by Mesu Andrews
“I’m truly sorry, Aban,” he said, glancing at the ash and dung between his feet. “I too lost my father, and it is a moment that changes a son’s life.” Elihu looked up, meeting Aban’s gaze for the first time. “Though I won’t pretend that I cared for Sayyid, I know the loss of a father is difficult to bear—no matter the relationship.” In the silence, a common cord of understanding entwined the men’s hearts.
Finally, Aban straightened to full height, dwarfing all those around Job’s still form. His outward struggle to maintain a soldier’s composure was evident. “I mourn in the secret place of a boy who did not know his father well,” he said. “But as a man, I had hopes for the father Sayyid could have become.”
Elihu wiped another tear. This time he didn’t hide it. “You are a worthy son, Aban, and you have risen above the weaknesses of the man who gave you life.”
The captain bowed, and Nogahla laid her hand on his arm. Aban’s large hand covered hers, and Elihu marveled at their tenderness, deepened by the extreme hardships they’d faced together.
Nogahla tilted her head toward the big man, her concern evident. “Perhaps Elihu would testify for you when you speak on Nada’s behalf. He could defend your rights as Sayyid’s heir to the city elders this afternoon.” She glanced between the two men.
A rush of dread washed over Elihu. Who was he to appear before the elders of Uz? No one listened to him.
He studied the dung between his feet again. “I can’t attest to Nada’s actions, but I heard Sayyid call you ‘my son’ when Eliphaz and Bildad arrived with their armies. I would be honored to testify to your parentage, Aban, but I’m not sure my words hold much sway.”
Aban hesitated only a moment. “Thank you, Elihu.” He drew a deep breath. “I hope the elders will relent on Nada’s sentence when I tell them it was a blood-for-blood killing.”
“And then will you keep Nada as your cook?” Nogahla asked quickly. Then, just as quickly, her face looked stricken. “Oh my. I don’t suppose you would keep a cook who poisoned your own father.”
Aban reached out to touch her cheek, regret shadowing his features. “If I had better protected Mistress Sitis, Nada would never have killed my father.” His hand fell to his side.
“Ima Sitis wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, Aban.” Elihu’s voice was gentle, holding no malice.
The big man inhaled again, seeming to use every seah of strength to maintain his composure. “And I must not blame myself. My energy must be spent seeking the Nameless One and his wife—those truly responsible for the deaths. My guards have gone into the desert to find them.” Sniffing and looking to the heavens, he wiped his hand down the full length of his face. “And I will concentrate on freeing Nada.”
Turning to Elihu, he said, “Though you think your words hold little importance, your testimony regarding my inheritance could still be beneficial. I don’t care about myself, but . . .” He lowered his voice, casting his gaze toward Eliphaz’s tent. “Bela the Edomite holds most of the land surrounding Uz, and he believes Eliphaz will award Job’s land to him. Job’s land is valuable because it consists of both Edomite and Ishmaelite properties. Adding Job’s estate to his own holdings will almost certainly ensure Bela as the first king of Edom. But some of my soldiers overheard Bela conspiring with Eliphaz to seize my father’s property—which is Ishmaelite land—if I can’t prove that Sayyid was my father. If Bela is successful, the Edomites would control all the land in Uz, and the Ishmaelite treaty, established by Mistress Sitis and Job’s marriage, would end.”
Dinah spoke up then, her cheeks flushed. “You mean a war could begin if the Edomites gain too much control of Uz?”
The big man nodded. “The city of Uz sits squarely on the Ishmaelite-Edomite border. So it’s a bit more complicated than that, but I suppose when the stew boils all day, that’s the truth left in the pot.”
Elihu heard Nogahla whimper and watched Aban place a comforting hand on her cheek. “Perhaps I make too dire a prediction,” he said and then turned to Elihu. “Still, I ask that you testify for a practical reason as well. As a soldier, I could sleep in a stable or the open field, but if Bela takes Sayyid’s home, Dinah and Nogahla will have no place to stay, and Nada will have no master to serve. Since Prince Bildad ordered Mistress Sitis to remain entombed in Widow Orma’s cave, they can hardly return . . .”
Aban continued speaking, but Elihu felt as if all breath left his body. Ima Sitis in a beggar’s cave? Why not in the family tomb?
“What!” he shouted. “How dare Bildad show such disrespect to my ima! Her Ishmaelite nobility alone should merit burial in a tomb, not a cave.”
Everyone gawked at him as if he’d sprouted horns, but Aban recovered and spoke first. “I’m sorry, Elihu. I thought you knew of Prince Bildad’s decision.” He glanced down at his callused hands and spoke slowly. “The Ishmaelite prince said he would not allow an idolatress to be buried according to Yahweh’s teachings.” Aban’s features stilled. Stepping forward, he landed a strong hand on Elihu’s shoulder. “I understand your grief, my friend. Please don’t feel you need to accompany me to the city gate. Take time to visit your ima Sitis at the widow’s cave. Perhaps you’ll feel better then.”
Aban turned and began a slow, weary slide down the dung pile. “Wait!” Elihu said, his voice choked with emotion. “I believe the city gate is on the way to the widow’s cave. I can grieve best by helping a friend.” Wiping his face, he took a step to leave but was stilled by a tender touch on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Elihu.” Dinah’s azure eyes pooled with tears, her lips curved into a tentative smile. “Thank you for being here when we need you most.”
His throat tight with emotion, he nodded a silent good-bye and hurried to catch up with Aban. “We must stop at Bildad’s tent on the way,” he said, when he’d swallowed his heart back into place.
“Would you like me to wait outside?” Aban spoke quietly, respectfully, and Elihu marveled that this gentle man lurked inside the beast he’d imagined.
“No, Aban. I’d like you to come inside and explain to Prince Bildad what will happen to Ishmaelites in Uz if Bela gains control of your inheritance. Surely Bildad, an Ishmaelite prince, who also heard Sayyid’s parental declaration, will provide testimony to tip the scales of justice that have been broken too long.”
20
~Job 19:25–27~
I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God. . . . How my heart yearns within me!
Job woke to a searing pain in his back. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as if they were on fire. He wept, and the salt in his tears burned like coals rolling down his cheeks. And then he remembered Sitis. “Nooo!” He tried to sit up, and his constricting muscles scraped the bandages, sending a shudder through him.
Dinah rushed to one side, Aban to the other, and Nogahla supported his back. Their hands, pressing on the bandages, felt like blades against his flesh. He sat. They steadied him. Breathe. Breathe. Black spots obscured his vision, but gauging the sun’s western haunt, he guessed his unconsciousness had given him several hours of blissful relief. He saw Bildad, Eliphaz, Zophar, Elihu, and now Bela sitting opposite him on reed mats, faces ashen.
“Where is my Sitis?” Job sobbed. “Will she live again?” Breathe. Breathe. Perhaps this is a nightmare. But this was no dream, and his pleas turned to bile in his throat. “At least a tree buds again. At least a dry riverbed runs with water again.” Shaking his fist at heaven, Job shrieked, “The days I have left are few, O God. You’ve already determined their number, so let me put in my time and leave me alone!”
“Job! You blow empty words like the hot east wind!” Eliphaz shouted in a voice so much like Esau’s, Job had to look twice to be sure his great-abba had not arrived. “Do you think you’re the only one suffering here? Your own words condemn you, my son.”
“My son,” Job seethed silently. How can y
ou call me “my son” when instead of comforting me, you sat and listened to the lies of my enemy for seven days? The realization struck Job anew. Sayyid is also dead! He turned to Aban, who was as gray and immovable as Elath granite.
Before Job could offer any words of comfort, Eliphaz’s thunder turned toward Aban. “You spoke with a silver tongue, Captain, when we met your father, but a guard at your rank thrives on treachery. Mark my words.” He laid a protective arm over Bela’s shoulder. “Fire will consume your wealth because you bribed those elders today. You have stolen Sayyid’s estate from my kinsman Bela, but Yahweh will repay your wickedness.”
Even through his grief, Job felt his cheeks flush, ashamed at his uncle’s venom. Why would Eliphaz think Bela deserved Sayyid’s property, and by what evidence would he accuse Aban of bribery? Had he no respect for a grieving man? Job’s heart squeezed at the depravity of the man he had once respected as an abba. His elders had proven their cruelty, heaping on abuse at a person’s weakest moment.
Suddenly Eliphaz released Bela and bounced his gnarled finger at Dinah. “And you, Jacob’s daughter! The godless conceive only trouble and give birth to evil. Their wombs fashion only conceit.” He sputtered as if he wanted to say more but had used up all the vile words in his basket.
Once again Job found himself cringing on behalf of a friend. He offered silent apologies to Aban and Dinah, both of whom smiled their forbearance. Mustering what little life he had left, Job met Eliphaz’s fiery gaze. “Uncle, if I were sitting in a fine robe at your ripe old age, I could utter long-winded speeches too—but I would hope my words could be encouraging, not disparaging.”
Eliphaz shifted uncomfortably. Job’s uncle prided himself on holiness, Bildad on tradition, and Zophar on intellect. Job could debate each man’s shortcomings, but what purpose would that serve?
Job turned his face heavenward again, crying out against those truly responsible for his pain. “El Shaddai, why have You blessed the efforts of evil men and turned me over to be mocked by wicked people? All was well with me, but You crushed me! You pierced my kidneys and spilled gall on the ground. Now I wear sackcloth and my eyes are ringed with death’s shadow.”
He fell silent, watching the startled faces around him. Pondering his venomous prayer, he searched his heart. Did he regret it? No! He felt betrayed by God. Alone. Abandoned.
And then came a subtle call. Oop-oop-oop. He looked to the front edge of the ash heap and saw the hoopoe bird. The stony edges of his heart chipped away as he watched the instrument of Yahweh’s reassurance bathe in the dust. Yes, God had allowed his pain, but the Creator had also sent the hoopoe bird to comfort Job.
“Yet even now, my Lord, You are my only advocate.” Fresh tears came as sweet words rolled like honey on his tongue. “Who else but You can save me, restore me? You alone are my deliverer.” He opened his eyes and saw the hoopoe bird fly away. Fresh despair shot through him like a flaming arrow.
Turning to his uncle, he pleaded with Eliphaz—dared him—to end the confusion warring within. “God has made me a byword, Uncle. People spit in my face as they walk by me. Please, try again with your words. See if you can tell me something I don’t already know.”
“How can you speak to us as if we were stupid cattle when you’re the one who is completely insane?” Bildad interrupted, shaking a balled fist in the air. His words escaped through tightly clenched teeth. “You’ve lost all ability to reason. You tear yourself to pieces and then expect everyone to disregard God’s truths for your sake. The wicked man perishes from the earth, and he leaves no descendants among his people. Such is the place of one who—knows—not—God.” The old man punctuated his last words by poking the air, each jab like a dagger into Job’s heart.
“How long will you crush me with your words?” Job cried. Does he truly believe that now I don’t even know El Shaddai? Weeping overtook him. Could this be the same man who had rejoiced at Job’s wedding? The same beloved teacher who had doted on him in the House of Shem, calling him the star student, chosen by God to teach the clans of Esau?
“If I have gone astray,” he choked out between sobs, “it’s my concern, not yours. But know this . . . God has wronged me.”
Dinah placed her hand on his shoulder, and pain radiated through him. “Job, please choose your words carefully.”
“Though I have cried out for justice,” he shouted into her pleading expression, “I get no justice from on high. My servants have abandoned me, my friends detest me, my breath is—was—offensive to my wife.”
Job noted Dinah’s troubled expression, and the reflection of her doubts glistened in Nogahla’s eyes. But Job fought his own inner battle. He suddenly realized he could argue either aspect of God’s grandeur—His power to destroy and His power to revive.
“In the depths of my spirit, I know life cannot end here. I know my Redeemer lives.” Though never taught this in the House of Shem, still he knew it to be true. “After my flesh is destroyed, God will stand on the earth, and I will see Him face-to-face. Oh, how my heart yearns for that day.”
Zophar sneered. “You talk out of both sides of your face. You say we die and there is no rising, yet you say you will die and then see God. I think Bildad is right. You are lost in sin, and your ability to reason has left you.”
Job glared at his onetime best friend and brother. “If you think you can draw me into a debate and reveal some deep, dark sin, perhaps you should search your own heart because someday you too will meet God face-to-face.”
Zophar rocked back and forth in his fury, trying to stand, but his bulk made the task a difficult one. “You have dishonored your elders and me long enough!” On the third try, he rolled to his knees and straightened his robe, then marched to Job’s ash heap, towering over him. “You think you’re clever, but your pride has always been your downfall. Evil tasted sweet, didn’t she?” Zophar aimed his finger at Dinah, less than a handbreadth from her nose. “But judgment fell on your house because of her! God has made you vomit up the riches you gained through oppressing the poor and your deceitful trading.”
Zophar folded his arms across his puffed-up chest, releasing longtime resentment Job had no idea existed. His hatred of Dinah was a tired repetition of the same drumbeat, but his bitterness toward Job rent their relationship like a shofar splitting the silence.
Aban jumped to his feet, the sudden motion causing Zophar to stumble back. “You will not speak of Dinah with such blatant disrespect, my lord.” Aban’s humble bow accompanied his authoritative command. “She is neither a harlot nor a criminal, and I will use every weapon at my disposal to defend her honor.”
Zophar drew himself up to his full height, tilting his head back to meet Aban’s gaze. “I hope your men are willing to die for a murderess.” Glancing over at Bela, he sneered. “My kinsman would have made better use of his household guard. It’s a shame your father left his troops in a fool’s hands.”
Elihu slapped his knees and unfolded his wiry frame. “Why must we involve Dinah at all?” Exchanging a comrade’s glance with Aban, he descended the elders’ ash pile and stood in the neutral space, leveling his question at Zophar. “Your hatred toward Dinah has colored your opinion of Job’s circumstances, and you made sure Bildad, Eliphaz, and I shared that hatred before we arrived.”
Job glanced from Zophar to the elders to Dinah and couldn’t decide which face was most shocked by Elihu’s defense. What happened to unite Aban and Elihu during my afternoon of darkness, and what has given my brilliant student such courage in the presence of these elders? Job felt an overwhelming pride in the young man and wished Sitis could have seen his confident air and noble bearing.
Zophar’s face turned as red as the cliffs around them, but before he could slice Elihu with his sharp tongue, Aban came to the rescue. “Won’t you return to your mat, my lord?” Aban extended his hand toward the elders’ ash pile, his words a request but his eyes a command.
Silence stretched as tight as a bowstring.
“Zophar,”
Job said softly, “please sit and listen carefully.” The round, red-haired man maintained his wide stance next to Aban, and Job continued staring into unrelenting eyes. “Is my complaint directed at any of you elders? Take a good look at me and be afraid, Zophar. Why do wicked men grow old and prosper, their flocks and herds flourishing? You have seen it in your travels from Damascus to Egypt—evil men spared from calamity. So how can you console me with this nonsense about only the wicked receiving punishment?”
“That’s enough!” Eliphaz shouted, the little sensitivity he had previously displayed now completely cast aside. “You declare your righteousness before God. Fine! Does God take this much notice of a righteous man? Is it for your holiness that He rebukes you? No! It’s because you stripped the poor of their clothing. You gave neither water to the weary nor food to the hungry. You sent widows away empty-handed and broke the backs of the fatherless with endless days in your fields. Why not just admit your sins, submit to God’s discipline, and be at peace with Him? Then your prosperity will return to you.”
Job’s mouth dropped open at his uncle’s wild accusations, marveling that his venom could match the earlier charges of bribery against Aban.
Just as the thought formed in Job’s mind, Eliphaz extended his hand toward Dinah and the captain. “And if you remove the wickedness from your household, God will hear your prayers and deliver even those who are not innocent because of the cleanness of your hands.”
Aban clapped his hands together, causing everyone to jump. “We’re finished for today.” Elihu followed his lead, the two men nodding agreement. “The sun is descending in the western sky,” Aban continued, “and I must arrange lodging for my new guests.” He extended his hand, inviting Dinah and Nogahla to exit the dung pile. Shyly, the women rose and exited before the esteemed elders, causing a fresh myriad of complaints.
“It’s an insult for a woman and her slave to show her back to an Ishmaelite prince,” Bildad sputtered as Elihu offered his hand to steady the old man, stepping down the pile of ashes.