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Shimei, on the other hand, was secretive and spent a great deal of time to himself. He had been a sickly child who wearied her as she struggled to raise two boys alone. She was fortunate that Zibeon, already big for his years, had been taught well by her husband and could keep the sandal shop going. She had not been forced to seek another husband.
    Enjoying the respite from Zibeon’s temper, Shimei toasted his brother, flattering him over his good fortune. Zibeon was so pleased with himself he didn’t seem to notice that it was Shimei he was slapping on the back and boasting to.
    “A wife to make a man’s senses turn. More wine, woman!” he bellowed at Athaliah.
    It was the closest the brothers had been since they were children. While widowed several years before, Zibeon had ignored Athaliah when she brought up the subject of remarriage. Tonight she was delighted that her favorite was to finally marry again.
    Athaliah poured more wine. She had cooked Zibeon’s favorite dishes and bustled about the house bursting with pride. She bragged to neighbors that at last she would have the grandchild she longed for.
    When Zibeon married the first time, Athaliah had jealously berated the girl, Rizpah, and reproved her for her constant sad face. Zibeon scowled for a moment as he recalled the frail, long-faced girl his parents had chosen for him, forever weeping. In spite of his lusty efforts, she shrank from him always. Rizpah’s constant weeping, and cries of pain any time that he sought the comforts of a husband, frustrated and angered him. After two years of marriage, Rizpah had shown no signs of producing the son that Zibeon wanted so badly.
    “I shall go into my old age with no grandchild to comfort me,” Athaliah wailed until Zibeon finally threatened to wring her neck.
    “Am I God Himself that I can give you grandchildren?” he flung back at her angrily.
    Rizpah became gaunt and hollow-eyed. His mother continued to chide her for her weakness.
    “You must eat. You will become ill. Don’t be a foolish girl. You must make up your mind to get well and take up your duties as a wife to Zibeon.”
    Day after day, the ungrateful girl lay quietly on her pallet. Athaliah’s rebukes fell on deaf ears for the girl’s eyes remained closed and there was no answer. Frustrated, Zibeon came each evening after his work to stand at the foot of her bed, watching for some sign. Then after a few moments, with a snort of disgust, he would sit at the table and nurse his cup of wine, muttering about the frailty of women. At last, one early morning, in spite of all Athaliah’s efforts, Rizpah turned her face to the wall, gave one last, long sigh, and died.
    “No maiden in the village interests me,” Zibeon bellowed at Athaliah when her nagging became too much.
    “You do well in your shop, my son. There is not a maiden in the village who would not be pleased to be chosen,” Athaliah wheedled.
    “Silence, woman. I will choose when it suits me. No more of your incessant chatter.”
    Zibeon drew himself up and scowled so fiercely that Athaliah backed quickly away. He threw a bowl at her feet and stormed out.
    Now Athaliah hovered over him. “She will give you strong sons. I shall have my grandchildren at last.” She beamed. “That Rizpah, always so pale, and always with such a sad face . . .”
    “Be still, woman,” Zibeon growled.
    His mother ignored the warning. “She was bound to make you unhappy with all that weeping. Two years of marriage and not a child to comfort me in my old age, the shame of it.” Athaliah raised martyred eyes to the ceiling. “And the foolish girl would not eat. I told her a hundred times a day she should keep up her strength so she could be a proper wife to you.” She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands in puzzlement.
    Shimei, seeing the thunder building on Zibeon’s face, feared an explosion. Hurriedly grabbing the wine, he proposed another toast to his brother’s good fortune. Fortunately for