by Marek Halter
“Horeb’s fire! Horeb’s fire!”
Some clung together, joining their tears and their terror. Others ran like insects or fell to their knees. The animals squealed and pushed over the cane fences around their pens. Red slime glistened in the blackness that now covered the mountain. A gray light was spreading over Midian, draining it of both color and shadow.
Sefoba was trembling and crying. “Horeb’s fire!” she, too, muttered. “Horeb’s fire!”
Jethro held out his free arm and pulled her to him tenderly. “Horeb’s wrath,” he corrected, in a soft, calm voice.
Zipporah looked at him.
He nodded. “He awaits our offerings.”
Zipporah could hear no fear in his voice, no anxiety, but rather a curious kind of satisfaction.
ALL day, Horeb continued to rumble. Jets of soot rolled down over the slopes of the mountain toward the sea. Fires sprang up, and here and there bushes burst into flame. The stinking air grew thick with the dust of ashes, which not only extinguished the flames but also choked young birds in their nests. Fortunately, just before the close of day, a violent wind rose in the east, and the clouds being disgorged from the mountain were blown away toward Egypt, sparing Midian further damage from fire.
In the west, the sun was hidden, and a strange shadow spread over the land that was neither night nor twilight. The slime flowing down from the top of the mountain had come to a standstill and had turned to mud; from its disordered folds, smoke rose, and small explosions occasionally glittered, like some monster batting its thousand eyelids as it reluctantly fell asleep. Above, the mouth of the mountain was still incandescent, still wide open to the turbulent sky.
Moses reached Jethro’s domain soon after the wind had risen, his beardless cheeks gray with dust, one hand gripping his staff, the other clinging to his camel’s ashen fur. He had almost lost his way in the unbreathable fog. His eyes were still wide with terror.
Hobab, who was repairing the ravaged fences with the help of Sefoba’s husband, Sicheved, greeted him effusively. “Horeb be praised! We were worried about you.”
They gave him water to wash himself, and wine, dates, and cakes dipped in oil to take the taste of ashes from his mouth.
“You’ve come just in time,” Hobab said, once Moses had eaten his fill. “A lot of our animals took fright and ran away. We must find them before they get lost and die of thirst because of all this ash. Come with us; you won’t be in the way. The others are with my father, helping him with his offerings and prayers to Horeb.”
Until nightfall, they searched for the mules and sheep. Whenever they caught an exhausted, trembling animal, they quickly hobbled it and immediately began their search again. By the time it was too dark to continue, they had gone too far to return to Jethro’s domain. Sicheved had been wise enough to put a saddlebag on his camel with canvas and posts to make a tent. They settled down to spend the night, sharing the gourd and dates Hobab had brought. The mountain had stopped rumbling, but its mouth still glowed red in the darkness, stoked by the wind. Hobab and Sicheved stood with their palms open, and offered up a prayer to Horeb. Moses listened, his body turned away, his head tilted. A sharp, distant rumble seemed to answer them. More strongly than at any other time that day, Moses had the strange feeling that the mountain was alive, like a wild animal. Neither Hobab nor Sicheved flinched. Their calm impressed him. This had been a day when the whole world had seemed about to explode, and yet they went about their work without showing any fear. It was not until later, as they sat outside the tent, slowly chewing a few dates, that he asked the question he had held back until then:
“Why aren’t you afraid? The mountain is still rumbling, the fire might spread and destroy everything.”
“That doesn’t seem to be the will of Horeb,” Hobab replied. “The wind has risen and is taking the ash out to sea. It won’t harm the pastures or the wells. And the mountain has stopped spitting fire.”
In the darkness, Sicheved indicated the sky in the east. “Look, the stars are shining over Moab and Canaan. That’s a good sign. Whenever Horeb is angry but the sky is still clear in the east, then his rage passes and we’re spared.”
Moses was astonished. Did it happen often, then? Sicheved and Hobab outdid each other in eloquence, describing Horeb’s most terrible rages, which had sometimes come close to destroying Midian.
“The only rages I’ve known have been gentle ones,” Sicheved said in conclusion. “They say it’s thanks to Jethro and the justice he’s brought to the kingdoms of Midian. Horeb is quite lenient with us.”
Hobab agreed with a proud growl.
“But why do Jethro and all of you sacrifice to Horeb and not to the god of Abraham?” Moses asked. “Jethro claims that you’re Hebrews, and even sons of the sons of Abraham.”
Hobab gave a little laugh. “You should ask him that. He’s the sage.”
There was a long silence, broken suddenly by Sicheved’s snoring. He had fallen asleep before he had even had time to get inside the tent.
“Tomorrow,” Hobab said in a low voice, as they lay down side by side, “we’ll go back, and you can speak to my father about Zipporah.” Moses immediately sat up, but Hobab placed a hand on his shoulder. “Have no fear, I’m on your side. I’m happy with your choice. I love Zipporah. Like everyone else, I used to think she would never find a husband. Nothing could please me more than to have you as my brother. I know you’ll make her happy. Even if she isn’t always the easiest of women.”
Moses sighed and shook his head. “Think again, Hobab! Zipporah doesn’t want me. When I told her I’d go to your father and ask for her hand, she said no. And now I don’t know what to do. I’m at fault with her, your father, and all of you. But she’s the only woman I want.”
Hobab laughed. “Be patient. Zipporah loves to do things in her own way. You mustn’t let these doubts make you sad. All she wants is you. My father, too. It’s rare for Zipporah and him to disagree, and she always obeys him in the end.”
Moses sighed again, not totally convinced.
“Speak to my father tomorrow,” Hobab insisted. “He will command. He seems the most amiable of men, but once he’s made his mind up, it stays made up. He’s certainly made his mind up about Orma!” Hobab gave an amused, affectionate chuckle. “He’s told the handmaids to calm her down with a lot of kindness and a lot of cakes and sweet drinks. But then I’ll have the job of escorting her to Reba, the son of the king of Sheba, the man she should have married moons ago. Feel sorry for me, Moses! I’m the one who’ll have to listen to her whining day and night. She’ll talk about you, you can be sure of that. She’ll talk until she’s breathless. But I tell you this. You won’t have Jethro’s most beautiful daughter in your bed, and you’ll be very lucky. May Horeb forgive Reba much in advance! Nor will you have the gentlest of Jethro’s daughters—she’s already married, and her husband is right here, snoring away. The one who’s left is the wisest and the liveliest. You’ll see! You’ll be kept so busy you won’t have time to bother with anyone else.”
Moses could not help joining in his laughter.
THE wind from the east did not subside, and the mountain rumbled less frequently. The sun finally broke through the clouds, which were less thick now, creating a strange half-light, as if the sky in the west were dirty and bloodstained.
Tirelessly, Jethro had performed sacrifice after sacrifice. By his request, Zipporah had stayed by his side, assisting him in offering barley and wine, grinding the flour, baking the cakes according to the rites, opening the fruit, refilling the pitchers of oil. She only left when he slit the throats of the year’s lambs and calves and cut open the chests of twenty doves.
Not for a moment did she stop thinking about Moses. She knew that Hobab had welcomed him and had gone with him and Sefoba’s husband to search for the escaped animals. She was full of gratitude toward her elder brother. It was his own discreet way of showing everyone his trust and affection for Pharaoh’s son.
She knew Moses had
returned, and had again pitched his tent beneath the sycamore. She feared that she would not be able to resist the desire to go to him. She was told how Orma had shamed Hobab as the two of them were setting off to see Reba. As they passed Moses’ tent, a tearful Orma had begged him loudly to follow her. Moses had looked at her without a word, made a gesture of reassurance, and gone back into his tent. But then he left again with Sicheved to visit the wells and make sure that the ash had not got inside them.
Finally, on the third morning—the mountain having stopped rumbling the previous day—Sefoba joined Zipporah as she and the handmaids were washing the clothes that had been allowed to get dirty to conserve water during those difficult days.
Pink-cheeked and smiling radiantly, Sefoba knelt beside Zipporah, and placed on a basket the tunic they had woven together for Moses. “You look exhausted. You should get some rest. I’ll take your place.”
Zipporah returned her gaze. “To judge by the rings under your eyes, you don’t seem much fresher than I do.”
Sefoba chuckled. “Sicheved came back last night, after dark. He was hungry and thirsty and very grumpy! Men! Horeb rumbles and spits, but we don’t look after them enough! I had to spend all night reassuring him of my love.”
They burst out laughing. Before their laughter had subsided, Sefoba took Zipporah’s hand and placed it on the tunic. “Moses is back,” she whispered. “He’s with Father now. Rest now, make yourself beautiful, and, when they call you, go to him with this tunic.”
Zipporah stiffened.
“Come on!” Sefoba murmured gently. “Forget what you told us. Horeb’s wrath has come and gone. Calm down. We’re all going to be happy!”
JETHRO greeted Moses as best he could, given that his domain was still in disarray. He sat him down beside him beneath the canopy, and asked the handmaids to bring pitchers of beer, goblets, and something to eat. They ate and drank, watching the white clouds around the summit of the mountain rising straight into the sky, where the wind continued to push them westward.
Jethro’s face looked tired and drawn, but there was a sly gleam in his eyes. Pharaoh would soon see his sky grow dark, and perhaps he would not have such rich harvests. Had Moses seen such things when he lived in the land of the Great River Iterou?
Moses evaded the question, preferring to say all he had to say on the subject of Zipporah. But, after three sentences, the words he had long prepared failed him. “You see!” he sighed, angry and ashamed. “I thought I’d made some progress in the language of Midian. But as soon as I have something important to say, all that comes out of my mouth is noise.”
“Let me speak, then,” Jethro said, shaking his head and laughing. “I, too, have something to ask you.” He looked Moses straight in the eyes, his own eyes shining so brightly that it was as if they were still smarting from the smoke of his offerings to Horeb. “I know what is in your heart. Zipporah told me everything. She has also told me about the life you led in Pharaoh’s house.”
Moses tried to interrupt, but Jethro silenced him with a gesture.
“Let me tell you this. Nothing I have learned surprises me or displeases me. There are things a father prefers not to know, which I shall simply forget. Zipporah is the jewel of my heart. That’s the way it is, and, as Orma so cruelly remarked, it has made me an unjust father. You have only seen three of my daughters here. I have four others who live with their husbands, in the kingdoms of Midian. They’ll all tell you I love them dearly, that I give them everything they deserve to have. But Zipporah is special.”
He sighed, drank a long draft of beer, and again looked up at the top of the mountain. He nodded his head slightly and his mouth quivered in an inaudible murmur. Moses wondered if he was praying, or if he was slightly drunk. But then the old man looked straight at him, with the eyes of a man who has seen much in his life, and Moses was surprised to discover that they were moist with emotion.
“I remember that day as if it were yesterday—the day the boat brought them to our shore, her mother and her. Horeb wanted me to be there. I rarely went to the seashore, but, that day, Hobab, who was still only a little boy, wanted to fish. From the top of the cliff, we saw a boat lying overturned on the shingle and, in the middle of the beach, what looked like a heap of black seaweed. The Cushite mother, exhausted as she was, had taken the child on her back and, with the strength of a lioness, had crawled across the shingle to get away from the waves. She died before she could utter a word, but with her eyes she told me everything she needed to say. Her daughter was not much bigger than my hand. She was bawling with hunger and thirst . . .
“It was the saddest day of my life, and the most beautiful. My beloved wife had been dead for many long years. And now Horeb was providing me with the opportunity to give life! Alas, there was a price to be paid. The woman who had given birth out of her own womb had to perish . . .
“I held the baby against my chest. Swallows were circling overhead. I said, ‘Your name will be Zipporah—Little Bird.’”
Jethro paused for a moment, as if the silence might reduce the power of his memories.
“In her way, Zipporah became flesh of my flesh. I brought her up like my own daughters, just as if she had been the fruit of my loins. I gave her everything I could—food, jewelry, trust, and knowledge! Knowledge above all. Even when she was a child, she was wiser and more perceptive than her sisters—and even Hobab. Apart from Orma, everyone felt for her what I myself felt. Nobody was jealous. Alas, Zipporah’s skin is black. The men of Midian are men of Midian. Their prejudices blind them more than the sun. How could they recognize her worth?”
“Jethro!” Moses interrupted, picking up his stick, which he had placed across his knees, and shaking it. “Jethro! When I saved your daughters from the hands of the shepherds, I hadn’t even noticed Zipporah, hadn’t seen whether she was beautiful or ugly, hadn’t seen what color her skin or her eyes were. But the moment I saw her, may your god strike me dead if I lie, my one hope was to have her become the woman I spend my days and nights with. It’s like a spell cast by one of Pharaoh’s court magicians. Whenever she looks at me, I feel confident. When she’s by my side, not even the iciest of winds gives me gooseflesh. As soon as she’s far from me, I feel cold and weak. My sleep is filled with nightmares, so I spend my nights with my eyes open, thinking about her. It isn’t me you have to convince, Jethro, it’s her. It’s Zipporah who doesn’t want me. Ask her, you’ll see.”
Jethro laughed, curling his thick beard with his thin fingers. “Listening to you, my boy, I take note of two things: that you are now much more fluent in our language than you think, but that you still know nothing at all about women. Anyone would think you had never met any women in Pharaoh’s house.”
Moses lowered his eyes.
Jethro stopped laughing and called a handmaid. “Ask my daughter Zipporah to join us.”
Moses became agitated, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, which made Jethro burst out laughing again.
“Trust what my eyes tell me, my boy. My daughter Zipporah looks at you as she has never looked at any other man. Her one desire is to be your wife. She’ll tell you so herself.”
“IF you’re talking about what I want,” Zipporah replied curtly when Jethro asked her the question, “you’re right, Father. I have no other desire than to be Moses’ wife. It’s even a necessity, if I don’t want to remain a naditre, a fallow woman, as they say in Midian, and bring shame on you.”
“Good!” Jethro cried, slapping his thigh. “Your wedding feast will be soon, then.”
“No!”
“Oh?”
“For the moment, it cannot be.” Zipporah’s face was as hard as her words.
“Oh . . . ,” Jethro repeated, although he did not seem too upset. “Sit down, I beg you, and give me your reasons.”
Without looking at Moses, who was nervously rolling his staff between his hands, Zipporah knelt on a cushion and sighed. “What’s the point of explaining to you what you already know, Fat
her?”
“Does Moses also know your reasons?”
“Moses knows. But he thinks he is a shadow. He cannot walk in the footsteps of what he has been, but neither does he want to embrace his destiny. What good would a Cushite be to him? And what good would one more shadow be to a Cushite? What a burden!”
Twice already, Moses had tightened his grip on his staff, as though he were about to stand up and leave. He had hoped for Jethro’s support, but the old sage seemed to take a wicked pleasure in his daughter’s replies. Hobab had been wrong: Jethro was not going to come to a decision and force Zipporah to his will. He merely rolled a few hairs of his beard around his fingers and observed, “You’re really hard, daughter.”
“She isn’t hard, Jethro, she just isn’t thinking straight!” Moses cried. “’Go to Pharaoh,’ she says, ‘and tell him that what he’s doing to the Hebrew slaves is unjust!’ Jethro! Jethro! If I show myself to Pharaoh, he’ll kill me! I won’t have time to open my mouth. The slaves themselves don’t fight Pharaoh, even though there are thousands of them. They just submit to their punishment. Who am I to help them? Why should I succeed where all of them fail?”
“Because you’re you, Moses!” Zipporah cried. “Not only the son of a slave woman, but also the son of the queen of Egypt.”
Moses waved his staff as if he wanted to break it in two, and roared almost as loudly as Horeb. “Jethro! Jethro, tell your daughter she’s wrong! Thutmose refused Amon’s boat to the woman who was my mother. He’s had all her statues torn down. Why should he listen to me? What would the Hebrews gain from my making him even angrier?”
“There is truth and wisdom in what you say,” Jethro admitted.
“Of course!” Moses exclaimed in relief.