“No,” Laban answered after a slight hesitation, “I have no intention of sending you back. What made you think I might send you back?”
“I’ve been told that I am not beautiful. Most men want a woman to be beautiful.”
“Who told you that?”
“My father will not have a woman unless she is beautiful.”
Laban was quiet for a few minutes while he thought about what he should do and what he should say. He remembered that his first impression of this woman was of someone who was willful and arrogant. He must not give her the satisfaction of knowing that she pleased him in any way. Let her worry a bit about her status. Finally he said, “With me beauty isn’t everything. There are other things that matter even more.” He didn’t tell her what they were.
“Now,” he said, “it’s time to see the bride.” She lifted her head slowly and turned toward him but made no move to unfasten the coins that held the veil. Awkwardly he fumbled with the fasteners and slowly the veil dropped. He had expected her to look away but instead she faced him still with the proud lift to her jaw. She was indeed very plain. She had small eyes pinched into a permanent squint, a large nose like her father’s, and her mouth was small and pouting. “For my purposes you will do very well,” he said at last.
He never mentioned his disappointment to anyone, and he consoled himself in his choice by reminding himself that his sister, Rebekah, would face a far more difficult proposition. Old Nazzim was lusty and ugly and he could not imagine Rebekah having a moment’s happiness. It will all be worthwhile. He will not require the special fertility rites at the temple, and once the marriage takes place we will be well on our way to controlling the old man’s fortune.
* * *
Laban wasted no time before telling Rebekah and his father what he had in mind. It was two days later in the afternoon while the others were taking a noonday nap that he broached the subject. “My sister,” he began, “my father and I have prayed and given choice gifts to the old goat-man under the stairs. We all know that he has unusual powers.”
Here he stopped and looked at Bethuel, hoping he would go on and tell Rebekah about Nazzim. Bethuel said nothing and finally Rebekah asked, “I know you have burned the costly incense and anointed the old god’s head, and I have even been told you did all this so he would find a rich husband for me. Is that true?”
Both Laban and Bethuel were taken aback. Neither knew what to say. Finally Laban nodded. “It’s true. We asked for a rich husband.”
“And?” Rebekah said.
Again Laban and Bethuel looked at each other. Neither wanted to be the one to break the news to her. Finally Laban spoke. “The old goat-man has answered wonderfully. It is the rich Nazzim himself that has asked for your hand.”
“Nazzim?” Rebekah puzzled for a moment over the name. “Certainly not the old man that came with Barida?” she said finally.
“Yes, yes,” Bethuel said. “He is old and very ugly but he is rich. He could give you everything.”
“That’s what we asked the old goat-man for … a rich husband,” Laban said.
“Rich husbands come with some disadvantages,” Bethuel hastened to add.
“He is old. You won’t be bothered with him for long,” Laban said, seeing the look of disgust on Rebekah’s face. He desperately wanted her to agree without any unpleasantness.
“Well,” she said finally after recovering from her initial shock, “you can go tell the old goat-man I have other plans.” She looked at them with complete confidence as though she knew something they didn’t.
“What other plans?” they almost shouted.
“Well, when I heard of your dealings with the old goat-man, I went and talked to my old nurse, Deborah. She reminded me of the God of Abraham, Elohim, and I have asked Him to find me a husband.”
Bethuel and Laban were speechless for a moment. They couldn’t imagine such foolishness. “The God of Abraham,” Laban finally said. “He can’t be seen; you can’t deal with Him.”
“Why not?” she asked with a saucy toss of her head.
“Well, you can’t bargain with Him,” Bethuel said.
“You can’t even threaten Him,” Laban said.
“We can take the old goat-man out and beat him if he disappoints us, but Abraham’s God can’t be touched,” Bethuel added.
“Where would Abraham’s God ever find anyone richer than Nazzim and someone who would not require the fertility rites?” Laban felt they were certainly winning and she would have to agree.
Rebekah was standing with her back to the courtyard wall. Behind her spread a huge grapevine with shiny leaves and ripe fruit. Carefully she pulled off a cluster of grapes and looked at them. It gave her a moment to think. “If by the time of the new moon,” she said finally, “Abraham’s God has not brought me a better and richer husband, I promise to marry old Nazzim.”
Bethuel and Laban looked at each other and smiled. They felt they had won and with so little trouble. “Then you agree to marry Nazzim?” Laban said, wanting to pin her down.
“Only if the God of Abraham fails to send me a better and richer husband,” she repeated.
Laban could hardly believe it had been so simple. He smiled again. “The God of Abraham has undoubtedly gone off into the desert with him, and it is the god Sin and the goat-man that rule here. I have no fear that Elohim will hear you or that He will answer and send you a rich husband. This is all just foolishness.” He began to feel a bit sorry for her, seeing how trusting she was and how sure she was that the God of Abraham could help her. “To marry Nazzim may seem hard to you, but you won’t regret it, I promise you. The old man will be dead in a year and then you can marry anyone you please.”
With that Laban and Bethuel went out the gate and left her standing by the grape arbor. “Oh God of my uncle Abraham,” she prayed, “You see how they are thinking. If You don’t hear me and help me, the old goat-man will win and I will have to marry that horrible old man.” There was no answer but she was excited. If the God of Abraham did accomplish this impossible thing, how splendid it would be. She sat down on the bench where Nahor usually sat and enjoyed a few of the dark red grapes.
Would Elohim act in time? Or would she be stuck with the distasteful, ugly old man?
At this same time, down in the Negev just outside the small town of Gerar, Nahor’s brother Abraham sat alone outside his tent mulling over a recurring concern. It had been three years since Abraham’s beloved wife, Sarah, had died. As she lay dying he promised her that he would move with all haste and diligence to find their son Isaac a wife. However, after all this time, he had found no one.
Since Isaac was to have the birthright and the blessing, he must marry someone suitable. It couldn’t just be one of the local women who believed in omens, charms, and idols. It must be someone like Sarah who understood why they lived apart from the cities and worshiped the creator God. So far he had found no one, but he had consoled himself with the thought that in time Elohim would guide him to the right person.
The irony in the situation was that while he had not found a proper bride for his son, he had taken a concubine for himself. Her name was Keturah and she was from one of the desert tribes friendly to Abraham.
Now as he sat alone, mulling over the past, he found himself remembering all that had taken place since Sarah’s death, all that led up to his taking Keturah as his concubine.
It had been one full year after Sarah’s death and he had been still groping through abysmal depths of despair. He had taken no interest in his food, friends, or the usually joyful festivals and celebrations. He no longer spent any time in his town house in Gerar, nor did he visit his flocks and shepherds. Worst of all, Sarah’s tent remained empty and lifeless as a constant reminder of his loss.
He remembered vividly the evening when all this had changed. It had been just at dusk before the evening star shone in the sky or the moon had risen above the distant palms. His old friend and chief steward, Eleazar, came to him with a sugges
tion. “The time of grieving is long past,” he said. “It’s time you picked up the pieces of your life and returned to us. We miss you, old friend. More than that, we’re in great need of your good judgment.”
Abraham answered, “The world holds no luster for me now. All things seem dull. I care for nothing. This is no easy sickness. No special herbs can cure it and no prayers can add days to my life or bring back the past. It’s all gone.”
Eleazar did not answer but, instead, idly poked at the small fire in front of them until the thorn branches crackled and snapped and burned more brightly. At just the right moment he reached out and carefully added a pinch of precious incense taken from the leather pouch at his belt. Then he leaned back and waited. Almost immediately a pleasant odor, reminiscent of weddings and happy times, rose from the fire.
Abraham smiled remembering. “And what is the occasion,” he asked, “that you are burning such costly incense?”
“Perhaps you have forgotten,” Eleazar said, “your good friend who visits you from the wilderness of Paran has hinted that he has a marriageable daughter.”
“Have I ever seen her?” Abraham asked, thinking he was suggesting someone for Isaac.
“Perhaps. When she was very small she used to come with her mother, and they would visit Sarah while you talked with your friend.”
“Yes, yes I remember,” Abraham said. “Such a special little person. When she would get bored with the women and their conversation, I would see her peeping around the qatah dividing my tent, and I would invite her to come sit with her father and me. She would always come quickly and seat herself on a cushion beside us and listen quietly to our discussions. Then she became too old for such things and I didn’t see her anymore.”
“She’s no longer a little girl,” Eleazar said. “In fact she is quite a lovely young woman. Not beautiful like Sarah but quite charming.”
“You have seen her then?” Abraham asked.
“Yes, she is here with her father. He says he knows you cannot forget your wife, Sarah, but it is time you at least took a concubine. He has brought you his daughter.”
“He has brought his daughter for me?” Abraham’s eyebrows rose just in the remembering.
“She’s too old for Isaac, though she’s still of a childbearing age. To take her as a concubine, as her father suggests, would not be so strange. It’s often been the custom for a young woman to marry or become the concubine of an older man. It’s always been a way of easing the hardship of old age.”
Abraham shook his head sadly. “I’m not only old but my best years are over. I’ve little to give someone like Keturah.”
Eleazar laughed. “It’s not that you are old; the problem is that you are bored and lonely. Keturah is just the medicine you need.”
* * *
So in just such a simple, natural way, it came about that Abraham agreed to take Keturah as a concubine. To marry her would have suggested that she was taking Sarah’s place, and to move her into Sarah’s tent was unthinkable. Abraham had realized that this would be too difficult for Isaac. However, she was given a tent of her own, and within the fortnight Keturah was with child.
Abraham thought it would be difficult for Isaac to accept this new relationship. To his surprise he found that at first Isaac seemed unconcerned about the marriage. He was merely happy to see his father moving among his men as in the past and tending to the affairs of business that had been neglected.
However, a fortnight later Abraham noticed that Isaac seemed to have become disturbed and even moody. He voiced his feelings to no one, but spent a great deal of time wandering out among the rocks and barren places of the desert. He had realized that when this child was born, it could take his place and receive the blessing and the birthright. His father had sent Ishmael away for his sake, but would he also send away any son that Keturah might have?
These thoughts drummed in his head and caused him almost physical pain. He had longed for his father to regain his interest in life, but he had not imagined it would come about in this way. Worse still, he felt guilty for thinking such things.
When the child was born Isaac witnessed with alarm the great feast given in his honor. They had named the child Zimran, meaning celebrated, saying that Abraham was indeed blessed with a concubine who could give him many sons like Zimran.
In the days that followed, Isaac became more and more withdrawn and lonely. Finally, he tried to put aside all such gloomy thoughts by spending more time in his father’s house in Gerar and visiting the king’s palace. Here he was always welcome. The old king had many wives and a dozen daughters. The young women, like the Egyptians, found it no disgrace to sit with young men and enjoy simple board games like Jackals and Hounds or to play haunting love songs on their decorated lyres.
All of this seemed innocent and to the lonely young man a wonderful distraction. One of the king’s daughters was especially attracted to him. Her name was Anatah, suggesting that she was a devotee of the goddess Anat.
Now two years had passed since Abraham had taken Keturah as his concubine and a situation had developed that brought everything to a sudden climax.
It had started with what seemed another harmless visit to the palace in Gerar. Keturah and her handmaidens had been invited to the palace and they needed an escort. It was not thought wise for Keturah to go alone or even with her maidens, since Sarah, on a similar visit, had been forcefully detained and almost married to the king. It was finally decided that Isaac should accompany her so there would be no danger of the same thing happening again.
They went with gifts and serving women and were welcomed with a great show of affection and excitement. There were one or two young princes but many more princesses. It was evident that they had planned an elaborate party. They had taken over the king’s royal porch and had ordered a rich feast, even hiring some dancers from the market.
The palace was designed after an Egyptian prince’s house. It had formal gardens, a pool with lily pads and frogs, an orchard, and pavilions for the king’s slaves and concubines. There was a wall around the grounds and a guard house at the gate. The king of Gerar always explained to visitors that his city was the very gateway to Egypt from the north. Actually during the long history of the city, it had often belonged to Egypt as one of its outposts.
Inside the walls of the palace were the atmosphere, fragrance, and even music of Egypt. Whatever was new in Egypt would be copied in Gerar within the month. The princesses wore the same style clothes and had their hair done by designers from Egypt. Their eyes were outlined in dusky kohl and their hands and feet were softened by lotions and unguents from the bazaars on the Nile. Their guests were travelers from the great cities of Carchemish and Damascus in the north, while from the south, they came from all the cities of the Nile. Only Abraham and his family among the local inhabitants were considered as equals and friends.
Now as the guests found seats on cushions and carpets spread out around the porch, the drumming began and was blended with the high falsetto of one of the singers. One by one, the dancers from the market got up and danced; with slapping feet and swiveling hips, they kept time to the music. A juggler joked and toyed with a handful of walnuts while one of the servants went around passing out small cakes.
“This is boring,” Anatah whispered to Isaac. “Let’s go to the bench by the pond and play a new game that everyone’s playing in Egypt.” Isaac was charmed by her attention and readily followed her out into one of the private gardens.
Once settled on a bench she opened out a parchment game board and they both bent over it, trying to decide how the game was played. Every now and then when Anatah wanted to get his attention, she would reach out and touch his hand. Ordinarily this would have seemed very forward, but now in this garden, Isaac thought it was most exciting. He noticed the way her lashes framed her dark eyes and especially the way she tossed her head and half closed her eyes when she laughed at something he had said. Her lips were soft and the way she spoke his name was most pro
vocative.
He felt a strange urge to reach out and hold her hand and perhaps to even kiss her. A certain irresistible feeling drew him to her. To make it even more intriguing, he noticed that she seemed to be feeling the same thing. He briefly wondered what the custom was in this Canaanite palace. Would his touching her hand or kissing her be considered an accepted dalliance, a shameful thing, or an invitation to marriage? How delightful to be forced to marry someone as lovely as Anatah.
Soon they no longer even pretended to be playing the game. He was alert to every movement she made and more than that to the scent of tuberoses that floated from her hair and her garments. Her laughter was like sistrum all jangling together, and her smile more brilliant than moonshine on water. He forgot where he was and, most of all, who he was.
When she reached out and took his hand firmly in hers and insisted that she could tell his destiny by reading the lines on his hand, he was so overcome with emotion he hardly heard a word she said. Only the word lovers penetrated and strangely moved him. Without waiting for his response, she jumped up, and pulling him to his feet, said, “Come, we must go and pledge ourselves to each other so no one can come between us.”
She led him around the edge of the small pond, then pulled some bushes aside to reveal a niche in the stone wall. In the niche was a clay figure. Slowly Isaac realized this was an image of the local earth goddess. The statue had the body of a naked woman with small pointed breasts and a frighteningly ugly head. She had a large nose but there was no mouth and the eyes were slitted and strange. Around her feet curled a snake.
Isaac drew back. He was jolted by the terrible reality of the thing. Anatah was lovely and beautiful, but this image was ugly and he could not imagine what the image could have to do with them.
The Sons of Isaac Page 3