The Lost City Read online

  Like thunder rumbling, roaring and crashing; like lightning flashing, burning and blasting, deliverance had come at last! For a brief time even my heart had joined in praising God for sending it. How stubbornly my people held to their faith in God!

  Briefly there had been sunshine, cleanness and food. The soldiers gave of their rations yet there were so many of us. Soon even a crust of bread became a thing over which to fight and to claw. Tantalizingly into my nightmare came the sweet smell of food. Its fragrance tore at those mists and I saw a bowl passing before me. I knew it to be a part of my dream, yet I clawed it out of the air only to drop it from fingers too weak to hold it.

  Food! I had had it in my hands, yet now it spread across a strange, bright carpet, leaving bits of gold and white and green and brown. At least I could have them! Hands reached out and held me. They would not let me retrieve even one fragrant bit of precious food. It was then I knew that I could not fight them any longer and I collapsed weeping, not caring enough to fight any more.

  The bright white light was dissolving the mists. Relunctantly they loosened their clammy hold, uncoiling, thinning, disappearing before the relentless glare. I clung to the mists for my swollen eyelids and tear-drenched eyes flinched before that brightness. I did not really want to come awake. The nightmares and horrid memories were somehow being crowded out, dimmed before a wonderful new delusion.

  Over and over I seemed now to hear my mother’s tender, crooning voice. I could even feel her gentle arms about me and oh, I did not want to waken to reality again. My pillow was drenched with tears I had thought I would never be able to shed again. Perhaps I had drowned myself in tears.

  A calmness and peace was within me such as I had not remembered existed on earth. I had known little of it in my sixteen years. I clung to the illusion that seemed to be my mother, hiding my face in her soft bosom, listening to her dream-voice singing sweet promises to me. Let her sing them—I had learned that promises meant nothing. I was learning, too, that one can sometimes hide himself in a dream world so that reality becomes as nothing, too. Or, was I wrong? Was I hiding myself from reality, from a new and wonderful reality?

  I struggled; I was afraid to come completely out of the dreamworld that was half death, yet, I was afraid lest by delaying too long I might lose the chance to return if this were not delusion. The sweet voice faltered. There seemed to be tears choking, stopping it. Could it be that I was causing those tears? Then a new voice cut across the singing.

  “Let her weep, little mother. The tears will heal and bring their own relief. She will be all right now. There is more color on her cheeks. She is taking the food we bring. I think she even hears you, now.”

  I had not thought ever to hear a man’s voice again without cringing. Yet there was something in that voice that stirred a wish within me. I lay still and listened.

  How long had I been crying? Crying? I had forgotten how to cry long ago!

  Food! He had said that I had been eating! Eating without knowing or enjoying the eating! But that could not be! I remember that they had held me back from the overturned bowl of food—yet, I did not feel hunger.

  Little mother! Little mother! Oh, yes, I had been hearing her! Suddenly I could not stay in the dream world any longer. Let her singing stop! Let her arms fall away! I would not fool myself or wait until the nightmares tore her away from me again. I twisted free and sat upright, blinking, staring against that sudden blaze of light.

  Unspoken words—or were they wishes—choked in my throat, “The light is not white but golden, coming softly through the wide-open window. It lies like a halo about a never-forgotten head. My mother! Oh, my mother! I have not been dreaming after all! It was your arms that held me! Your voice that called me!

  “I reach out and touch your hair. Silver now, where once it had been so darkly shiny. But beneath its framing softness I see a little of your old serenity and peace shining in your tear-wet eyes. Pain you have felt and deepest sorrow, yet you are not afraid to face the future. Your singing voice told me that and it has drawn me back. What were you singing?

  “‘Blessed is the man whom thou chastenest, O Lord, and teachest him out of the law; … For the Lord will not cast off His people, neither will He forsake His inheritance … O give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good; for His mercy endureth forever … He hath inclined His ear unto me … the sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me: I found trouble and sorrow, then called I upon the name of the Lord … Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; yea, our God is merciful … I was brought low, and He helped me … He has delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. I will walk before the Lord in the land of the living. I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord, who hast chastened me sore: but He hath not given me over unto death … My feet shall yet stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!’

  “How softly your lips uttered the words, yet how deeply you meant them. Perhaps you can lead me back into your faith, my mother, even as your God is leading our people into the land of their inheritance. Let me listen and hearken that I may come before Him with praise and singing, even as you have done. Let me walk in the land of the living—I have lived in the land of death for so long. Surely if you can have hope I can have it, too. Perhaps there is a Promised Land for us after all.”

  The sun was setting. How many times had that golden, flaming sun slid into the sea? I did not know. I knew only that as I looked out through the ship’s window I saw a path of gold stretching, stretching far into the distance behind my mother and a hand, gentle and kind and strong reaching out from the shadows to rest softly on her head.

  2

  A MODERN REBEKAH

  I HAD BEEN QUITE ILL. The ship was nearing the end of its journey when my mother’s voice drew me up out of the swirling darkness that had threatened to enthrall me completely. How swiftly the hours flew as we journeyed memory’s road back, back into the past to make our reunion complete. With common, unspoken consent we never mentioned the black months and years of separation. My mother had learned more than enough from my incoherent and wild ravings as I fought back from the far shore of death or insanity. It was enough for me just to have her with me once more.

  I knew that we were the only survivors of our family. The others had disappeared. The rescuing army had re-united many families as they had re-united us, and the fact that we two were on the boat was proof enough that the others had perished. One thing alone was incomprehensible. There was place for only the strong and the useful in the Promised Land. Yet, sick and weak as I was, they had passed me. It was strange, indeed, that they had passed my mother who had no husband or male support. I voiced bewilderment and mother answered,

  “Perhaps you remember Simon. He came often to our home in the old days.” Then as I nodded, “Simon arranged everything for me, my child. He had no family except his nephew. He has promised to make a home for me in that new land. It will be good to have a family to cook for and to sew for again. It is good to be needed. Too often did I hear my usefulness discussed back there.” That was the only bit of information, if information it could be called, I ever gleaned of mother’s years of enslavement. But that much made me shudder, for all too vividly could I picture the uncertainty and the cold inhuman calculation of their brutal appraisal.

  There had been hours of confusion and doubt after the army had informed her that they had found me. As Ruth of old my mother had accepted Simon’s offer for he was a kinsman. She was therefore bound to forsake all and follow him. Yet, she could not leave me behind, and I was not strong enough or well enough to rate the needed passport. It was then that Simon’s nephew intervened.

  Those first hours I had had no eyes for any but my mother. I had seen the clean, strong hand that rested like a promise on her head, but I had not looked beyond to see its owner. When my hungry eyes had feasted enough for the moment on her dearly remembered features, the hand and the man behind it had slipped unnoticed away. The
sun had set in all its glory and with its setting had come food. How wonderful had been its aroma and its flavor! I only mourned that there had been other meals of which I had no recollection. Yet, now I could feel the new blood coursing through my veins and knew indeed that there had been life-giving food before. It made me blush with shame and embarrassment to remember how I had clawed greedily and fought to retrieve the precious food when I had spilled it on the floor.

  “Don’t let it fret you, my baby. There are others who have done the same. There are those who have sold their very birthright for a bowl of pottage. And with less reason than you could show.” Always my mother had the right, soothing answer and I did not wonder that the wise Simon had chosen her to help him in that new land to which we were going.

  But her strength and wisdom only pointed up my inadequacy. I had neither wisdom or strength. Perhaps in time I could have the latter. Certainly I had no beauty, either of soul or body, that I should be chosen as Paul in kindness had chosen me. I had not seen his face when my mother softly told me how the young doctor, Paul, had offered the way for me to go with them into the new life.

  “But mother, he had never seen me; if he had he would not have wanted me. I never did have Rachel’s beauty.” Only that once did I let myself express the envy I had known; its utterance held less of envy, more of flashing horror as I recalled what reward her beauty had brought to her. “Certainly now I must seem a wizened witch or a bad fairy. Even good food and care cannot replace what I never had.”

  A little humorously, if sadly, my mother patted my face and hair.

  “Where did my baby learn such wisdom? Surely not at my knee. Your years had hardly shaped for such understanding before the parting came. But there—perhaps within and beneath that ‘wizened witch-face’ there lies buried a woman’s intuition and heart after all,” her drily spoken words put the fire in my cheeks again. It was one thing for me to call myself a witch, but it was not pleasant or to my liking to hear it from my mother. Yet I laughed with her, because her humor had given me courage. She would not have called me homely if I had not some redeeming feature. Yes, I had woman’s intuition enough to know that.

  “No, Tanya. Paul had not seen you but Simon had. And there seemed no other way. There have been others before you who have been chosen from out of a favored family. Your father’s family was well-favored. There might be hope for you, my ugly duckling!” She laughed again and smoothed my pillow.

  How sweet her goodnight kiss, as she put an end to my wondering and turned out the light against my impulse to talk more. “There will be many more tomorrows, my baby. Sleep now and rest. Soon we will reach that happy shore and you will want to be ready for the new life with its tomorrows. God is good. Accept His workings, my daughter. He brought you thus far—surely He will not forsake or leave off caring for you now.”

  I was thankful for the darkness for I felt again chagrin and humility before her faith. If only I could have it, too!

  Long I lay there. It had been so long since there had been anything but the darkness of fear that I marveled that I could find comfort and peace in this darkness. Perhaps it was the glimpses my mother had given of the lamp which guided her feet that made me relax for the first time and not fear darkness or night. For like a light shining in darkness her simple faith beckoned me. However, I could not so easily cast off my doubts and cynicism. There were still my father and my brothers, yes, and my lovely sister Rachel to refute her faith! Where had God been while they had perished? What mockery had made Him withhold His help so long? Why of all the countless who had died and suffered were we spared?

  I could understand old Simon, for his wisdom was well-remembered, yet my father had been wise and good, too. I could understand my mother for she was comely even now and certainly her faith was passing great. Yet, Rachel had been lovely of face, sweet as she was fair, and her voice had been lifted always in praise and prayer. My heart had been full of envy, doubt and discontent—yet I had reached this ship, was nearing the Promised Land, while back there somewhere they had fallen. No, I could not accept a God who showed such willful inconsistency!

  I let my thoughts drift from the unfathomable, the intangible. It was deliciously strange to lie there in the darkness, feeling the gentle roll of the big ship, hearing the low murmur of life outside and knowing no fear. Hours and days of fever had somehow burned away the nightmare. It was as if those years of horror and terror had been the fevered-imaginings of a very sick mind.

  I wanted to think about the things my mother had told me. There were many things that were new and different. This great ship carrying us swiftly to a land we had never seen. The new family ties begotten of necessity, that feeling of responsibility in-born in my people’s hearts. It was not as if Simon were a stranger. He had been often in our home before calamity had torn it apart. But it did seem strange that he should be my mother’s husband—that in a way I should be his daughter. That would make Paul my cousin, and cousins should not marry.

  My vagrant thoughts had brought me to the point I unconsciously had been eying from afar. I was surprised that I could feel so quiescent over the arrangement that had been made without my knowledge. I had never had or hoped to have a lover. I had seen “affairs” as some of the other girls had sought to eke out their allotments of food and necessities by coquettish conduct with the soldiers. Always deep within me had been remembrance of my mother’s teachings or instinctive distaste for such cheapening which had made it impossible for me to even feel tempted that way. Nor had I underrated my wretched appearance so that I had not believed it possible for me ever to meet or become attractive to any man. Yet I was betrothed to a man I had never seen, one who, according to my mother’s brief description, was a man of promising future, indeed of prepossessing appearance as well.

  I looked ahead to the morrow. How I wished that I were not so homely, and that I had at least some womanly qualities. Even yet he might refuse to complete the contract, and I was afraid to return to that awful land. The passport had been given to Paul’s wife. And I, who never had even had a lover, was supposed to be that wife. I forgot that I had not known the ecstasy and the uncertainty of courtship.

  Suddenly I felt beautiful; who can be wanted without feeling beauty? Even so Rebekah must have felt long years before when Isaac’s manservant had come asking her hand. Rebekah’s marriage had led her out of her homeland into a new land rich with promise. I accompanied her along the camel trail thinking her thoughts, guessing her confusion.

  She must have wondered, too, if when he saw her he would still desire her. Must have wondered, too, if he were wise and kind and good; yes, and if he were handsome. Rich he was for she later wore his gifts. Paul must be wise for it was his wisdom that had brought me back from death’s door. That he was kind beyond measure I could not doubt, for he had reached out his hand to rescue me whom he did not know, and I had seen his hand resting comfortingly on my mother’s head. Riches would not matter. Humbly I hoped that he had no wealth, for then, perhaps, I could help him by wisely using my lessons in thrift so that he might attain security and riches. I had so little to offer—he so much!

  I shivered, perhaps a little moan escaped me for my mother came quickly to lay her cool hand on my brow. I snuggled against it then pressed a kiss into its palm. It was good to have her. If only I would not be sent away without her again.

  “Mother, my mother! What if he should have changed his mind now that he has seen me! I couldn’t stand it to be so near and yet to have to go back! To have been with you and then to be torn away again—” I dissolved in tears that yielded slowly to her gentle persuasion.

  “Little Tanya, the good Paul is not the man to go back on his promise. He did not offer you aid expecting any reward. Even your mother did not try to tell him aught of you because I knew nothing to tell. The years can change one so greatly, and believe me, my baby, you will not be wanting in loveliness and grace when you have had a chance to grow strong in the new land. Adversity will sit kindly an
d leave her gifts of gentleness and sweetness with those who will let it be so. I will be with you to teach you the lessons that you have missed—of sewing and cooking and homemaking. Do not be afraid—the sweet Rebekah went willingly and joyously to meet her Isaac.”

  “How did you guess that I have been thinking of her, Mother?” I asked in wonder.

  “What Jewish maiden chosen as you have been could help remembering the beautiful story of Rebekah! It is the heritage of our people. In the big and important things there will be no differences. So do not let the little things bother you. Sleep so that beauty may shine from within you; so that the roses may bloom in your cheeks. Do not undo Paul’s work in returning you to life again. Nor disappoint him with hesitancy or foolish wishing. A head full of fruitless wishing cannot guide hands into fruitful doing. Sleep, my child, and God’s peace be with you.”

  Softly her voice lulled me and presently I did sleep not to awaken until the morning was well spent. There was no time in that busy morning for fruitless wishing or worry. Scarcely had my mother helped me to bathe and dress, for I was still weak and tottery, than the trays came with our breakfast.

  I ate slowly, savoring each morsel, glad that my hunger had been dulled a little so that I was not so greedy. But there was not a crumb left when at last the trays went back. It was wonderful to feel my strength returning. My mother seemed to see it, too, for she nodded her head approvingly and reached out to pinch my cheeks lightly ere she dropped a kiss on my forehead in passing. Another moment and she had brought a shiny mirror and set it before me on the low table from which we had eaten.