After Abel and Other Stories by Michal Lemberger Page A

shade.
    This place doesn’t look like it does where we live. It’s pretty much always noisy there, because the Egyptians make us live so close together. Practically every hut touches another one. And there are lots of kids running around. That’s in the morning and at night. I’m not usually there during the day. Since most people are out working in the fields or building sites, I suppose it getsquiet then, but I’ve never really thought about it too much.
    Here it’s different. What’s that word my Baba uses when he finally gets a chance to lie back and close his eyes? “Peaceful.” That’s how it feels here. All I can hear is the water. The birds, too. They talk back and forth to each other from the treetops. Some of them are on branches so skinny I don’t understand how they can balance up there.
    They start to make a racket soon enough, though. It sounds like clack, clack, clack, and a lot more of them than I thought were around start flying from tree to tree. I’m not sure why they’re so nervous and loud, until I hear voices up ahead of me.
    Whoever they are, they’ll see me really soon. To make matters worse, they’re all Egyptians. I don’t know what to do. If I keep walking, they’ll see me for sure. They could do anything then. I could get a whipping, or be sent far away from my parents if one of them decides to keep me for herself, but the basket is still moving, and Amma told me not to lose sight of it. Even though it’s shady, I start to sweat again. I wish my Amma was here with me. She’d know what to do.
    I glance over at the basket and see that the current has slowed down again. Thank goodness for that, at least. The water bobs the basket along gently. It’s headed for a marshy bit up ahead, which should slow it downeven more.
    The only thing I can do now is hide and hope those people don’t see me or the basket. I spot a clump of reeds a few steps away and I push right into the center of it and then crouch down as far as I can. From there, I can put my eye right up to a space between two green shafts and see what’s happening, but no one will be able to see me.
    The only problem is that I’ve lost sight of the basket. I just hope it’s hidden, too. “What do I do now, Amma?” But I whisper so softly that she wouldn’t be able to hear me even if she was right there beside me. Anyway, I’m old enough to know that she won’t be able to answer. It’s just that she’d know what to do, and I don’t.
    The voices get closer. They’re laughing while they walk. Then I see them. Three girls, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. At least I think that’s how old they are, but they look so different from anyone I’ve ever seen that it’s hard to tell.
    They’re beautiful. One of them is tall, with long arms. I bet she runs fast, because her legs are long, too. Another one has the kind of rosy, round cheeks that I’ve never seen on a Hebrew child. It’s like her face is trying to laugh even when her mouth isn’t. The last is small. She’s not much taller than I am, but she already has breasts, which is how I know she’s older than I am.
    All three of them are wearing gold necklaces thatreach from their necks down to the tops of their chests and wink back at the water. Their eyes look really long across their faces, almost as if they touch where the tops of their noses should be, but then I realize that they just have very dark paint around them. Their hair is blacker than any I’ve ever seen and perfectly straight, with beads woven into the ends and some kind of wrap around the tops of their heads. Those hairbands are the most amazing of all. They have beads of all different colors strung together to make patterns of fish and eyes and the symbol of the Pharaoh, which is one that all the Hebrews know well, since we have to carve it into so many of the