Chapter 7: The Beginning of Now

8 Thousand Years Ago

Dawn came over the forests and mountains of the lands that in today’s world would be just east of the Black Sea, but the inhabitants of the small village could not see the sun. The rains had not stopped for days.

Noah huddled with his wife Naama and their children in front of their small dying fire. Dry wood was growing scarce because of the seemingly endless rain. Their animal skin and stone hut provided some relief from the rains and Naama did her best to continue life as she had always done. For now, the storage pits and jars held enough grain to feed the children and the goats provided milk and sometimes meat. So far this year had been a good year and if the rains stopped soon there would be grain and milk to trade. Naama, peering out of the entrance to their small home, let her mind drift momentarily to some traders who arrived last fall and the blue stone necklace they had brought with them. How she would like to trade for that but, quickly returning from here daydream, she thought perhaps she could just get some pottery instead. “Much more useful than blue stones”, she chuckled.

Noah had fallen asleep and moving closer to the entrance, Naama thought of the coming harvest that was quickly approaching. “If the rains stop, we would have something to trade”, she thought. The fields she and her children tended were near the banks of the river near their village. The nearness to the river was both a blessing and a curse. The soil was rich and dark, perfect for the rye and wheat crops they grew. But to remain this fertile year after year, periodic floods would cover the land depositing new soil and insuring future harvests. But Naama knew that when the floods came, harvests could be washed away and life would be difficult. The cold season would arrive just after the passing of the next full moon, she hope that she had crops to harvest.

In a way, Naama was better off than others in the village for Noah, her husband, had never fully adopted the settled, farming way of life. He often loudly proclaimed, “Let other plant and reap, for I must roam the mountains as our father’s father’s father’s have done”.

Farming was never for Noah. His father could farm. The rest of the village could farm but Noah always felt confined, like the goats tied to stakes outside their small village, controlled by others, some for food, some for sacrifice and some for life. “I choose to live free among the gods of the forest”, Noah would often proclaim when other’s questioned his choices..

Scorned by most of his village, which by now had taken to the settled life, the townsfolk had begin to call him Noah the Hunter, not as an honor but as a slur at someone who would not adapt the new ways. Noah the Hunter, standing apart from village life, being different.

Roaming the far hills looking for deer, bear and sometimes lion, Noah could still be called a hunter-gather, gone for days, seemingly lost in the mountains and foothills.

Though he saw the good things farming had brought the village, Noah was most comfortable tracking deer through the forests around the village. He felt free in the snowy mountains. With each kill he would make a small offering to the gods of the hunt and the spirit of the deer. Then he would bring the meat home to Naama and his children. Lately though it seemed that Noah must search farther and farther into the mountains to find the animals he revered.

Waking in the morning, Noah found the rain still falling. While this prevented the rest of the village from tending their fields, Noah knew that he would journey deep into the forest that day. The cold rain would not stop his hunt. Kissing Naama and the children, Noah pulled back the animal skin covering the entrance to their hut and stepped into the driving rain.

While watching the figure of her husband disappear into the distant forest, lightening struck a tree near the edge of town. Wise to the presence of ancient gods and spirits were in every rock and tree, Naama knew that this was an omen, not of evil or of good, but of change.

Naama could now no longer see Noah through the mist and rain. She returned to the hut and roused the children from their sleep. “Get up, there may be no field work today but the goats need tending”. Giving a quick glimpse back toward the forest, she thought of the lightening, “What change will come. What will the gods bring”?

# # #

Though many villages thrived and grew, the village of Naama and Noah remained poor. It was too far from the large freshwater sea to the West to trade with the settlements on its shores and too far away from the main caravan roots which passed farther to the east.

What the village did have though was a good stream, fed with melting mountain snows and never drying up, even in the driest times. Flowing to the great freshwater lake which could just barely be seen from the high slopes above the village, the stream provided the fields with a steady supply of water and renewed soils from its periodic flooding.

Small huts, near this stream, made of animal hides, mud, stone and trees from the nearby forests formed a rough circle. Between the huts bushes grew, forming a crude enclosure offering an area of safety for the village and an enclosure for the goats of the village.

Within the circle of huts was their common gathering area, the crude beginnings of what today would be a town square. Most huts opened onto this crude square. It was only recently that with a growing number of people in the village that new huts were being placed outside of the protection of the village circle.

On most days, the women and girls would sit and perform their chores of preparing hides, cloth and pottery. Bread baked in a communal oven. Cloth was weaved and garments sewn. Some families, men women and children worked the surrounding farmland and some watched the flocks in the nearby hills.

Children to young for daily work would, in the circle of huts, play games and learn the skills needed in this rapidly forming civilization. Children were expected to follow the same trades and learn the same skills as their parents. If the father was a farmer, the son would be a farmer. If the father was skilled in pottery, then the sons were expected to be skilled in pottery. Male children would practice ritual dances to prepare themselves when their age of manhood approached.

Though tending fields of rye and wheat or watching flocks grazing on the slopes above the stream was important to survival, there was another duty that must be performed. Most day to day activities were shared among all, but the men alone must perform this last important duty. It was to keep the gods appeased, insuring prosperity, food and life for the villagers.

At the times when daylight was longest or shortest, in the center of the circle of huts, the men would perform ritual dances praising the sun god or the moon god or any of the hundreds of other gods the villagers believed controlled their existence.

Farm the fields, tend the flocks and appease the gods, this was the way of village life. Survival was hard but life had order. But now the continuous rains had disrupted that order.

Soon the women would not be able to prepare the grains for baking bread. Mud threatened to swallow the grind stones, grain pits were in danger of flooding and the communal ovens of the village square could not be fired to cook food. The children could not easily tend to their chores of watching the goats and sheep of rain saturated hillsides. Mudslides killed several livestock and broke the leg of one small boy. The grain fields could not be worked, but checks of the stream, showed that a flood was near. Even the dogs which generally stayed near the village were more distant as less scraps of food were tossed their way.

Something must be done to save the village.

# # #

Crouching under a crude tent erected in the village square, the elders sat in a semi-circle and stared silently at the rain. It seemed to fall as hard now as it had days ago when the moon was full. Sitting on woven mats, shoulder to shoulder the elders discussed a matter of great importance… how to save the village.

“The river’s rise is nearing its banks” said one. “In my childhood, a great flood washed away the crops of the valley. We relied on the hunt that winter for there was no grain. Soon the deer fled higher into the mountains and many died during the cold season.”

Nodding in agreement, another elder continued, “Soon the grain stores are gone and the harvest destroyed. The cold will come and again many will die”.

Village women filled cups with fermented drinks and these were passed from elder to elder as a unification ritual. This drink lifted spirits and warmed their bodies. Often it was said that the drink had the power to give visions and receive advice from the gods. More drinks were passed and many petitions, aloud and in silence, were presented to the gods.

Rising with the help from several women, the most revered elder of the village steadied himself and stated, “You know there is one among us who is not here and does not follow the village way”. The elders murmured among themselves for they knew what was to be said.

“Noah the Hunter” said an elder, and he spit onto the wet ground with anger. “He is gone, to the far hills and mountains. He does not work the fields like his father did. He does not work the fields like his son does. His wife cannot work in the village square for she must do her man’s work. His children spend too much time in the fields doing their father’s work and not enough time preparing for the manhood dances.”

The women poured more drinks and the elders drank to the gods in agreement with the most revered elder.

Still standing, but with greater difficulty, the most revered elder continued, “It is clear, Noah is cause of the village’s trouble. He is now an outsider. He has made himself not one of us”.

“I knew his father”, said an elder, “a good man, a farmer, like us. His fields grew tall and prosperous, so prosperous that he could bring Naama from her distant village to be wife to his son. Good woman with an evil husband”.

Rain pounding the roof of the tent, women refilled the cups, the elders drank and with each drink became more convinced. By dawn, Noah the Hunter had changed from the village non-conformist to the source of evil.

The most revered elder, now laying back on his woven mat said in a weak, tired voice, “Clearly the gods are angry”.

The talk was now of the need for a sacrifice to the gods of rain.

# # #

Noah had started an ascent of one of the mountains near the village in a search for better hunting. The rain falling here was just a mist not a steady downpour. Climbing farther, Noah found that the rain ended, the weather got colder and the forest grew thick.

Crossing over a small rise, Noah came to a quick halt, standing still with not a muscle moving. A deer grazed behind a small bush. “It has not caught my scent”, thought Noah, “the winds blow favorable”.

Watching, Noah thought, “It is a small deer but Naama will have food until my next hunt”.

Slowly, no motion wasted, Noah drew an arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. He knew that he still had the advantage for the god of the wind blew his scent away from the unsuspecting deer.

Rustling not a branch or leave on the forest floor, in total silence he took aim. “I thank your spirit for the food you will deliver”, prayed Noah as he let loose the arrow. Its course was true, flying with great speed to the unsuspecting deer.

Then, it was not the deer he hit.

Noah stumbled backwards startled by the events. Tumbling through scrub bushes and leaves, he came to a stop leaning awkwardly against a small pine.

Shivering, not from the cold or the pain of his sudden stop, but from what he had just seen, Noah crawled back to the top of the rise.

The deer was gone but in the place it had stood was a creature unlike any Noah had ever seen in the forest before. Fear raced through Noah as he wanted to turn and run. “I have put my arrow through a god”, thought Noah. “My family, my wife, my children are now cursed to the underworld”.

But Noah didn’t run. Looking at the strange creature he saw an oozing from where the arrow pierced the creature’s flesh. “Gods don’t bleed” said Noah.

Like a shapeless mud ball, the creature lay with Noah’s arrow stuck deep in its body. The creature tried to move but it could not move even a short distance across the forest floor.

To Noah it looked like the creature was trying to reach a small stone lying just out of the reach of what appeared to be its hand. He knew the creature was dying and no medicine or magic would help.

Sitting on a nearby fallen tree, Noah considered what to do next. Looking up he prayed, “Gods of the forest, what am I to do?” He listened and watched but saw no sign. The gods of the forest were silent. “Or perhaps”, Noah thought, “they do not know what to do”.

With a loud, deep sound, the wounded creature still reached for the small stone that was still too far away. Startled by the creature’s noise, Noah leapt back off the log and instinctively raised his bow in defense, an arrow ready and aimed at the misshapen, dying creature. “His sound shakes the woods”, thought Noah.

“Is it calling for help from other of its kind” murmured Noah, his fear rising but still with the arrow steady and ready to fly. “This thing appeared out of nowhere, could other of it’s kind arrive”?

If the creature had a mouth, it would have been said to be panting heavily, gasping for any breath of air from its world. But the creature was still trying to reach the stone laying nearby.

“That must be important”, thought Noah, “for even in death it tries to hold it near”. He took a step nearer the creature and the stone it was trying to reach.

A bellow from the dying shape shook the canopy of trees and Noah stopped, not moving a muscle, as if still stalking prey waiting for it to move. It seemed that all nature went quiet. The winds did not blow nor did any creature run through the leaves and bushes.

Noah realized that the strange creature made no further sound or motion. It had died.

Lowering his bow, he slowly inched forward, approaching the stone still lying just a short distance from the lifeless form. With a hunter’s stealth and speed he picked it up, rolled it over in his hands and noticed the carvings.

Then to Noah’s amazement, the creature disappeared just as quickly as it arrived. There was no noise, no breeze, only the matted leaves where the creature had lain. No body, no blood and no arrow that had pierced the creature’s body.

Noah dropped to his knees, “Powerful magic”, he roared to the gods of the forest. Quickly myths and stories of the hunt played though his head. There must be an answer he thought. “The creature appeared, to protect the deer. Yes that’s it”, Noah thought, “and it had made a dying sacrifice to protect the creature of the forest”.

Noah’s attention now moved to the carved stone that he was still rolling over in his hand. “These lines, the symbols, mean nothing to me but were great magic to the protector god of the forest”.

The stone which started as cold as the day, was now slightly warming as he continued to examine its symbols. There was something different about this stone, a difference that he could not explain. “The creature was certainly a messenger of the gods and this was surely made by the gods” thought Noah.

Sitting for a while, he knew the day was now closer to sunset than sunrise and he must be on his way. But to where? He could not continue the hunt as if nothing had happened. He had killed a messenger of the gods. Go back to the village? Tell his story? But who would believe him?

With a little laugh, he imagined telling the village elders, “A creature appeared from nowhere to protect the deer from my arrow, died and then disappeared”. He would surely be village clown after that.

“Do I tell Naama? She may pretend to understand and believe me but surely would have to leave, take our children back to her village and tell tales of her crazy husband”. Noah chuckled again. He realized he could be an outcast in two villages, his and his wife’s family village. “Now that would be an accomplishment, village clown in not one but two villages”, thought a smiling Noah.

Turning the stone nervously over and over in his hands, Noah sat for several hours as the day neared dusk. Still on the fallen tree, he stared repeatedly at the stone in his hands and then at the matted leaves where the creature had lain.

He thought, “My dad would have known what to do. He was a great elder, wise, strong”. And Noah then missed him more than ever.

Until his death twelve full moons ago, Noah’s father, Lamech, had been chief elder of the village. Though the village did not become rich under Lamech’s guidance, it had seen no fields fail or person starve. It was a time looked back on admirably by the current elders. As an aged man, Lamech worked in his fields daily and his death was not a surprise.

One day near the last harvest season, Naama was took water and food to Lamech’s fields but found him dead. No marks scared his body and there were no signs of anything or anyone taking his life. Lamech was simply taken by the gods.

How Noah wished to consult his father’s wisdom for an answer. Still turning the mysterious stone over and over in his hands, Noah found the motion to be calming and almost hypnotic. Now the stone was almost too hot to hold. “I repent at the slaying of the forest god and fear what will happen to my family”. Noah looked through the canopy of leaves and cried out to his father “You would have an answer. You should be with me now. It was just TWELVE MOONS AGO” and with those words, Noah disappeared from the forest, but just briefly.

# # #

Blackness momentarily engulfed Noah, his eyes did not see, his ears did not hear, as if his mind was disconnected from his body. This lasted but the blink of an eye and then he sat again in the forest. But this time on the ground, the fallen tree he had been sitting on was gone and he lay in the dirt… dry dirt. And the matted leaves where the creature had lain was bare dry dirt. Again, dry dirt. The rain was gone and the sun god was high in a brilliant blue sky.

“A powerful magic”, thought Noah and he raised his eye to the sun god setting over the mountains and gave praise. Placing the stone in his tunic he quietly said, “Return to the village”.

He rose and ran down the mountain into the foothills above the village. Coming out of the line of trees into the brilliant sunlight, Noah could see the fields of the village in the valley below. Farther off, beyond the fields, he could see the village, but… somehow it looked different. It seemed to have fewer huts. But differences didn’t matter for the sun was out and shining and the gods were happy.

Breathing heavily from his running Noah vowed, “I will build an altar to the sun god to commemorate this day and in the altar I will give a place of honor to this stone”.

The more he ran the more glorious and grand his story became. The accidental shooting of the creature had, in Noah’s mind, grown into an epic tale of fighting evil in pouring mountain rains. And the stone was a reward from the sun god for his victory, guaranteeing the ending of the rain.

Surely he would be a hero, ending the rain, saving the fields fighting the evil beasts of the earth. “They will sing of my adventure”, thought a grinning of Noah, “long after I die”.

As Noah ran down the slopes, the forest gave way to grassy hills where the town’s sheep grazed. Then he ran through the fields of grain and with each step his visions of honor and importance grew bolder and bigger. And with these thoughts, Noah stopped and in a mix of terror and awe dropped to his knees in the fields of wheat.

“Lamech”, Noah whispered and then with a voice almost frozen with fear, he yelled “Father”.

There before him was Lamech, working his fields as alive as he ever was.. “But your…” Noah stopped for he could not say his father was dead. His father stood before him.

“Get up Noah. So you finally stopped hunting and will now help me with the fields”, said Lamech. “Look at this crop, we won’t be hungry in the cold season. Perhaps we’ll have enough to trade for the blue stones your wife loves.”

Noah stared. How could his father be alive and in the fields? Truly a great magic is in our presence. “Noah” questioned Lamech, “Are you going to help? You know these fields feed you wife and children too.” Noah did not move from he knees. He stared at his father who was now staring back puzzled and confused at the actions of his son.

The events of the day played over in Noahs mind: Gods appear, disappear, his father lives, but father’s dead, the endless rains cease, the ground is dry. I possess a great magic.

Then Noah disappeared. He did not run back up the hill or down the hill to the village. He disappeared where he knelt before his father. There was no smoke, incantation or any indication that something was about to happen. There were no signs in the wind or distant waters. Noah was there, then gone.

The startled, aged Lamech, stared at the spot where his son knelt just seconds before. Then in silence, he collapsed and died. Naama found him later that day.

# # #

The rain was again pounding on the head of the kneeling Noah. He was in the same field but his father was gone. The sun god was gone. The rich fields of grain were now just the poor crop his family was tending as he left.

Screaming at the dark sky and the pouring rain, Noah yelled, “Lamech, return. Father, do not leave”. And he knelt in the mud sobbing, “Why must I lose you again?”

Noah fought to stop his sobbing when he heard ritual drumming was coming from the village just beyond the fields. He knew of no festival during this time of year. The harvests were not in and it was not mid-winter to celebrate the return of the sun.

It was time to return to the village. Walking heavily through soggy fields of grain, Noah knew it was time to go home.

# # #

Drumming, drumming, drumming.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Raining, raining, raining.

The elders were in a dreamlike state, dancing in the pouring rain to the repetitive beat of drums. Bodies spinning wildly, fortified by ritual drinks, the elders were now only barely in control of their actions. Some wore the common cloth tunic of the small village, others wore the animal skins, but all danced wildly about the soggy, rain soaked ground of the village center.

Women and children peered from the huts surrounding the square, watching as their men danced in wild gyrations with petitions to the gods in prayers almost screamed from their lips. Surely the gods would answer soon.

The day wore on and the petitions to the gods were now incomprehensible shouts into the darkness and rain. “A sign great sun god, a sign of your desires” screamed one elder. “Rain god, tell me how to lift the burden of the village”, cried another, each elder imploring the gods to show the way to end the rains.

“Shall we build an altar”? A crack of lightning split a tree outside of the village.

“Shall we offer our crops to the gods”? The rain fell harder.

“Shall we sacrifice”? The rains seemed to let up slightly.

“Yes, yes”, cried the elders the gods were listening. They were on the right path to appease the gods.

“Bring a sheep as an offering to the gods”, ordered an elder but the rains again increased in intensity. The small stream was beginning to overflow its banks.

“The gods are angry at the sacrifice of a sheep. Choose someone from the village… a man… a woman… a child… who?”

The leap to human sacrifice that the Elders were about to propose was never a part of the ancient stories and lore of the area. Generations had passed and been forgotten since the last human sacrifices.

“Who great gods do you desire?” chanted the elders hoping for a sign that would point away from themselves and their families to someone else in the village.

Their chants continued, “A sign great gods. Who”? And with rising voices… “Who?” “Who”? Who”?

Lightening again cracked through the sky in great yellow bursts, just as Noah entered the village square, muddy, tired and very wet.

The Elders smiled for their families were safe.

# # #

Bound with rope and laying on a flat stone just outside the village entrance, Noah did not understand the situation he was now in. Apparently his actions in the forest had not only offended the gods but the people of his village as well.

Noah had struggled briefly but realizing it was of no use gave up and now lay quietly on the cold, wet stone. Shivering, terrified, he tried to glance around, “How do I get out of this”?

Now the town’s women and children had joined the Elders around the stone where he lay. Noah though could not see Naama or any of his children. First he wished Naama would appear and tell him how this madness came to be. Maybe she could stop it. Then with his next thought, he hoped Naama and the children were far away, safe up the far mountains.

Naama was not in the crowd surrounding the flat stone. They were restrained in their hut, held captive by a small guard of young village men. The Elders decided that they must remain captive until after the sacrifice was made for surely their displeasure at the choice of sacrifice would by seen by the gods.

Turning his head from side to side, Noah could see the Elders, people who he had known for years, chanting loudly at the sky imploring the gods to accept a sacrifice to end the rain. Now Noah knew, “I am the sacrifice”. He struggled again but the wet ropes only seemed to bind him tighter.

“What to do. What to do”, he thought. “I can’t be sacrifice for I have …” and then he realized, “I have slain a god”. He assumed he was to be the village outcast but to be a sacrifice, this had never entered his mind.

The rains were pounding harder on the crowd surrounding the stone where Noah was tied. The winds were fierce and the temperature was far too cold for this time of the year.

Pushing closer, the crowd of villagers implored the Elders to quickly do the sacrifice. “Save the fields”, some yelled. Others cried, “Stop the rain. Now. Now. Now”. And then a chant rose, “Knife. Knife. Knife. Send this outcast to the sky to please the gods”.

Wide eyed, Noah was in disbelief at the growing chaos surrounding his prone body. An elder raised his knife above Noah’s heaving chest. The villagers chanted and strained for a better look at the sacrifice that would change their lives. The rain pounded harder. The winds howled and great trees were blown over all across the sloping landscape. The gods were sending the strongest powers of nature to be present at the sacrifice.

Noah strained at the ropes holding him to the sacrificial altar. Then his palm touched the Stone still in his tunic. “Was it only this morning”, thought Noah, “It seemed like weeks ago”. Rolling the Stone in his fingers, he thought of his father working the fields. Was he alive or dead? He thought of the forest god his arrow had killed, appearing and disappearing before his eyes.

The Elder with the knife aimed at Noah’s chest was chanting with almost hypnotic vigor. Noah was rolling the Stone more nervously in his fingers.

The Elder’s knife started its downward plunge, aimed at Noah’s pounding heart. The villagers cheered and chanted in hope and terror. In these final seconds, Noah was desperate.

As if time stood still while the deadly knife plunged toward his heart, Noah’s thought of his family. Naama was strong, she would survive. The knife was now just an instant from his chest and Noah thought of his children. “If only I could have lived for Ham and Shem”, he cried, “just TEN YEARS MORE”.

The knife broke as it hit the altar stone where just a brief instant before Noah had lain.

# # #

Again, the darkness fell over Noah and then quickly disappeared. The knife had split the ropes binding Noah’s arms as the downward stroke headed for his chest but before it entered his flesh, he had disappeared.

But Noah had a new problem. He was now floating in the middle of a great sea whose shores could barely be seen. He could make out distant mountains that were so familiar to him and before them gently sloping hills.

Noah clawed in panic for a tree branch floating nearby and clutching it with all his strength and tried to make sense of the events bursting around him.

The creature he had killed. The Stone. The first blackness. The sun and blue skies appearing. His father alive again. Darkness again. Rain again. The sacrifice. The Stone. More darkness and now here he was clinging to a tree in a vast salt sea.

Noah wondered, “If I wait floating, will I return to the village like I returned after seeing my father”? So he floated, waiting in the gentle waves of what would one day be known as the Black Sea.

The expected darkness came again to Noah.

# # #

Noah was again on the sacrificial stone just out side of his village. Empty now, the area around the altar was just mud and trampled grass.

He quietly rose, not knowing the reception he would receive on his return. “The rains have stopped. I guess that is a good sign”, he thought. Stumbling into the village, his clothes still wet from the salt sea, Noah began to understand the meaning of all the events of the day.

He realized the land where the village stood would soon be under water, the bottom of the salt sea where he had been floating. Glancing toward the distant mountains, he knew that the spot of his sacrifice was also the spot where he had grabbed the floating tree limb.

How it would happen, he did not know, but Noah knew that a great flood was coming. He must find his family and leave the village forever.

Noah knew nothing of the troubles that follow the Stone and its travels. He only knew that the Stone had let him see his father one last time, saved him from a death and even saved his family from the great flood to come.

Just about at the moment Noah returned to his village, thousands of miles to the west, a great wall of stone and earth that separated a small fresh lake from a great salt sea had given way. The small lake was soon to be a vast sea and the village of Noah was to be lost beneath its waves. But by then, Noah and his family would be gone.

The stories of Noah would be remembered in great epic poems passed from generation to generation until finally written in clay by the scribes of Sumer almost three thousand years in the future.

It was the beginning of now…

______________________

Next week: The Present

Chapter 8 - The Noise Outside The Window Should Have Been Noticed