by Mesu Andrews
Job blinked twice, three times. Had Sayyid been touching Sitis’s face? The two of them stepped apart quickly, and Job searched his wife’s expression. Was it guilt he saw there, or something else?
“Job, you’re home!” Sitis hurried across the room, arms outstretched, tears forming. “I was worried about your travel in this storm.” Sayyid sneered at Job and then watched Sitis—every step, every sway, every curve—as she moved toward her husband. Job said nothing, trying to remember how to breathe.
His teary-eyed wife slowed as she noted Job’s silence. She stopped dead when she saw Dinah. “And who is this woman, Job, with her little Cushite handmaid?” Her voice had become shrill and accusing.
Job let his gaze wander from the defiant Ishmaelite to his demanding wife. “I will speak of it when the bread merchant leaves.” His words escaped through clenched teeth.
Deep puddles formed in Sitis’s eyes. “But Sayyid just came to warn me about the storm, that it might delay—”
Job grabbed her arm, leaned in close, trying without success to keep the venom from his voice. “When will you see him, Sitis? Truly see him for who he is?” Not waiting for her answer, he stepped around his wife and toward his adversary. “Sayyid, I thought I made myself clear. I don’t ever want you in my home again. Not when I am present nor when I am absent.” Job stepped aside and lifted his hand, directing Sayyid to the door. “I will remind all my servants of this, not just the Edomite servants loyal to me, but also the Ishmaelite servants loyal to Sitis.”
Job turned and eyed Atif, who watched from the shadows. The old steward studied his brown feet. Job returned his attention to the arrogant merchant in his dining hall. “You are not welcome anywhere on my property or the properties of my children, Sayyid. Leave now.” Job bowed slightly, waiting for his response.
Sayyid didn’t move.
Every bone, muscle, and sinew in Job’s body screamed for revenge. This man had deceived his wife into idolatry, teased his sons with greed, and undermined his authority as a city elder. Please, El Shaddai, let me spill this man’s blood. But years of studying God’s ways reminded Job that vengeance was Yahweh’s alone. Job would not use the skills Esau had taught him to inflict harm on another human being.
“Atif!” Job shouted, and everyone in the room jumped—except Sayyid. The man’s hand moved to his belt, under his outer robe, where Job saw the glint of a dagger.
The steward’s words snapped the tension. “Yes, Master Job?”
“You will escort Sayyid out of my home for the last time.” Job held Atif’s gaze. “Do you understand?”
Before the steward could answer, Sayyid stormed past him and through the hallway. Atif bowed and said quietly, “If I may be excused, I’ll be sure Master Sayyid finds his way out.” And the old man was gone.
“Job, it’s not what you think.” Sitis clutched the front of Job’s robe, her voice trembling. “Sayyid came to warn me—”
Job placed a quieting finger on Sitis’s lips and embraced her, hoping his arms would quiet her words and her heart. He saw Dinah standing near the wall with Nogahla, both looking as if they wished they could melt into the cold stone. Their welcome had been anything but planned or proper, but perhaps the struggles they’d seen would assure them that everyone needed El Shaddai’s grace.
Job too was trembling. His unspent anger and the desire to whisk his beautiful wife to safety were overwhelming.
When he drew Sitis away, he kissed the tears from her cheeks. “We will speak more of this later, but right now I must introduce you to your new daughter-in-law and her maid.”
Sitis straightened and wiped her cheeks. Understandably embarrassed, she approached Dinah timidly and introduced herself. Always the prince’s daughter, Job marveled.
“Please forgive me for this misunderstanding, my dear,” Sitis said. “I certainly would have wished for a better welcome for you. Please don’t judge us too harshly by what you’ve seen.”
Job extended his hand, inviting Dinah to join him and his wife. “Dinah knows that circumstances aren’t always what they seem at first glance, Sitis.”
Dinah offered a gracious bow.
“So, your name is Dinah,” Sitis said, studying her new daughter-in-law in the lamplight. “Job, isn’t that the name of Great-Abba Esau’s niece, who—”
“Yes, my love,” Job interrupted before Sitis made any regrettable remarks about Dinah’s reputation. Lifting one eyebrow, he tried to communicate discretion to his wife. “This is Uncle Jacob’s daughter, Dinah.”
Shock. Accusation. Questions. All in Sitis’s reflexive glance at the recognition of Dinah’s name. Zophar had known her by sight, but the rest of Job’s family would identify her only by name—and by rumor.
Dinah looked stricken, her face gray, but she bowed again, hiding her reborn discomfort admirably. “It is a great honor to meet you, mistress.” Lifting her gaze, she resembled a prisoner awaiting a verdict.
Sitis’s expression softened, and she grasped Dinah’s hands. “Which of my sons will be blessed to call you his wife?” Job watched Dinah’s tortured features relax under the caress of Sitis’s approving words—but was his wife sincere?
Before he could study Sitis further, he heard the rustling of a robe in the hallway, running footsteps, heavy breathing. Had Sayyid returned, planning vengeance? His attention fixed on the entry, Job reached for the dagger strapped to his calf.
“I’m here, Ima Sitis!” Elihu’s tall, wiry frame came bounding into the room, nearly knocking Nogahla to the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry, who are you?” He stopped abruptly, mouth agape, his eyes as big as ostrich eggs. “Abba Job! You’re home.” His gaze darted toward Dinah, his cheeks coloring three shades of crimson. “Forgive me, I didn’t know you were entertaining women—a woman—I mean . . . guests.”
Job chuckled. Though Elihu rivaled any man in the memorization of sacred texts, when it came to social graces, he was as awkward at thirty as he’d been at twelve. “Elihu, my favorite student! What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Uncle Eliphaz in Teman.”
Elihu drew a breath to answer, but Sitis interrupted. “Job, it’s the spring of Uzahmah’s twentieth year. You promised Elihu’s betrothal proceedings would begin upon your return, remember?” The left side of her smile twitched, as it always did when she was nervous. She hurried over to take Elihu’s hand, leading him to Job. “Come sit down, Elihu. Job has just arrived, and I haven’t had time to tell him about the betrothal banquet. The children are all at Ennon’s house celebrating.”
Dinah seemed to snap to attention at the mention of her husband-to-be.
Sitis blurted out the rest of the information as if releasing the hot handle of a cooking pot. “I sent Nada to tell the children we would join them as soon as you both arrived.”
“Now? You expect us to attend a betrothal banquet now?” Job heard the censure in his voice but couldn’t contain it.
Living statues filled the room as Job contemplated his response. The courtyard doors clattered behind him, raging wind and lightning invading their silent world.
That’s when they heard it.
A single voice with low-pitched, tortured howls drew nearer. Every eye turned toward the courtyard entry.
“Nooo!” A herdsman burst through the doorway, the wind slamming the oaken slabs hard against the sandstone walls. Robes bloodstained and torn, Job’s chief herdsman ran across the dining hall and fell at his feet. “Master Job, they’re all dead!” Weeping shook his shoulders.
Job motioned Elihu to gather the women aside, and then he bent down and lifted the bloodied herdsman to his feet. “Shobal, are you hurt? Is this your blood?”
“No, Master Job. I hid in a dry wadi when the Sabeans attacked. They took away all your plowing oxen and the donkeys that were grazing nearby. They put all the servants to the sword. As soon as the Sabeans rode away on their horses, I tried to help the other servants. I tried, Master Job, but I’m the only one who has escaped alive to tell you!”
Job’s mind reeled. He had almost seven hundred servants tending his five hundred yoked oxen and five hundred donkeys. How could they all be dead?
“Shobal, are you sure—” Job’s heart leapt to his throat. He couldn’t swallow. It can’t be. “Did you say Sabeans? On horses?”
Job glanced up and saw Dinah’s horrified expression. She too must have made the connection between Zophar’s Sabean escort at Elath and the Sabean attack. Panic stabbed Job like a bronze-tipped arrow. He shook the bloodied herdsman. “Shobal, did they have any prisoners with them? Did you see a caravan in the distance?” His angry parting with Zophar replayed mercilessly in his mind.
But before the herdsman could form his reply, another voice sounded in the distance and a second servant stumbled through the courtyard entrance. It was Lotan, Job’s chief shepherd, and he collapsed beside his friend Shobal. His clothes were singed, his face, arms, and hands blistered with burns. “Master Job, the lightning! It was so horrible.”
Job bent to inspect his wounds. “Lotan, what happened to you?” Noting the charred skin on the man’s hands, he glanced at Dinah and called her over. “Listen, my friend. I have someone here who can tend to your wounds.”
“No, Master Job. The flocks, the servants.” He gulped for air, delirious, disoriented.
Job looked up at Sitis, her beautiful black eyes wide with fear, her whole body trembling. She stepped sideways without looking. Feeling her way to a bench, she sat down hard. Dread seemed to strangle everyone in the room.
Only Job uttered a whisper. “What about the flocks and servants, Lotan?”
The man’s face twisted into a mask of agony. “The fire of God fell from the sky, Master Job. It burned up all the sheep and every servant tending them.” Sobs garbled his words, but Job understood the last phrase, repeated again and again. “I’m the only one left . . . the only one left.”
The shepherd clutched Job’s robe, Job cradling him. Dinah knelt a few paces away, evidently perceiving Lotan needed compassion more than medicine right now.
“I’m just glad you’re safe, my friend,” Job said.
Dinah turned away, tears rolling down her cheeks. Job saw that Elihu was comforting Sitis, as much like a son as the children of her womb. The young man would make a fine husband to their daughter, but what kind of dowry could he offer for Uzahmah now? Three-quarters of Job’s wealth had been swallowed up in a few moments. Worse than that, over a thousand of his servants had died tonight—mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters. And how would they bury all the dead?
Lightning flashed again, and Lotan bolted from Job’s arms, terror-stricken. At the same moment, bloodcurdling screams echoed through the canyon outside the courtyard. Job exchanged horrified glances with the men in the room, and all seemed to realize that some sort of attack was under way.
“Elihu, get the weapons!” Job shouted. “Shobal, can you fight?”
“Yes, Master Job!” The herdsman ran to barricade the courtyard door.
“Lotan, you stay here with—” Job’s instructions were cut short by Sitis’s scream. He saw Atif, his defiant steward, stumble from the hallway, hands on his belly and blood on his hands.
“Atif, my dear Atif.” Sitis was instantly on her feet and at her servant’s side.
Elihu, who had been on his way to the weaponry closet, grabbed Atif under the arms and dragged him toward a table. Job, Shobal, and Lotan helped Elihu lift the old man onto a table, while Nogahla retrieved Atif’s keffiyeh from the floor. Job saw the steward’s gaping wound and stood paralyzed by fear.
Dinah grabbed the black-and-white keffiyeh from Nogahla and pressed it against the wound. “Push the cloth firmly here to help stop the bleeding.”
Atif groaned, and Sitis shoved Dinah away. “Stop! You’re hurting him.” She hovered over the old man. “It’s all right, Atif. You’re going to be all right.”
Job watched Dinah back away, Nogahla’s arms waiting to console her, but he didn’t have time to assuage hurt feelings now. He could still hear a battle just outside his doors. “Atif, who did this?” he said, uncertain if his steward could even comprehend the question. “Atif, can you hear me?”
“Master Job . . .” His voice sounded raspy, like spit in a flute. “Chaldeans, master. Three raiding parties. Taking camels. Killing the servants.”
“Chaldeans?” Elihu gasped. Job looked into the young man’s pale face, and Elihu looked at Sitis. “When Ima sent word to Eliphaz in Teman, I joined a large caravan of Chaldeans that brought me to Uz tonight. I left them just moments ago. They seemed like common merchants.” Job watched the dawning horror on Elihu’s features. “How could the people I’ve ridden with for days be the same raiders that murdered your servants?”
“It was your guide, Master Job.” Atif clutched at Job’s collar. “Your guide sent word to the Chaldeans that you would arrive tonight at sunset.” The old man cringed in agony. “I’m sorry, Master Job. You hired the guide on my word.” His eyes closed and he seemed to lose consciousness.
“No!” Sitis cried. “Atif, don’t leave me!” She buried her head in his chest, mumbling her grief. “I have no father but you, no brother but you. Please, don’t leave me.”
The old man’s eyes fluttered and his hand moved weakly to stroke Sitis’s cheek. In a whisper barely audible, he said, “You’ll be all right, child. Nada will care for you.” Turning to Job, he stilled his hand. “The camels are gone, servants gone—all gone.” Atif’s eyes froze in death’s stare, and he expelled the final rattling breath from his lungs.
“Atif?” Sitis clutched wildly at his robe. “Atif! Atif!”
Job stroked his wife’s back as she lay across the lifeless body of her lifetime friend and guardian.
“Whom do I have but you and Nada?” She poured out the loneliness of her childhood, and her wailing crescendoed beyond bearable.
But wait . . . Another keening voice, the same tone and pitch, emanated from the curved hallway and created an eerie duet.
“Nada?” Job breathed the name, identifying with horror Sitis’s portly nursemaid, who emerged from the hall covered in fine red dust.
Nada’s cries changed to shrieks, her eyes wild at the sight of Atif’s blood now covering Job and Sitis. “My mistress, not you too! I cannot bear to lose you too!” She ran to Sitis, lifting her mistress’s chin, her arms, inspecting her for injuries.
Job tried to gather the hysterical woman in his arms. “Nada, calm down. What’s happened? What do you mean—”
“No!” Elihu grabbed the maid’s arm with such ferocity and strength that Job stood gaping. “Nada, where is Uzahmah?” Elihu raved. “I saw you walking to Ennon’s house as I entered the city.” The old woman buried her face in her hands, shaking with sobs, unable—or unwilling—to speak.
“No,” Sitis said, her voice a menacing growl, head wagging side to side.
Nada let her hands fall to her sides, her expression pleading. “Mistress, I tried to help them.”
“No! Nada! It’s not true. Tell me right now that my children are safe!” Sitis screamed, trembling violently. “Tell me the babes you caught on birthing stones are alive and drinking wine at my oldest son’s home.”
Job suddenly felt as though he were inside a narrow hallway. Sounds became distant. He grabbed Sitis, clinging to her. Was this real or a terrible nightmare?
“Nada,” he said, struggling for breath, “tell us clearly what happened.” He was vaguely aware of others in the room, but he couldn’t recall their names or why they were present. He could see only Nada, hear only her voice.
“I went to Ennon’s house to tell the children you had arrived home and Elihu would be here shortly.” Nada gasped, the rest of her words coming out in a cry. “Then the wind came. A mighty desert wind struck the four corners of the house as I walked out of the courtyard. The stone walls gave way, and the tented ceilings and beams came down on top of them.”
“Nooo!” Sitis collapsed into Job’s arms, but this time he had no strength to ho
ld her. They both tumbled to the floor, lost together in private agony. Sitis continued her wailing, groping on the floor. Someone cradled her, tried to comfort her, but Job couldn’t think about Sitis. He had to know about the children.
Like a madman, Job was back on his feet. He grabbed Nada’s head between his hands and drew her face so close, he could smell the sweet wine she’d been drinking. “The children, Nada,” Job shouted above Sitis’s cries. “Did you see them? Did you see any of the servants? Could they have escaped somehow?”
The old woman’s arms began to flail. “No!” she screamed. “The children, the servants—everyone. They’re all dead! I saw them begging me to help them, their hands held out to me among the red rocks and broken beams!” She called out the children’s names, slapping herself in the face, smashing her fists into the unyielding stone wall until her knuckles were bloody.
Job tried to restrain her, but she shoved him away with surprising strength. He watched helplessly as hysteria entered their midst, its grip like the leviathan’s jaws.
Elihu ran from the room, screaming, “Uzahmah, no! Uzahmah!” Job called after him but realized the boy was beyond reason.
Sitis clutched at Dinah’s robes, her hair, her face, as though grief were quicksand and Dinah the lone rope. Then, just as quickly, Sitis rebuffed Dinah’s embrace and struck her violently. Dinah tried to quiet her, tried to restrain her, but the grief fueled his wife’s strength, and Dinah moved away, giving wide berth to Sitis’s frenzy. The inconsolable mother pulled out handfuls of her long, ebony hair and clawed at her own face, leaving deep gouges.
“No, not my children! El Shaddai, Al-Uzza, by the gods, not my babies!”
“Come, wife,” Job said with a sudden and unexplained calm. He grasped Sitis’s shoulders, lifting her gently to her feet, restraining her tenderly but firmly. “Only one God can help us.”
“No!” Sitis screamed. “This is your fault! You and your God!” She broke away from his guiding hands.
“Sitis. Stop this. Please, let me help you.”