The Sons of Isaac

by Roberta Kells Dorr

“Marriage?” Laban said, puzzled. Did the old man have wedding counsel for him at this late hour?

  “Yes, marriage. I have decided to marry again.”

  Laban choked and coughed in surprise. Then collecting himself, he asked, “May I ask who is to receive this great honor?”

  Again Nazzim laughed. “Of course, that’s why I’ve come to you. I am an old man but rich. I can give great favor to those I choose.” As he said this he leaned over and tapped Laban on the arm. He didn’t smile but instead grimaced and nodded with a knowing look.

  Laban was more puzzled than ever. He couldn’t imagine what he might have to do with Nazzim’s getting married. If the old scoundrel wanted help, he would give it gladly. He quickly sifted through the possible meanings and could think of nothing. “You are very generous,” he said at last. “I’ll do anything I can to help you find the happiness you seek.”

  Nazzim sucked in his breath and worked his lips back and forth over his toothless gums; a cunning look came on his face. Laban had seen this look before when he was about to make a clever bargain. “Then it is settled.”

  Laban squirmed uneasily. “Everything is settled but to find who the lucky woman is.”

  “Of course, of course, I can’t expect you to presume so much. How could you possibly guess? Quite simply, it’s your sister.”

  “My sister!” Laban could not keep the surprise from his voice.

  “Yes, I believe her name is Rebekah. Strange name. They say she is a beauty and yet is not lazy.” Nazzim’s small eyes settled on Laban as if waiting for some expression of his pleasure.

  Laban squirmed uncomfortably. He smiled a forced, stiff smile and stared at Nazzim. The man was as old as Haran and more feeble. He smelled of musty grain, garlic, and rotting flesh. Rebekah would never go along with such an arrangement if she could help it. It would be very difficult to persuade her. However, he could see many advantages.

  It was almost as though the old goat-god beneath the stairs had answered their prayers in record time. Someone rich, they had asked, and who in all the area was as rich as Nazzim? If Rebekah married the old man, he began to think, what wealth they would control. With his marriage to the daughter and her marriage to the old father, they would soon be in charge of everything the old man owned.

  There had always been a problem when marriage to Rebekah was discussed with other young men and their families. They all expected, even insisted, that any young woman they would consider must first participate in the secret fertility rites at the temple of the goddess. Above all else they wanted a bride who would produce children, and such rites were deemed an absolute necessity. The family of Terah had always managed to cleverly evade these demands by marrying their women within the family. However, with Rebekah there were no young men available within the family.

  Now Laban looked closely at Nazzim. He had sons and daughters by his many wives and there was a slight chance he would not feel so strongly about the fertility rites. If he really wanted Rebekah, it was possible he would not insist on the offensive rituals.

  Laban felt he must somehow manage this. What did it matter that he was old and repulsive? He was so feeble he was not likely to last a year. “I am honored, greatly honored,” Laban stammered as he smiled.

  “There is one thing you must do for me first,” Nazzim said. “The fertility rites in the temple are not necessary, but it is important that I see her before we draw up the final agreement.”

  Laban was elated. The old man must have heard from his daughter about the problem of the fertility rites, and he was willing to marry Rebekah without that requirement. He smiled and then quickly frowned. To grant the old man’s request to see Rebekah would be very difficult to manage. “Rebekah is sometimes out with my father’s sheep and you could …” he began hesitantly.

  “No, no, no, I am too old to go running about after a pretty shepherdess. It must be something less troubling, something easier.”

  “You could just happen to be riding by the well at the time the women go out to fill their jars.”

  Here Nazzim was even more emphatic. He shook his head and muttered a few well-chosen curses. “My son, until now you have been extremely clever. I have been impressed with your understanding of difficult situations.”

  “If you must see her …” Laban dared not show his impatience, but he was getting more and more frustrated.

  “To be wise, my son, you must learn to study the facts. The facts will always lead to the solution.”

  “The facts?”

  “Exactly. If you had said, ‘Nazzim has hurried here today. There must be some urgency about his request.’ Then if you followed with what day it is and what is going to happen this evening … you would find an easy solution.”

  Laban looked at Nazzim and listened closely to what he said, but even then he did not at first understand. “This day is my wedding day,” Laban began. “I will come with the men of my family to get Barida and take her to my house.” When he said this it began to dawn on him just what Nazzim had in mind.

  “Yes, yes,” Nazzim broke in impatiently. “It is not usually done … but a man of my distinction can make his own rules. If I decide that I, along with the men of my house, wish to escort my daughter to her new home, who would dare criticize?”

  “And I am to manage to have my sister where you can see her.”

  Nazzim beamed. “You are indeed as clever as I had at first thought. Be assured, you will be richly rewarded whether I decide to marry her or not.” With that he assumed it was as good as agreed upon. He handed Laban his walking stick to hold for him while he clapped loudly three times for the young men who were waiting for him. They helped him to his feet, gathered up the mats and cushions, and within minutes Laban heard the soft, shuffling sound, the tapping of the walking stick, and Nazzim’s heavy breathing.

  Then all was quiet.

  When the men of his family returned, Laban ignored their questions about Nazzim’s visit. He needed time to ponder the strange turn of events. He wanted no discussions on the subject. He was determined to see that no one gave his sister even a hint of his plans until all the arrangements were made and it was too late for them to be changed.

  When he reached home he saw that everything was in order for the celebration. “Go to the roof and sit,” the women advised. “We don’t want you in our way until you are to bring the bride.” He had time only to warn them of Nazzim’s coming, and then he got out of their way.

  Laban headed for the stairs and then turned around and came back. He opened the big door under the stairs and sprinkled more of the precious incense in the dish in front of the old goat-god.

  “See Laban,” one of Rebekah’s maids whispered. “He wants things to go well with his bride tonight.”

  Laban heard her and laughed to himself. “Not for myself, old goat-man, but may my sister find favor in the eyes of Nazzim.”

  When evening came the men of Nahor’s family made final preparations for the short ride through the city of Haran to the house of Nazzim. The dancers and drummers arrived, torches were lit, and last touches were given to the trappings of the donkeys that were to carry Laban and his entourage. Laban was obviously nervous. He shouted orders, made hasty decisions and then canceled them, paced back and forth until old Nahor cautioned that he would wear out the tiles of the court.

  When at last the moon rose over the courtyard, Laban announced that it was time to leave. He glanced quickly in the direction of the small room under the stairs and noted with satisfaction that a thin trail of sweet incense was oozing out around the door. The old goat-man should be well pleased with his work.

  As he rode out the gate he stopped to anoint the clay plaque dedicated to the moon god, Sin. Sin was the god of the people here in Haran, and Laban believed in acknowledging all the gods. He was determined to leave nothing to chance. He was sure that with these gods favoring him he would at last have the good luck and riches he so desperately wanted.

  As he rode along the dark,
cobbled streets lit only by moonlight and their own flaring torches, people appeared in the lighted windows above him. Some even leaned over their parapets to shout raucous advice and good wishes, which could hardly be heard over the drumming and singing of the wedding party.

  However, as he neared Nazzim’s house one old woman leaned far out of her upper window and shouted, “There goes the handsome Laban to marry Nazzim’s ugly daughter.”

  Laban looked up quickly to see who dared to shout such a thing, but the woman had disappeared and the shutters had been quickly pulled together with a bang. He glanced around to see if anyone else had heard what the woman said and then determined that they were more interested in the dancing, jigging step they fashioned to the steady beat of the drums.

  It was the words, however, that continued to beat in Laban’s head. He wanted to be envied not pitied. If the old women shouted such rubbish, then it was certain that the people of Haran were whispering the same thing behind his back. If they felt that he was so mismatched, what would they think when they heard that Rebekah, who had turned away many suitors, was going to marry old Nazzim? He could feel the blood rising hotly and knew his face was red with frustration.

  At last they turned from the narrow lane out into a wide cobbled area. Facing them was an impressive doorway opening to the courtyard of Nazzim’s house. Palm branches festooned the opening and torches flickered and flamed. The sweet odor of incense filled the air. From inside the courtyard the cry went up, “The bridegroom comes, the bridegroom comes.” Immediately torches appeared along the wall and the cry sounded from every corner of the inner court, across the roof, and down into the servants’ quarters. Cymbals crashed and women gave the yodeling joy cry that signaled a wedding procession.

  Framed in the gate were dancers and jugglers. Behind them could be seen the bridal party with the bride covered from head to toe in a glittering garment fashioned of imported material decorated with pearls and rare medallions. On her head she wore a queenly crown of cleverly fashioned flowers and gold leaves, and from it hung a bridal veil so thick her features were completely hidden. Laban did not see all of this at first glance, but as they led his tawny donkey in to stand beside her white mule, he noticed every detail.

  The torches glinted on the elaborate crown and flickered over the costly gown and elegant trappings of her mule. Only her hands were visible, and they were well shaped and smooth. It was obvious they had been spared from the hard work of most women. He noticed with satisfaction that they were jeweled and decorated with a careful tracery of vines and flowers done in black kohl. If there was anything ugly about his bride, it was carefully hidden under the heavy veil, and for the advantage he was gaining, he could manage to live with that.

  She sat with her head held high and had not looked in his direction. Most brides feigned shyness. It was the custom. A shy bride had to be approached like a skittish mule. Every man in Haran knew how to deal with such a situation, but if she were so unafraid and bold as to not be crying and downcast, it bode no good. Laban felt a bit unnerved by the prospect of encountering not only an ugly woman but one who dared look a man in the face as though she were his equal.

  With a shrug he dismissed the bad omens and looked beyond her to see Nazzim sitting on a gray mule dressed in his most festive attire. Nazzim had obviously been watching him and now slightly raised his hand in recognition and greeting. A surge of well-being reassured Laban that all would be well. Even the marriage of Nazzim to his sister would be for the best. It was an opportunity that could not be missed and certainly Rebekah would understand.

  With a nod of his head and a slight tap of his riding prod to the mule’s flank, Laban led the procession out the gate and down the dark lanes that led to his own home, the house of Nahor.

  The pleasant odor of meat turning on spits filled the air. Barley cakes were ready to serve hot off the rounded ovens, while big woven trays of fat figs, dried raisins, and nuts of every variety sat waiting to be served.

  The women had prepared a raised seat with carpets and cushions for the bride and groom, and beside the bride’s seat, a place of special honor for her father, Nazzim.

  When the bridal party arrived, Laban’s father, Bethuel, met them at the gate and led the bride and her father to the places prepared for them. Laban followed and was surprised to see that when his bride was helped down from her mule, she was as tall as her brothers. She still held her head in the proud, arrogant way he had first noticed. She paused for a moment, lifted the top veil slightly, and took a quick look at her surroundings. This was not something most brides would have dared to do. Once more Laban felt a twinge of concern lest she be more than he could easily manage.

  There was some stir when the bridal pair came to be seated. Nazzim insisted on sitting between his daughter and Laban. “How else can you point out your sister?” he whispered.

  Laban looked around the courtyard. At first Rebekah seemed to be missing. Then he spotted her squatting beside his grandfather. She had brought him some choice pieces of roast meat on a rounded loaf of bread and was helping him as he ate. “See,” Laban said, nodding in the direction of his grandfather’s favorite seat next to the wall, “she has gotten some food for the old man.”

  Nazzim leaned forward and squinted. “Is she always that helpful?” he asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Laban answered.

  Nazzim clutched his arm and spoke in a low, urgent tone, “Get her to come here. I must have a closer look.”

  Laban was irritated at the old man’s insistence, but he didn’t dare show his true feelings. Instead he called for one of the servants and ordered him to go bring his sister to serve the bride.

  They watched the man go elbowing through the crowd and then talk and gesture toward the dais. Rebekah smiled and nodded, then hurried off. Laban watched her go and almost felt a twinge of pity for her that he hadn’t felt before. She has no idea that with her nice ways and pleasant smile she is sealing her fate. He will pay any price to get her and there will be no way for her to escape.

  When she came back with a tray of the most succulent roast and fattest figs, she first offered his bride the food. Laban noticed it was rejected. Rebekah was not at all upset. Instead she turned to Nazzim and said with her most enticing smile, “I’m sure you must be almost faint with hunger.”

  “Hunger, yes, yes.” He took a bone with some meat on it and began to chew at it, while all the time he was looking at her and mumbling unintelligible grunts of approval. Laban could see the confusion on her face. He glanced quickly at Nazzim and saw that his greedy eyes were traveling over her in much the same way as he would examine a sheep he was going to buy.

  Laban had seen enough. He wanted to go through with the deal, and he realized if he watched a second more, he would be calling it off. He dismissed her with a nod and watched her go back to where the women were serving the trays of dried fruit.

  Nazzim finished the meat and threw the bone on the floor, then wiped his mouth and fingers on his sleeve. “As fine a young woman as I’ve seen,” he said, turning to Laban. “You can ask your price and I’ll pay it.”

  “You must give me time,” Laban said as he thought of the difficulties he would face.

  “Don’t take too long. I’m an impatient man where pretty women are concerned,” Nazzim said.

  The remark momentarily sickened Laban, but he quickly squelched the feeling and smiled. “Before the new moon I’ll bring you the good news.”

  With that Nazzim motioned for his men, gave Laban a long, meaningful look, and then followed them out to where his mule was waiting. He had not said a word to his daughter and she had not spoken to him. She appeared silent and unmoving like a graven image. Laban moved over to sit beside her and the crowd of well-wishers shouted and clapped.

  Laban would have liked to prolong the time in the courtyard, but he felt so awkward sitting beside this silent, proud woman that he was ready to bring the whole thing to a swift conclusion. To be alone with her was to fa
ce the whole bargain squarely, and then he would know just what he had to deal with.

  He stood and nodded to the relatives and friends. He noted that they whispered in amazement that he was so obviously anxious to be alone with his bride. At this signal, Rebekah and her mother with the serving girls from Nazzim’s house came to lead the bride into the bridal chamber.

  Laban glanced at his bride and noted that as she stood she was still holding her head high with the same arrogant air about her. “She is not one to submit to anyone for any reason,” he conjectured.

  The men led Laban to the side room where he waited for a signal from his mother that the bride was ready for him. As the time passed he became more and more nervous, and the men laughed at him and gave him bits of advice. “First, you must get the veil off so you can look at her face,” one of them joked.

  “Remember if it isn’t to your liking you can send her back to her father before any damage is done,” one of the others whispered.

  Laban didn’t answer. No matter what she looked like, he was going to keep her. Nazzim was rich beyond belief, and with Rebekah married to him they would have control of all the wealth of Haran.

  To his surprise it was Rebekah who came to get him. When he stepped outside the door, she whispered, “Your bride insists that she will not take off her veil until daylight. Even though we have made the bed and helped her in, she will not take off the veil.”

  Laban shrugged. “That may be just as well. Who knows what secrets are hidden by that veil.”

  * * *

  As it turned out Laban was pleasantly surprised. His veiled bride was bold and passionate, with none of the giggling shyness brides were rumored to hide behind. This woman was confident and shamelessly aggressive. Laban even found himself imagining that she was ravishingly beautiful. Since there was no oil lamp and the moon did not shine into the high window of the room, he saw nothing until morning.

  When the day dawned Laban woke first and took several moments to figure out where he was and what had happened. He turned and saw his bride, still hidden by the veil, and it all came back to him. Carefully he touched the gold coins that held the veil in place. Immediately Barida was awake. She sat up slowly and then tossing her head she spoke in a slow, deliberate manner, “If you find I am not to your liking, will you send me back?”