Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis)

by Orson Scott Card

  “So you do think he’ll leave.”

  “Someday, yes. Not the day after the wedding!”

  “I’m not a wife,” said Rachel. She meant that she was not a wifely kind of woman, but of course Leah had to tease her by pretending not to understand.

  “No one is, until they are,” said Leah.

  “If you think that made sense …”

  “I know who I’m talking to, Rachel,” said Leah with a laugh. “I didn’t expect it to make sense to you.”

  “I’ll tell on you for being mean to me.” That was part of the game these days, to make fun of how they used to be with each other, during the bad times.

  “Father won’t care,” said Leah, “and God already knows. And they both forgive me.”

  “Whoever told you that doesn’t know God!” said Rachel.

  “Hush,” said Leah, for the first time letting her voice show genuine warning.

  “Leah,” said Rachel softly. “Why do things have to change?”

  “They always will.”

  “The sheep never change.”

  “Oh really? Then why do you watch them so closely?”

  “They do things, stupid things, but no matter what they do, they’re still sheep.”

  “Maybe that’s how God looks at us,” said Leah. “We do things, but we’re still his children.”

  “Why did God make me such a happy child, if he only meant to change me into something else?”

  “He sends us into the world as babies so we can learn to be people,” said Leah.

  “Well, I don’t want to be people,” said Rachel.

  “You want to stay a baby forever?”

  “I’m happy now.”

  “Why do you sound miserable?”

  “Because God sent Jacob here to change everything.”

  “Because Jacob was willing to wait for you, you’ve had seven years without change. Thank God for those years, Rachel. And thank God for a good husband, when there are so many bad ones.”

  Rachel knew good advice when she heard it. “Why can’t you snap at me and tell me I’m stupid?” she said. “Then I could get angry at you instead of having to pay attention to the wise things you say.”

  “Am I wise today?” said Leah. “Well, how nice. I can’t wait for you to get smart enough to say wise things to me.”

  “The beans are done.”

  “That’s why my fingers feel so empty as I shell them,” said Leah.

  “My beans are done.”

  “And mine are nearly done,” said Leah. “But you can run off, little sister, and play with the other babies if you want.”

  Rachel stuck out her tongue.

  “I’m not blind,” said Leah. “I know a tongue-poke when I almost see it.”

  “Give me some of your beans,” said Rachel. “I’ll help you finish.”

  “Just remember,” said Leah. “When you’re married, you won’t have me to remind you of how good your life is compared to mine.”

  “And you won’t have me to accuse of being an ungrateful brat.”

  “I’ll miss you so much,” said Leah dryly.

  “You will, you know,” said Rachel.

  “And you’ll miss me,” said Leah.

  “Yes, but I know it.”

  “If you throw that bean at me, I’ll take it all back.”

  “You see everything.”

  “I don’t have to see when I know you so well.”

  Rachel wondered if anyone really knew anyone all that well.

  I don’t even know myself as well as Leah does, Rachel realized. I don’t know anything or anybody. How am I supposed to be someone’s wife and mother, when I’m such a hopelessly ignorant child?

  Another year, Lord! Give me just another year!

  Or two.

  PART X

  WARNINGS

  CHAPTER 21

  It was a shearing day, when the normal duties of the camp were all set aside, except for a few who still prepared food and hauled water. Everyone else was bringing sheep in and out of the makeshift pens that covered all the land round about Padan-aram, except for those strong enough to hold the terrified sheep absolutely still, while those with dexterity and experience sliced away great fleeces of wool. Whether it was human blood or the blood of sheep, it was a mark of pride and cause for celebration when a whole shearing could be accomplished without any slicing of flesh. “Shearers, not butchers!” cried Laban. “That’s what we are today!”

  It was Laban who made the great show of leadership, thought Bilhah, but she knew from the comments of others that before Jacob came, there was blood in the wool most years, and usually roast mutton as their consolation for a fatal mistake in the shearing. There had never been a man lost, thank the Lord, but they heard of such things happening in other camps, a knife going awry and slicing someone’s thigh. From such a wound the blood would flow so copiously that the victim would be dead in moments, and all the wool on the floor ruined. Who would wear a garment or even tread on a rug that was brown from the blood of a dead shepherd?

  Under Jacob’s leadership, though, they had practiced before the shearing began. Instead of plunging right in, the experienced ones talking the newer men and women through their work, Jacob had them act it out first, with no sheep at all, and then with a sheep but with sticks instead of knives.

  That was how he was able to tell which men were too old now, their eyes too weak to go on shearing. It was hard on them to be turned out of the shearing shed and forced to go back to guiding the sheep in and out of the pens, but as Laban explained to the men who complained bitterly that first year, “I’d rather have you grumbling out here in the pens than dead with your blood all over the fleece. Or worse, with my blood all over, because you missed and slashed my belly open!”

  By the third year, the complaints were over. Two clean years in a row were persuasion enough, and now, in Jacob’s seventh spring shearing, the shearers were proud of being part of what they now called “the dance,” when they went through the motions to make sure everyone was up to snuff, and give the newer ones a sense of what it felt like to do the job.

  The “dance” had been yesterday. Today, the fleece was piling up, more than ever before, and cleaner and whiter, too. It was wealth they were carrying away to stack for carding, and under Jacob’s leadership, everyone could see that his methods had led to prosperity beyond anyone’s experience.

  Bilhah’s job, since she had never really become good with the animals, was to haul water for the shearers to wash their hands, and for the whetstones they used to keep their blades sharp. She knew enough to stay back out of the way, pouring the water into the basins only when the shearers were between sheep.

  She happened to be in the tent where Jacob was, overseeing the work of Terah, who had been commanded by his father to take a hand at shearing this year or see it cut off. Jacob had worked with him especially during the weeks before the shearing, to make sure he was ready, and Bilhah could see that Terah had, despite his complaints, learned well.

  It was while she was watching Terah shear a sheep that Zilpah approached her, tapping her on the arm. “Talk to me when you come out,” she whispered into Bilhah’s ear.

  Bilhah nodded, and dreaded keeping the appointment. Zilpah always acted as if she had all the important secrets of the universe to tell, when usually it was something quite ordinary or even unnecessary.

  But Bilhah knew her judgment was unfair, even as she thought of it. Zilpah had changed in her years of service with Leah. She dressed more modestly, and without any particular flair. At first Bilhah had assumed it was because Zilpah was trying not to overshadow her mistress Leah—but in truth, under Zilpah’s care Leah became more lovely, her hair always nicely arranged, her clothing always clean and well-chosen. There was little chance of Zilpah taking attention away from Leah now.

  So Zilpah’s modesty must arise from some other motive, and Bilhah had just about decided that it was actually Zilpah’s nature to be modest, and her immodesty h
ad been the result of her own fears and uncertainty. Whatever the reason for it, though, in the years since Zilpah became Leah’s handmaid, she had turned into a woman of some grace and modesty.

  I only think ill of her, thought Bilhah, because I resent the fact that she has prospered where I failed. Together, she and Leah have turned into good women, the one ready to take her place as a great lady, the other her honorable handmaiden. And I am … what? My lady is still a rough boyish girl who dislikes dressing as a grown woman, even though her wedding is not many months away. And when she does dress up to show her beauty—at feasts, or when her father asks it of her—it’s someone else who tends to her, not her ostensible handmaiden, because I scarcely know how to do up my own hair, let alone a lady’s.

  Zilpah has shown me up.

  And even though it annoys me, I can’t bring myself to care enough to do anything about it. I could learn how to do hair, if I wanted to. But my real work is in Jacob’s dooryard. I have copied so many books in these seven years—faithfully, and in a good hand—that surely I’ve exhausted his supply. How large a sack had he carried on his back when he came here all those years ago?

  I have put the words down on scrolls, I have read them aloud to Leah and Zilpah and even, on rare occasions, to Rachel; and I have also written them in my heart. But no one can see such adornment. As I walk about the camp, the words of God don’t draw anyone’s eye to me, and no one sighs at my beauty when I pass them by. It’s foolish of me to be envious of Zilpah and Leah, but I am. For are they not also as beautifully adorned in their hearts as I am? Are the scriptures not as much a part of their memory as they are of mine?

  I should have learned from them, as Zilpah learned reading from me. How will I ever marry, when there’s nothing about me to recommend me to a man?

  The sheep was finished, and Bilhah quickly filled the basins. She had learned what order to fill them in, so she wouldn’t be in the way, and by the time she was done, the shearing of the next sheep had already begun.

  Outside the tent, Zilpah was waiting, and fell into step beside her, reaching for the water jar.

  “I can carry it,” said Bilhah.

  “Let it be that I’m helping you,” said Zilpah.

  “What’s the great secret, Zilpah?”

  “Leah is very worried and doesn’t know what to do, and she needs your advice.”

  “She has only to ask. I see her nearly every day.”

  “It’s a strange kind of question, and I think she’s afraid to ask you, because it’s about your mistress.”

  “About Rachel? They’re sisters. They talk. They like each other. Why do they need us as go-betweens?”

  “Leah’s worried. Rachel seems not to realize that her wedding is coming nearer, only a few months away.”

  “You can be sure she hasn’t forgotten.”

  “No, no,” said Zilpah. “That’s not the question. It’s … Leah worries that … does Rachel know the ways of men and women?”

  It took a moment for Bilhah to realize what the question meant. “She knows the way of rams and ewes,” she said.

  “Well, yes, of course, but … my mother explained things to me long ago,” said Zilpah, “and there came a day when it was clear to me that Leah did not know anything, and so I offered to explain it to her. It came as quite a shock, and so now she’s worried that Rachel seems so blithe about her wedding because she doesn’t know what’s expected of her.”

  “Rachel knows. She and Jacob even talk about it.”

  “What?”

  “Not about themselves, but about … no, don’t look so horrified, Zilpah! Jacob thought of this very problem, and made sure his own wife would not be taken by surprise. That’s the kind of careful man he is.”

  “Well,” said Zilpah. “But I wonder if he knows that much himself. Seven years here, and I’ve never heard anything about him lying with a woman. Have you?”

  “Not a word,” said Bilhah. “And he doesn’t visit harlots in Haran or Byblos, either, or we’d hear tales from the men who travel with him.”

  “So how much does he even know?”

  “It’s none of our business, Zilpah,” said Bilhah.

  “My mistress is making it her business,” said Zilpah.

  “Then let her talk to Rachel and keep us out of it!”

  Zilpah rolled her eyes.

  Bilhah thought she understood. “Leah’s too shy and modest to discuss it herself, but she can send you to me, and then expect me to—”

  “She’s tried to discuss it with Rachel, don’t you see? And I’ve tried, and Rachel just walks away. She refuses to talk about it.”

  “What makes you think I’d do any better? If she doesn’t want to talk about it, then—”

  “Leah says it means that Rachel’s frightened.”

  “Rachel isn’t afraid of anything,” said Bilhah. “Least of all Jacob. Her whole life revolves around him. She adores him. How can she possibly be afraid of him?”

  “He’s like a brother to her,” said Zilpah. “That’s what Leah’s afraid of. They’re so close that Leah thinks Rachel is afraid that marriage is going to ruin everything, and so she refuses to think about it or talk about how their love for each other has to change into something it hasn’t been before.”

  “What makes you think she’ll listen to me when she won’t listen to her own sister? It’s not as if I have any knowledge of it. You’re the only one of the four of us who even knew her own mother, at least long enough to learn about marriage.”

  “I don’t want you—I mean, Leah doesn’t want you to talk to Rachel. She wants you to warn Jacob.”

  “Me? Jacob? I can’t talk to Jacob about—”

  “You’re the only one who can.”

  “Then no one can.”

  “It would be extremely improper for the unmarried older sister of the bride to talk to Jacob about how unready Rachel is for their coming marriage. And as for me, I behaved in ways, when Jacob first came here, that make it very inappropriate for me to bring up such a topic, because he’ll think I haven’t changed since then. And don’t ask.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” said Bilhah. Though of course she was.

  “You work with him every day. With the holy books. You have no history of … provocation.”

  I’m plain and men don’t think of love when they look at me, that’s what you mean, thought Bilhah. Again she kept the words to herself.

  “And you’re Rachel’s handmaiden. You have the right to speak plainly to her husband about private matters.”

  They reached the well and Zilpah lowered the bag to draw out water.

  “Whoever her handmaiden is when she gets married, she’ll have that right,” said Bilhah, “but not me.”

  Zilpah laughed. “What do you mean? Do you think you won’t be her handmaiden?”

  “I’m free,” said Bilhah. “I’m not Laban’s, to be given away as a wedding present. I’ve acted as her handmaiden, that’s all—and not very well, I might remind you, in case you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

  “You could learn to do better if you cared.”

  “But I don’t care,” said Bilhah, “because I will not be her handmaiden after she’s married, so there’s no reason to learn it any better than she wants me to, and she’s never wanted me to do more than I do.”

  “So what will you do when she marries Jacob?”

  “I’ll go to Byblos,” said Bilhah, “and become a scribe.”

  The look of shock on Zilpah’s face reminded Bilhah of why she had never spoken of this plan to anyone. “Women can’t be scribes,” said Zilpah.

  “Obviously they can, since that’s what I’ve been doing every morning for seven years.”

  “They can’t get paid for it.”

  “Well I’m not going to do it for free,” retorted Bilhah.

  Zilpah shook her head. “What a pair you and Rachel are. Rachel refuses to admit she’s about to get married, and you refuse to admit that you’re stuck as somebody’
s servant as surely as I am.”

  “I’m free,” said Bilhah fiercely.

  “You’re only free if you have choices,” said Zilpah.

  “I have choices.”

  “You have delusions,” said Zilpah.

  “Maybe I’ll marry a scribe.”

  Zilpah sighed. “Please talk to Jacob and warn him about his bride.”

  “Warn him that she’s beautiful and loves him devotedly?”

  Zilpah flicked a drop of water in Bilhah’s face. “Warn him that he’s going to have a terrified, unready woman in his bed. Warn him that if he thinks she’s ready, he might give her such a horrifying wedding night as will stand between them all the days of their lives.”

  “And this is the wisdom that has been stewed up in the pot of Leah’s tent?”

  “When a woman is terrified,” said Zilpah, “her body isn’t ready, and her husband can hurt her without meaning to. And then she’ll be terrified forever after.”

  “Where did you hear that!” said Bilhah scornfully.

  “From my mother. It happened to her, and she says it’s happened to others. A woman who isn’t filled with desire can’t be loved that way, she can only be forced.”

  “And I’m supposed to talk like this with Jacob?”

  “You will if you love Rachel.”

  “You and Leah can love Rachel and talk to Jacob. I won’t do it.”

  “You are a selfish girl and a faithless friend.” Zilpah turned to walk away.

  Bilhah’s face turned red in shame. “How could I explain anything to him when I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!”

  Zilpah turned around and looked at her witheringly. “Say what I said, and Jacob will understand.”

  “Have your mother talk to him!” Bilhah said. She hoisted the water jug onto her shoulder and walked back to the shearing shed.

  Somehow she was letting Rachel down, she understood that, but she could not discuss this with Jacob. She could hardly bear to think of it herself. Until now, she had thought she knew everything about the ways of men and women. But now it seemed that there were things about women’s bodies—about her own body—that Zilpah and Leah both knew, and Bilhah herself had no idea of.