Among the Gods (23 page)

Joshua set the basin down again and covered his face in despair. “Why did God give Nathan to me? Why not to you? You’re a much better father than I am. Look at Mattan; look how he turned out. You could have helped Nathan, changed him. Why did God give him to
me
?”

Jerimoth rested his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Because you understand him so much better than I ever could.”

He looked at his brother in bewilderment. “
Understand
him?”

“Yes, Joshua. Nathan is just like you. Both of you are filled with anger. Both of you rage at circumstances in the past that you cannot change. Both of you mourn and question the loss of your fathers. Both of you are furious with God.”

Joshua leaned against the wall as he struggled to comprehend his brother’s words.

“I don’t say these things to criticize you,” Jerimoth continued. “God knows how different you and I are. But look closely at Nathan’s anger and rebellion, and see your own. God
did
give him to the right father—the father who could recognize the pain in Nathan’s heart and understand exactly how he feels.”

Deep in his soul, Joshua suspected that his brother’s words were true. But if he thought about them now, his heart would break. Instead, he ladled clean water into the basin with deliberate concentration.

“I’m going home,” Jerimoth said softly. “Nathan has been punished enough. Let him know you love him, you forgive him.”

Joshua nodded, unable to speak, and carried the basin into the house. When Joshua sat down beside him, Nathan turned his face to the wall.

“Go away and leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that, Nathan.”

“I don’t want you here!”

“I’m sorry, but I have to be here. You’re my son. Your suffering is my suffering.” And as he spoke the words, Joshua was stunned to discover that they were true.

In the months that followed Nathan’s whipping, Joshua was well aware of his need to battle against the darkness of depression. He relied on Miriam’s love and patience as he struggled to believe that God was still by his side. He had endured two painful blows: the loss of Judah’s sovereignty to the Assyrians, and the unmasking of his own failures as a father. His fears for Nathan’s soul consumed many sleepless nights, leaving him unprepared for a third blow when it came.

“Joshua, I think you should send for the midwives,” his mother told him one morning. “I’m worried about the swelling in Miriam’s legs and feet.” Joshua went numb at his mother’s words. Miriam hadn’t seemed well for several days, but she’d stubbornly insisted that she was all right.

“I’ll get the women myself, Mama.” He left the house at a run, barely aware of his surroundings as he sprinted across the island to fetch the two midwives.

“Does she have any other symptoms besides the swelling?” they asked as he hurried back to his house with them again.

“She complained of a bad headache last night,” he said. “This morning she still seemed groggy from it. Disoriented.” He saw them exchange glances, and he began to walk so fast they had trouble keeping up with him. When he burst through the front door, out of breath, Nathan met him.

“What’s going on? Why are they here? Isn’t it too soon for the baby?”

“Miriam’s not in labor … she’s … I can’t explain.” He brushed past Nathan and hurried into the bedchamber, followed by the women. “Miriam, I’m back. I brought—” He stopped, staring in horror at his wife as her body suddenly went rigid. Then her spine arched, her eyes rolled, and she began to convulse. “Do something! Help her!” he cried, but there was nothing any of them could do. Joshua watched helplessly until the convulsion finally ended and Miriam lay still. His mother and one of the midwives hustled him out of the room.

“What’s wrong with my wife? Tell me what’s wrong with her.” He struggled to pull air into his lungs.

“Your wife’s condition is very serious,” the midwife said. “Unless we do something soon, she will go into a coma and die. It has happened before to other women with the same symptoms.”

Joshua listened as if trapped in a bad dream. “Do whatever you have to do.”

“The only thing we can do is start her labor. Once the baby is born, Miriam’s condition will probably improve.”

“But it’s too soon for the baby,” Nathan blurted. Joshua had forgotten that he was there.

“Yes, it’s too soon by several weeks,” the midwife told him. She paused before saying, “The child will likely die.”

“She wants that baby!” Nathan cried. “You can’t let it die again!”

“Nathan, please,” Joshua said. “This doesn’t concern you.” Nathan turned and stormed from the house, but at the moment Joshua was much too upset to deal with him.

“If Miriam doesn’t give birth soon, she could die,” the midwife continued. “I’m sorry. I understand what a difficult decision you have to make.”

“There’s no question—save my wife. Do whatever it takes, but don’t let Miriam die.”

“Are you sure you understand that your child—?”

“I was born almost a month too soon, and I survived. Please, don’t let Miriam die!”

“Shh … If she hears you, my lord, if she thinks there’s a choice … most mothers want to give their lives for their babies.”

He thought of Miriam’s unselfish love, the many times she had willingly risked her life for him, and he knew that the midwife was right. “I want you to start her labor right away,” he said.

“All right. But once we break the sac of waters and labor begins, there will be no turning back.”

“Do it!” He paused to cough the air from his lungs, then drew a ragged breath. “What can I do? Tell me what I can do.”

His mother took his arm and steered him toward the rear courtyard. “You can stay out of their way, Joshua. They have work to do. You’ll make everyone a nervous wreck by hovering around, barking at everyone. Trust God. Let His will be done.”

But as the hours passed, and then one day of labor turned into two, Joshua discovered that trusting God was impossible. In the past His will had been incomprehensible and had brought devastating losses. What if he lost Miriam? As the fear and tension in the household soared, Nathan vented his frustration on Joshua.

“This is your fault! It’s your child that’s making her suffer! Do something!”

“Nathan, I wish I could, but … look, I feel as scared and helpless as you do.”

“If she dies, it’ll be your fault!”

“Son, wait—” But Nathan slammed out of the house, and once again Joshua felt the devastating anguish of failure. His son should be coming to him for consolation. They should be comforting each other.

“I can’t take this waiting much longer,” he told Jerimoth, late on the second day. “Neither can Miriam. She’s suffering.”

“Women often cry out during childbirth.”

“But for so long? It’s been two days. I need to know what’s going on.”

“My Sara is helping inside. Maybe she can put your mind at rest.” Jerimoth sent for her, but when Sara emerged from the bedchamber, one look at her distraught face sent fear racing through Joshua before he even heard her terrible words.

“Miriam isn’t able to help with the delivery because of her paralysis. She’s almost at the end of her strength. If the baby isn’t born soon, the midwives say that—”

Jerimoth cut her off. “Never mind what they say.” He spun Joshua around and pushed him toward the front door. “We’re going to the temple to pray. Send for us if you need to.”

“No, I can’t leave her,” Joshua insisted. “I need to stay here.”

“You need to pray. That’s the best thing you can possibly do. Right now it’s the only thing.” Jerimoth propelled him forward against his will, through the door and into the street, heading toward the temple grounds. Joshua was dimly aware of seeing other people going about their lives—bartering for food, feeding their livestock, walking home from the river with a string of fish—and it seemed unfair to him that life should continue with such indifference while Miriam suffered … while his child, his wife, struggled to live.

“I can’t pray, Jerimoth. I’m afraid to pray. God has already taken everything I loved. What if He takes Miriam, too?”

“Is that how you picture Him?” Jerimoth asked in surprise. “As a cruel, heartless God who wants to hurt you?”

“I don’t want to imagine Him that way, but it seems like all I’ve received from His hand is senseless suffering and loss. Miriam is the only good thing He’s ever given to me to make up for all that He’s taken.”

“That’s fear talking, not faith. You know God isn’t like that.”

“Can’t you understand why I don’t trust Him? Don’t you see how terrified I am that I’ll lose Miriam, too?”

“Yes. I do understand. That’s why we need to pray. Come on.”

They reached the gate to the temple site and went inside. The priests were going about their duties as if nothing was wrong, and again Joshua wondered why everyone else’s life seemed tranquil except his own. Jerimoth nudged him into the men’s court and dropped to his knees by the altar, pulling Joshua down beside him.

“You’ve told me how you feel, Josh. Now tell God. He understands.” Jerimoth closed his eyes and lifted his hands.

At first the only words Joshua could pray were, “Please, Lord … please don’t take Miriam.” He repeated them silently over and over as Jerimoth prayed silently beside him. As time passed and Joshua’s panic lessened he began to bargain with God, promising to build Him the finest temple in the world, promising to dedicate his life to making Elephantine their home—anything God asked—if only He would spare Miriam’s life. But when even a lifetime of dedicated service didn’t seem like enough, Joshua decided he had to pledge the one thing he’d refused to relinquish all these years: “O God,” he prayed, “if you give Miriam back to me, I’ll cancel the debt Manasseh owes me. I’ll sacrifice my need for revenge, I’ll lay aside all the hatred I feel for him, I’ll put Manasseh out of my heart and my mind forever in exchange for Miriam’s life.” It was all he had to offer.

Hours later, Jerimoth tugged on his sleeve. When Joshua looked up and saw their mother signaling to them from the women’s courtyard, his heart stood still. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward her. “Mama, no … please don’t tell me …”

“Miriam is asking for you.”

“Is she going to die?”

“She might. She’s very weak from losing so much blood.”

“I need to see her.” He turned, ready to take off at a run, but his mother stopped him.

“Joshua, wait. I’m sorry, but the baby was stillborn.”

He took a moment to absorb the painful truth. “You mean all that time, all that suffering … for nothing?”

“I’m so sorry.”

His child was dead. And Joshua had made the decision to bring him into the world too soon. “Does Miriam know about the baby?”

Jerusha nodded. “You need to give her a reason to hang on, Joshua. She’s suffered terribly, and now she wants to give up. She wants to go to paradise with her baby son.”

“No! She can’t die!” Again he started to leave, again his mother stopped him.

“Wait, son. I need to tell you something else.” Joshua’s heart raced as he steeled himself for more. “The midwives said that if Miriam lives, there can’t be any more pregnancies. She will never be able to deliver a baby because of her paralysis. This birth nearly killed her. She must not get pregnant again.”

He stared, unable to speak.
If
she lives?

“Go to her, son. She needs you. Jerimoth will walk me home.”

Joshua ran blindly through the streets, too incoherent with grief and fear to pray. When he stumbled through the door, he saw one of the midwives holding his tiny, shrouded baby in her arms. She looked up at him with sorrowful eyes. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”

“I’d like to hold my son,” he said.

“That isn’t wise….”

“Give me my son.” He spoke the command quietly, but he knew that his rage was apparent in the deliberate way he pronounced each word. The midwife unwound the swaddling cloths so Joshua could see his son’s tiny gray face. He looked peaceful in spite of losing his two-day struggle for life. Joshua lifted him from her and settled him into the crook of his arm. He remembered holding Amariah’s son at the circumcision ceremony and feeling the warmth and life in the infant’s body. His own child felt stiff and cold. The midwife turned her face away at his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to his son. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to live … but …” He couldn’t finish. He gently handed the baby to the midwife and turned away to wipe his eyes before going into Miriam’s bedchamber. What could he say to his wife? How could he explain the death of the child she had longed for when he didn’t understand it himself?

Miriam’s face was whiter than the linen sheets, her body as cold as their son’s. He lifted the blanket and lay down in the bed beside her, drawing her to himself. She felt small and fragile in his arms, with no strength to hold him in return.

“Don’t leave me, Miriam. Stay with me. Please.”

“I don’t think I can….”

“Remember what you told me? It’s not your life and my life anymore, it’s our life.”

“I can’t give you children.”

“You’re more important to me than children.”

“No—”

“It’s the truth, Miriam! Don’t call me a liar!”

A tear rolled down her pale cheek. “I hate my broken body … my twisted legs, these useless hands …”