by Mesu Andrews
He brushed the girl’s cheek with his bandaged hand, thankful for the numbing herbs and a friend who did not recoil. “I know your heart holds great hope in the captain’s ability to sway my relatives, little one. But I know Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar better than their imas and wives. I have lived with them, prayed with them, studied with them, and even learned to think like them in the House of Shem.”
His voice became gravelly, so Nogahla lifted a cup of mint tea to his lips, enabling him to continue. “From the conversations you’ve reported to me, Bildad is especially convinced of some hidden evil in my life that has brought judgment on my household. And he sees Sitis’s idolatry as a weakness in my leadership.”
He looked at Dinah then, trying to convey his level of certainty. “I know Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar have been swayed by Sayyid’s deception, and they will judge me harshly. But even worse . . .” His throat tightened, and he could barely utter the words. “I believe Bildad will take Sitis away from me unless Yahweh intervenes.” He bowed his head so the tears would fall into the ashes rather than onto his cheeks.
Sitis heard the familiar crunch of footsteps on the rocky path leading to the widow’s cave and pulled back the lovely new curtain Aban had brought them. The early rays of dawn no longer peeked through tattered holes, and the linen cloth created a barrier against daytime summer heat and nighttime desert chill. Sitis saw Dinah and Nogahla returning from their nightly ministrations to Job, but this morning Aban escorted them. All three looked as somber as shepherds without sheep.
Sitis let the curtain fall and glanced at Orma’s sleeping form. In only a week’s time, the precious widow had provided a home and family in this small cave that meant more to Sitis than she could have imagined. She missed Job and could think of a thousand questions she wanted to ask about El Shaddai, but her heart was more peaceful than it had ever been. Thank You for my life, she prayed, waiting for her friends to arrive.
When Dinah and Nogahla quietly pulled the curtain aside and gazed into the cave, Sitis whispered, “I’m awake.” Usually Dinah offered news of Job’s progress while Nogahla went directly to her sleeping mat for a few hours’ rest before returning to observe Sayyid’s and Bela’s interaction with the relatives. But this morning, Dinah silently waved Sitis to the cave entrance to join them.
“Sitis, Job wants us to prepare you for the worst but pray for God’s best.” Her friend spoke without preface, her gaze intense. Sitis nodded but didn’t speak, appreciating Dinah’s directness. “What we know is this: Nogahla has listened carefully at the meetings and Aban has spoken truthfully of Job’s character and the events of the past year.”
Sitis smiled down at Nogahla, brushing her cheek with her thumb. She must certainly be pleased that the man who held her heart had proved faithful.
But the little Cushite’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry, mistress. It doesn’t seem to matter. Your relatives seem bent on believing Master Sayyid’s lies.”
Sitis nodded, and her own throat tightened as she studied Dinah’s worn features. “So is that the worst of it?”
“I’m afraid not.” Dinah hesitated.
Sitis’s heart plummeted, and she lifted her shaky hand to her throat. “What then?”
“Job believes Bildad will try to take you away from here—away from your husband.”
A small sob escaped before Sitis could master her emotions. Struggling for control, she reached out to steady herself against a boulder. El Shaddai, give me strength. Give me wisdom. “Why would Bildad take me away from Job?”
Dinah opened her mouth to speak, but Aban blurted out the ugly truth. “Your brother and Job’s relatives believe he has committed some hidden sin, and he refuses to repent. Bildad will not leave you in the care of a wicked husband.”
“Which is ridiculous!” Dinah’s eyes flashed. “If Aban had taken the time to know Job instead of spending his whole life taking orders from that leviathan father of his, perhaps he could have mounted a better defense.” She grabbed Nogahla’s arm. “Come, Nogahla. You must get some rest before you return to the camp today.” The girl cast an apologetic glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the cave with Dinah.
Aban was left wide-eyed and wounded, shoulders drooping. “Why is she angry with me? Mistress Sitis, please know I’ve done my best. Nogahla has heard my testimony. She knows—”
Sitis reached up and cupped the young man’s cheek, silencing him. The feel of his taut skin and cropped, oiled beard reminded her of her own sons, who would have been about Aban’s age. “I believe you,” she said, not entirely sure why. But the relief on his face bolstered her confidence. “Dinah is frustrated that she can’t do more, and she’s probably feeling a little hopeless, like the rest of us.” Patting his cheek, she added, “She also feels responsible to protect Nogahla from this handsome, charming, and utterly perfect captain until she is certain of his intentions.” Aban took her hand, turned it over, and kissed the back of it—like her boys used to do when they were practicing to be grown-ups.
The memory pierced her heart, and unexpected grief nearly strangled her. In that moment, however, the answer to her dilemma struck like a bolt of lightning.
“Aban!” She snatched her hand from his grasp, and he jumped like a child. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but I believe all our futures depend on it.” She stepped away from the cave entrance so the others wouldn’t hear. “I’m going to see Job this morning.” When he started to protest, she held up a hand to silence him. “Hear me out. Before I see Job, I’m going to meet with Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. I want them to see my hair, to hear my side of what happened last week in the market. And most importantly, I want them to retrieve my children’s bones from the rubble of Ennon’s home.” She watched shock and admiration slowly spread across Aban’s face, and she wished Dinah could have seen it too. I’m sure the victory in Aban’s eyes would convince you of his loyalty, my friend.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave the cave, but I think your plan is brilliant. The undeniable cruelty Sayyid showed in refusing your children’s burial will overrule his flimsy excuses—especially when your relatives witness the depth of your humiliation and grief.”
Sitis studied Aban’s expression and saw glimpses of his father’s handsome features. “I’m about to place my life in your hands, Aban. I must ask you a question.”
His eyes remained clear and unmasked. “And I will answer you truthfully, mistress.”
“Why are you doing this? I’ve wanted to ask before, but I didn’t want Dinah or Nogahla to hear your answer. I want the truth, Aban, whatever it is.” Deep within, Sitis feared Aban’s answer. But she had to know, and something beyond reason convinced her that he’d be honest.
The young man leaned against a nearby boulder, his features remaining open and relaxed. “When my father issued the order to kill you, I knew he’d lost his northern star. The one person he’d always cherished, his singular passion, was no longer guiding him. When an evil man loses his guiding force, he becomes a madman. And a madman destroys everything in his life.”
His words were so matter-of-fact, so detached. For the first time, Sitis realized the depth of this warrior’s training. Life and death were as common as bread and air. A spear and arrows were as much a part of his daily routine as spoons and figs.
Feeling a strange mixture of relief and concern, she asked, “What is your guiding force, Aban?” Words escaped her lips before they’d formed in her mind. “Do you follow a god, a moral code, or your heart?”
Aban kicked at a few pebbles on the path, again reminding Sitis of her sons when they struggled with a hard question. The silence forced Sitis to kick a few pebbles of her own while waiting for Aban’s answer.
“I don’t know this El Shaddai of whom you and Master Job speak. My mother was sent away before she could teach me of Egypt’s gods, and Sayyid never taught me to worship the Ishmaelite gods.” He paused, looking at the sunrise. “I suppose I’m following my heart
for now. But perhaps someday I’ll have a better answer for you.”
She reached up, held his face between her hands, and drew his gaze to hers. “Someday my husband will teach you of the Most High, Aban. I have found Yahweh to be the only answer any of us needs.” Sitis punctuated her words with a little pat. “Now, let’s go see my brother.”
The shouting roused Job from a fitful morning nap. Through bleary eyes, he saw Aban running toward the dung pile in the early rays of dawn.
“What? What is it?” Job tried to shout, his voice still weak. The big guard held up his hands to assure calm was in order, but the gesture did little to slow Job’s racing heart. After all that had happened, any sort of screaming—even children’s play—instilled immediate panic.
Job noticed a sudden commotion near Bildad’s tent and saw Eliphaz and Zophar running half-dazed to Bildad’s domain. More wailing commenced. “Aban!” Job yelled with all his might and felt something give way in his throat.
The guard reached the edge of his ash heap. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said, marching up the ever-growing pile of ash and waste. “Sitis has gone to visit her brother, and he’s just seen her hair.”
Job couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Aban’s phrasing sounded as if a maid had just plaited Sitis’s hair horrendously, and the Ishmaelite prince was displeased. “Well, I pray he not injure himself over her hair.”
Job’s sarcasm earned a chuckle from Aban, who sat beside him like an old friend in the stinking mess. They lingered in amiable silence until the sun rose into morning.
“I didn’t want to bring your wife here, Master Job,” Aban said finally. “It’s dangerous. Both Sayyid and the Nameless Ones want her dead, but I promise I’ll do all I can to protect her.” He continued looking straight ahead. “Sayyid watches you from his balcony day and night, watches this canyon, your visitors, everything.”
“Thank you, Aban.” Job wanted to say more, but his throat had started to bleed. He longed to beg Aban to guard Sitis carefully, but the man said he would. He hoped Aban was telling the truth and would remain loyal, but the man had already confided a hidden truth. Yes, “thank you” was enough.
“Look, Sitis is coming out of Bildad’s tent.” Aban was on his feet and halfway to greet her before Job realized he was escorting her to the dung pile.
Job’s heart nearly leapt from his chest at the sight of his wife. Though it had been only a week since he’d seen her, she was like air to him. “Sitis, my love.” His voice was a scratchy whisper again.
“Job.” She’d been crying. Aban held her hand as she stumbled up the ash heap, tears streaming down her face, her eyes red and swollen.
“Sitis, what happened? What did they say to you?”
She fell before him, her face so near the filth that he reached out to catch her. The pain of her head against his hands nearly blinded him.
“I asked them to bury our children’s bones, Job, and Bildad agreed, if I would . . . if I would return with him to live the rest of my days in seclusion.”
Her words sent rage through his fingertips, replacing the pain.
She looked up, searching his eyes for a response, but then looked down quickly as if afraid of his answer. “He said I have shamed my family, but if I return willingly, you can keep the lands he gave you as my dowry.”
“No.” It was only a whisper, but the single word lifted Sitis’s head.
She smiled then, breathing deeply, a single tear working its way down her perfect cheek. But like a storm cloud on a sunny day, her countenance changed. Haltingly, she said, “Eliphaz stands in agreement. If I do not willingly go with Bildad, Eliphaz will forcibly take all Edomite lands from you and give them to Bela. You will have nothing, and Bela will become the wealthiest man in the East. We will be wanderers, Job, and Bela will most likely rule the Edomites when Esau dies.”
Job longed to shelter her in his arms. Instead, he held her with his eyes. “Jehovah-Jireh, Sitis. God is my provider. I have wronged no one. If they wrong us, God will defend us. If it is my choice, you will not go with Bildad, my love. I have everything if I have Yahweh and you. But you must choose where your heart finds contentment.”
Job had never seen the light in his wife’s countenance shine so brightly. “I choose Yahweh and you, husband. As long as I know nothing can separate me from God or you, I am content.”
Sitis, his Ishmaelite princess, her hair two finger-widths long, face smudged with ash and dung—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
She called to Aban, who waited at the edge of the dung pile. “You may take me home now, my friend. I’m staying in Uz.” She tentatively kissed Job’s blistered lips. “I’ll return tonight with Dinah to help her bandage your wounds.” She turned and started to slide down the mire.
Oh, how he longed to hold her, to kiss her and love her thoroughly. “Someday you’ll lie in my arms again, wife, and I will never let you go.” She giggled like a shy maiden and batted her lovely lashes as if she were trying to win his heart.
Job watched Aban lead her away. He reveled in the sway of her hips, the slender curves of her form. Sitis turned back to wave, and Job’s heart melted as it had the first time he saw her on their wedding day.
18
~Job 3:1~
After this, Job opened his mouth and cursed the day of his birth.
Dinah slowly became aware of a woman shouting her name. Am I dreaming? “Oh!” She bolted upright on her sleeping mat and realized from the light streaming in through the curtain that she must have been asleep for a good portion of the morning.
“Mistress Dinah, are you in there?” came the voice from just outside the cave. “I’ve come with a gift.” The screech was loud enough to wake the dead. But it didn’t rouse Nogahla, who was sprawled like a hide for tanning. Widow Orma lay trapped beneath Nogahla’s right arm, a smile on her wrinkled face. Her twinkling eyes stared up at Dinah.
“Hellooooo!” the persistent voice called once more.
“All right!” Dinah crawled toward the door, yanked back the curtain, and stepped outside. She didn’t recognize the smudged face that met her there. The woman displayed only two teeth in a peculiar smile, and her left eyelid—half closed—almost hid the crevice where an eye used to be. Dinah’s heart softened immediately. “What gift could you have for us, dear woman? I don’t know you.”
“I bring a gift for Mistress Sitis from her maid, Nada.” The poor thing stretched out a small pot of cold gruel and then chuckled at Dinah’s furrowed brow. “Nada said only Mistress Sitis would appreciate the concoction. It’s a mixture of slow-cooked fruit, seasoned with cinnamon, saffron, and honey. Here, my child. Take it.”
Dinah received the small pot, and the aroma instantly made her mouth water. “It smells delightful.”
“Yes, but Nada said this gift was for Sitis alone. If she wants to share it with you, that is her choice.”
The woman’s one stern eye forced Dinah into a compliant nod. “Of course. Sitis should be returning from her visit with Job anytime now. I’ll be sure she gets it. Please tell Nada thank you.” The woman patted Dinah’s cheek as if they were old friends and began her climb down the rocky mountain path.
“Who was that, dear?” Orma had dislodged herself from Nogahla’s grasp and curled up with a blanket in her corner of the cave. “What’s that in your hand?” The widow had become nearly invisible during the past few days. Dinah sensed she wasn’t well, but Orma would never admit to it.
Quiet curiosity must have screamed louder than the woman’s greeting because Nogahla’s bleary voice said, “What’s that?” She sat up and smacked her lips, clearing her mouth.
Dinah chuckled. “Well, I’ve never seen such a stir over a little pot of gruel.” Offering the precious vessel to the widow for safekeeping, Dinah knelt in the cozy space beside Nogahla and recounted the old woman’s instructions. “Nada said its contents are for her lady alone.” Orma lifted the lid, and the pungent aroma permeated the small cave. Dinah lifted one eyebrow at
Nogahla. “A special gift for Sitis alone.”
The Cushite was no longer sleepy. “Oh, that bossy Nada . . .”
“Now, Nogahla, we must be patient. Perhaps she will share.”
Sitis slipped past the curtain, her face alight. “Oh!” Dinah gasped. “We didn’t hear you come in.” She hoped the woman hadn’t heard their frivolous coveting.
Falling to her knees, Sitis joined Dinah on Nogahla’s sleeping mat. “Aban is waiting outside to take you and Nogahla to Job.” Her voice was intense, her manner urgent. “Bildad, Eliphaz, Zophar, and Elihu have agreed to talk with Job today. I need both of you to be there.”
Dinah’s heart leapt to her throat. “Sitis, I can’t. I . . . Why must I go? My presence would only enrage Zophar and Elihu, and by now Bildad and Eliphaz probably feel the same.”
Before Sitis could explain, Dinah felt Nogahla’s hands gently curl around hers. “Mistress, I know you are afraid, and I know you battle shame each time those men say bad things to you.” The girl’s face now shone with a woman’s tender expression, and Dinah wondered how she’d grown up without her permission. “You once told me that El Shaddai removed your shame, and no man could ever make you carry it again. Do you still believe that, mistress?”
Dinah’s throat tightened, and a sob broke through before words could come. How could she deny Nogahla’s simple faith?
Widow Orma set aside the little pot of gruel and crawled on feeble knees to join them. “Perhaps we should ask Yahweh’s blessing on the day to come.”
Their heart-knit family of four joined hands and bowed their heads. “El Shaddai,” Dinah began, “I don’t know the right words. I don’t have a goat or lamb to sacrifice, but I believe You will hear our cries and see our tears.”
When emotion strangled Dinah’s words, Sitis continued. “We are the offering, Yahweh. We lay ourselves on the altar of sacrifice today.” Sitis lifted her head, paused, and when the others nodded in agreement, they joined together. “Amen.”