma wasn’t watching she liked to open the spice jar and take in the smell. It was like nothing else on the planet. And once Uma placed the dessert in the oven, the heavenly aroma soon filled the house.

  “Wash the cutting boards,” Uma said.

  Dinah had been standing motionless, tasting the air. “It smells so good.”

  Uma wore an expression that wasn’t anything close to a smile, but it told Dinah that she knew that already.

  Rosalyn came up next to Dinah. She had a hungry look on her face as she eyed the oven.

  “Go pluck the rooster I killed this morning,” Uma said to her.

  “I can do the cutting boards,” Rosalyn said.

  Uma’s jaw tightened. At first, Dinah thought Rosalyn was about to stand her ground. This would be followed by her stepsister catching hell. Dinah cringed. But Rosalyn went out the back without another word.

  Washing the cutting boards took but a minute.

  “I’m almost done,” Dinah said. “I’ll help her.”

  But Uma had her head in an orange book. Her mouth moved when she read. She was assembling a spice rub in a small bowl, and the new fragrance complemented the cinnamon and baking smells. She had already put salt and crushed dried herbs into the mix, and now she was just reading. Dinah went out back to help pluck.

  Rosalyn sat on a stool. A large headless rooster soaked in a bucket of water in front of her. Dinah kneeled in the dirt next to Rosalyn and started to pull feathers from the fowl. Dinah worked without gloves, her callused hands well accustomed to the coarse work. The bird was long and tall but somewhat lean. None of the chickens were particularly plump anymore. Rosalyn also plucked and threw feathers aside. Pluck and throw. Pluck and throw. The water the bird floated in was greasy and pink.

  “You’re so good,” Rosalyn said. There was enough acid in her voice to dissolve stone.

  “I’m just hungry, and you’re so slow,” Dinah said.

  Soon enough there were feathers all over the ground and sticking to their hands and arms and even a few on their faces. A spattering of blood soaked into the dirt. Rosalyn dumped the bucket into the garden while Dinah held the chicken. Rosalyn returned with the empty bucket and a crude pair of pliers. Dinah put the chicken back in the bucket. Rosalyn started to work out some of the smaller feather shafts while Dinah kept the bird in place. Then Rosalyn let Dinah cut the bird open and pull out the guts. Baking smells wafted forth from the kitchen.

  “It smells good, doesn’t it?” Dinah asked.

  After a moment, Rosalyn said, “Yeah.”

  When they were finished, Dinah followed Rosalyn as she carried the bird into the kitchen and put it in the pot on the butcher block. Uma took her mixed spices and began rubbing the bird down both inside and out.

  When she noticed them standing and staring, she said, “Wash up.”

  With no other addendum, they were free until supper. The smells in the house and the promise of a meal to remember meant that neither of them would stray far. Rosalyn went off to do her own thing.

  Maybe she has some mice to torture.

  Dinah went out front and found Karl there on the porch. He had some notebooks out and was writing in one. A glass of cider was close at hand.

  He had a troubled look. His brow was furrowed. His jaw clenched. He absentmindedly scratched his scruffy chin. He put the pencil down and sipped his drink. When he saw her, the sadness on his face lasted but a moment longer, and then he gave her a warm smile.

  “We’re cooking a special dinner,” she said.

  “I know. I can smell it all the way out here.”

  “Is there an occasion?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t we just be happy that we’re alive and that we have plenty for this day?”

  “I guess so. What are you writing?”

  She could see which notebooks he was working from. These had lists of numbers taken from his barometer, thermometer, and hygrometer that all were attached to the front doorway. He also tracked several rain gauges set either just outside the porch or up at the fog collectors. He measured other things too, with a few machines that Dinah didn’t understand. Karl wouldn’t explain what they did. They made odd noises when turned on, and he didn’t turn them on when he knew she was around. These were powered with either batteries or solar energy, which made them different from everything else in the house or even in the local community, where working powered machines were rare.

  Rosalyn said these little machines knew when Dinah’s time of the month was upon her and would let Karl know all her dirty secrets and thoughts. Dinah had played with the machines a few times when Karl or Uma weren’t around, but she always put the dials back to their original positions. She never figured out what they were for.

  “What am I writing?” Karl asked the air in a ponderous tone. By the rolling pitch of his voice, she could tell this wasn’t his first cup of cider. “What I am writing are conclusions. I have data here.” He tapped one of the open notebooks. Then he p
ointed to the page upon which he wrote. “And here is where I try and make sense of it all.”

  “And does it make sense?”

  “I wish it didn’t.”

  “Is it the weather? Is it going to get better?”

  He sighed. “Maybe one day. But probably not any time soon. But we can’t ever stop hoping. And we can’t ever stop believing that it will get better.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Stick together,” he said. “Share our knowledge. Work with our neighbors to get through this tough patch. That way, if we’re careful, deliberate, and conserve what we have, we make it through this to the good times that will surely follow. But smell that cooking, Dinah. Go on, smell it.”

  He made a show of sniffing the air, and he smiled. She did the same. The aromas of the cinnamon and fruit and roasting chicken with all those magical herbs almost overwhelmed her.

  “What does that smell like to you?” he asked.

  “Supper and dessert.”

  “Mmmm. More than that. That’s the smell of life. That we’re alive to live another day, and that we can do more than just scratch by if we’re careful. Sometimes you just have to stab back at the universe and let it know that you haven’t given up or given in or given out. It’s okay to be glad to be living.”

  He took a long sip. But the joy left his face once he looked again at his notes.

  “Now run along, and don’t be late for supper.”

  ***

  Supper turned out to be everything Dinah could imagine and more. The big rooster took center table, and its golden skin looked like sunbaked heaven. The fruit crisp was a broken craggy road to the promised land. There were other dishes, too: roasted pine nuts, a medley of herbs and veggies, four red potatoes, and asparagus. Asparagus made her gag. But she’d eat the asparagus ten times over to just keep smelling the meal set before them.

  Uma was humming when they all entered the kitchen and sat down. She lay down a cloth napkin on each of their laps. Karl had a grin so wide Dinah thought his face would break. Rosalyn was as enraptured by the spread as she was.

  “Karl, why don’t you say grace?” Uma asked.

  This would be a rarity. Uma sometimes quoted verse, but Karl kept his Good Book and his words of thanks private, more private than his notes or his opinions on what direction the world was going. But today he didn’t hesitate.

  “Lord, we give thanks for this day’s bounties. We thank you for the kind hands that prepared this food, for the shelter that we have, and for our lives. As you see fit, help us use our lives well. Also, as you see fit, protect us as we are beset by troubles that weigh down our hearts. We look to you, Lord, for our salvation. Thank you for our family. Amen.”

  Dinah muttered an “amen,” but no one else did. Karl noticed and shot her a wink. Uma began to pass around the dishes of food. Karl took a knife and sliced at the rooster. With wet twists and pops, drumsticks came off the bird for both Rosalyn and Dinah. He put slabs of breast meat onto Uma’s plate and then his own.

  It all tasted even better than it smelled. They ate. Dinah asked for seconds, ate more, and cleaned her plate with her fingers. Uma didn’t stop her. She would have licked her plate clean, but that would have been pushing it.

  Once everyone was finished, Rosalyn and Dinah got up and began to collect the dishes. Uma stopped them, her expression hard now.

  “Just leave it. Go on outside for a while and play.”

  Rosalyn and Dinah looked at each other, and then put the plates back down and went out through the kitchen. Dinah heard Uma and Karl start talking, but she wasn’t able to clearly hear what they were saying.

  Rosalyn headed toward the goat pen, walking through the bloody dust and scattered feathers from the chicken plucking. Dinah followed her. The setting sun was gone, the sky descending into bluish gray. There were scattered clouds above, but not the thick, cool fog that would take the temperature down for the night and feed the collectors.

  “Want to do something?” Dinah asked.

  “No.”

  Rosalyn walked along the pen’s fence. Two of the goats got close. She picked up pebbles and threw them at the animals until they scampered away. They bleated in anger. Rosalyn wore a scowl.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dinah asked.

  Rosalyn shot her a withering look. “You don’t know what’s coming, do you?”

  “Of course I do. It’s going to rain.”

  Rosalyn laughed and looked up at the dark sky. “You think that’s why they gave us a last supper? This was a good-bye. There’s trouble coming, and Karl is going away. Just leave me alone.”

  Dinah didn’t know why, but she was crying by the time she made it over to Billy’s enclosure. The big goat had his nose through the wire and was nibbling on some frayed weeds. He ignored her.

  Small flies buzzed about. One of them landed on her repeatedly, and she felt a pinch on the back of her neck. She retreated to the front of the house. Karl’s notebooks were all still there on the porch. It was too dark to read them, but she touched the books anyway, as if some of the knowledge therein would magically leap through the covers and into her head through her fingertips.

  As she sat quietly, she realized she could hear Uma and Karl. Most of the words were low murmurs, but she heard Uma ask, “But why do you have to go?” Where was Karl going? Why did Uma sound more sad and worried than Dinah had ever heard her? She wanted to sneak inside, but the creaking front floorboards would give her away no matter how softly she stepped. Still, she took a chance and leaned into the doorway.

  Karl was speaking consolingly and not answering Uma’s question. Perhaps he had answered it earlier. Perhaps it was one of those questions that had no answer.

  Another fly (or maybe the same sneaky bastard) bit her, and the porch groaned. She backed down the steps to the dirt and ran along the path that led to the overgrown road in front of the house. The meal sat heavy inside her stomach.

  An hour later, Uma called them inside. She was back to being Uma, and they helped with some of the tidying up. Karl was in the front room writing, an oil lamp throwing orange light onto the pages of his notebook. Once everything was clean, she sent them upstairs to their bedrooms and reminded them to brush their teeth.

  Dinah put on her bedclothes. She closed the door to her bedroom and listened. Crickets were singing their one-note lullaby outside. Rosalyn was in her room, and Dinah could hear the creaks as she got into her bed and tossed about until she was comfortable. Her stepsister always slept like a rock once she went down. Uma came up the stairs next. Dinah heard the door to Uma’s room close, and then she heard soft weeping.

  She had three choices: go to sleep, go to Uma, or go down and try to talk to Karl. She couldn’t sleep. Something was going on, and she needed to know what. Uma wouldn’t tell her anything and might even grab her by an ear and drag her back to bed. She slipped out of her bedroom and moved slowly down the stairs.

  Karl had his notebooks put away. He stood over a large shoulder pack and was checking straps and pouches. Leaning on the front door was his boar spear: a nasty, sharp steel-tipped head atop a thick, smooth wooden shaft.

  She watched him for moment before he noticed her. He walked over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to go out and check with some of the neighbors down in the valley.”

  He said “check with,” not “talk to” or “trade with.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “I hope so. It should all be fine.” He returned to his pack. He opened a small bundle of cloth bandages, needle and thread, and some scissors. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, and he put this back together and placed it into a side pouch. From a closet, he pulled out his goatskin parka and hat.

  “In case it rains,” he said with a smile.

  She didn’t smile back. “When will you come back?”

  “Soon. Don’t you worry.”

  She went over to him and gave him a hug, her
arms barely making it around his chest. He hugged her back, patted her a few times on the head, and moved her away so he could continue his preparation.

  He considered her for a moment and lowered himself so he was looking her in the eyes. “But while I’m away, you can do something for me, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Listen to Uma. I know you already do, but help her. And be nice to Rosalyn. She has a hard time with things, maybe even harder than you. And I left you something. Something that Uma doesn’t want you to have. It’s from before, the time and place we never talk about. It’s in my workshop in the black tin. I left you a note. Don’t let Uma see you with it, or she will take it away. It’s something you had when you first came to us. It belongs to you, and I fixed it. But don’t turn it on near the house. Don’t turn it on at all if you don’t have to. Take it with you if you’re ever in trouble. Just in case.”

  “I remember. My device. When I came here, Uma took it away from me.”

  “Aye, she did. But she also took you in. Not everyone is as kind. If others see you with your device, it will remind them of the bad times. They might want it, or they might hurt you so they can destroy it. And Dinah, you need to know there are even worse people out there. Just remember. Uma knows this, and she’s just trying to keep you safe.”

  “Is that why you’re taking the spear? For those types of people?”

  Karl looked over at the spear. “I hope not. That’s for the pig I’ll bring home for supper.”

  The stairs creaked. Uma came up behind her. She pointed back up to Dinah’s bedroom. Dinah didn’t escape a swat to the bottom as she ran past her and headed upstairs.

  ***

  Uma would say that Karl was a spiritual man, “a praying man,” as she put it when she talked about such things. Whenever Karl was out of the house, the only pre-meal ritual they engaged in was to wash up.