Free In the Shadow of the Ark by Anne Provoost Page B

out. “It is strange that a boy who has come from so far away could win the favor of our men so quickly. They will no longer accept any other water. And how strange that they are suddenly so concerned about their skin. Where does your sister obtain this water?”
    When they wouldn’t leave me alone and kept trying to trap me with their questions, I stayed away from the red tent for awhile. Then Ham came to the quarry to fetch me. “My skin is itchy,” he said. “I’ve been scratching it raw. Come to the tent with your water and your oil.” But he understood my caution. I must not be exposed, for if I were, how would I ever be able to come to him?
    Once the dwarf had come after him. He followed Ham like a troublesome dog, confusing him with his questions and gestures. “You are looking for that sister of his,” I heard him say. “I know it. You think she is lovely, and you want to be near her.” He led Ham back out of the quarry like a small child. I had not even been able to greet him.

16
The Ban on the Eating of Meat
    O ne day a flock of mallards flew over the shipyard. My mother was the first to notice them. Through her breathing, she urged me to go after them. I walked into the hills, to the spot where they had landed. I carried my spear, the one my father had once shaped for my mother. When I approached, the ducks took off again, but they did not get very far. They were exhausted. I decided on the fat drake that reminded me of one of our decoy ducks.
    Put had followed me. He stood watching a bit farther on, his slingshot hanging from his hand. If he had been able to creep up on it, he would have been able to hit the duck. With his slingshot, he could knock a nut out of a tree, and he had killed scorpions in cracks in the rocks. But he would not use it against warm-blooded animals, not even against the tiger that had killed his father.
    I killed the duck quickly and painlessly, to show that it is not the killing itself that is reprehensible, but doing it carelessly and painfully. We baked it and cut it into small pieces, which we then ground up. We added salt and spices and first served my mother. Put was somewhere at a distance, amongst the shrubs; he did not understand why eating the duck made us feel in a festive mood.
    But we enjoyed ourselves. We liked having meat on our menu, and duck was our favorite.
    We had lain down contentedly when a large group of men came into the quarry. They wore long cloaks and carried a sedan chair. Right at the end came the dwarf with his wide nostrils and bulging lips. In the sedan chair, sitting very straight, supported by embroidered cushions, was an old man. In front of our house, he gestured for the group to stop. We watched, genuinely interested in what was going on, unaware of having done anything wrong. The old man surveyed our house, substantial and solidly constructed, like a boat. His irises were so green, I stared at him for seconds before lowering my gaze as I should. The rims of his eyes were red as raw meat, his face was lined and his eyebrows remarkably dark under his white hair. There were spots all over his skin, small creamy-looking lumps, which showed anyone who had an eye for it that he suffered from a serious illness.
    There was no doubt, this was the Builder, the man who spoke with his god as with people, and who had stayed hidden in the innermost part of the tent for months. His cloak, which must have hung on a hook all the weeks he had lain on his bed, sat crookedly on his body. But his glance was bright and his words clear when he said to my father, “I am told you are the person who has been helping my sons during my illness. You have produced good work. You are an expert.”
    My father stood up and bowed. He too had understood who the gentleman was, and said, “My lord, I thank you for coming in spite of your health….”
    “Certain matters take precedence over one’s health,” the oldman replied. His speech was not slow, as you might expect