by Tessa Afshar
“I hear half of Israel came to visit you on your first outing today,” Joshua commented as he made himself comfortable on the floor next to Salmone.
“At least. I made them kiss my ring and bow in respect.” Joshua ignored him and looked around. “Let’s pray. Where’s Rahab?”
“In the women’s tent.” Salmone did not quite manage to wipe the resentment from his tone.
“She didn’t do it to inconvenience you,” Joshua said, amusement coloring his voice. “It’s God’s design.”
“Did I say anything?” Salmone snapped. “I’m not that self-centered.”
“Are you sure?” Joshua asked and guffawed.
“It’s a relief someone in this tent is amused.”
“What are you going to do about this?” Joshua asked suddenly serious, his face wiped clean of its laughter, looking intent.
Salmone chose to play obtuse. “What’s to do? As you said, it’s God’s design.”
Joshua threw him a stern look. “About your feelings for Rahab. Are those God’s design too?” he demanded.
Salmone turned away his head. He toyed with the idea of dismissing Joshua’s allegation, but concluded that he would be wasting his breath. Joshua was not a man easily sidetracked or deceived. Salmone had two options: refuse to discuss the matter, or unburden himself with the one man he respected above every other. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you love her?”
Salmone had run from that question the way sheep run from mountain lions. Yet, it always caught up with him in the end. Could he love a harlot from Canaan? Could he thus pollute the line of Judah? And yet, the woman he had come to know, the loyal friend who placed others before herself, who spoke truth and showed kindness even under pressure and provocation, the woman whose tenderness had perhaps saved his life, bore no resemblance to the zonah he had envisioned. His thinking became muddled when he placed these considerations next to each other—who Rahab was and what Rahab had done.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Joshua. I’m confused.”
“Confusion is not of God. You must look to your heart and find the source of it. Let me tell you one thing. If you find that you do love her, I will stand behind you should you choose to marry her. I admire her, Salmone, and as I have said from the beginning, God Himself brought her to us. So you would have my blessing. But only if you love her. Both of you deserve nothing less.”
Salmone stared at Joshua in disbelief. Had the leader of Israel just given him permission to marry a Canaanite woman who had once made a living entertaining men in her bed?
A week later Rahab returned to the tent of the wounded wearing a new dress in pale blue linen and a shuttered expression. She avoided Salmone’s eye as she circumvented his swathe of friends gathered outside the tent of the wounded and went straight inside to seek Miriam. Salmone had to battle the urge to get up and follow her inside right away. Why had she not greeted him? Why had she seemed so distant? After what seemed an interminable time, Salmone made an excuse and pulled himself out of his chair and walked inside the tent. Rahab was already helping Miriam, listening to his sister’s update from the previous week. Salmone shuffled over, his gait that of an aging man suffering from a double hernia. He stood over Rahab as she knelt on the floor, binding clean bandages. His heart did a flip at the sight of her. “Welcome,” he said.
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him and down again. “You look improved. Less orange.”
“You look paler. Didn’t you like the women’s tent? I’d heard it was a pleasant place to spend a week.”
She flushed scarlet. At first he thought he had embarrassed her. Did Canaanites not speak of such things openly? Then a new suspicion made him lower his brows in a fierce frown. “Did they mistreat you? Did someone offend you?”
Rahab waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing.”
Salmone let out an explosive breath. “It isn’t nothing. What happened? Tell me.”
“Please, Salmone. Let it go. I don’t wish to speak of it.” Her voice sounded small and vulnerable. Salmone wanted to explode with frustration. He could not force her to talk. He could not force the women of Israel to show respect to one who had given their nation nothing but loyalty. He could not even force his injured body to bend down so he could comfort her. With a muffled growl, he turned his back and walked to the other side of the tent.
Miriam came to him and put a calming hand on his arm. “This is ridiculous,” he hissed under his breath.
“I’m afraid it’s partly my fault. Abby told me that some of the women felt snubbed because I chose Rahab alone to help me nurse you. They won’t hold it against me, or you, of course. But they blame her for worming her way into our affections. They doubt her sincerity.”
“Is she to suffer because of her kindness to us? I won’t have it.”
“Salmone, you can’t do anything about it. It will merely make matters worse. You must trust God to vindicate her.”
Salmone crossed his arms and raised his chin. “You want me to sit around doing nothing while the women of Israel torment Rahab because of her goodness to me?”
“I want you to trust God. Leave it in His hands.”
Salmone made an irritated sound in his throat and walked out.
Rahab walked aimlessly, wandering much farther from the tent of the wounded than she had planned. She had only meant to step out for a few moments of fresh air and calm. Miriam and Salmone and even Abigail had assiduously avoided the topic of her seven days in the women’s tent, avoided it so well in fact that they were driving her distracted. They treated her as though she might fall apart with one wrong word. She wanted to get past the seven hellish days in that stupid tent. She wanted to pretend no one had snubbed or derided her. She wanted to move on. She had no need of special treatment or pity.
The thought made her fume, and her feet picked up speed. Presently, the sound of a childish whimper brought her to a sudden halt. She looked about her. She had managed to walk away from the camp, well into the wilderness. Could she have heard aright? What would a child be doing out here, in the midst of nowhere? It must have been an animal. She tensed. A feeling of unease prickled over her skin and she turned to run back. The whimper came again. She had not been mistaken; this was a child’s voice. A frightened child. Rahab followed the direction of the sound.
“Is anyone here?”
A wail ripped into the sky, sending a shiver down Rahab’s back. It was the sound of pure terror. Rahab began to run, a panicky dread spurring her to speed. “I’m coming. Hold on. I’m coming.” Where was the child? And what frightened her so?
She almost ran past an outcropping of rock when a bit of color at the top caught her eye. Backtracking, she began to climb. Halfway up, she saw the child’s head—a little girl with big curls, sitting scrunched up into a crevice in the rock. Her clothes identified her as an Israelite. From Rahab’s vantage, she could only see the child’s back, but she looked to be no older than three or four.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’m here now.” The girl didn’t move, didn’t swivel her head to acknowledge the call. Rahab found this strange. A terrified child would surely respond to the reassurance of an adult. What kept her glued to that spot, unmoving, her back rigid? One more step, Rahab thought, and then I can reach her. She placed her foot on a secure ledge, reaching forward. And froze. The length of a man’s arm away from the little girl sat a snake, a deadly desert type whose poison would kill the child in less than an hour.
Rahab swallowed, bile rising in her throat. She had no suitable weapon. Even armed, she would have been half paralyzed with fear. Snakes petrified her. She closed her eyes, knowing time would be short. “Almighty God. You made that snake. Make it go away.” She looked through her eyelashes. The viper sat unmoving in the same place, its tongue slithering in and out. Its skin was the same color as the sand, not long in length, nor fat, but containing enough poison to bring down a grown man and his camel. Oh, why won’t Yo
u make it go away? Listen to my plea, please! I can’t do this.
The snake moved. Closer.
Rahab gasped. “You want me to kill that thing, Lord?” she whispered. “Show me a way then. Help us!” From the corner of her eye, she saw a stone, flat, oval, and heavy, lying next to her hand. With care, she removed her hand from its hold and picked up the stone, the whole while keeping her eye on the snake. It ignored her, remaining rigid and alert at its post in front of the little girl.
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be fine.” Rahab crooned to the girl. “I’m going to get rid of that snake, and then we’ll climb down this rock together, and go and find your mama. All right?” The child moved her head with a cautious motion and looked at Rahab. Her dark brown eyes were dilated with shock. She held incredibly still for such a young child. Rahab nodded at her, trying to smile with encouragement. Her hands were covered with sweat around the stone. Her brow dripped with perspiration. She knew she had one chance. Only one.
Lord, You know I have terrible aim. Please improve it. Move my hand. Move this stone. Save Your little girl from harm. She wiped the sweat from her eyes, bit her lip, and took aim. The stone flew. It twirled. It landed with a heavy thud, on the snake’s head. For a fraction of a moment, the snake lay still. Then it moved. It lived! Injured, bleeding, and furious, it lived.
Rahab screamed at the same time as she put her arms around the little girl and pulled her up. The snake turned toward where the girl was and struck, its mouth open, scarlet, and venomous. Its fangs found the little girl’s shoe and closed with a mighty force. But the shoe was empty. It had fallen off as Rahab lifted the child into the air. The snake, confused by its injury, wasted time striking at the empty shoe until its senses picked out the dangling form of the girl above him. It let go of the canvas shoe and rose up to strike again, this time at the girl’s bare foot. Rahab scrambled down the other side of the rock one-handed, clinging to the child with the other. The snake’s fangs missed her flesh by a hairbreadth. Rahab clambered with more haste than care, scraping her side and fingers in her hurry to get down.
She kept running as she hit the ground, her little passenger clinging to her with adult-like strength. Rahab’s legs pumped furiously until her lungs felt like they would burst with pain. Logic told her they had left the snake far behind, yet an irrational fear that snakes were slithering everywhere, chasing her, ready to bite her at every step, made her keep going. Finally she stopped, out of breath, bent almost double with the effort to pull air into her dry mouth. She put the child on the ground after checking that no snakes coiled nearby.
“Are you all right?” she asked, trying to inject calm into her voice.
The little girl nodded her head and burst into noisy, wailing tears. Rahab hugged her close. “I know. I know. It was very scary. You were so brave. What’s your name? I’m Rahab. How about you?”
“Ha … Ha … Hannah.”
“Hannah. I’m going to tell everyone how brave you’ve been. But first, I’m going to take you to my friends, Miriam and Salmone. They’ll help me find your parents. What were you doing up on that rock in the middle of nowhere, Hannah? Did you get lost?”
The little girl pursed her exquisite lips and nodded. “I went off by myself. That was naughty, wasn’t it?” Rahab smiled. “A little.”
The sand would be too hot on Hannah’s bare foot, so she would have to be carried the rest of the way. Picking the child up again, Rahab hefted her against her side. “Your parents must be very worried. Let’s go find them.”
Rahab brought Hannah to the tent of the wounded, hoping Salmone or Miriam might be able to help locate her family. As usual, Salmone had several visitors. The conversation came to a dead halt as Rahab approached, holding Hannah. She realized that she presented quite a sight, her clothes disheveled, her hands scraped bloody, holding a Jewish child who sported only one shoe.
Salmone rose from his chair with a slow deliberate motion. “What happened?”
Rahab shrugged. “Hannah got lost. I found her when I went for a walk.”
“Rahab saved me from the angry snake,” Hannah said, squirming to come out of her rescuer’s arms.
“The what?”
“A horrible snake sat in front of me for ever so long until Rahab came and threw a rock at it. Then we ran and ran. Rahab runs fast.”
Salmone turned to Rahab. “What kind of snake? You saved the child’s life?”
Every pair of eyes there turned to scrutinize Rahab. She flushed at the attention. “Her parents must be worried. Perhaps we should send for them?”
A young man jumped up. “I know her family. I’ll go fetch them right away.”
Miriam brought water for Hannah and Rahab and gave the little girl a sweet cake. Shaking her head over her friend’s bruised palms, she set to tending the stinging wounds. Rahab, exhausted from her emotional and physical ordeal, would have preferred to disappear inside the tent, but everyone insisted on hearing the full tale of their adventure. In order to placate the oceans of curiosity, she gave a brief account of the events, punctuated by Hannah’s lengthier and more colorful explanations.
From some distance away, the sound of a woman crying interrupted the conversation. Bursting on the scene, a weeping woman and an ashen fellow holding her elbow ran in upon the crowd. “My Hannah!” the woman cried. “Where’s my girl?”
Hannah dropped her sweet and ran into her mother’s arms. Father, mother, and child melded into one solid heaving form, their laughter and tears mingling. Rahab stepped back, stiffening as she recognized the woman. So this was Hannah’s mother. Elizabeth had been one of Rahab’s chief tormentors in the women’s tent. Rahab began to back away as inconspicuously as she could. For her, this would not be a joyous reunion, but one to be avoided at any cost. Just before she managed to disappear inside the tent, someone told the child’s parents a shortened version of Hannah’s adventures. “Rahab saved your Hannah,” one of Salmone’s friends confided. “She’s right here. Without her, Hannah would be dead.”
Elizabeth turned as if in a dream. A myriad of expressions flickered across her face. Astonishment. Disbelief. Bitter pride. Rahab tensed and tried to school her features into a bland mask.
“You saved Hannah’s life?” An edge of accusation colored Elizabeth’s words. No doubt she construed that Rahab had made up the story.
Hannah, clueless of the emotional undercurrent, blurted, “Yes, Mama, she did. She threw a stone at that ugly snake. I was so scared. Then Rahab found me. Look, I lost my shoe.”
Elizabeth looked down at her daughter. While she might doubt Rahab’s story, she could not deny the testimony of her own girl. After an awkward silence she said, “Thank you,” her face rigid.
“Wait a minute,” Miriam said, stepping forward. “May I ask if you were in the women’s tent with Rahab last week?” Rahab swiveled toward her friend, disconcerted. Miriam must have surmised the reason behind the stiffness in Elizabeth’s manner.
“What of it?” Elizabeth asked, her tone sharp.
“It seems a coincidence, don’t you agree? God must have put her in your path knowing she would shortly save your daughter’s life. I’m sure you befriended her there. After all, the Lord commanded: the alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. Perhaps God is returning your kindness to Rahab by using her to save Hannah.”
Rahab bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. She noticed fresh tears running down Elizabeth’s cheek. Without another word, Elizabeth cuddled Hannah to her bosom and began to walk away.
“Bye, Rahab!” Hannah called. “Come and play with me.”
In the morning, Rahab awoke achy and bruised from her previous afternoon’s adventures to find a procession of women visiting at the tent of the wounded, gift in hand. This was not in itself an unusual sight. Since Miriam could not leave Salmone to attend to daily chores, and their servant was often busy taking care of the family’s business at the campsite, many among t
heir friends and acquaintances brought food and necessities each morning. But these gifts were not for Salmone or Miriam. They were for Rahab. Groggy-eyed, Rahab sat stunned as woman after woman welcomed her formally to Israel. By early afternoon, piles of gifts surrounded her. Almonds, honey cakes, wool, natural dyes, olive oil, a carved comb. And still the women came.
Salmone came and sat near her when her visitors dwindled. “You had more guests than I, today.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What happened? Last week these women couldn’t stand the sight of me. Now they shower me with presents.”
He reached out for her hand and turned it over in his. Her palm looked raw and scabbed in places. He drew his thumb softly over the surface. A shiver ran down Rahab’s spine, and she snatched her hand away. Salmone leaned back, his face unreadable. “You saved Hannah’s life. They realize you had nothing to gain by it. I suppose they are finally acknowledging that they misjudged you.”
Rahab thought of the strange events that had led to this change in her circumstances. “I can hardly believe I am about to say this, but I’m grateful for that snake. God didn’t exactly answer my prayers, but He certainly brought good to me through that snake’s presence.”
“What do you mean?”
“You want to know the truth? I was really disappointed with God yesterday. I wanted Him to make the snake go away. That’s what I prayed for, and I know God could have done it easily. He could have made that creature turn around and visit its cousins in Egypt or something. Instead, it sat there like it owned that rock, refusing to budge in spite of my pleading and prayer. Why wouldn’t the Lord answer my cry? He knew my limitations. What was the point of forcing me to fight a poisonous snake?
“But it was the snake that softened the hearts of the women of Israel toward me. Because I fought for that child’s life, mothers in Judah now think better of me. God spared Hannah’s life, and mine, but He did it in such a way that benefited me more than I could have imagined if I’d had things according to my design. At the time, I just wanted Hannah’s safety. God had a bigger plan in mind, one that I could never have conceived.”