Pearl in the Sand

by Tessa Afshar

  “Where did you find so much honey?”

  “I believe every honeybee from here to Egypt faints at the very sight of a woman from the tribe of Judah. Your popularity astonishes even Joshua, who has stopped by twice each day to pray for you. He says he should be praying for the women of Israel instead.” Rahab’s tone was light, but the line of her lips thinned as she spoke. She’s jealous, he thought, trying not to smile. But he suspected he looked like a fox—orange and pleased.

  Rahab awoke to the sound of Miriam and Salmone conversing in low tones. After staying up half the night, she had fallen into an exhausted stupor. She still felt tired and could not summon the energy to move, nor did she have the heart to interrupt the private moment between brother and sister. Well, not strictly private, as she could hear every word.

  “Is it only the two of you, looking after me? Couldn’t you find anyone else to help?” Salmone asked.

  “Please. There are lines practically out the tent. And you know who was at the head? Dinah.”

  “Heavens forefend me. I hope you turned her away?”

  “Actually, I told her when you wake up you’re going to marry her. She comes by on the hour to see if your eyes are open.”

  “You didn’t!” Salmone’s voice had the ring of real terror in it.

  “Of course I didn’t.” There was a moment of silence, and when Miriam spoke again, her voice seemed clogged with tears. “I thought I might lose you. Rahab was with me when Hanani brought the news. I realize I haven’t known her long, but she has been such a comfort to me since you left. So I asked her to come and help. Zuph showed us how to care for you, and she picked up every detail as though she were his star pupil. I don’t know how I would have managed without her, Salmone. She’s been faithful like a sister. When my mind was as scattered as a toddler’s for worry of you, she remembered what had to be done and arranged for it. I could have asked others to join us, but I longed for privacy while we waited out the worst. Do you mind? I can ask her to leave if her presence bothers you.”

  Rahab held her breath. Oh, why had she not made her wakefulness known earlier? She would have been spared this mortifying rejection.

  Salmone’s response came agonizingly slow. “I mind being mewling and sick no matter who takes care of me. You don’t have to ask her to leave. I’m glad she’s been a good friend to you. And like you, I suppose I’d prefer fewer people fussing about me at a time like this.”

  “Good. Now drink some of this barley water. Zuph told us we must pour nourishment into you as much as possible.”

  “I can feed myself. You two women are going to drive me to distraction if you don’t leave me be with the feeding and the wiping and the who-knows-what else you are doing. I won’t have it. And please get some men in here to visit me before I go mad. While we’re at it, they can help me with my personal needs from now on. I don’t want women around for that.”

  Rahab decided she had waited enough and shifted on the pallet, making exaggerated noises to warn Miriam and Salmone she had wakened. She felt a fraud. “Good morning,” she whispered and slithered out the tent as fast as her sleepy senses allowed. The stars were still out; she could not have slept long. As she strode rapidly out of the tent flap, she almost tripped over a sleeping form. Hanani.

  The unintended kick in the middle of his back brought Hanani awake in an instant. He sat bolt upright. “What? Has something happened?”

  She crouched by his side. “No, no, Hanani. He is awake and asking for his friends. He would appreciate a visit from you. A short one, though. He may not want to admit it, but he needs rest.”

  Hanani scrambled up so fast his feet grew tangled in his trailing belt. Rahab placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “And then go home and get some rest. You haven’t left this place since you brought us the news. You haven’t even returned to your tent to change since the war, Hanani.”

  He shook his head. “It’s my fault he’s in there,” he mumbled, his voice wobbly as he shoved the tent flap aside and stumbled in. Rahab’s eyes followed him for a moment and then, sighing, she turned. She had heard the story of Salmone’s injury from Joshua. Several people had tried to persuade Hanani that he was guiltless, Ezra and Joshua among them. The young man would have none of it. He kept vigil outside the tent of the wounded, barely taking time to eat. Rahab shook her head and walked a little farther out until she reached a trickling stream. Kneeling down, she began to wash as thoroughly as modesty allowed in such a public place. In the dark warm night, the chill water refreshed and soothed. She hadn’t had time to think since she had begun to nurse Salmone. Now that the danger of death seemed to have passed, a sudden rush of tears overtook her. She sobbed out the tension in great silent heaves. He would not die. He would not die. She shied away from thinking through why this man’s life and well-being had come to mean so much to her. Relief flooded her senses and that sufficed.

  When Rahab returned to the tent, Salmone and Hanani had both fallen asleep, snoring in soft tandem breaths. Miriam smiled. “I feel certain he is past the worst,” she whispered.

  “Yes, I thought so too. His fever has lowered. Zuph should be here soon to confirm our hopes; it’s near dawn.”

  “The challenge now is to force my brother to rest. He’s mulish to the extreme. I didn’t dare tell him how long his process of recuperation is likely to last. He’s bound to go unhinged once he learns he’ll be the only one left in this tent by next week.” Miriam laughed, thinking of it. “You realize he’ll make our lives a misery with his grumbling and snapping, don’t you?” And then she burst into tears that shook her whole body.

  Rahab, who had broken down not one hour before, enfolded her friend in a tight embrace. “He’s like an overgrown child!” Miriam snorted when her crying had subsided. Rahab released her and stepped back. It wouldn’t do to agree too wholeheartedly.

  She gathered used bandages and dirty crockery to take out and wash. Zuph walked in as she left, and she gave him a small curtsy. Ingrained habits, she found, had a way of asserting themselves. In spite of growing more relaxed among the Israelites, she retained some of the formality of her manners. Zuph gave her a lopsided smile and nodded acknowledgment before walking in to visit his patients.

  Rahab lingered at her chore, wanting to give Miriam time alone with the physician. In truth, she needed time alone herself. For nine years, she had lived a predominantly solitary life. She had enjoyed long stretches of privacy. In the past seven weeks, she had nearly forgotten the meaning of the word. People everywhere. She rarely managed to be alone with her thoughts. A great exhaustion swept over her. When was the last time she had slept through the night?

  She hung the clean bandages on a few branches to dry and walked back into the tent. Zuph must have already examined Salmone and left. Miriam knelt near him, her face more relaxed than Rahab had seen in days. She breathed a sigh of deep relief. “Good news?” she asked as she settled herself next to her friend.

  Miriam nodded. “His wound seems to be clearing up from the infection. We still need to nurse it vigilantly. Infection can always settle, he said, until the wound is completely closed. But for now, the immediate danger is past. We need to keep him quiet and eating right. He can have visitors now, thank God. That ought to keep him entertained. He’s still not allowed to rise up or walk. Not for at least another week. Zuph says it’s a miracle he has recovered this much, but there is now a good chance that he will recover completely and resume his normal life.”

  Rahab closed her eyes for a moment. They had agonized, without daring to speak of it even to each other, over the possibility that Salmone might never regain the fullness of his health and vigor. That would be a great loss to such a man, perhaps an unbearable one. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Miriam. “So much good news. I think we should celebrate. You shall eat a proper breakfast, which I’ll make you, and then sleep for several hours before you collapse. I do not want to nurse two of you.”

  “What about you? You’re as weary as I am.”
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  “I will sleep when you wake up. Now, what have the good women of Judah brought us to eat?” Rahab found flour and olive oil and made fresh flat breads, which she served with cheese and walnuts and a few date cakes. She and Miriam ate their fill, their appetites returning with Zuph’s encouraging news.

  Hanani slept on the pallet next to Salmone and they hadn’t the heart to wake him, so Rahab set up new bedding in the back of the tent for Miriam. She managed to find an unused pillow and a light sheet from the multitude of things people kept dropping off for them from the camp. From one sack, brought by Izzie the day before, she pulled out a flask of rose water. With a smile, she sprinkled a couple of drops on the pillow. Let Miriam be surrounded by beauty for a few hours instead of the smell of sickness. It was a measure of Miriam’s physical and emotional weariness that she did not even argue about being put to bed while Rahab kept vigil. She fell asleep before her head sank into the pillow.

  Rahab came back to sit next to Salmone. She wrinkled her nose as a ripe smell filled her nostrils. Really, she would insist that Hanani go and wash and consecrate himself once he woke up. As if on cue, he opened his eyes and stretched. “How is he?” he whispered.

  “Very well. Zuph was here and told Miriam that he would likely recover and beat your heads together as hard as he ever did. We need to keep nursing him as we have, and prevent him from rising out of bed too soon.”

  A slow smile appeared on Hanani’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll tie him down myself.”

  “Before you come anywhere near him, you might consider a wash, if you please. Donning fresh clothing might improve your presentation, as well. You make the sick smell like spring blossoms in comparison.”

  Hanani scratched his chest. “I forgot. I didn’t want to leave his side. But you’re right. I’d better bathe. I will return soon.”

  “Good. Bring Ezra and some of his less rowdy friends. He’s allowed visitors now. Tell them to mind their manners. He’s very sick, though he may not acknowledge it.”

  Hanani looked like his old self, or at least a dirtier version of his old self, as he strode out of the tent with the spring back in his step. Bending over Salmone, Rahab shifted the sheet down his body and checked his dressing. It was time to change it. She gathered what she needed and began to undo the bandages. The bleeding had stopped. Though the wound still suppurated, the infection had decreased considerably. Rahab no longer felt bothered by the sight or smell of it; she had grown accustomed to the routine of cleansing, wiping, washing, oiling, balming, and binding the weeping wound as though it were the most natural part of her day. Sometimes, she would visit the few other men who were in the confines of the tent, and alongside Miriam help their families with nursing chores. She grew to like the sensation of usefulness that came with caring for the sick.

  Salmone slept through her ministrations as she once again made a new honey poultice and with expert movements wrapped it about him. She decided to wipe down his skin in an effort to draw out the last of the fever, and dipping a fresh cloth in a mix of cool water and date wine, she began to wipe his torso with featherlight motions so as not to wake him. She wiped his feet and hands and his forehead last, which Zuph had taught her drew out heat more rapidly than other body parts.

  When she had finished, she rinsed her hands in wine and water and leaned back for a moment. She surveyed the dirty rags and tried to motivate herself to go and wash them, but could not summon the energy. Her head drooped as she thought of her next chore—heating broth for Salmone and trying to feed him without choking or waking him—an impossible task.

  A soft touch on her hand made her look up. Salmone’s eyes bore into her. “You look spent,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I’m glad you’re awake. I was worrying how to feed you without choking you again.”

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  His penetrating gaze made her self-conscious. She remembered that it had been days since she had had a chance to change her clothes. She felt rumpled and unkempt, unattractive under that careful examination.

  “It was a good day when you joined Israel,” he said into the silence.

  “What?” she asked, her mouth falling open. She forgot her concern about how she looked and stared at him. She could not have heard aright. Not those words of belonging from Salmone. “What?” she said again.

  His mouth softened into a lazy smile. “I see you’ve given up repeating me. Now you’re repeating yourself.”

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  After eighteen days of wretched inactivity, Salmone rose from his sick bed long enough to take a few faltering steps around the tent. His legs wobbled as he moved, but they carried him, for which he thanked God. A steady stream of friends had been trying to cheer him since Zuph allowed visitors. Because his strength had contracted to a fraction of its usual vigor, he often fell asleep in the middle of conversations, like an old grandmother. Zuph warned him that it would take weeks before he felt himself again. Joshua scoffed at his impatience and told him he ought to be grateful he lived, and that God was restoring his health back to him. He knew this to be true, yet it did not help the chafing impatience that tormented him at having to be helped every time he ate or sat or emptied his bowels.

  Aside from the awful infirmity, pain dogged his every conscious hour. Deep inside his gut, the lacerations in the layers of skin and muscle and vital organ ached with a tenderness that made him catch his breath as he moved.

  Rahab and Miriam smiled when he barked at them, not taking any offense. He was as grateful for this as for their incessant care of his needs. Their casual acceptance of his foul moods made it easier to bear himself. They made certain to spare him from feelings of guilt. With Miriam, whom he had known since infancy, he already felt a level of comfort that long familiarity had established. Now his enforced intimacy with Rahab birthed a similar comfort. He found her easy company, never intrusive or awkward and demanding. She soothed him without trying. He liked her conversation. She often surprised him by her insights. Only the night before she had told him how the Passover had come alive for her during the siege of Jericho. He had asked what she meant.

  “Hanani and Ezra told me how, in Egypt, the Pharaoh would not let your people go,” she said. “So the Lord brought down plague after plague upon the people of Egypt, and in the end, death came against all the firstborn of the land. They told me on that day the people of Israel were instructed to remain inside their homes, with the doors closed, and the blood of lambs marking the sides and tops of the door frames. When the Lord sent the destroyer to go through the land and strike down the Egyptians, the destroyer passed over the homes of Israel by this sign.

  “My family and I were in Jericho when God sent destruction and death against our nation. We too were told to stay inside our home. We were given no sacrifice, not belonging to Israel then, but God chose a scarlet cord the color of blood to hang outside my door as a sign to preserve us from death. Shut up in my home, surrounded by death and yet being spared from it, I felt a little of what your fathers and mothers must have known—that it was God alone who held our lives in the palm of His hand.”

  Salmone had been amazed at Rahab’s intuitive understanding of God’s ways. Her conversation often enlivened his otherwise monotonous surroundings. He liked also her ability to remain quiet and listen. Though he knew it to be a selfish decision, he chose not to insist that the women conscript others to help with his care. He preferred limited companionship and was reluctant to expose his weakness to anyone else who might irritate him further with needless clucking.

  His world, usually so large and encompassing, had shrunk to the size of a tent. When on the twentieth day of his confinement he took his first steps outside and saw the sun, he almost wept with relief. His friends set up a chair of sorts for him, comfortable, yet firm, easy to get in and out of. Nestled in its depths, Salmone held court for his horde of visitors.

  In spite of the th
ick knot of people that surrounded him and vied for his attention, Salmone became aware that he had not seen Rahab for hours that day. He stopped Miriam on her way to fetch water and said in her ear, “Where’s Rahab?”

  She straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. “With this army of admirers, you can’t bear to lose one?”

  Salmone drew his eyebrows into a frown. “Where is she?” he insisted, feeling a knot in his stomach. Her absence grated on him more than he cared to admit.

  “In the women’s tent.”

  “Oh. How long will that be?” he asked, disappointment over her absence sinking in.

  Miriam rolled her eyes. “As long as it takes.” She played with the tip of her fingernail. “Don’t worry. Abigail is coming to help me instead. She can manage now that your nursing needs are so much lighter.”

  Salmone turned his head away, vexed. What cared he for Abigail and nursing? He wanted Rahab. He swallowed hard as the thought sank in. He missed her. He wanted her back. Scowling, he hunkered down in his chair and ignored a question directed at him. The one benefit of sickness was that people pretended not to notice when he was rude.

  In the evening, Joshua came to visit him as he had often done in the course of Salmone’s convalescence—a high honor given the man’s list of unending responsibilities. He always managed to come at the time when other visitors had disappeared, and the tent of the wounded, now empty of every patient save Salmone, was reduced to four or five people. Joshua had established a routine of time alone with Salmone, followed by prayer. Often, Joshua would invite Miriam and Rahab to join in the prayers.

  Salmone had been ensconced back in his pallet by the time Joshua came. The day outside had tired him more than he imagined, and he lay on his feather bedding feeling sluggish and useless.