The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel

by Wangerin Jr. , Walter

  IT WAS JUST after Isaac had been weaned and Sarah’s breasts were again flat and forever dry, that she came to Abraham among the flocks.

  “Cast out,” Sarah cried as she approached him, “cast out that slave and her son!”

  Abraham turned to face his wife.

  She didn’t wait for response, but kept talking and coming at once. “I saw that Egyptian’s wild whelp playing with little Isaac. There was absolutely no reverence there. None! I saw the future, Abraham, and I won’t have it! The son of that slave woman shall not be heir with my son Isaac!”

  Abraham said, “He is my son, too.”

  Sarah stood dead still, staring at Abraham. A little wind tugged at her colorless hair. Her voice, when she spoke, took on a husky quality. She uttered her words with individual softness and care. “Which of these sons,” she said, “did the Lord God promise? And which did the Lord God give?”

  So Abraham rose early the following morning and carried bread and a skin of water down to Hagar’s tent. He spoke a word to her, then put his few provisions on her shoulder and sent her away with the child.

  So Hagar and Ishmael went wandering in the wilderness.

  BUT ISAAC GREW into a comely youth, a son of genuine respect and obedience, the blessing upon his father’s old age. Abraham gave his heart completely to the boy.

  There were days when the man would take Isaac with him to a high promontory and show him not only the tents, the servants, the flocks and herds of his household, but also the land as far as the lad could see, north and south, east and west.

  “I, when I die,” Abraham would say, “will give you the tents, my son. But God will give you the land.”

  The old man loved his son so deeply that he was like life inside his bones.

  But then God said, Abraham.

  The man said, “Here I am.”

  And God said, Take your son Isaac to a mount in Moriah and offer him there as a burnt offering to me.

  In the evening Abraham carried his straw mat to a private place and unrolled it on a hill. All night he lay gazing up at the stars.

  Early in the morning he returned to the tents and cut wood. He saddled a donkey. He asked two servants to accompany him on a journey he was about to make, then he entered Sarah’s side of the tent and touched his son to waken him.

  “Come,” he whispered. “Don’t disturb your mother. Come.”

  So they left the encampment together.

  They traveled for three days in a northerly direction.

  On the third day the old man lifted his eyes and saw the place of sacrifice afar off.

  He said to the servants, “Wait here. The boy and I will go ahead and worship the Lord and then come back to you.”

  Abraham took the wood and laid it on the back of his son. In his left hand the man bore fire. In his right, the knife. So they walked together toward Moriah.

  Isaac said, “Father?”

  Abraham said, “Here I am, my son.”

  Isaac said, “We have the fire and the wood for our sacrifice, but where is the lamb?”

  “Ah, the lamb,” said Abraham. And then he said, “God will provide.” So they continued forward, climbing the side of Moriah together.

  When they came to the place, Abraham bent and built an altar. Wiry and silent, the old man laid wood on the altar. Then he bound Isaac his son and lifted him up and laid him on the altar, too, upon the wood.

  So then Abraham bound his robe to his waist that nothing hung loosely, and with his left hand he touched the boy at the breastbone, and with his right hand he picked up a long copper knife and raised it very high in order to kill the boy with a single thrust.

  Abraham! Abraham! It was the Lord God calling. Abraham!

  “Here I am,” the old man cried.

  God said, Enough. Do not hurt the boy. I know now that you fear God since you did not withhold your only son from me.

  Abraham lifted his eyes and saw a ram caught in a thicket by his horns. So he went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son. And he called the name of that place The Lord Shall Provide.

  And the Lord said, I will indeed bless you. I will multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven, and by them shall all the nations of the earth be blessed—for you have obeyed my voice.

  AFTER THESE THINGS Sarah lived to be a hundred and twenty-seven years old. Abraham was again abiding near the oaks of Mamre. It was there that his old wife died.

  Before he spoke the word to anyone else, Abraham sat by her bed for a night and a morning, weeping. He held her hand until it grew cold, and then he laid it by her tiny frame.

  At noon he arose and went forth to find a place to bury his dead.

  There was a field in Machpelah east of Mamre, owned by a man named Ephron, in which there was a cave. Abraham bartered with Ephron until he agreed to sell his field at a price of four hundred shekels of silver. In the presence of many witnesses the payment was weighed out and the sale made.

  So the field belonged to Abraham.

  He carried his wife Sarah to his small property and brought her into the cave and buried her there.

  TWO

  Rebekah

  I

  OUTSIDE THE CITY where Abraham’s brother, Nahor, had lived anddied, there was a well of fresh spring water. Abundant and dependable, the well served both the town and the travelers who passed by, caravans bearing rich goods east and west.

  In order to draw water from this particular well, a woman had to descend steps of uneven stone, kneel down and dip her jar in the flowing water, then heave the full container back up to her shoulder and climb the steps again. Beasts of burden, of course, could not go down in the grotto themselves, so their water was brought up by the jarful and poured into stone troughs built at ground level.

  Rebekah was familiar with the well and the routine. Daily at dusk she went with a group of friends to draw water for their families—bright young women, jars on their shoulders and laughter rising like flocks of birds. Rebekah herself moved more quietly than the others. She was tall. She took a longer, more graceful stride. She had a forehead of intelligence and a manner of immediate conviction. Even surrounded by crowds this woman seemed to stand alone.

  And so it happened one evening that as the women were coming up from the well with full jars, an old man stepped forward and spoke to Rebekah as if she were the only one around.

  “Please,” he said, “may I have a drink from your jar?”

  Clearly he was a traveler, dusty from the road, tired and very old—old enough to be her grandfather. Rebekah saw ten camels kneeling here and there around the well, their heads on high.

  Her friends watched a moment, then left. It was growing dark, and Rebekah could take care of herself.

  “Yes,” she said, lowering the jar to her hand. “Yes, please do drink.”

  He took just a sip, never removing his eyes from her face. It caused her to blush.

  She said, “I’ll draw water for your camels, too, sir.”

  And she did. Down and up the stone steps she went, pouring water into the drinking troughs. While the old man still gazed at her, she gave a proper thump to one beast, which then rose and ambled forward to drink. The others followed. And Rebekah kept filling the troughs until all ten camels were satisfied.

  It was dark when she was done.

  And when the old man again approached her, he held in his hand objects so smooth and beautiful that they shined. A golden ring and two gold bracelets.

  “Whose daughter are you?” he said.

  Rebekah answered, “I am the daughter of Bethuel who is the son of Nahor.”

  “Nahor,” the stranger murmured, “I know Nahor.” He said the name with such emotion that he seemed about to burst into tears. He reached for Rebekah’s hand and gently slipped the ring onto her finger. “Does Bethuel’s house have room for me and my people to lodge a while?”

  She said, “We have straw and provender, yes. And room. Yes.”

  N
ow, the old man went down on his knees and raised his arms and chanted softly: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of my master Abraham! He has led me to the house of his kinsman.”

  Without rising again, he clasped the bracelets around Rebekah’s arms and said, “Please go. Please beg space for me for the night.”

  REBEKAH’S FATHER WAS old and infirm by then. It was her brother Laban who made most of the family’s decisions. Laban didn’t take an immediate interest in this story about a traveler from the west. He kept eating his supper. But then Rebekah removed her robe; he saw the gold and straightway left the house.

  While he was gone, Rebekah and her mother prepared more food.

  In time they heard Laban’s voice outside. He was himself unbridling the man’s camels. He was commanding his servants to bring water for the man’s feet. And then he was saying, “Come in, O blessed of the Lord. Come and eat.”

  But when they were in the house and food was placed before him, the old man refused to eat.

  “Not till I have told my errand,” he said.

  Laban said, “Speak on, friend!”

  So he said, “I am Abraham’s servant. The Lord has greatly blessed my master with flocks and herds, with silver and gold, menservants, maidservants, camels, and asses.

  “But Abraham has only one son. Isaac. And he made me swear in the land of Canaan to return to this land and to the house of his kindred, here to find a wife for Isaac.

  “This very day I arrived at the well outside your city and prayed that God would prosper me in my task. I said, O Lord, when I ask a young woman to give me a drink, if she says, ‘Drink, and I will draw for your camels, too’ let her be the woman you’ve chosen for my master’s son.

  “And behold, even before I was done praying, your sister came. Rebekah came. This beautiful woman came and did all that I had asked of the Lord.

  “Now, then,” said the old man to Laban and Bethuel, “if you will deal loyally and honestly with my master, say so. And if not, say that, too. I must know whether to turn to the right hand or the left.”

  Laban said, “Clearly the thing comes from the Lord. Take my sister and go. Let her be the wife of your master’s son, as the Lord has spoken.”

  All this Rebekah heard in shadow and in silence, standing erect in the same room while the men sat low around the oil lamp, speaking to one another.

  It was Abraham’s servant who finally raised his eyes and acknowledged her. “Rebekah, daughter of Bethuel,” he said. She took several steps into the light, and he said, “Receive these things.” Then he handed her jewels of silver and gold, and raiment closely woven. He also gave her brother and her mother costly ornaments.

  Finally he ate his supper.

  In the morning he said to his hosts, “Please allow me to go back to my master now. He’s old and cannot live much longer.”

  Laban said, “Oh, sir—no! Let the maiden take time to say good-bye. Be our guest in the meantime. At least ten days.”

  “Please,” said the servant. “The journey is a long one. The season will turn to rain soon. Please.”

  Laban said, “We should let Rebekah decide.”

  Immediately Rebekah said, “I will go.”

  Thus did Rebekah, this woman of quick conviction and utter self-assurance, in a night and a day transform her life thereafter and forever.

  IN THE MONTH that followed, Rebekah and the old servant traveled from her home in Paddan-aram on the same road Abraham himself had taken more than sixty-five years earlier, a long southward route. They crossed the Jordan River at Succoth and journeyed yet farther south than the Salt Sea into the Negev.

  On the evening of the thirtieth day, while the camels were moving with weary languor, Rebekah lifted her eyes and saw a man strolling alone across the fields, his head bent down in meditation.

  “Who is that?” she said.

  She alighted from her camel and went to the old servant of Abraham. “Do you see that man in the distance?” she asked. “Who is he?”

  “Ah, that’s the son of my master. That is Isaac.”

  So Rebekah covered her face with a veil and waited to be seen by the man who would be her husband.

  In the Negev, then, Isaac took Rebekah to his tent, and she became his wife, and he loved her completely. He never loved another as long as he lived.

  He said, “As soon as I saw the woman standing tall by the side of a white field, I fell in love with her.”

  He was forty years old.

  II

  AT THE AGE of a hundred and seventy-five, Abraham breathed his last and died, an old man full of years.

  His two sons came to bury him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field which he had purchased as a burial place for his wife.

  So they were gathered together in the end, Abraham and Sarah.

  But the brothers Isaac and Ishmael went their separate ways, never to meet again.

  The children of Ishmael lived in the wilderness of Paran. They became a wild, fighting tribe, their young men expert with the bow, their hands against all other tribes.

  But after the death of Abraham, God blessed Isaac.

  For the next twenty years he wandered throughout the Negev wilderness, sojourning with his flocks and herds in the lands of other people, living in tents as Abraham had done before him.

  And like Sarah before her, Rebekah was barren.

  III

  ISAAC, WHY DOES the king want to see us?”

  “Who knows why kings do anything?”

  “No, but you know something. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Well, yesterday when we were lying in the barley field Abimelech saw us.”

  “So what? Why should a king care about someone else’s loving?” It wasn’t so much a question as a meditation. Rebekah was beginning to wonder whether Isaac ought to strike camp and move away from this place—even before the harvest, if necessary.

  She was riding a handsome donkey. A light breeze tugged at her veil. Her husband had insisted that she veil herself for this particular interview. Isaac himself was washed and well dressed, leading the donkey up a long road toward the whitewashed walls of the Philistine city called Gerar.

  They had been dwelling in this region for several seasons now, maintaining a fairly peaceful accord with the king and his people. In the beginning Isaac had even spent time in the city gates, gossiping with the citizens.

  But lately his flocks and fields had been prospering more than those of Gerar. And when his servants discovered a fresh water in an old well, the men of Gerar came and demanded it for themselves. Isaac shrugged and gave it over and ordered his servants to dig another well. But when that well also brought forth a sweet water, the same men came to claim it, this time armed and angry, ready to fight. Isaac didn’t want a fight. Though he himself was a good hunter he was not a fighting man. He relinquished this well, too.

  So Rebekah was thinking that it was time for them to rise up and travel elsewhere.

  Suddenly she snapped out of her meditations. “Isaac,” she said sharply, “I think I want you to answer that question.”

  “What question?”

  “Why Abimelech should be concerned about our lying together. If a wife wants children, what is that to a king?”

  “A wife,” Isaac mumbled low. “A wife, yes. Not a sister.”

  “What? What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘Not a sister.’”

  “Isaac, turn and look at me! What do you mean, not a sister?”

  Isaac turned but did not look at his wife. He said, “When we first came here the men of Gerar saw how beautiful you are, and they asked about you. I was afraid they might kill the husband to get at his wife—but for a sister they would let the brother alone. I told them you were my sister.”

  Rebekah gazed at Isaac a while, sitting as straight as a rod of iron upon her mount. Then she removed her veil and gathered her robes tightly around her body, snatched the bridle from her husband’s hand, turned the donkey and rode alon
e back to the tents. Let Isaac keep his interview with the king. Let Isaac explain his own folly. Let Isaac grant her respectability again and with a confession make her his wife for the second time.

  But now she was convinced. The time had come to move on.

  IV

  AS HER HUSBAND approached the sixtieth year of his life, Rebekah and Isaac encamped again at Beer-lahai-roi, near the same field where they first set eyes on one another.

  She was younger than he, but they had been married for twenty years without children, and Rebekah longed for children.

  One night she wept loudly and angrily on account of her longing.

  The following morning Isaac came into her compartment, took her hand, and led her to a high, rocky hill where he lifted his hands in prayer on his wife’s behalf. Then they went back down to their tent. They spent the rest of the day together, and soon Rebekah had no need to cry for want of a child. She had conceived. She was smiling and radiant again, and pregnant.

  Ah, dark Rebekah! When she smiled her eye was the secret moon in a black galena sky. Her passage was so slow and so graceful as to bind men’s hearts to the vision forever.

  AT THREE MONTHS to term Rebekah began to experience crushing pains in her womb. She would suddenly cry out, then clap her hand across her mouth in order to cover the sound.

  If it has to be this way, she thought, why should I go on living?

  This time she went alone to the sacred hill where Isaac had prayed before. She raised her hands and said, “What is it, Lord? O Lord, what is happening to me?”

  And the Lord God said:

  Two nations are wrestling

  within your womb;

  two peoples born of your body,

  Rebekah,