course she had. Where would she be, then, with no one to nag? Where indeed?
No hesitation. He must start his plan. The magic wine would help. He'd seen its effects. The magic wine. The magic wine.
“Arise, wife. It's a new day!
“Lot, what?” she asked, somewhat groggy. Perfect.
“A new day! Wake our daughters.”
“Lot-why?”
“We will have a guest. Perhaps two. A guest at least. A very special guest.”
“A guest? Lot, our humble home is not ready. Who is this special guest? Has Abraham come?”
“No. Not Abraham. Someone even more-you will see. Arise, wife. Arise! And wake our daughters.”
“Lot, what is wrong with you? Your clothes-they are filthy. Have you been drinking?”
“Woman, hear me. Worry not about my clothes. We shall clean that. I must have a bath. You must wake our daughters. It is a new day. A special day. We must celebrate. Before our guests arrive. A special toast. A special vintage. Just us. The four of us. Our family. Celebrate.”
Lot's wife stood confused now. He was speaking too fast. She couldn't understand that words. Not a bit of it. He had to slow down, somehow; make sure all of the plan worked. Test it against her. Then their daughters. Yes, then their daughters.
No time. He didn't have time to handle her stupidity. She must drink the magic wine, now.
“Here, wife. This will explain it. Have your first drink of the day.” He opened the bottle, filled a cup, handed it to her.
“Lot? It is so early. Are you-is this-what?”
“Don't argue with me. This wine is special. Ceremonial. Sacred. Do not resist. We must all have several glasses. Drink one. First. Then go and wake our daughters. They too must partake. Then, we must bathe, and get ready the house. Prepare a meal for our guests.”
“Who are our guests?”
“They are the children of God.”
“Lot!”
“I do not lie about such things. The children of God come for us. Come with a sacred message. Now, finish your drink,” said Lot, “and wake our daughters.”
Confused, but not daring to oppose her husband in his manic state, Lot's wife nodded, drained her glass. Her eyes glazed over, mouth wretched, she someone held the liquid down. Her look showed the beverage gave her no pleasure. Such a strong drink. Like medicine.
The taste confirmed Lot's story. No man would drink such a beverage for pleasure. She assumed he'd had the wine blessed, somehow. A special wine. And they would meet the children of God. Perhaps a priest, or one of Abraham's special advisers. She wasn't sure.
She hurried to obey her husband's orders.
Their daughters were slow to awaken. Lot's wife angrily struck the Eldest.
“Get up! Get up for your father! Your father I said.”
The girl recoiled, hiding her face. A red mark appeared. This was a saucy lass. She should marry soon. Have children of her own. Cease being a burden to her parents. If only there was a dowry.
“I said get up!” Lot's wife shouted, reaching far back to land another blow. The girl rolled away, dropping off the bedclothes. Near them, the Youngest also arose, more delicately.
“What is it, mother?” she asked sweetly. Always attempting to defuse the situation, with her pretty face.
“It is your father. We have important guests. It could be Abraham.”
“Pwah. Abraham!” sneered the Eldest. Lot's wife looked over.
“And what is so wrong with Abraham?”
“Oh, nothing. Him and his covenant. His old wife who 'gave birth.' Not a thing is wrong with them. Oh, save perhaps that little maid of his. Why she-”
Lot's wife raced over. Dealt another slap. This one harder. This one drew blood.
“Mother!” shouted the Youngest. The elder daughter stared sullenly, making no effort to hide the tears which streamed down her face.
“You'll not blaspheme against your own family. You've no idea how very special our line is. No idea. Now get yourself decent. Now! We have a task before us.”
“What task, mother?” asked the younger one, meekly.
“We will drink of a ceremonial wine to prepare,” said Lot's wife sternly. “Both of you will taste it. You won't like it. But it will do wonders for you.”
“Really, mother?”
“Yes. I feel the Lord's presence before me.”
“Do you?”
“I do. Oh, yes. I do. It is a holy day. Can you not see it, all around? The very stars-the stars are upon us.”
Lot listened to all at their door. Like a good father, he turned away as his young daughters stripped off their night garments and pulled on more appropriate clothing. Lot's wife watched the pair, saw their flesh, fully ripened into womanhood. Oh, they should marry soon. Soon.
It wasn't right that daughters like this should live in a small house with their father.
The four assembled at the table near the hearth fire. Lot had lit it. His wife began the preparations for a great meal, taking the leavings from her aborted evening with Lot, adding a few more delicacies she'd somehow squirreled away. Oh, yes. She was always ready for another visit by Abraham.
“Come now, wife!” said Lot, interrupting her preparations. “We must drink to the spirit. We must be ready to celebrate the day.”
“Yes, husband,” she said, eagerly coming forward to drink from the cup. Their youngest daughter waited, eagerly, as Lot recited his prayers. The Eldest still eyed their mother warily.
Lot's voice droned into a musical hum. The words were almost incomprehensible. A moaning, almost. Lot's wife swirled her head to the rhythm of her husband. The Youngest looked on in awe. The Eldest remained unmoved.
“Now,” said Lot, finishing. “We drink!”
The four grabbed their glasses, the wife draining hers, the daughters waiting to see whether they should sip their wine, or guzzle it like the barbarians at the shop. Following their father's lead, they gulped the alcohol down, Eldest merrily offering a harrumph on completion, as the barbarian Sodomites did.
Lot waited to gauge the effect of the drink on them. His own cup hadn't contained the same liquid. They'd never know.
“And how do you feel, wife?” he asked after a minute. She'd gone again with the preparations for their meal.
“Fine, Lot.”
“Do you think this is a special day?”
“A very special one. I feel the stars inside me. A mass of color. A very special day. Don't you agree, children?”
Two daughters looked at their mother, puzzled. They'd no answer, yet. The wine took longer for its effects to be felt, Lot knew. 10-15 minutes. At least. He couldn't leave them yet. The picture must still be framed. If only there was enough time. Why had it taken them so long to rise? Why-horrible wife! Constantly defying him. Horrible.
“I see it too, Mother,” said their Youngest, meekly. “Yes. A blaze of colors. Can you not, sister?”
