Galilee by Clive Barker Page A

he could slide into the dark, where this man’s gaze could not find him. To make matters worse the woman had bared her breasts and was offering her nipple to the babe’s mouth. Her breasts were sumptuous, gleaming and full. Though he knew it wasn’t wise to be staring past the beckoning husband and ogling the wife, Zelim couldn’t help himself.
    And again, the man summoned him with the hook of his fingers, but this time spoke.
    â€œCome here, fisherman, ” he said. He didn’t speak loudly, but Zelim heard the command as though it had been spoken at his ear. “Don’t be afraid,” the man went on.
    â€œI can’t . . .” Zelim began, meaning to tell the man his legs would not obey him.
    But before the words were out of his mouth, the summons moved him. Muscles that had been rigid a few heartbeats before were carrying him toward his summons, though he had not consciously instructed them to do so. The man smiled, seeing his will done, and despite his trepidation Zelim could not help but return the smile, thinking as he walked toward his master that if the rest of the men were still watching him they would probably think him courageous, for the casual measure of his stride.
    The woman, meanwhile, having settled the infant to sucking, was also looking Zelim’s way, though her expression—unlike that of her husband—was far from friendly. What radiance would have broken from her face had she been feeling better tempered Zelim could only guess. Even in her present unhappy state she was glorious.
    Zelim was within perhaps six feet of the couple now, and there stopped, though the man had not ordered him to do so.
    â€œWhat is your name, fisherman?’ the man said.
    Before Zelim could reply, the woman broke in. “I’ll not call him by the name of a fisherman.”
    â€œAnything’s better than nothing,” the husband replied.
    â€œNo it’s not,” the wife snapped. “He needs a warrior’s name. Or nothing.”
    â€œHe may not be a warrior.”
    â€œWell he certainly won’t be a fisherman,” the woman countered.
    The man shrugged. The exchange had taken the smile off his face; he was plainly running out of patience with his lady.
    â€œSo let’s hear your name,” the woman said.
    â€œZelim.”
    â€œThere then,” the woman said, looking back at her husband. “Zelim! Do you want to call our child Zelim?”
    The man looked down at the baby. “He doesn’t seem to care one way or another,” he remarked. Then back at Zelim. “Has the name treated you kindly?” he asked.
    â€œKindly?” Zelim said.
    â€œHe means are you pursued by women?” the wife replied.
    â€œThat’s a consideration,” the husband protested mildly. “If a name brings good fortune and beautiful women, the boy will thank us for it.” He looked at Zelim again. “And have you been fortunate?”
    â€œNot particularly,” Zelim replied.
    â€œAnd the women?”
    â€œI married my cousin.”
    â€œNo shame in that. My brother married my half-sister and they were the happiest couple I ever met.” He glanced back at his wife, who was tenderly working the cushion of her breast so as to keep the flow of milk strong. “But my wife’s not going to be content with this, I can see. No offense to you, my friend. Zelim is a fine name, truly. There’s no shame in Zelim.”
    â€œSo I can go?”
    The man shrugged. “I’m sure you have . . . fish to catch . . . yes?”
    â€œAs it happens, I hate fish,” Zelim said, surprised to be confessing this fact—which he had never spoken to anyone—in front of two strangers. “All the men in Atva talk about is fish, fish, fish—”
    The woman looked up from the face of the nameless child.
    â€œAtva?” she said.
    â€œIt’s the name of—”
    â€œâ€”the