“You,” he said to the second urchin, who knelt in fear, hands over his head to drown out the screams. “I said you!” repeated the blackamoor, kicking the man for lack of acknowledgement.
“Yes?” asked the urchin, terrified.
“Clean this off!” answered the blackamoor, waving the gigantic, blood-soaked rod before the face of the urchin. “And no teeth.”
Lot drew back.
“What a waste!” said his Eldest daughter, now next to Lot, her bare breasts pressing against his side.
“So sad,” echoed the Youngest, resting her chin on her father.
“What was their message, husband?” asked Lot's wife, her hands moving at the middle of the gown, as though she'd taken pleasure in the spectacle.
“Message?”
“The angels? Their message.”
“We must flee this wretched place!” shouted Lot.
“Flee!” said the Eldest. “Flee!” echoed the Youngest.
“Well, I don't know about that,” said Lot's wife. “Surely, that blackamoor is wasting his talents now. On your angels. But I suspect if I were to-”
Lot raced over. Slapped her. Again. Again.
“Flee!” he shouted, and handed over one more cup of wine.
The quartet slipped out of their hovel as the attention of the crowd turned once again to the blackamoor. His staff cleansed, he was eyeing his second victim lovingly. To their side, nine men had begun to loose their armor. Wagering among the crowd began, over who was next in size to repeat the violation.
“It's unfair!” said one in the audience. “Going from big to small, he won't feel it! He won't sense the punishment.”
This brought approval from the crowd. Or they just enjoyed admiring the blackamoor.
“Smallest. Smallest! Smallest next! Work your way back. Let's see the blackamoor twice!
The leader stood up before them again. “If that is your wish!” he said. “And who among this crowd is the smallest?”
“Oh, I think I know,” whispered Lot's wife as they crawled past the wine stand. Lot's daughters giggled.
“We must keep moving,” said Lot, slapping the trio angrily.
They stumbled upon a pair of asses, fully laden for a long journey out. Its owners, nowhere to be found, had slipped back into the city.
“A gift from the angels!” shouted Lot.
“The angels! The angels!”
Lot put his wife on one donkey, helping her back onto the beast as she slid down. He attempted to cover her, to protect her from the sun, but she did not agree. His daughters made their own way, and sat together atop the creature. Lot dropped his wine into the bags on his wife's animal, and set out, holding a bridle in each hand.
His wife slogged along, barely keeping herself upright with a shaking grip on the saddle. His daughters fared better, the pair leaning into each other, thighs spread wide as the creature slowly bounced along the desert road.
“Where do we go, Lot?” asked his wife after a time.
Lot looked about him. The donkeys led the way. He did not lead them. Where? Gomorrah? No, too many would know. The priestess-Segor? Admah? Zeboim?
None of these were good ideas. He needed a city to hide in. The priestess would forget. He was sure of it. Already, she'd exacted her revenge. The people of Sodom's saw the day's events as a novelty. Sport. Something to focus their bewildered heads upon after such a festival.
But they'd return to the dancing girls soon enough. The harlots in the temple. The painted ladies. Lot knew them all. Knew that depraved, indifferent city, so focused on individual goals and achievements.
The memories of such men were short.
But he would have to avoid the priestess. Much had changed. His earlier choice remained the best option.
“Zohar!” he said finally.
“Zohar?” asked his wife. “But that's-”
“I said, 'Zohar.' The angels told me so. These beasts will get us there. Have you forgotten in whose presence you stood today?”
Lot's wife interpreted his words slowly. Zohar. Yes. A smaller city. Perhaps one in need of a wine merchant. Or they could run a stables. Or… something else. Far from the armies of Chedorlamer. Farthest spot away on the plain. She wandered off.
Lot pondered. How to control them during their ride together? Lot knew the limits of inebriation. It wore off. This wine controlled them. Would continue to. But any minute, his wife would look to him again. That glance in her eyes-his failure. He could not bear it. And to destroy her now… would leave him alone before too long.
He walked ahead, head down, watching the shadow of his two daughters against their donkey.
Her nagging grew incessant. With every passing moment, it seemed Lot's wife covered up a bit more, and looked to him less. How far? She asked again. Where would they eat? What of husbands for their daughters? Were they truly angels? Would angels sacrifice themselves so?
“Don't look back,” Lot advised her. “Don't look back.”
But she must look back. Thinking always of the effort she'd spent, making their hovel a comfortable one. Sweeping out the filth and insects that had marked their dreary existence away from the fields.
She must look back. Lot saw her about to. He raced ahead to strike.
“Don't look back!”
Lot's wife collapsed with the force of the blow. Their daughters moved forward, asleep now on the donkey, holding each other.
There would be no escape from her tongue, thought Lot. Even her silence would incriminate him, shame him, dishonor him.
He drew up his wife, felt her groggy head in his hands. Holding her slowly, almost tenderly, he brought her to rest against a rock formation, bleached white by desert sands.
“Don't turn back!” said Lot one last time, and twirled his wife around so that she faced the stone. “Do not disobey!” he added. Then he smashed her skull into the wall. Once. Twice. Again. The blood flew out. His wife moaned for an instant, then stopped. She stood perfectly still, not breathing, balanced on an outcropping of stone.
For a moment, Lot looked down. He remembered better times. Before, they had been tender towards each other. Until the ill-luck started. Brought on by her and her cursed, impure family.
He pulled her not-breathing head back one last time. “Don't look back!” he whispered fiercely into her ear, then smashed his wife again into the stone. Her face wedged into the rock. The neck pressed back, arms limply at her side, still she remained upright.