No Woman So Fair (14 page)

“You like that dog, don't you, Uncle Abram?” Lot asked brightly. “So do I. I wish I had one like him.”

“You have to train them, boy. They're wild by nature. You have to get one when it's just a pup. I fed this one by hand until I was like his mother. You can't just take a half-grown wild dog out of the desert. He'll turn on you every time.”

It was the sort of instruction Abram gave Lot constantly. There were schools in town for the boys who lived there, but Lot seemed to care little for them, although Abram had offered him the choice of going. Now he looked with approval at the boy, for Lot was a handsome, bright lad. In Abram's mind he was the best-looking and quickest of all the boys in Ur.

A thought flashed through his mind as he moved toward his own tent, where Sarai was standing to greet him.
I've been waiting all these years for the Eternal One to appear to me again, but He's been absolutely silent. I wonder if I've offended Him in some way so that He will not speak to me
. This thought often troubled him. After that first appearance, he had expected the Eternal One to appear regularly, but there had been nothing but silence since. One good thing had come of it, though. Abram had learned for certain that he was praying to the right God. Even though he had not heard from Him for many years, Abram was confident that one day, when it was time, the Eternal One would come to him again.

“So, you've brought supper.” Sarai moved forward and lifted her face for Abram's kiss. Their affection was strong and deep, stronger than it had been when they were young. The early flames of their youthful passion had subsided now to a steady, warm glow, but for each of them, the other filled the world in which they moved.

“I shot it, Aunt Sarai,” Lot said proudly.

“Good for you!” Sarai exclaimed. She reached over and kissed the boy and hugged him. “You're getting to be a great hunter.”

Abram thought of how the boy had outrun him, and his pride rose up, but he fought the urge to defend himself, praising the boy instead. “He did indeed make the kill…
and
he outran his old uncle here to bring the beast down!”

“Well, you will get the best part of the meat, son,” Sarai said proudly. “Here, let me get started on this.” She called loudly, “Layona, come and help me.”

Layona came forward at once, and as Abram glanced at her, he could see little sign of the frightened, skinny girl he had purchased twenty years ago. She was a mature woman now and had been a faithful servant to Sarai's household all these years. She had not always lived in the desert with Abram and Sarai, but in recent years she had agreed to join them there. She was really more like one of the family than a slave, and she smiled at Lot and winked, saying, “I hear that you killed this beast yourself.”

“I did, Layona, and Aunt Sarai says I get the best part of it!”

“Well, you come along, and I'll let you pick it out.”

Abram began to follow them, but as the two moved away, he felt Sarai grab his arm. “You come with me,” she ordered. “You're filthy. You need to wash and lie down and rest.”

“Why, you treat me like an old man!” he griped.

“I don't think you're an old man,” Sarai said and smiled knowingly up at him. “You've proved that to me often enough.”

Abram laughed and reached out to embrace her. “I'll prove it again tonight, my love!” He kissed her and marveled again at her beauty. She was, to him, even more beautiful now than when he had first seen her. Her figure was still that of a young woman, and even the desert sun had not been able to destroy her complexion. True, she was not as pale as she had been when he had first seen her. But her complexion was now even more attractive—golden, tinged with the sun, but as smooth and clear as alabaster. Her outdoor life had given her a fresh, hearty coloring, and Abram felt a pride as he looked at her. He was aware that every man who saw her was taken by her beauty, but there was no jealousy in him, for he knew that her love was only for him.

After he had washed up, the two sat down in front of their tent, the largest one in the camp. He looked out over the work that was going on, noting that one woman was churning cream in a device he himself had invented. It consisted of a tripod of saplings on which was suspended a long stick. At one end of the stick was tied a goatskin bag filled with the cream. A small woman was rocking the stick back and forth, her mind elsewhere as her arm moved rhythmically. She would keep this up, Abram knew, until the butter was rich and creamy, and then it would be removed from the goatskin bag.

He looked over to his left and saw a woman on her knees in front of a flat stone that was slightly hollowed out in the middle. Holding a smaller stone in her hand, she was grinding meal for the daily flatbread. After the grain was cracked, it was further refined into flour with a mortar and pestle. After this it was moistened, shaped into flat loaves, and then baked on hot stones. The bread was the mainstay of the nomadic diet, for it was light and easily carried to the next campsite.

“It's nice here,” Sarai murmured, looking about them. “The flowers are beautiful this year.”

It was the sort of thing Sarai would notice, and indeed the flowers were striking. Many of them were yellow, but there were delicate purple and blue ones, and here and there among them a crimson flower dotted the landscape. The lowing of the cattle made a soft music, and the bleating of the goats became an antiphony to their song. It was music to Abram's ears because these were his riches—these cattle with their calves, goats with kids, and the pure white sheep that dotted the landscape with their lambs frolicking in the late-afternoon sunshine. The harsh, abrasive cry of the Damascus donkeys that were used almost universally for beasts of burden punctuated the softer cries of the cattle, and Abram found even this sound pleasing.

After a time Layona announced that the meal was ready. The family ate in the open—the meat of the hart flavorful and tender on the inside and crisp on the outside, washed down with goat's milk, and afterward butter and honey smeared on flatbread to satisfy the sweet tooth.

While Lot ate with the appetite and exuberance of youth, he looked over to see Abram tenderly touching Sarai on the cheek. She responded by leaning over and kissing him.

“I don't know any other old people that kiss each other like you do. Why is that?” Lot asked curiously. “Most old people fuss a lot and argue. Some of them even hit each other—like old Hamaz hits his wife, Lamer. Why don't you two ever do that?”

“Because we love each other,” Sarai said quickly.

“Don't those other people love each other?”

“Not as much as we do, son,” Abram said. He had gotten into the habit of calling Lot “son,” which gave him a feeling of pride, as if he himself had produced the boy. “But mostly it is because your aunt here is the sweetest, most beautiful woman in all the world. Any man who wouldn't want to kiss her needs to be buried.”

Lot thought this was funny and laughed. “When I get married I'm going to marry someone as pretty as you, Aunt Sarai.”

“Oh, I hope much prettier!” Sarai smiled at him. “I want the very best wife for you. But that'll be a long time yet.”

The meal was almost finished when a rider came in. He slipped off of his donkey and came forward quickly. It was one of his father's servants, and Abram got to his feet. “Hello, Bamud.”

“Sir, your father sent me to get you. He's not well.”

“Is it serious, Bamud?”

“I can't say, sir.” Bamud was a stocky, muscular young man with shaggy hair and an unkempt look. “He just asked you to come and visit him.”

“You'll have to go,” Sarai said at once.

“We'll all go. It's time we had a holiday in town.”

Lot let out a shrill yelping cry and said, “I get to go too, Uncle?”

“Of course you do. Maybe there'll be a festival, and at least we can buy you some of the sweets you like so much.”

Lot left at once to get ready, and Sarai said, “I'm worried about your father. He hasn't been well for the past year.”

“He's getting quite old,” Abram said. “We'd better get ready quickly. It'll be late when we get there.”

****

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” Terah grumbled. He was half lying down, propped up in a bed with pillows. He held his stomach and grimaced. “I feel like I've swallowed a thorn bush. My stomach is killing me.”

“Maybe you're eating the wrong things.”

“No maybe about it. I know I am. A man hates to admit he's not as strong as he once was.”

Abram nodded. “I know what you mean. Lot and I were hunting this morning and wounded a hart. We took out after it running as hard as we could, and I gave out. That boy just shot by me like I was standing still. Made me feel old for the first time in my life.”

“You're not old,” Terah growled. “You're in the prime of life.”

“I don't know. I'm fifty now!”

“I'd like to be your age again,” Terah said. “Metura wants me to do nothing but drink milk and eat baby's food. A man likes good, strong drink and fresh meat with garlic. I can't even taste the stuff she feeds me! You know, son, things don't taste as good. Why, I can remember when I was your age I'd go out and pull an onion out of the ground, wipe the dirt off of it, and eat it like a piece of fruit. It was strong and good, but now I've lost my taste. I'm getting old.”

“You're good for a lot of years yet, Father.”

Terah hesitated, then answered cautiously, “I've been making offerings to more of the gods. Surely one of them will be able to help me. The trouble is there's so many of them! Why can't there be just one god in charge of stomachs? Then a man could go and make his offering and get well.”

Abram did not answer at once. He knew that there were gods for almost every excuse, even a god in charge of keeping rats from the house. And none of them were any help. He did not want to say this, however, for his father looked poorly.

Terah suddenly turned to him. “What about this mysterious God of yours? The one you call the Eternal One—like my father did. If He's all-powerful, He ought to be able to cure one man's stomach, shouldn't He? Do you think He can make me well?”

Abram hesitated. “I don't know Him too well, Father.”

“Don't know Him too well! Why, you've been running around for years talking about Him.”

“Well, that may be so, but He's not an easy God to know.”

Terah stared at him and grumbled. “Hmmph. Then maybe He's not worth knowing! I'll just have to keep on sending offerings to the temple until I get lucky and hit on a god who will help me.”

Abram sat quietly thinking over what his father had said. He knew that the Eternal One had power to heal, but Abram did not know yet whether God would choose to listen when people asked Him for things. As for offerings, he had never once thought of offering anything to Him. The Eternal One seemed above all that. Abram was jolted out of his mental wanderings when his father said, “Aren't you listening to me?”

“Why, I guess I was still thinking about your stomach problem.”

“I was saying that what really worries me is the business—it's going into the ground. Nahor works hard at it, but we're not making any headway.”

“What about the trading business with Garai and those people in the north?”

Terah shook his head glumly. “Nothing is going right. What have I done that the gods are punishing me like this?”

Abram tried to comfort his father, but as he sat beside him, he was still wondering,
Why is God not speaking to me? Why don't I sense Him near me all the time? Perhaps if I knew Him better, I could ask Him, and He would heal my father
. It was a question he had often wrestled with but even now found no answer to.

Days later, Terah was up and about, feeling no effects from his ailment. He insisted that he had finally made an offering to the right god—but he grumbled that he couldn't figure out which one had answered his pleas. In his heart, Abram knew the stone gods had no power, but he wished with all his heart that he could know the Eternal One well enough to make requests of Him.

****

Sarai was having a wonderful time visiting Nahor and Milcah and their children. Milcah had given birth to a baby girl only three weeks earlier, and Sarai was cuddling her, touching her cheeks and laughing when the child laughed. “She is beautiful, Milcah, absolutely beautiful!”

“You're so good with babies, Sarai. It's a shame you don't have children of your own.” Milcah had spoken quickly, but seeing Sarai's face fall, she said, “Oh, I'm sorry, Sarai. I know it's a grief to you.”

“Yes, it is. I feel like I'm failing Abram.”

“Has he said anything to you?”

“No, he's never reproached me once. I know he loves me, but I know also that he would love to have a son.”

“Well, you have Lot. He's become like a son to you.”

“That's true, but still I'd give anything to have one like this.” Sarai cuddled the girl in her left arm, smoothed the silky hair down, and looked deep into the guileless eyes of the child. “She's such a sweet baby.”

“Well, she is now, but what will she be when she grows up?”

“Let's hope she'll always be sweet like she is now.”

Milcah shook her head sadly. “People don't stay sweet. They turn out to be adults.”

“Adults can still be good. Look at my husband. He's the best man I know.”

Milcah laughed. “You're like a young bride, Sarai.” Then changing the subject, she asked, “Did you bring Lot to town with you?”

“Oh yes. He likes to visit his friends here. Speaking of good boys, Lot certainly is one.”

Milcah started to say something regarding the goodness of young boys but refrained. She was very fond of Sarai and knew that the woman had enough to bear without her adding to it. Silently she thought,
Lot may be a good boy, but he's a boy, and he'll become a man. And I never knew a man that didn't get into trouble sooner or later
.