Warrior Poet Read Free

he’d apologized when he brought it into the house, but her gratitude at the relief it gave her back had erased his embarrassment. She acted as if it was the best-made piece of furniture she’d ever seen.
    “What happened today?” she asked, her watery eyes filled with concern. “And don’t say to me, ‘Nothing.’ I heard your father’s voice. I could tell he was very upset.”
    He let out a sigh as Jahra sat down on the bench next to him. The twig had disappeared. When David finished describing the death of the ewe and his father’s fury, Lydea reached across the table and patted his forearm. “I’m so sorry.”
    Jahra gave him a sympathetic look. David smiled awkwardly. Wanting to change the direction of the conversation, he told them about his confrontation with Eliab that morning. He shook his head, remembering his brother’s last words. “Can you believe it? He’s so stupid, it never occurs to him that when he curses me, he is cursing his own mother.”
    Lydea’s smile faded. She grabbed the plate in front of David and turned to place it on the simple slab of wood he and Jahra had driven into the wall to make a shelf for her cooking utensils. On it rested one of the oil lamps.
    David waited for her to turn around, but she busied herself rearranging the cookery and trimming the lamp’s wick. He had intended it to be a funny story, but retelling it had only made him sad. And it had brought to the surface the question that constantly troubled him. He had asked it countless times before, and though it made him feel foolish, he could not stop from raising it again:
    “Why do they hate me?”
    She remained quiet. Jahra let out a sympathetic grunt.
    Lydea gave her son a look of disapproval. “Eliab is jealous of you.”
    “What of?” David was incredulous. This was more than she had ever said.
    Lydea picked up the damp bowl she had been washing, then absentmindedly set it on the shelf. She spoke quietly, her back to him. “David, this is what I believe. Down deep, he suspect you are a threat.”
    David coughed in disbelief. “Right! I’m the youngest; what possible threat could I be to him? Father thinks the sun rises and sets on his oldest son, and it is obvious he would be much happier if I’d never been born.”
    Lydea spun around, the rag clenched in her fist. “Never, ever say that!” The tears in her eyes startled David. “No matter what anyone in your family thinks, you are precious. Don’t pay any attention to what Eliab says. He is a selfish”—she stopped, hunting for the word—“big man-child. His opinion counts for nothing.”
    She shut her eyes, let out a deep breath, then continued. “Also, I not want you to take seriously what your father says either.” She placed her old fingers on his. “He has been a good master to me and Jahra, but he is a very proud man. And I am sad for him.” She blinked away the angry tears. “He was given a gift but has …” She looked up at him for help.
    “Rejected it?” David suggested.
    Her face lit up. “Yes! That is what make me so sad for him.” She bent and kissed him on the head. “And for you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She interrupted him with an abrupt wave. Her eyes were again clear and hard. The old woman picked up an ember with a tong, lit the oil lamp, and walked to the corner, where she unrolled her sleeping mat. “It is time for bed. When you boys are ready, I will blow out the light.”
    Jahra walked to the opposite side of the house, straightened out their mats, and lay down. David felt dazed. Lydea had revealed more tonight than she ever had. It was only a matter of time before he would discover what she and the others seemed intent on hiding. He was about to lie down next to Jahra when he remembered the message he’d been given.
    “Lydea, Father wants Jahra to accompany me into the hills tomorrow.”
    Jahra sat up, his eyes wide with excitement.
    “Very good. I will prepare food for both of you.” Her voice was thin