Window in the Wall

A million eyes are coming. I had heard about them; desert people whom the sea miraculously parted for; fear swept over us like a haboob roaring across arid land.

What did I do to deserve a life like this; this wretched existence?

I’ve felt worthless for so long I guess it doesn’t matter what I do now, or what I’ve done. I see the looks from the other women, and even the men. Dirty. I was only ten years old; ten years old with no resistance to a lecherous uncle. Ten; my God! Then, to live in silence and isolation.

Pretty. How I wish I felt pretty—almond eyes and onyx hair and buttery olive skin, like other women.

The City knows me; it knows who I am and what I am and what I will always be. Feet pound in the distance like thunder; a different storm is moving.

He pulled my woven skirt from me like a ravenous dog devouring a bone; my frail legs quivered like ripe wheat being blown by a harvest wind. “No, uncle,” I pleaded; first with a whimper then an anguished cry. My family was at market; he squeezed me as if I were a ripe melon.

The memory accompanies me like a shadow until the moon rises high late into the night and I finally sleep.

Pariah; a blot of nothingness since the news traveled across the City. North to south to east to west; they said I had enticed my uncle—it was my fault. And, I believed them.

Dust rolls from the horizon, billowing in magnificent clouds. Maybe my life will change. Ha! Terror is written across the faces of boys and men I’ve known and who have known me. They have known me in the carnal sense. They have known my tender insides—like my uncle.

The City gate has been shut for some days now. Provisions lay stacked like mud bricks drying in the sun. Camels laugh and donkeys bray; women scurry like ants. I watch from my window in the wall. Old men talk with their hands with eyes that betray their fear. Soldiers stand watch as the million eyes watch back.

My father cursed me though I loved him. How dare I accuse his brother of such heinous acts? His backhand sent me across the room; I lay on the floor wounded. My wounded heart far exceeded the gash on my cheek near my eye where is ring caught me. I pleaded with the gods that day for help, but the heavens were silent. And so I lived in silence.

Whore! My brothers railed as they kicked me as I lay on the floor curled fetal, my arms enveloping my head. I was.

They had come last week; just two of them. Few recognized them as different than us. They lodged with me. I had caught their eye in the marketplace as I had caught the eye of many men. A faint smile and a subtle nod of my head and they followed me. They followed me like a lamb to the slaughter.

I had what they wanted. I had what all men wanted—what my uncle wanted.

My mother was mute by choice. A word from her and her own fate might be worse than mine at the hands of my father and brothers. Wish to the gods there was a savior. She never shed a tear for me; she knew better. My father would have erupted with anger at any sign of compassion for me. I was alone.

No man in the City would want me as a wife, my father yelled with words that pierced the air and my soul. I was no longer his daughter that day. They drank strong wine that night, my father and my uncle. They grew drunk, inebriated at my expense. The skirt I wore to conceal my chastity stuck to the inside of my thigh because of sinister sap.

The men were on mission; my skirt was not their goal, to my surprise. In my house we talked; we talked of a million eyes, and a million more to follow; of milk and honey. From the Great Sea to the Great River they would march and wherever the soles of their feet rested they would possess. It was their God’s will. I didn’t know their God, but I was beginning to think I wanted to.

I sold myself at twelve; I had become what my father told me I would become. But nobody would take what they wanted from me again without a price. I learned to wash. I washed it all from my mind and from my body. All that was put there. And the men came. They came at dusk when the dust of the day was settling on the backs of sheep and buckets from wells deep. They came at night when hearts are as dark as the sky. They came and came again to my house with the window in the wall. And my mother wondered what had become of her only daughter. We haven’t spoken for years.

The men walked my roof to observe the City, the soldiers, the sanctuary we thought it was. There was clamor in the streets as soldiers scrambled the stairs toward my window in the wall. I hid them under the stacks of flax and lied; I’m not sure why, but I lied. What was a lie to a whore?

The stories were strange and ancient; blood from slain lambs splashed over the doorposts in some distant desert world; protection from the Slayer of the first born. The red wine of their Passover was symbolic of the same; a covering of blood. They offered me a thread of blood; a scarlet cord for my peace and my protection.

I knew the City would die, but I didn’t want to. I learned many years earlier how to survive; I did whatever it would take. And, I would do it now.

Soldiers stormed my house, my window in the wall. “Yes, the men were here,” I admitted. It was no secret that men came to my house. They came like wolves following the scent of a wounded hare, and left licking their chops, having tasted my delicacies. The soldiers believed my lie, just as every man believed the lie I told of my passion for them, my pleasure with them. Gullible louts.

For the first time ever a man treated me with kindness; instead of taking, they promised to give—life. I had never experienced a life-giving man. I dreamt that if I ever had a son, or a grandson or a great great great grandson he would be life-giving man. It was only a dream though; a far off dream that silly woman like me dreamed.

I remember it all like it was yesterday; my life, the men, and the kind men. Now a million eyes grow nearer, and swords rattle and armor glistens in the hot morning sun. They walk, in silence, not saying a word. How absurd the soldiers think. It’s the seventh morning they’ve done this. What next?