After Abel and Other Stories by Michal Lemberger Page B

buildings that get put up.
    And their clothes. They wear skirts that open in the front to let them walk and shirts that look like they’re attached to their necklaces. I want to go up to them and put my hand on the cloth because it looks so clean. It’s all white. Really and truly white and not stained with sweat or ripped and sewn back up in places.
    I almost don’t believe that these girls are real. I’m so caught up in staring at them that I don’t follow their eyes. So I jump in surprise when one of them points and says, “What’s that over there?” It looks like she’s pointing right at me, and the shivering in my arms starts up again, but then I see them walk down to the edge of the water and peer at another bunch of rushes.
    They start to talk to each other, and even though Iknow Egyptian, their words stumble out on top of each other so quickly that I don’t understand what they’re saying. What I can see is that they seem nervous. They may even be as scared as I am. It’s like they’ve taken over for the birds and are chattering back and forth to each other in fright.
    Someone else must have heard them, too, because I hear her ask, “What now, girls?” Whoever she is she sounds a little frustrated, as if this is how they always act and that it gets tiresome for her to listen to it.
    The girls’ heads jerk up at the sound of that voice, but they don’t say anything. They look at each other, lift their shoulders, and gesture with their hands as if to ask each other what they should do. The voice comes again, “Well, what’s there?”
    One of the girls finally speaks up. “It’s a basket, Mistress. Floating in the water. It sounds like it’s crying.”
    â€œBaskets don’t cry,” the voice says. I can’t see her, and it’s probably true that a person doesn’t have to grow up a slave to know that this lady is the boss, but I figure all Hebrew children would know for sure. In any case, I know she’s the boss, and that the three girls answer to her and are a bit afraid of her, too.
    â€œYes, Mistress,” the tall girl says, but none of them move.
    â€œWell, don’t just stand there. Bring it over to me.”
    I watch the girls as carefully as I have ever lookedat anything. I’m wondering what they’ll do to my baby brother, when I hear the sound of water moving. The girls have already lifted up the hems of their skirts to wade into the water to get the basket, pushed the reeds aside, and lifted it out. Now I can see the basket again. It looks exactly the same as it did before. I follow the girls’ eyes. I see a woman rise out of the river.
    The others are beautiful, but this one makes my mind go silent. I didn’t know people could look like this. The three holding my baby brother’s life in their hands are just copies. It’s just obvious, even though this one doesn’t even have any clothes on.
    As she rises, the water falls away from her. She’s like a stalk, long and slender. Her whole body is lit up, like the shiniest bronze. There’s no hair on her, except for the long black strands that fall over her shoulders and back. I’ve seen slave women naked millions of times, and none of them looks like this.
    I wonder if all Egyptians are like this, as sleek under their clothes as the statues in their temples. But then I remember the overseers. Some of them have thick, curly hair on their arms and chests. And they all have furry legs. That’s what makes me think this woman must be special.
    I can’t take my eyes off of her. It’s like she carries a sun around with her, only this one can be looked at without burning my eyes. My Amma always told methat the Egyptians are no better than us, even if they tell us they are all the time. Amma knows just about everything. I almost can’t believe that she’s wrong, but I’ve never seen a Hebrew