After Abel and Other Stories by Michal Lemberger

then, whatever moisture the earth had made for itself overnight was already seeping back in. Hagar thought those beads of water were smart to hide during the day and only come out at night when it got cooler and the sun wouldn’t bully them as it did her. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders against the cold and walked quickly, afraid of the beasts that might be out roaming. Her mistress had always told her to stay in when it was dark, that the mountain lions would wantto take a bite out of her, that she’d be tasty to them. And it was too dark to see if scorpions, their fat black tails curled up, were out scurrying around, ready to strike her innocent heel.
    Hagar was afraid, but she pushed her fear away, setting her jug down to make a shoving motion with her hands out in front of her, just as her mother had shown her to do when she was a child and was scared of going down to the river by herself to wash their clothes, or of her father’s return at the end of the long workday, his face covered in rock chalk, his temper flaring.
    After a few pushes, she felt calm again. She picked up her jug and began the long walk to the well. She hoped to have it to herself and make it back before first light, so she could hide away the water and pretend that today would be like every other day she had spent for the last ten years. She would bring food to her mistress, cut firewood, and lug water. Her mistress would probably shout at her for making a mistake with the stew, because try as she might, Hagar never did get the hang of cooking here, where they ate strange foods and let their meat sit in the pot for so long.
    Hagar knew there were things she should think about before the trip, things to plan for or worry about, but she couldn’t think of what they might be.
    That night, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Still, she rose early again the next morning. No one wasaround. Not even the sun had lifted its big red eye to stare at her. She moved quietly through the tents to where her son lay sleeping, his mouth open, skin spongy and slack. She picked him up out of his bed, tied him to her back, and began to walk southwest toward the desert. South toward home.
    At first, she felt strong. She knew she was saving her boy from a life of misery. Mothers don’t like to share their sons unless, like her, they have to. Her mistress would turn even her master against her boy. Hagar was sure of it. Though the new baby was soft and round and smiled at everyone who lifted him high into the air, he would grow into his mother’s love and turn on his older brother, too. It’s what brothers do. Didn’t she see her brothers fight? When they were all young, her brothers had invented games together and played in the reeds and river. But as they got older, they began to eye each other with distrust, to take a tally of who had what—girls’ attention, number of coins collected from working the shores of the river, their father’s esteem.
    Hagar could see the future in her master’s tents as clearly as if it were happening that day. The slow campaign against her boy, the way her mistress was already turning the things they had loved about him—his playful tricks and high energy—into signs of mischief and wickedness. Hagar would have to sit by and watch as he lost even his father’s love. A slave girl could saynothing against her mistress, who was, everyone said, wise with age, and had her husband’s ear.
    For the first time in her life, Hagar didn’t want to be good. She felt angry, which kept her feet steady and her back strong for many hours. Eventually, she burned with the heat of the day and realized that she would have to find a shady spot to wait out the worst of the day and then continue her trek until nightfall.
    By then, her boy had woken, demanded to be untied and allowed to stand on the ground. He called for his mama, his other mama, and Hagar had to explain that she was the