“Won't let his daughters have fun then?”
“Silly old man.”
Wincing, Lot's wife followed the trio home.
Over the cries of his wife and daughters, Lot shut his family into the house. He stood there in the doorway, glaring coldly for onlookers. There were none. The whole of the city stood in the courtyard, waiting to enact the marriage rites, choosing brides, handing over amulets as symbols for protection.
Blasphemers. They knew not the law of Abraham. Nor, indeed, did they care for his uncle's wisdom. Hadn't, those years ago, when his flocks taken, his body beaten, he'd shown up at the gates of this town. Entrance, only. And make something of yourself. No charity here.
No charity!
No help for his goods. Not a thing to aid him. Oh, look over there, Lot. A spot for a stall. Find something to sell. Sell it. Never bother us.
Horrid people. A plague on humanity. All of them. How could they not help a stranger? This city with its shining walls, its bright fountains, the pipes beneath that brought water and carried filth. Not help a stranger? It was within them.
He went to the wine stall. Closed now. No worries of theft. Everyone watched his own goods here. Everyone. Those without goods or professions were banished quickly from the town. As Lot would have been. To wander the plains with his family.
“Work at something, Lot, or else the desert. Perhaps they'll let you beg at the gates of Zohar!”
And the townsfolk laughed. Good-naturedly. But they laughed. Laughed at his plight. At his losses. At his God. Horrible city.
He drank of the wine. An older bottle. Unsellable. Vinegar to the taste. The only brews worse had that strange worm-eaten seal. He'd not been sure where they came from now. Not to be sold, those. Well, his family could drink it next time there was company. Lot sat now. His god to be mocked. And what of their many gods? With the harlots out front? The harlots who entertained so many?
Nothing for them today. Other entertainments. What did the priestesses do on a day like today? He should go to them and laugh. See how it was, an empty religion, without even the people to honor shallow spectacle.
In a moment, he walked to the far end of the city. Where giant ziggurats lay. None met him to ask his business. No guard or neighbor to mock. The temple approached, bare breasts on marble pillars. He strode up past the torchlit steps. This temple was always open.
“Hello, Lot,” said one.
Lot looked over. The High Priestess herself. She'd passed by his stall with her entourage. Her eunuchs. Her men.
“I thought you might come today.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Call it divine intuition.”
Lot sputtered at this blasphemy.
“Oh, Lot. You must not be so dismissive of our older religion. Our own knowledge.”
“It is of nothing. The knowledge of a hundred beasts… are as stones.”
“And yet, you are here. Would you not come inside to my chamber? Share a cool drink this hot evening?”
“Why? You invite me?”
“I do. And it would be foolish of you to refuse. You'll find the drinks we serve of a fine quality. One you have not tasted since-”
“Yes. Yes. Of course. I will come.”
The pair walked together through the temple. Tapestries flowed down the walls. But no guards or priestesses or worshippers today. Lot looked at her, puzzled.
“They've all gone, Lot. It's only you and me this evening. A quiet conversation.”
“Why?”
“To celebrate, Lot. To enjoy the festival. Why should I keep anyone here? The goddess protects me. And the men will be back soon enough.
Lot muttered to himself.
“What is so wrong about a goddess who would entertain men, Lot? You don't like it? Hmm. Something else to please you?” Her hand, teasingly, brushed Lot's neck. A drink was in his hand. How did it get there? So subtle, this one. A witch. Perfumes and incense filled the air.
“I appreciate you giving me this company, Lot,” the witch was saying. “For as you know, by our laws, I am protected here. The amulet given to me is from the whole of the city. Even from yourself. Anything done to my person, to our mistress' temple, such actions shall be revisited upon the giver. Tenfold. It is enough to give one comfort. And yet, knowing that, and knowing of her and her power, I still do not like to be alone.”
Lot looked closely at her. Not so young. A bit of gray spilled out through the henna-scented tresses. Eyes colored, face powdered. A harlot, this one. And the most powerful woman in the city.
More powerful than he.
“Come to my chamber, Lot. We shall dine there and discuss.”
“Discuss what?”
“Our gods, of course! Yours and mine.”
“I've no need to tell you of my God, woman. Why would you insult your guests, so?”
“I've no duty to you, Lot. But I will respect your feelings. Come. Sit. You've been on your feet in the hot sun all day. Here. Untie that.” She adjusted his robe. Lot barely moved, but his sandals were off. She'd found a pail of water. Began washing his feet.
“Be comfortable, Lot. Surely, with those women in your household, you're well-taken care of.”
“I am a working man. I have no servants.”
“But you had them once, Lot. Surely, comforts are there in your household.”
“God has given us a hard existence. We abide. All of us. There is no time to indulge in petty luxury.”
“Well,” said the priestess, “then I suppose I shouldn't wash your other foot. No, come. I take pride in my work. Move your leg. There. Ahh, yes. A bit of scrubbing, then. So tense, Lot. It is only your feet. Surely there are no scrolls prohibiting this contact.”
“I-no. There are no scrolls.”
“Nor are there in mine. I should hope not. One could only imagine how dirty the floors might get in her temple.
“You laugh at me.”
“Not at all, Lot. I take you quite seriously. Did you know, beneath that hair? Under those scowling eyes, you are quite handsome?” Her eyes sparkled with laughter.