ABISH
PART ONE: The Vision
Chapter 1 – Shalem
Shalem loved mornings. Especially right before noon, when the marketplace in the City of Ishmael was just beginning to wake up. Though all the artisans and shopkeepers had arrived some hours ago, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the townspeople that everyone took care of his own work first before the day's business began in earnest.
For Shalem, this meant that he had had the whole morning to quietly carve. He had received quite the reputation for his skill around town – according to his friends, everyone said that for the highest-quality work, for the tightest joints, the realest likenesses, and the most beautiful and ingenious designs, Shalem was the craftsman to see. He didn't really feel like he deserved a reputation quite so glowing, but he did his best to live up to it.
Through his open door, Shalem could see the more inexperienced vendors arranging their wares on brightly colored cloths. He chuckled as he watched one of the younger ones, who had forgotten to leave himself space enough to sit cross-legged on his cloth, nervously shake his head and rearrange his baskets to be able to settle down among them.
Shalem poked his head out of his shop to look up at the recently-erected public sundial, a large stone column in the center of the market with lines inscribed that radiated downward from a rod protruding horizontally near the top. The shadow of the rod fell just to the left of being straight down. Lunch time.
Stepping out of his doorway and pulling the double door shut, Shalem cast an amused eye on a frazzled-looking young woman with bright feathers in her black hair, holding a big bag of dried gourds as she frantically tried to find a space to lay down her cloth with the others in the marketplace. He wasn't surprised when no one would budge over for her. There had been times when, as a newcomer to the market, he too had overslept; and like her, he had found no sympathy in the eyes of the others. A few, by their bleary faces, had probably arrived to stake out the best spaces when the light of day was just barely hitting the sundial; there had already been a sizeable gathering when he arrived, and the sun had still been relatively low in the sky. Thankfully, he didn't see any black eyes or bruises among them, which was not always the case. It was always so embarrassing to the older craftsmen when the town watch had to be called in to break up a marketplace territory dispute.
He smiled with nostalgia at his low beginnings and gratitude towards those friends he had made among the more established vendors. Notwithstanding his skill, without them putting in a good word for him he would never have had the opportunity to purchase a stall when one became vacant. No, he mused as he tied his doors closed, he didn't miss those days of cutthroat competition at all. Plus, having a booth allowed Shalem to close up shop and feel somewhat secure about his tools when business took him elsewhere, or, like now, when it was time to buy lunch.
"Good day to you, Shalem!" sang out the weaver in the booth next to him.
"And a good day to you, Zoram," replied Shalem in kind. He liked Zoram; they had known each other since they were boys of nine years old and had played together often when they were growing up.
"I wasn't sure you were in today," Zoram went on. "I haven't heard a peep from you all morning."
"Well, I was carving louder than usual, but it's no wonder you didn't hear me; your loom is so noisy it blocks out even the sound of the thunder when Shuz rolls through the heavens on his chariot of lightning!" returned Shalem. They laughed together at their running joke. "Well," he said to excuse himself, "I need to get down to Taara's stall and back before any customers arrive."
"Taara!" exclaimed Zoram in mock surprise. "What business do you have with him?"
"Lunch," Shalem said dryly.
"Did Kalara not give you enough bread today?"
"I deserve a treat now and then," he defended.
"I know," was the laughing reply. "You needn't justify yourself. Be off with you, then!" Zoram waved him off and turned his attention back to the panel of cloth on his loom.
Kalara's bread was quite good, thought Shalem warmly, as he returned and sat down to lunch. But… He inhaled deeply over the gourd, cut in half and filled with stew. It was even better with a little meat to go with it.
Surprisingly, he was able to finish lunch without anyone coming into his shop. As he mopped up the last of the stew with Kalara's bread, he listened through the wall to Zoram haggling with a customer who wanted to purchase a floor-length curtain. The walls of his shop were made of staves, as straight as he could find, lashed to a framework and leaving hardly any gaps in between. Before he remodeled, his stall, like all the others in the marketplace, had had so many chinks in the walls due to the crookedness of the sticks used, that they were – to his woodworker's offended eye - practically transparent. So, over time he had carefully set aside some straighter staves which he then used to rebuild his walls to be much tighter.
When Shalem asked for permission from Moromni, the basketmaker who owned the stall to the left of Shalem's, he had shrugged eloquently and said it was fine with him, that Shalem could do what he wished to the wall. Zoram, on the other hand, had complained good-naturedly about Shalem trying to hide from him, or perhaps from the noise of his loom, but ended up helping him replace the wall between their stalls one day when business was slow. Shalem was quite happy with the result. As an artisan who had just opened a shop of his own, it had been very good and visible advertising. And even though it didn't muffle the sound any, something he good-naturedly needled Zoram about regularly, he still appreciated the extra measure of privacy at his work, however small.
After lunch, Shalem's first customer was a broad-shouldered man he had seen around the city and had never met, but Shalem had guessed that he was probably a farmer from out of town, as his skin was toned somewhat darker than the already copper hue of the shop owners who spent most of their time in the shade of their stalls. "What can I do for you today?"
"I need a yoke, for use on my farm," the big man explained. "I have seen them for sale at the larger market in the city of Lemuel, where I travel occasionally to sell my vegetables, but the vendors there have not made any that were comfortable for my shoulders, and I visit there so infrequently that it is not practical for me to commission one to fit. My previous yoke broke when I was clearing a new field and overloaded it with stones. I know your reputation of making strong tools, so I have come to you."
"Well," mused Shalem, considering the man's build and how big a piece of wood he would need, "with a stature as large as yours I can understand why you found none to fit. Let me measure you, and then we can talk of pricing." He picked up a long notched rod he had been using as a measuring tool for several months. Once the rod had enough notches and etched notations that it was too confusing to use any further, it would join the woodpile at his home and he would find another. He laid it flat across the man's shoulder blades with one end at the outside of his arm, and made a notch at the edge of the opposite arm. "You want a tougher yoke, you need harder wood, and harder wood is tougher work. I should think it will be worth at least an amnor. Or a seon, if you prefer," he added, citing the gold equivalent of the first silver coin.
The man scoffed. "An amnor is far too much. A shiblon is a far better price."
Picking up on the farmer implying he didn't use gold, Shalem continued haggling in silver currency. "A shiblon? No, were I to make a yoke worth merely a shiblon it would quickly join its brother on the woodpile. I won't do it for less than three shiblons."
"Two," countered the farmer quickly. "One senum."
Shalem considered. "One senum and one shiblum."
"Done." They clasped hands. "I come into town once a week."
Shalem smiled. "Then I will have it ready for you next week, barring any difficulty obtaining the wood. Two weeks at the latest."
"And I will bring my silver." The farmer turned to leave.
"I would be very happy," called Shalem, causing the farmer to turn back, "if instead of one senum and one shiblum you could pay the price as two shiblons and two leahs. I find the smaller silver coins more convenient for everyday purchases."
The farmer nodded. "That will be no trouble. A good day to you."
Shalem spent the early afternoon doing business with one customer after another. He bid good day to the latest one, groaning behind his polite smile at the prospect of having to fill the order of a pair of buckets, and turned back to his carving. He looked up as another shadow fell across the doorway almost immediately, but it was merely Taarahah, the lunch vendor's son, come to collect the gourd from Shalem's meal, so it could be washed and reused the next day.
It had been a long day of work at his booth, and Shalem was tired. He sent his last customer, one of the local stonemasons, off with his commission, a hefty block-and-tackle, and bid him good evening. He began wiping off his tools and safely stowing them in his leather bag to carry home. The main square of the City of Ishmael was quietly abuzz as merchants and vendors were finishing up last-minute business before closing up shop like himself. The orange light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the marketplace, and the shadow of the pole on the sundial was nearly horizontal. With his back to the door, he moved to clear up the scraps of wood that had collected during the day, listening to the idle chatter around him. He suddenly heard four or five quick footsteps and was tackled from behind in an embrace.
"Papa, Papa! How was your day?"
"Abish," admonished Shalem's wife, Kalara, as she hurried after their daughter. "Behave."
"It's all right, dear," Shalem chuckled. Lowering himself to one knee, he looked his eight-year-old daughter in the eyes, making sure to put on a serious mask as he knelt to her level. "Abish, do you know the rules of the shop?"
"No running with the tools and don't leave any customer unattended because they could be a Nephite in disguise an' we can't trust 'em," she rattled off dutifully.
"That's not quite as I remember, but close enough," Shalem said, carefully keeping the smile from his face. "And what's the rule just for you?"
Dark eyes suddenly downcast, Abish mumbled, "No surprising Papa when he's holding his tools."
"Abish, was I holding my tools when you came in?" Her eyes screwed shut as she searched her memory.
"No, you were gathering the wood scraps for our fire tonight." As she realized this, she looked up into his eyes hopefully.
"Exactly." Pausing a long moment, he continued, "So, you can surprise me all you want, my little hummingbird." At his use of her pet name, her smile returned, his broke free, and they shared a hug. "Now," he said as he stood, "it's your job tonight, since you're here, to gather the scraps and sweep up the shavings from today's work. The bag is on the post."
"Okay, Papa!" She ran to get the rush-woven bag to carry the wood scraps home for the night.
Finally turning to Kalara who was looking on with a smile, Shalem said, "It's wonderful to see you, too, dear." He moved to her, gave her a warm kiss, and began packing his tools as she watched their daughter work.
"You silly man," Kalara said fondly. "Finish cleaning up. I need to return to tend our dinner. You know Noah is home alone. I would have stayed but someone," she sent a mock glare at Abish, who giggled while struggling with the large and unwieldy broom, "insisted that we come to see Daddy at work."
"Noah will still be alive when we return," Shalem placated jokingly. "A boy of eleven can't knock the house down by himself."
"No, but he can eat enough for a grown man, and still have room for more. I ordered him to stay away from the fire, but he's a growing boy and often forgets what we ask, favoring his stomach."
"Yes, dear." Shalem tied his toolbag shut, then reached over to Abish's bag and tipped the last wood fragment in. "Abish, which bag will you carry? I'll take my tools if you carry the wood."
She eyed his heavy leather bag. "Can I take your bag, Papa?"
"Are you sure? It's so heavy, I'd better carry it." Her father's eyes twinkled as he exaggerated a groan and lifted the bag to his shoulder.
"No, I can do it, I'm strong enough," Abish protested.
"Are you sure, Abish?"
"If you put it on my shoulders, Papa, I can carry it!" Abish insisted.
Shalem hesitated, looking over Abish's head to Kalara. At her smile and nod, he agreed. "Very well. But stay close to me so you won't fall down."
"I won't fall, Papa!"
He smiled and carefully lowered the heavy bag to her shoulder, making sure the shoulder strap crossed her chest. Swinging the comparatively light bag of wood to his own shoulder, they left the shop.
Shalem and Kalara each grabbed one of the double doors that opened inward from the street and pulled them shut. Three lengths of rope hung from each door and he tied them together with simple but strong knots. He wasn't particularly worried about thieves; he was a woodworker, by Rahama! The townspeople saw him carry his tools away every day; what else could he have in his shop to steal? However, no harm was ever done by being too careful.
Instead of tying all the ropes in a regular square knot, he made one of them different by bending one rope in half and threading its mate through so that the leaders came out on opposite corners. Then he busied himself equally over the other two knots, so any observer wouldn't know which if any were different. Superficially, all three looked the same, especially in the dark – his father had taught him the special knot, calling it the 'Thieves Knot,' laughing that if a thief tried to tie it back the way it was, they would tie the common knot, and then, upon his return, he would know if anyone had entered the shop during the night.
As Shalem finished and turned away, he caught Kalara grinning at him. In the early months of owning his shop, she had had a small laugh over his precaution, pointing out that the special knot untied so differently that any thief with a leah's worth of common sense would know something was amiss, and make sure to learn the trick and fix it properly when they left. Privately, Shalem could see her point, but somehow the little ritual gave him comfort.
Of course, if he had the inclination or the money he could hire a guard, but a reliable night guard cost a good seon every week and he didn't have that kind of gold just lying around. Besides, the walls and doors of his stall were simply staves lashed together, so he figured that a determined thief with a sharp knife could break in no matter what he did. Thankfully the brigands tended to strike travelers in the countryside and leave shops in Ishmael proper alone. Mostly.
He and Kalara watched Abish totter under the heavy load, which probably weighed half of what she did, but she didn't fall. Shalem rested a guiding hand on Abish's shoulder to give her strength as well as to know if she began to lean too far. Kalara noticed and softly kissed his cheek. He gave her a warm smile, which she returned, and he would have taken her hand had his not been occupied with keeping the bag of wood securely on his shoulder.
On their way home they passed rows of houses, watching the groups of playing children thinning out as they were called in for dinner by ones and twos. Even this close to the center of town, the huts were well-spaced to allow for small vegetable gardens. The majority of the people in Ishmael, like in any city, were farmers and worked in the community fields outside of town, but it was nice to be able to grow herbs or some of the more uncommon fruits and vegetables that the large farms didn't bother with. One of the houses they passed even had a pair of pineapple bushes. Shalem had been considering planting a fruit tree, but he didn't have the time to teach Noah how to care for it, and besides, their garden wasn't really big enough for a mature tree.
After a five-minute walk, they reached their neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Coming within sight of their hut, Abish broke into a labored jog. "Noah, Noah!" she called as she entered the hut and collapsed on the ground, allowing her to wriggle out of the shoulder strap. "I carried Papa's tools—" she let out a small grunt as she collapsed on the ground and ducked out from under the shoulder strap "—all the way back from the shop all by myself!"
Noah looked up to see his family entering the hut and quickly moved away from the fire where he had been about to snatch a small piece of roasting quail. He wasn't fast enough, though, that Kalara didn't see, and he shrank under his mother's sharp glare. However, he was apparently unsure whether the unspoken reprimand was for filching food or for indifference to his sister's achievement, because he quickly said, "That's great, Abish." Shalem knew that Noah had been able to accomplish the same feat for several years, and was pleased that he would acknowledge Abish in this way without prompting. Well, mostly without prompting.
Kalara was in her element now, as Shalem moved his tools from the middle of the floor where Abish dropped them to the corner of the room, out of the way. She lifted the two quail from the fire. "Noah, could you get the bread from the basket?" she asked.
Noah went over to the breadbasket and loosened the drawstring. "How much, Mama?"
"The partial loaf, plus another whole one; the other two are for breakfast and your father's lunch tomorrow," Kalara replied as she deftly divided each quail into two roughly equal pieces with her cooking knife. Shalem beckoned to Noah, and tore the loaves into large pieces without being asked. The bread was dense, but his strong hands had little problem with it. He and Kalara gave the children their meat and bread, and Shalem traded Kalara bread for bird as they all sat down on the dark-colored rug.
"So what did you do today, Noah?" asked Shalem.
Noah excitedly tried to speak around his mouthful of bread, but was unable to make any clear words. Once again the victim of his mother's disciplinary glare, he hurriedly chewed, swallowed, and tried again, speaking fast. "I went into the forest with Tomar. We saw jaguar tracks, headed eastward toward the land of Middoni!"
Shalem made an interested noise, chewed, and swallowed. Then he said, "The jaguar don't usually come this close to cities, even a small one like Ishmael. Where were you?"
Noah became nervous. "We went into the forest to the north. W-we were careful," he defended at his father's reproachful look.
Shalem lowered the meat from his mouth and spoke gravely. "Noah, you know that Ishmael is on the northern border of our lands. The building of our cities and the farming of our land have driven many wild beasts there, and hunters follow the game. You could easily have been shot."
"But we wore our red headbands, like you told us to, so the hunters could see us," Noah almost whined in protest.
"And it's not only hunters and animals. Only a day's journey through the northern forest is the land of the Nephites. Those pale-skinned barbarians hate Lamanites and would probably be only too glad to capture you and hold you for ransom. Or as a slave! I have told you this before. You must not go into the north forest again without an adult to accompany you. Someone who is competent with a real weapon, not just with a boy's sling like you and Tomar. Someone who can defend you from Nephites-and jaguars," Shalem said sternly.
Noah glowered, but his father wasn't about to back down. Finally he ducked his head and mumbled, "Yes, Papa."
Shalem said, "I love you, Noah, and I don't want to see you hurt. Please do this for me." Noah nodded reluctantly. "And you did well to remember your headband this time, at least." Shalem turned to Abish and asked, "And how was your day, my little hummingbird?"
Noah, sensing the lightening of the atmosphere, and recovering thanks to Shalem's faint praise, took another large bite from his bread, while Abish giggled and spoke excitedly. "Mama and I worked on letters. I saved it so you could see!"
Abish looked imploringly at her mother, who said, "Go ahead and get it, Abish." She dropped her food onto the flat stone by the fire and darted away from the rug to the other side of the fire. Coming back, she held a thin stone tablet of a light gray color, which was covered in large characters written with a fire-blackened stick. Shalem put down his bread and, taking the tablet, held it up to see by the firelight. Abish's writing was wobbly but legible: "I want to surprise Papa."
Her voice was eager as she asked, "Do you like it? I wrote it all by myself, but I had to ask Mama for help with the spelling."
Smiling, Shalem reached over to the fire, pulled out a stick, and tapped it on the dirt floor to dislodge most of the embers. Then he wrote underneath Abish's message and handed the tablet back to her. She sounded the words out carefully.
"Well—done—A—bish." Abish glowed as comprehension caught up with her words. Quickly setting the tablet down, she launched with a hug toward Shalem, who was forced to drop his bread back into his lap to receive her. "Thank you, Papa! Soon I'll be able to write anything! I could even help you at your shop!"
Kalara broke in, "Your father and I are still discussing that."
"That's right," Shalem agreed. "For now, just continue with your lessons. And finish your bread. It's dark now and you need to sleep soon."
As they finished their meal, Shalem told his children about his day. "This morning I worked more on the statue of Shuz that has been commissioned by Gaddoni, the horse trainer. I finished carving his robes today. At noontime I completed that block and tackle I was working on. Just in time, too. Nathanelah, the stonemason, came to pick it up just before you arrived."
Noah asked, "Is he the man whose clothes and hands are always covered in dust?"
Shalem replied, "Yes, that's him."
Abish broke in. "Papa, what are a block and tackle?"
Shalem smiled at Abish's endearing grammatical error. "Noah," he asked, "do you know?"
Noah thought a moment. "Isn't that what lets people lift heavy things all by themselves?" His face lit up in remembrance. "Yes! It is! Because Nathanelah has to work with stone all day, and stone is very heavy!"
"That's right, good memory, Noah," Shalem acknowledged. He turned back toward Abish, and proceeded to describe the implement. By the time she understood what it was, with many hand gestures and a bit of pantomime from Shalem, everyone but him was done eating.
As he finished his dinner, Kalara began to clear up. "Abish, could you take these scraps out to the rubbish heap? Noah, you go with her to help her with the shovel. Make sure you completely cover the top. Remember what happened the last time you left it uncovered." Noah and Abish both wrinkled their noses in remembrance of the rank odor. As they ran outside into the darkness, Kalara rounded on Shalem and said, "And I know you asked me not to do it for them when they forgot, so that they would learn their lesson. But that didn't make the smell any less." She broke into giggles, and Shalem joined her.
Few of their neighbors kept rubbish heaps, as they were easy to forget about and soon began to smell up the air, especially when one added meat scraps. But Shalem insisted on it for two reasons. They were able to sell the enriched soil to their farmer neighbors to turn into their fields before planting, and earn a little extra silver with almost no effort. Also, it gave the children a simple but constant responsibility with... pungent consequences if neglected.
Shalem rolled out the sleeping mats for Noah and Abish, who returned and lay down with a chorus of "Goodnight." Then Kalara made sure there was a pot of water clean and covered for drinking in the morning so she wouldn't have to go to the local well before breakfast, and Shalem banked the fire. They spoke in low voices so as to not keep the children from falling asleep.
"I was impressed with Abish, carrying your tools home."
"Yes, she has a lot of determination. I think she walked the last stone's throw on will alone."
They rolled out their mat a little distance from their children and lay down together. Silence. Then Shalem voiced what he had been thinking about since dinner.
"I really am worried about Noah going into the forest to the north. I'm impressed with how his tracking abilities are developing. But he knows the dangers of traveling in that direction." Shalem sighed. "What should we do if he does it again? Would you be willing to keep him with you for a day or two?"
"I could have him load up the rubbish heap to take to the fields. It's getting about time to clear it up and start over," Kalara replied with a smile in her voice. "And I could always use some extra help on wash day."
Shalem inwardly praised his wife for her cleverness. They both knew that the children, especially Noah, probably weren't quite asleep, and could hear their conversation even over the sound of the nocturnal bugs. Better yet, they probably didn't realize that their parents knew they were still awake, which gave the eavesdropping added effect. This would be quite a deterrent. Every word she said being absolutely true only helped.
The silence stretched on again. Then Shalem kissed his wife and with a whispered "Good night, I love you," she snuggled into his side and they drifted off to sleep.
Shalem got up with the sun, as was his habit. He relaxed and watched his sleeping children as Kalara readied a simple breakfast of bread and some fruit that the children had found the day before. Aside from a whispered "Good morning" and a soft kiss, the quiet of the dawn was only disturbed by faint sounds from nearby families and birdsong from the nearby trees. Comfortable silence hung between husband and wife as they leisurely prepared for the day.
Despite his relaxed posture against the wall, Shalem's hands were not idle. He retrieved his small carving knife from his toolbag and picked up his latest side project: a modest-sized idol of Rahama, the particular Lamanite god that he worshipped with his family.
In the hierarchy of Lamanite deities, Rahama was farther down on the list than, say, Shuz, but Shalem wanted Noah and Abish to grow up knowing how to be loving and kind, and those were the characteristics that Rahama embodied. He had finished the figure's robe the day before, with bare feet just barely showing at the bottom, and now turned his attention to the round blank space he had left to mark the location of the face. The face was the most important part, he reasoned, and he wanted everything else in place before attempting such a monumental task as trying to capture the visage of a god in mortal wood.
He had carved the face of Rahama before; in fact, the first time had been the very first idol he had carved, just after their wedding twelve years before. It had been a larger copy of a smaller figure they had received as a wedding present, and had quickly been exchanged for gold when the captain of the watch had happened by his rug in the center of the market. This one would be of a comparable size, almost as long as from the elbow to the end of the hand, but was his own original design. Shalem carved idols on commission fairly often, but this statue was for his own house, his own family, and his own devotion, and he wanted it to be perfect.
Finally the sounds of morning and the sunlight seeping through the walls of the hut woke Noah and Abish. "Good morning, Papa, good morning, Mama," they chorused. Each used the dipper to take a drink from the pot of water, and accepted their quarter-loaf of bread and section of papaya.
It was a beautiful day.
A/N: This is my first story. How am I doing?
I'm trying to convey the setting as being in Central America, almost certainly the setting for most of the Book of Mormon. I'm planning to include a clue about the local latitude in an upcoming chapter. Time frame is about 110 B.C. based on published chronologies.
Part 1 is from Shalem's point of view, then the narrator will shift to Abish herself.
Please defer any questions about the currency system (which I'm going to say the Lamanites borrowed from the Nephites somewhere along the line). I'll explain it as Abish learns it.