The Repentant Demon Trilogy Book 1: The Demon Calumnius (14 page)

She has been overcome with Lust, having unquenchable desires that torture her.  The men around her know it on sight—some are repelled, but most succumb to her irresistible offers and considerable talents.  If Doug were to yield to this temptress, Abigail would surely become susceptible to Envy or perhaps even Wrath.  Tomorrow is looking good,
thought Calumnius.

Al Haml and his new companion Al Shamlal seemed to enjoy each other very much, prancing in the sand next to each other.  Jamal rode the new steed bareback with only a rope around his nose to guide him, but the animal obeyed well.  His father could never afford to invest in such superior breeding stock.  This new camel plus perhaps another female among the new babies, and they would be on their way to producing a healthy and abundant farm.

Jamal was confused about some of the conversation he had overheard at the site.  As soon as they were far enough away, he asked, “Doug, what was that about an engagement party?  Are you getting engaged?”

“I did not say it was an engagement party.  I said they do not call it an engagement party in this culture—because it is not.  Do you understand what I was doing?” asked Doug.

“Oh, yes.” Jamal smiled. “You were lying.”

“You know, I used to be able to get away with this,” he said. “I must be slipping.”

“And your reference to indulging at the party?” Jamal asked next.  “We are not having alcohol, or music, or dancing.  That is forbidden, and the police might come knocking at our door if they discovered such activity.  What kind of indulging could keep Miss Abigail from working tomorrow?”

Doug nodded his head in thought and was about to attempt an answer, when suddenly Jamal understood completely.  His eyes widened as he realized Doug was lying to discourage the evil woman from pursuing him.  He hoped it worked. 

Soon, they came upon the remains of Al Fahl in the sand.  He had been nearly covered, almost buried.  Another day and they would not have been able to find him.  The dry air and sand had preserved his body almost as well as mummification.  Jamal examined him as he removed his bridle.

“Look at his mouth,” he said, “around the lips. There is a coloring quite strange.  Even the tongue is black.  It is supposed to be purple.  Al Fahl was definitely poisoned—whether by intent or accident, I do not know.”

The two of them removed the blanket, saddle, and halter and placed them on Al Shamlal.  The blanket had been woven from camel's hair wool that Noora had spun herself and dyed into brilliant colors like gems.  The saddle had been made from softly tanned camel hide, the product of an old animal that had belonged to Abdul bin Jabbar from the time he was a boy.  They had even eaten the meat when the animal died, considering it respectful, unlike Americans, who had an aversion to eating the flesh of animals that could be considered pets. 

Retrieving any meat from Al Fahl, who had begun to decay, was unthinkable.  Jamal quickly skinned the hide using his knife with speed and skill.  It would provide another saddle perhaps, or they might sell it for cash.  Their third camel at home, Al Midifaa, did not need a saddle presently, as she was due to calve soon with twins.  Eventually though, she could be ridden again.

“I think they want to race,” said Jamal, wondering if Doug felt up to the challenge.  Indeed, the young animals, about twenty years of age seemed to have established a relationship of competition—as with most males, not unlike Doug and Jamal, who urged their mounts at top speed all the way home.

Although it was still early when they arrived at the house, a party atmosphere had overcome the surroundings.  Outside, a goat roasted over the spit. Grilled eggplant and squash filled large serving dishes, and baskets were full to the brim with pastries.  The house smelled of cardamom, coconut, raisins, and a blend of spices from all the prepared food, which covered the kitchen counters and tables. 

As Doug walked into the house after taking the camels to the corral with Jamal, he noticed Abigail rushing about the kitchen, and it warmed his heart to see her joyfully engaging in all the fuss of the party and the genuine nature of the family he had come to know and love so much.  She was dressed in a long, dark purple skirt trimmed along the edge with gold embroidery, and her simple yellow tunic reached to her knees in proper Arab fashion.  Her hair was almost completely hidden by a veil of bright green, which brought out the color of her eyes.

Most of the furniture had been shoved into the bedrooms.  Cushions and pillows lined the walls as well as benches that had been brought from their loft storage.  The house could accommodate a good-sized crowd with proper preparations.  The windows facing north, the heavily insulated highly pitched ceiling, and the floor of stone all helped to provide a cooler temperature once the sun had set.

It was not a large group, but the guests arrived, filling the room with talking and eating.  All had removed their shoes and walked on the cool stone floor in bare feet.  After the introductions, everyone settled into groups on floor cushions or small rugs.  The men and women gathered in separate sections of the room.  Abigail saw Kasi stealing a glance at a tall young man, who was smiling shyly at her from behind the elderly men of his family.  She looked away quickly, hiding her mouth and nose with her veil.  This would be something Abigail planned to ask her about in secret later that evening.

Abigail tried to catch Doug looking at her, and it did seem to be true that every time she glanced at him quickly he was watching her and smiling.  It seemed to her that quite a few people had noticed their little flirtation.  Kasi nodded knowingly from across the room.  The festivities continued until late—by Iraqi standards.  When the last guest was gone, the women quickly set about the task of cleaning the kitchen and putting away leftover food.  The men brought the furniture back into the room.  In a very short time, the house was back to its normal appearance.  Abigail asked if it would be all right when they finished if she went out to the corral to see the new camel.  Noora insisted that she go ahead, and they would finish cleaning the kitchen.

She knew it wouldn't be like seeing a horse in his stable.  Horses were very sociable animals and would come over for a little affection.  The camel might just spit at her, but she wanted to see him anyway and also check on the expectant mother inside the shed.  One glance at Al Shamlal was enough for her, as she was downwind, and the males had a horrible smell about them.  She stepped inside the small barnlike structure and saw that the female camel was sleeping peacefully—her bulging belly looking enormous.  The goats stirred a little at her presence, and the chickens just seemed to be in a trance.

As she spun around to go back to the house, she smashed right into Doug's chest.  He had seen her leave and followed her. 

“Did you enjoy the party?” he asked.

“The food was amazing, but I have to admit a little music and some dancing might have livened things up a little.”

“And something to drink besides anise tea?” he asked.

“I'm not much for alcohol anyway, but a little wine—that I would have liked,” Abigail admitted.  “So do you think we'll have any trouble getting to Nineveh tomorrow?”

“Not getting there,” he cautiously admitted, “but Jamal is convinced that Al Fahl was poisoned.  And David McGuire thinks someone wanted to get at me—perhaps keep me away.”

“Well, that's a little scary,” said Abigail.

“Maybe you shouldn't go until I resolve this problem,” he suggested.

“No way!” protested Abigail. “This is why I came here—to dig up old treasures.  I don't scare that easily.”

“I thought that's how you'd feel,” he said, moving closer to her, reaching to grab her arm and pull her toward him.  “You look really pretty in that outfit.” 

Abigail felt the intensity of the moment clearly.  She waited, knowing he was going to kiss her.  Then Jamal burst into the doorway, and they quickly stepped apart.

“I wanted to check on Al Midifaa,” he announced, seeming to know he had interrupted them—which was the real reason his mother had sent him to the shed in the first place.

“When is she due?” asked Abigail, following him to her side.  Jamal knelt on one knee and felt her bulging abdomen.

“Soon, perhaps in a day or so, she will deliver,” he said.  “I think I will sleep out here tonight, just to watch her.”  He spread a blanket on the straw next to her, and the animal turned and looked at him approvingly.  Jamal had delivered her last baby, another male, which they had sold for a good price.  Twins would prove a very profitable return for the family.  There was talk, which he overheard at the party, that a dowry was being saved for Kasi.

M
att and Brian amiably teased Abigail about her wanting to find Jonah's skeleton as she settled in to work in her space, and she could tell they had probably all been discussing her belief system.  They thought Jonah and the whale was a myth—as well as the entire Bible, actually.

“The ancient peoples who lived here had some reason to believe that Jonah was buried here in this spot.  They built a monument to him here.  What is your explanation for that?” she joked back at them. “I'd love to hear it.”

“Well, I suppose the legend of Jonah was universally known throughout the ancient world,” Brian admitted, then wondered himself if it were possible that the man could have existed.  “Batman is a legend; will archaeologists a thousand years in the future believe he was real?”

“I just have a hard time with Bible people,” Matt said. “The ones
in
the Bible, and the people who believe in it so much—although you don't seem so bad. That's a compliment, in case you couldn't tell.”

“Well, we probably agree on a lot of things,” she said. “You would be surprised.”

“Like what?” asked Brian, becoming interested in her interpretation.

“First of all, I'm an old-earth advocate,” she said.  “The earth is not six thousand years old, as far as I'm concerned. Biblical time wasn't measured the same way we do now.  If you want to argue that one, you'll have to find yourself an Evangelical.”

The two men gave each other a concessional glance and nodded in agreement that Abigail had just moved herself out of one category into a new one, which wasn't as clearly defined as crazy.

“Let's take the Creation story in Genesis, for instance,” she continued.  “It accurately describes the big bang theory.  It talks about formlessness and void, darkness over the surface of the earth, and God moving over the surface of the waters.  The Hebrew word
rachaph
used for ‘moving’ is more accurately translated as ‘hovering’ or ‘brooding.’  The only other place where it is used in the Bible refers to an eagle caring for its young.  Well, we know that life began in the sea, so it seems to me that was what God was doing in the very first verses of Genesis—caring for His newly formed creatures.  We know that the early earth was covered with clouds and gases, which would have made it dark on the surface.  So when God separates the light from the darkness, it doesn't mean the Sun was just then created.  It means it became visible.  I could go on—so please stop me when you can't stand any more.” She laughed at herself.

“You should ask her sometime about her theory that Esau was a Neanderthal,” said Doug, who had been listening.

“That is just my own personal interpretation,” she said, “but it makes sense to me.  Think of it.  They fooled their blind father with a goat skin into thinking it was Esau's arm instead of his brother Jacob.  I've seen some pretty hairy people, but really?  He must have been exceptionally hairy—as well as stupid.  Jacob also tricked him out of his inheritance with a bowl of soup.  I think God did not want Esau's genes to become the basis for continuing the line of Abraham.  Esau is the only person in the Bible it is said that God hated—the only one, ever.  If he was born with features so animal-like in appearance, I wonder if he was some kind of genetic throwback, an anomaly that needed to be removed from the line.”

“Interesting.  It really is,” Brian admitted, “but I need to go back to my shards.  Wish you guys could join us at the inn after work some time.  I know you've got a long way to go home, though, and don't want to travel the desert in the dark.  It would be fun to have a lengthy discussion with you over a glass of wine—or a beer.  We usually relax a while in the bar before turning in for the night.”

“If we could work it out, I'd love that,” said Abigail.  “It's a little complicated right now.”

She continued working on the same piece of pottery still half-buried in the dirt.  They had expected her back, and her area remained untouched, just as she had left it.  She noticed cuneiform writing faintly impressed within the top curve along the rim and called David McGuire to come and look at it.

“What do you think, David?” Abigail asked as he knelt over the shard with his magnifying glass.

“Well, it seems to be a commemorative cup of some kind, from an event, but let's see if we can start putting the pieces together,” he said.  “Get some water to get the broken edges clean, then start piecing it together.  I can hardly wait to see what we have here.”

They used a special “glue” which would not harm the ceramics, and several people joined them and knelt in the rubble to help put the pieces together, among them Joyce and Doug.

“I'm just an amateur at this,” said Doug, “but I used to be pretty good at making model airplanes when I was a kid.”

“Then you have the skills needed,” said David, walking away to his own section.

Joyce kept looking at Doug intently, studying him, but every time he looked up she seemed to be studying the piece of pottery he held.  Abigail, digging intently for more shards in the dirt, paid no attention.

Calumnius watched Joyce Michaels intently, looking for signs of his old colleague Coradyll.  As Joyce became more sensual, approaching gradually nearer and nearer to Doug, his presence became evident.

“I know you, Coradyll,” screamed Calumnius, inches from the woman's face, “show yourself to me.”

“I won't leave her,” said Coradyll. “She’s mine.  Leave us alone.”