The Gate of Heaven (45 page)

“Fair enough, but I expect we'd better get home. It's getting late.”

Demetrius wound up his line, stored it in a pack, and threw the rest of the bait out as a reward for the fish he didn't catch. Pulling the sack of fish out of the water, he was pleased at the weight of it. He wrapped the end around his wrist, and the two started back for home.

Joseph was a talkative young man, given to telling tall tales. Finally, however, he mentioned his brothers. “They've been running off from their work, leaving the cattle with some of those sorry hired men. I'm going to tell Father about it.”

Demetrius did not answer for a moment and then he shrugged. “It's best not to tell on your brothers—or anyone, for that matter.”

Joseph twisted his head to look at Demetrius. “Maybe not, but they're doing the wrong thing.”

“What would you think if I told your father about some of the things I know about you?”

Joseph was offended. “I'm not like they are! They're older. They ought to behave better.” He was silent for a while and said, “Most of them don't like me very much.”

“Well, that's right, and it's because you're the favorite. They resent you.”

“I can't help that,” Joseph said. Actually he loved his brothers and was troubled at the ways of some of them. He got along fairly well with the younger ones, but his older brothers, except for Reuben, caused him problems. He had gotten in the habit of carrying tales to his father, and naturally his brothers resented this.

Joseph blurted out, “Why haven't you tried to run away, Demetrius?”

Demetrius was surprised by the question but knew that this young man had a sharp mind. “I don't know,” he said.

“I do,” Joseph nodded with authority. “You're worried about Dinah.”

“Well, of course I am. Aren't you?”

“Yes, but I'm not a slave. She's my sister. I've watched you around her, and I can tell when you're worried.” He stopped then, and Demetrius turned to face him. “You like her, don't you, Demetrius?”

“Well, she hasn't always been the easiest slave owner, but I feel sorry for her.”

Joseph did not answer. He examined the face of Demetrius, then said, “No, it's more than that. I think you have a feeling for her like a man feels for a woman.”

“Well, that would be useless, wouldn't it? I'm a slave and she's the daughter of a wealthy man.”

Joseph considered these words, then went on, “I think you do like her. You know, Demetrius, I miss what she was before she got hurt. I try to cheer her up all I can, but she cries a lot when she's alone.”

“I know. Sometimes even when she's not alone.” Demetrius hesitated, then said, “I hope we'll get the old Dinah back one day. I miss her like you do.” He was afraid to carry this conversation on any further, for he had feelings he did not want Joseph to know about. “Come along,” he said. “It's going to be late when we get home, and we've got to clean these fish.”

When Demetrius broke into a run, it was all Joseph could do to keep up with the man.

Dinah sat in her tent, staring at the wall and trying to blank out her mind. She was aware that Leah was moving around and wished she would leave. Finally her mother came over and stood directly in front of her. “Why don't you go out and join the other young women, daughter? They're having a fine time working on a new dance.”

“Not right now.”

“Dinah, you can't hide in this tent all your life.” Leah was worried about her daughter. She was not a woman given to affectionate gestures, but she put her hand now on Dinah's shoulder, and her voice was soft. “You can't stay in here forever. I know it's been hard, but other women have had to go through this. Just put it behind you. Forget it, and go out and have some fun.”

“I think I'll just stay here.”

Leah stared at Dinah, then snorted and left the tent. Her impatience was evident from the line of her back, and Dinah knew that she was trying everyone's patience, including her mother's.

The sounds of the young women singing came to her through the wall of the tent, but she had no inclination to go out and join them. At first, she had tried to make some effort to pick up her life, but everyone seemed to be looking at her, most with pity but some not so kindly. She had had to fight off the questions from the young women who had avid curiosity, who wanted to know all the details of the attack, while Dinah wanted nothing more than to blot it out of her mind. She had, indeed, spent much of her time trying to do exactly this, but she had learned by bitter experience that memories will not be confined. It was like putting something in a box and clamping the lid down, only to find out that it would come out again when least expected. At first, time had slipped along with a rapidity that amazed her, but now every day seemed to pass on leaden feet. And even when nightfall came and she could hide herself in the darkness, there was no escaping the sharp, bitter memories of the past.

Sometimes the whole terrible scene played out before her with a sharp clarity that brought pain, and which would not be denied. She had wept over how she had ignored the warnings of Demetrius and her father and had cried out—a thousand times, it seemed—“Oh, why did I have to go to that place?” As she sat there, the futility of wishing for the past to be changed, to be blotted out, seemed to drop over her, pressing down with an unbearable weight. “It can never be changed!” she whispered. And then she began to weep. She did not attempt to stem the tears but sobbed and let them run down her cheeks. Weeping had become a part of her as much as laughter had been before.

At the sound of someone approaching, she quickly made a grab for a cloth and wiped her face. She thought it was Leah coming back, but it was Demetrius's voice she heard. “Mistress, are you there?”

“Yes…just a minute.” She did not want to see anyone, especially him, but she knew he could be persistent. He had come several times to try to cheer her up, but she could never face him. Quickly she grabbed a cloth, dipped it into the basin of water, and ran it across her face. Tossing the cloth down, she said, “Come in.”

Demetrius stepped inside. It was not quite dark outside, and his form was outlined darkly against the twilight rosiness. “Joseph and I caught some fish. Some nice ones. How do you want yours cooked?”

“Just any way.”

“Well, I don't suppose you'd like to eat them raw. I'll fry them for you in some fat. How does that sound?”

“It's all right, Demetrius.”

The hopelessness in her voice and the sight of her shoulders brought Demetrius a feeling of great compassion and perhaps of something more. He had a passionate desire to bring back some of the liveliness he had always admired in her, even when she was at her worst. He knew that there was a depth to this girl that had never been drawn out, but this tragedy was accomplishing just the opposite. It was robbing her of her youth, her vivacity, all that made her lovely and attractive. Suddenly he made a decision. “I have a present for you.”

The words caught Dinah by surprise. “A present? Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to give you something.”

“Not a fish, is it?”

“No,” he smiled. “Not a fish. You stay right here, and I'll get it.”

As Demetrius turned and dashed out of the tent, Dinah sat down. She wished he would go away, for the very sight of him reminded her of how right he had been about Shechem and how wrong she herself had been. He had shown not one bit of the avid curiosity about Shechem that others had shown, but then, he had been there. It disturbed her to think that he had found her bloody and bruised and beaten, and somehow she knew the memory could never be washed from his mind.

Soon Demetrius was back. He came in holding several flat objects in his hands.

Placing himself before her, he said, “Guess what your present is.”

“I can't.”

“Well, try.”

“They look like flat pieces of wood. Are they trays of some kind?”

“No. Guess again.”

“Oh, Demetrius, I can't.”

“All right. Here's what it is.” He held two of the pieces away from her in his left hand, and with his right he turned the other around.

“There's your present,” he said.

Dinah gasped. The oil lamps burning in the tent threw off considerable light, and she stared down at a beautiful painting on a flat board. It contained brilliant colors, and she leaned closer to study it. It was so full of life! A bull was charging across an arena of some kind, and a young woman was somersaulting over the bull's head. Two more young people were there, one in front of the bull and one behind to catch the woman who was turning the flip.

“Why, it's so real! Is this what you were telling me about when the red bull almost got me?”

“Yes, this is bull leaping.”

Dinah was mesmerized by the sight. “How did you learn to paint like this?”

Demetrius shrugged and smiled. “Well, at one time I was sure that painting was going to be what I did. I had good teachers.”

“How do you get these colors?”

“Oh, I collect the materials from different places. You have to collect oils and minerals and mix them together.”

“I'd love to see this thing that you've painted—this bull leaping.”

“It's something to watch, but it's dangerous. I think I told you I had a brother that got killed doing it.”

She looked up and remembered he had told her. “That must have made you grieve a great deal.”

“We were very close. Here. Here's another one.” She turned another one of the frames around, and Dinah stared at the picture of a couple—obviously mature people. “These are my parents,” Demetrius said.

“They're fine looking, Demetrius.”

“Yes. That's why I'm so handsome. I didn't have a chance to be ugly, not with parents like these.”

Suddenly Dinah laughed, not realizing it was the first time she had laughed since the attack. Her eyes were bright, and at least for a moment she forgot her misery. “Are they as modest as you are?”

“About the same. The pity of it is we don't have anything much to be modest about.”

He continued to speak of his parents, and Dinah stared at the painting. “I don't see how anybody does this. We don't have any painters among our people at all.”

“All Minoans learn a little bit about painting. Some are better than others.”

Dinah considered the picture carefully. “Your mother looks so lovely.”

“Yes, she is. Almost the loveliest woman I've ever met.”

Dinah looked up quickly and saw that he was smiling at her. “What's the other picture?” she asked.

“I can't tell you.”

Dinah blinked with surprise. “What do you mean you can't tell me?”

“I don't think it would be good for you to see it, mistress.”

Dinah could not help grinning. The dimple on her cheek leaped into prominence, as it always did when she smiled. “It must be a very naughty picture.”

“I wish you could see it,” Demetrius said. He looked at it and shook his head with admiration. “Too bad, but I'm afraid it's not for you.”

Dinah reached out and snatched at the picture. She got her hand on one edge of the frame, but Demetrius suddenly held her wrist. She struggled harder, crying, “Let me see it!”

“Well,” Demetrius finally said, “you're the mistress, so I suppose you'll have your own way. Here.”

Dinah turned the picture around and held it in her hands. She studied it and said nothing for a long moment. “She should look familiar,” Demetrius said. “It's you, Dinah.”

Dinah was looking at the picture of the young woman that was painted on the surface. She did recognize herself. She was outside somewhere and half turned, with her profile showing. She was wearing her favorite robe, a light blue, and he had caught the hue exactly. “I never look this good,” she protested.

“Yes. I've seen you many times with that look. I think it's the best painting I've ever done.”

Dinah could not look up. She was staring at the girl and something changed in her face.

“Do you like it, Dinah?” he asked.

Dinah suddenly looked up, and her eyes were swimming with tears. “It's a beautiful painting. I…I wish I was still the girl that you painted here.”

Demetrius felt the compassion that had been in him for some time come to the surface. He stepped closer to her and took the painting. He set them all down and then turned to her and took her hands. He saw surprise leap into her eyes, but she did not try to get away. “Dinah, if someone you loved had been attacked and harmed by a wild beast, a bear or a wild dog, would you think less of him?”

“Why…no, of course not!”

“Then why can't you understand that no one thinks less of you? For you were attacked by a beast worse than any bear or lion.” His hands tightened, and she could not tear her eyes away from him. “You're still the same sweet, lovely girl you were before it all happened.”