Abraham and Sarah

by Roberta Kells Dorr

  He knelt on the hot tiles of the roof and bowed his head to the floor. He wept and groaned but could find no words to voice his prayer. It was the worst crisis of his life, and he was helpless—a foreigner in a foreign country.

  Finally in desperation he poured out his heart; he uttered his complaints. The famine in the land he’d been promised. His embarrassment before his family and people. The lack of guidance or direction. Sarai’s barrenness that had caused all the trouble with the pharaoh. Where was the child he’d been promised?

  Only after he had exhausted his frustration was he able to think of his faults and failings. “Sarai trusted me, and I have done nothing to help her. I lied to Pharaoh Amenemhet, and he has been my friend. I have even doubted in my heart that You are the Creator God, a God above the gods of these Egyptians. When I saw their good land, their happy children, I envied them and doubted Your promises to me.”

  At last Abram was quiet. The turmoil subsided, and he voiced the prayer of his heart: “Oh my God, have mercy upon me. If You love me, forgive my foolishness and rescue Sarai.”

  That was all he prayed, but in the prayer was a challenge. Only his God could help him now.

  Later that evening Abram called Lot and suggested that his wife, Mara, and Urim’s wife, Safra, might go the next day to the palace and see if they could visit Sarai or at least gather some news. “Safra can take some of her cheese as a gift to Sarai and the women attending her, and Mara can take ointment and fine woolens for the queen mother. I doubt they will let them see Sarai, but we must try. It’s important to know where Sarai is and what is happening to her. It’s also important to find out just what Pharaoh’s plans are and how soon he intends to take Sarai as his wife.”

  Lot agreed that it would be well to try. “I’ll talk to Mara, and we can tell Urim tomorrow. I doubt that they can get much news. It really looks hopeless. Whatever happens, we don’t want to offend Pharaoh.”

  Abram did not answer him, and Lot backed from the room and hurried home to tell Mara.

  Urim, the cheese maker, had been amazingly successful in Egypt. Pharaoh liked the pungent smoked goat cheese that was famous in and around Haran but was not made in the delta. Once Pharaoh Amenemhet had proclaimed it his favorite, Urim was assured of basking in his special favor.

  Urim had efficiently managed to set up the whole process so he no longer did the work himself. Instead he bought slaves, obtained a modest villa, and proceeded to adjust to a life of leisure such as he had never even imagined.

  While Lot, Eliazer, and Abram refused to have their heads shaved, Urim reveled in the daily lathering and massage that went with the process. He found it pleasant to doff his scratchy woolen robes for the fine, pleated, linen kirtle that fastened under one arm, and gradually he added gold armbands and a neck piece of coral.

  His plump little wife, Safra, found it almost impossible to squeeze into any of the clothes the queen had sent for the women to wear. She noticed that none of the Egyptian women were big boned or fat, and she began to feel awkward and ill at ease anyplace but in her own home.

  “Why don’t you go and make friends?” Urim asked Safra when he found her sitting with her servants, grinding grain or working the looms. “We’re rich now. It isn’t like before. You can stop all this drudgery and enjoy being in Egypt.”

  “You think I am going to the parties with this?” She pulled at her coarsely woven billowing robe in disgust.

  “Don’t go in that. There are plenty who will come and make garments, beautiful garments.”

  Safra looked down at her hands and then her feet. “It’s not just my clothes,” she said in a voice so low she could barely be heard.

  “What is it? Why can’t you change and enjoy things? This is what I’ve wanted, why I came along.”

  “You haven’t seen these women.” Safra almost wept. “Their hands aren’t rough from shucking corn, washing clothes, and grinding. Their feet aren’t calloused and ugly, and they don’t cover their hair with scarves.”

  For the first time since they had arrived in Egypt, Urim looked at his wife critically. He saw that she was right. No matter how sophisticated and wise he had become in the ways of the Egyptians, Safra would give away his true origins. She was a woman he had been proud of because she could manage things. She made tasty dishes with a special touch even his mother hadn’t been able to accomplish. She had kept his small household running efficiently, and she had borne him sons. As a servant, she would have been priceless, but as a wife of the exalted cheese maker of the pharaoh, she was lacking. That is, she was lacking unless he could in some way get her to change.

  Urim had made the acquaintance of serving girls in the pharaoh’s kitchens and some of the wenches who sang and danced for men in the local beer gardens. One girl named Warda seemed to take a special interest in him, and he wondered if perhaps she would help solve the problem of Safra.

  In the end he decided to ask Warda for help, and he would give her permission to buy whatever was necessary to transform Safra. She came willingly and brought a sewing woman, a hairdresser, and several old women carrying baskets of ointments, lotions, and cosmetics. Urim wondered at the extent of expense and trumpery necessary to transform one woman.

  Safra had agreed, but when she saw Warda and the women who followed her carrying baskets on their heads and two donkeys loaded with mysterious baggage, she first grew fearful and then rebellious. The bathing, harsh scrubbing with a luffa, and rinsing and rearranging of her hair were barely acceptable, but when Warda insisted that all body hair be removed with the sticky wax that pulled and hurt, she refused. Safra sat in the steamy tiled bathing room on a low stool totally naked for the first time in her life. She folded her arms over her ample breasts for a little covering and demanded her familiar clothes immediately.

  Warda and her women tried every inducement before they gave up and called Urim. When Safra heard that they were calling her husband, she became more reasonable and agreed to everything … everything but the wax.

  She enjoyed the rich ointments they rubbed into her feet and hands, and she found the perfumes a new, exciting experiment. But she could not endure the weight of the neck piece. She insisted it made her nervous and she kept twisting her head from side to side and pulling at it in an effort to get it into a more comfortable position. The ankle bracelets were “uncomfortable,” and to have her hair loose, flowing around her shoulders, was impossible. When Warda produced the sheer linen shift that exposed all of her plump curves in a shocking fashion, Safra bolted from the room, locked herself in one of the storerooms, and refused to come out.

  Warda appealed to Urim. She told him the entire situation and assured him that his wife could not be made into an Egyptian lady without her cooperation. Urim was furious. Safra had no right to resist change when it was so important. He had never really thought much about her. Until now, she had just been there doing things in quite an acceptable fashion. Suddenly he saw her as hopelessly provincial, a drag to his new position, and worst of all she had obviously shown a rebellious streak he had not thought possible.

  Warda saw all of this. Being a woman who knew an opportunity when she saw it, she decided to have Urim for herself. She would immediately be elevated from the uncertainties of life as a dancing girl to concubine and maybe even wife of a prosperous foreigner. She had seen more attractive men. Urim had some rough edges that would need to be dealt with, but he was ambitious and wanted to better himself. All of that appealed to her. She determined to have him, and before the day was over, she had accomplished her goal.

  The women with their baskets and the donkeys were sent away, but Warda stayed. When Safra finally ventured out of the storeroom dressed in her old dark blue gown and her hair tied up in a scarf with the offending sandals held in her hand instead of on her feet, she was appalled to find that Urim was on the roof with Warda and had left word that he was not to be disturbed.

  Later when word came that Safra was to go to the palace with Mara, she again hung ba
ck. These encounters outside her home were too painful. “Let Warda go,” she insisted. “I have too much to do here at home.”

  When Mara heard of her decision, she went to Urim and pleaded with him to convince Safra to go. Reluctantly Urim tried. But Safra agreed only on the condition that she go in her own hand-woven gown with her hair covered by her old mantle and that she not have to wear any ankle bracelets or the neck piece. Urim was livid with humiliation.

  In desperation he called Abram to witness her stubbornness. For the first time Abram saw that Urim had taken a beautiful Egyptian concubine. It grieved him to see how Urim favored her and neglected, even despised, Safra. So, he thought, our coming to Egypt has complicated our lives.

  “What do you want, Safra?” Abram asked.

  “I am comfortable here and have much to do. Please, let Warda go.”

  Abram saw that Safra would indeed be out of place and perhaps feel awkward and shy if she went, while Warda would see it as an adventure. “Then let Warda go with Mara, but do your best to see Sarai and bring back some news,” he told the women.

  When they reached the gate to the women’s court, it was Warda who managed to get them past the guards. She held her head high, balancing the cheese in its wooden bowl on her head, insisting they were expected. Once in the large court Warda singled out a frumpy, ugly dwarf and promised him one large cheese if he would take the two of them to the rooms of the pharaoh’s bride in waiting. He grinned and, reaching for the cheese, motioned for them to follow him.

  With the dwarf making all the explanations, Mara and Warda had no trouble getting in to the secret chambers of preparation where Sarai was staying. It was assumed that she had ordered the cheese and had permission to see the women.

  The dwarf pointed to a woman sitting beside a lily pond in a small courtyard that was fragrant with tuberoses. She didn’t see them at first, and they had time to notice the elegance of the room and its sparse but artful furnishings. The tiles were of warm-toned alabaster. The pillars were covered with figures and picture writing all painted in muted greens and mauve. In the center, the room was open to the sky, and under the opening was a pond surrounded by white bell-like flowers.

  Slaves in the room were standing ready with huge fans, arranging big alabaster bowls of fruit, or trying to get some incense burning in one of the large brass braziers. They saw that Sarai was sitting beside the pool with her face turned away. Next to her was a strange little creature who wore only a loincloth and a pectoral of coral with a gold wrist band. “He’s another dwarf,” Warda whispered to Mara as they paused to stare at him.

  As they came farther into the room, the slaves withdrew, but the dwarf stayed. He had been chewing on a blade of grass, and when he saw them, he took it out of his mouth and used the furry end to get Sarai’s attention. Then he pointed at Mara and Warda. He either couldn’t talk or didn’t want to.

  “Mara!” Sarai exclaimed in astonishment. Then noticing Warda, she hesitated as she looked from one to the other and waited for an explanation.

  “This is Warda, Urim’s new concubine.”

  Sarai registered surprise. She was obviously trying to understand.

  Warda smiled and offered the wedge of cheese to Sarai. “Safra wanted me to come. She says she feels out of place here.”

  Sarai rose, hesitated, and smiled, while the two women stood and stared. There was nothing familiar about Sarai. Her hair had been cut to her shoulders, braided into a hundred small, tight braids with a cascade of pearls flowing from her headpiece. The headpiece was of golden wing feathers that bordered her face and peaked in the center of her forehead with a golden asp ready to strike.

  Her gown was of the elegant sheer material only royalty wore, and they noticed with astonishment it covered only one shoulder. Around Sarai’s neck she wore a brilliant golden pectoral inlaid with coral and turquoise, and when she lifted her skirt, they could see golden toe rings with small pieces that tinkled when she moved. She was slim and stood erect, giving the illusion of timeless beauty.

  “How did you get in? Why did you come? What has happened to Abram?” She came toward them, eagerly asking questions.

  Mara nodded toward the dwarf. She hesitated to speak freely as long as he was there.

  Sarai reassured her that the dwarf was harmless. He lived only to tell funny stories and to carry messages. “He won’t even understand what you are saying.”

  With that they sat down with her among the cushions at the side of the pool and proceeded to tell her everything. They ended with the question, “Is it true Pharaoh is getting ready to marry you?”

  Sarai jumped up again and paced nervously back and forth. She seemed unable to talk about it. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, but her words were sharp, staccato bursts of apprehension. “You must understand. For six months there have been no births. Not even wheat seeds put in bowls of urine have sprouted.”

  “What do you mean?” Mara asked. “Wheat seeds in urine?”

  “That’s the final test. They collect a woman’s urine, then place seeds in it. If they don’t sprout, they know the woman is barren.”

  “And … ?” Mara asked.

  “They have to find a solution fast. If nothing grows, the crops will fail and the people will starve.”

  “And the solution?” Mara continued to press for answers.

  Sarai stopped and flung up her hands in a gesture of despair. “The solution is to marry a foreign woman since they think the curse is only on Egyptians. I am that woman. Within two days I am to visit Pharaoh and within a week to be married.” She turned from them so they wouldn’t see her face, but they could see she was terribly upset by the way she fingered her bracelets and twisted one ring around nervously.

  Warda and Mara looked at each other in consternation. “What will you do? What will you say?”

  She turned and faced them, her eyes blazing with frustration. “If my husband can do nothing, and his God does not rescue me, I’ll have to tell Pharaoh the whole truth. I could only bring further curses on his house.”

  Both women jumped to their feet and started to speak at once. They reminded her of the danger she would be in and the terrible punishment both she and Abram were sure to call down on their heads. Mara was unable to resist the temptation to remind Sarai that when they found she was not only married but was also barren, she would be blamed for the whole problem. Nothing they said seemed to move her. When it was time for them to go, they still had not convinced her.

  The dwarf found Pharaoh Amenemhet relaxing on one of his royal barges. It was a method of escaping from the people constantly waiting to see him on business. The dwarf had cleverly engaged a skiff, which had quickly overtaken the barge. “I bring important news,” the dwarf shouted as the skiff pulled alongside the barge.

  “Tell me, and I’ll deliver the message,” the old priest Imhotep insisted.

  The dwarf frowned. “This is a private matter,” he said. “He is expecting me.”

  Those proved to be the magic words, and the dwarf was immediately invited aboard and into the presence of the pharaoh.

  When the dwarf signaled that he had something private to share, all the friends and retainers dropped back. The dwarf ascended the few steps and leaned on the arm of Pharaoh’s royal chair so he could speak quietly with him.

  Though Amenemhet was relaxing, he continued to wear the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and a pectoral of heavy gold emblazoned with huge jewels. His girdle matched the pectoral and held his short kilt in place. He leaned over to hear as the dwarf spoke in a whisper.

  His face had borne the usual pleasant expression, but as the dwarf spoke, a frown appeared, his face clouded over, and his eyes registered his surprise. He asked only a few quick questions, then rose, his eyes hard as flint and his voice clipped and harsh as he ordered the barge to return to the palace. He then called his chief steward and ordered him to bring his promised bride to see him as soon as the barge came to shore.

  In the meanti
me, Mara and Warda returned home to find everyone waiting eagerly for their report. They spent a great deal of time describing the luxury Sarai was living in and then describing her appearance. Abram let out a groan when he heard how she was dressed. “She’ll love it there. She’ll never want to come home.”

  “No, no,” said Warda. “She is very unhappy. She told us that if by the time she went to see the pharaoh, she hadn’t been rescued, she intended to tell him everything.”

  At that pronouncement, everyone began to talk at once. They were all frightened and astounded at what they saw as her foolish bravery.

  “We’ll never see her alive.”

  “They’ll blame all of us.”

  “They won’t stop there. They kill people for less.”

  They all looked at Abram. “What are you going to do? You must have a plan.”

  Abram looked down at his hands and then stood up with a look of determination on his face. “You’re right. It would be just like Sarai to tell Pharaoh everything if she’s not stopped. She has no fear.”

  Lot jumped up. He was terribly upset. His voice was tense and sharp, “This is a time for your God to do something—if He can.”

  “I have prayed,” Abram said, turning to Lot. “All these months that Sarai’s been gone, I’ve prayed.”

  “But what will you do?” Lot asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Lot looked boldly around the room. “At whatever cost, be sure you don’t offend Pharaoh,” he said. He then hesitated as though carefully weighing the words he was about to utter. “You may even have to let Sarai go. That would be better than to have all of us killed.”

  Abram was momentarily stunned. At no time had he thought of letting Sarai stay as concubine or wife of Amenemhet. He swung around and looked at Lot and, then without another word, left the room.

  In the women’s quarters of the palace, great excitement reigned. Everyone knew that Pharaoh had called for the new foreigner and that there was some ominous aspect to the summons.