Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) (26 page)

“I’ll talk to Jacob,” said Father. “That’s all I can do.”

“You can give me Zilpah, and make Rachel take that disloyal Bilhah!”

“Please go back to your tent,” said Father. “Let me lead you back.”

“Everyone will see I’ve been crying.”

“Not if you cover your face.”

“Oh, right, none of them will guess that I’m hiding something, if I cover my face!”

“Then wait here,” said Father. “I’ll send for Jacob. I’ll talk to him.”

“Please don’t,” said Leah. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” And she meant it. She thought of what Jacob would think of her, and it made her ashamed. “Just leave me alone, Father. Everybody leave me alone.”

But she knew that was impossible. She couldn’t even get from one end of the camp to the other without help. How could people possibly leave her alone?

Father left the tent. Leah cried in earnest then, but more quietly.

And in the midst of her crying, she found herself lamenting to God. “Why did you let me be born? I’m not good for anything at all, I make everybody unhappy, they all think I cry just to get my way but you know why I’m crying, I’m crying because I can’t just die and have all of this
end
.”

As usual, God said nothing.

“You don’t hear me. You’re just like everybody else, you don’t even want to know I’m here. You speak to your prophets, you send dreams to my sister, but me, I’m nothing at all.”

Then she remembered that for a moment she
had
felt the Wisdom of God come upon her. When the Lord told Enoch, “You will dwell in me, and I in you. So walk with me.” The words had been spoken directly into her heart. God
had
given her a gift.

She simply had no idea what it meant.

Yet thinking about it ended her crying. She no longer felt sad and alone. She just felt … tired. Her eyes were weary with weeping. The inner room of Father’s tent was dark. The air, though, was stiflingly hot. She felt as though she would never move again. Never
wanted
to move.

She awoke with someone jostling her shoulder. She did not remember where she was, but when she opened her eyes it was dark. No matter. She knew where she was from the smell—Father’s tent, not her own. And from the smell, too, she recognized Zilpah. Also the strength of her hand, her roughness—not the namby-pamby way Bilhah always touched her, as if she were afraid Leah would break.

“Zilpah,” murmured Leah.

“And they say you can’t see,” said Zilpah.

“I’m in my father’s tent.”

“Yes.”

“Which means
you’re
in my father’s tent.”

“I looked for you everywhere.”

“But you’re not allowed to come in here.”

“This is where everyone said you went, the last time they saw you,” said Zilpah.

“It doesn’t matter. Is it dark out?” She opened her eyes and could see that the tent wall glowed with the red light of sunset. “You can’t go out of here until it’s dark.”

“Of course I can. I’m your handmaiden now. I had to find you.”

“It would be a scandal,” said Leah. “And you know it.” It occurred to Leah to wonder if that wasn’t exactly what Zilpah wanted. Did she have some idea that if she was seen emerging from Father’s tent, it would lead people to think she had the rights of a concubine? Did she imagine that would raise her status in the camp? Of course it wouldn’t. It would only lower Father’s.

“Well, what are we supposed to do? Just sit here?”

“Yes,” said Leah. “
I
could go out. But then if you were found in here without me, that would be even worse. So we stay.”

“Well then I wish I
hadn’t
found you and
hadn’t
wakened you.”

“Next time you’ll know.”

“I’ve never been the handmaiden of the daughter of the prince.”

“Father doesn’t let people call him that.”

“He’s lord of this camp,” said Zilpah. “Thank you for asking for me as your servant. Reuel said you did.”

“Yes,” said Leah.

“You saved me from something … something that I didn’t want.”

Why wouldn’t she want to serve with Rachel? “Whoever is Rachel’s handmaiden will go with her when she marries Jacob.”

Zilpah gave a short, sharp, whispered laugh. “Oh, I don’t think that was what anyone had in mind for me.”

“So now you’re with me, you’ll never go off into another household because I’ll never get married.”

That sharp little laugh again. “Oh, mistress, that’s just not true.”

“No man wants to marry a blind wife.”

“You’re not blind,” said Zilpah.

The ritual of reassurance. Not blind, tender-eyed, not blind, tender-eyed.

“And you’re the daughter of a desert lord,” said Zilpah. “And you’re beautiful. What does it matter if you can’t do needlework? The wife of a rich man doesn’t
have
to do needlework. She just has to adorn her husband’s life and produce babies for him while servants like me wait on her.”

“No man will want me.”

“Every woman has some man who wants her,” said Zilpah, chuckling. “That’s the one sure thing in this world. The only reason you don’t know it is because you can’t see the way they look at you. At me, at every woman.”

“Not the really
old
women,” said Leah.

“You think there aren’t plenty of really old men panting after them?” said Zilpah. “Oh, when the time comes, there’ll
be no lack of men who want you. And that’s without any kind of dowry. The only reason you don’t already have a lot of suitors is you’re so young. And also you look glum all the time. I never look glum, and so men look at
me
and want me, but I’m not half as beautiful as you.”

Leah had heard all about what it was men looked at when they looked at Zilpah. But she liked hearing this, all the same. Because there was no hint of impatience in Zilpah’s voice, the way there always was with Bilhah. Bilhah always thought Leah’s fears and feelings were silly, a waste of time. But Zilpah seemed really to admire her, which was something Leah had never had before.

“I can’t see myself. Or Rachel either. Or you. I don’t really know what beauty is.”

“For a young man, beauty is having a bosom and a willing smile. For a mature man, beauty is strength and cheerfulness and nice regular features, so you’ll have healthy babies who won’t be ugly.”

Leah heard the part about a willing smile and cheerfulness. She knew what Zilpah was getting at.

“I’ve got nothing to be cheerful about.”

“Of course not,” said Zilpah. “Who does? Certainly not
me
. My mother went whoring around and I’m a fatherless girl with no money, born into bondage. What have I got to smile about? Except that my smile
is
my dowry. My smile makes men want me.”

“I heard it was other features of yours.”

“My ‘other features’ catch their eye, but if I look at them with an ugly face they go away. Mostly. But when I smile, they think I want
them
, and men love any woman who gives them a smile that says she likes them.”

“Is that what Rachel did with Jacob?”

Zilpah laughed. “She
kissed
him. That’s a lot better than a smile. But yes, she smiles all the time. She’s a cheerful little girl.”

Leah doubted greatly that if she smiled a lot she’d get anything like Rachel’s results. After all, she
used
to be happy, back when she and Rachel were little and liked each other. She smiled a lot, but nobody but Father ever called her pretty. Still, it was nice to hear what Zilpah was saying. And maybe it was true. A little.

The tent walls weren’t glowing anymore, and the night insects and birds were making their noise outside.

“I think we can go now,” said Leah.

But when they stood up, Zilpah stumbled. “I left the lamp in your tent,” she said. “It wasn’t dark then.”

It was Leah’s turn to chuckle. “My turn to lead, then, I guess.” She took Zilpah by the hand, and, feeling ahead of her with her other hand and with her toes, Leah quickly found the curtain separating the inner room from the outer one.

Just at that moment, though, a light appeared in the outer room, and there were voices. Father and Jacob.

Zilpah seemed perfectly ready to go ahead, but Leah pushed her quietly back into the farthest corner of the inner room. When Zilpah started to whisper something, Leah covered her mouth. Nothing could be said. Zilpah should not be found here.

And besides. Leah wanted to hear what was said in the other room.

If Father later found them here, Leah could simply say that she hadn’t wanted to get Zilpah in trouble. That was true enough, wasn’t it?

She felt Zilpah’s breath in her ear. “This is not a good idea,” said Zilpah in the softest possible whisper.

Leah knew Zilpah was right. She knew she might not like what Father had to say. But she also knew that this might be her only chance to find out how Father talked about her behind her back. If he, too, betrayed her, then … then she would know. And knowledge was good. Even bad knowledge. Even knowledge that broke your heart. Better to know than to be a fool, believing someone loved you when he didn’t.

The conversation was boring enough at first—Jacob was full of reports about the sheep, about various shepherds. Leah barely knew them—they weren’t often in the camp and had little enough to do with her even when they were.

Finally, though, the businesslike chat ended.

“I need to talk to you about Leah,” said Father.

“I know,” said Jacob.

“I’m worried about her.”

“So am I,” said Father.

“She makes herself so unhappy, being jealous all the time.”

“She was once the cheerfulest child,” said Father. “I wish you could have seen her when she was little. The light of my life. And so good to her little sister. Like Rachel’s own tiny mother.” Father laughed. But Leah could tell that he was also emotional. There was a catch in his voice. There was a pause, too, as if he were wiping away a tear.

He
did
love her. Or at least, he loved her when she was little.

“The rivalry between the sisters makes them both unhappy,” said Jacob. “I wish there were some way to put an end to it.”

“Well, it’s not really
between
the sisters,” said Father. “I don’t think Rachel even knows there’s a rivalry.”

Leah seethed for a moment, but Jacob’s answer cheered her. “The only reason Rachel thinks there isn’t a rivalry is because she always wins.”

Father laughed. “Is that how it looks to you? Believe me, it’s Leah who gets her way. She cries, it breaks my heart. I spoil her.”

“Rachel gets her way every bit as much as Leah does,” said Jacob. “How else to explain the way you let her do things no other desert lord would ever let a daughter do?”

“If I didn’t let her go out with the shepherds, you wouldn’t have met her at that well,” said Father dryly.

“The difference between Rachel and Leah is that when Rachel gets her way, she makes you like her for it, while Leah makes you pity her. That’s why Rachel wins every time, between the sisters. Getting their way doesn’t make either of them particularly happy. But even when she gets her way, Leah can see that everyone likes Rachel more than they like her, and so she feels like she loses every time.”

“I see you’ve solved all our problems,” said Father, getting downright testy.

“I wish I could!” said Jacob. “Because it’s going to be my problem, too.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” said Jacob. “I’m going to marry a little girl who thinks that all she has to do to get her way is smile.”

Leah nodded. Yes. Jacob saw
right through
Rachel! He was the only one who ever had.

“Leah was unhappy today,” said Father. “When you had Bilhah copying for you.”

“I could tell,” said Jacob.

“I’ve assigned Bilhah to serve Rachel now. To be her handmaid.”

“Good,” said Jacob. “Because Rachel doesn’t want her. So I can still have her to do copy work for several hours a day.”

Leah felt Zilpah jab her slightly with her elbow. “Copy work I bet,” Zilpah whispered in her ear.

Leah jabbed her back, and harder. She might detest Bilhah, but the girl was
not
like Zilpah, always thinking about what men wanted. If Bilhah was asked by Jacob to do copy work, then copying is what she’d do.

“It makes Leah unhappy,” said Father. “So I ask you not to have Bilhah do this work. I’ll have Reuel teach someone else to read, if you need help that way.”

“Bilhah is already trained, and she’s good at it.”

“It makes Leah unhappy.”

“Only because Leah is selfish,” said Jacob.

It stung. She felt her face flush.

“When it comes to the holy books,” said Jacob, “those are my birthright. No other man but me can say who copies them and who does not, or who can even lay eyes on them.”

There was a sharpness in Jacob’s tone, along with the hard edge of his words. Leah knew that Father would not like either.