Slender Reeds: Jochebed’s Hope

by Texie Susan Gregory

  And more unrest.

  Their most recent slur still festered. One of their kind had marred Ramses’s city gates—those immense pylons chiseled to proclaim his victories. The Hebrew dog had scraped away Ramses’s name as if he never existed.

  His jaw twitched. They were the ones who should be erased from the earth and forgotten, the fools.

  Ridiculed throughout Egypt, the shepherds clung to the belief of becoming a nation under their one god. Absurd. They were as misguided as Akhenaten. Ramses’s lip curled against the foul taste the heretic pharaoh’s name left in his mouth. Though it happened three decades ago, Ramses still could not believe how Akhenaten allowed his radical beliefs to politically undermine and decimate Egypt.

  Ramses spat—Akhenaten and his ridiculous belief in a sole god! Egypt had barely survived the seventeen-year reign of that fool and his followers of the god Aten.

  Who would be idiotic enough to believe in only one god?

  Ramses’s hands tightened on the chariot’s leather reins, his body responding to the thought before his mind completely formed it. The powerful stallion tossed his head in protest at the restraint but slowed perceptibly.

  Followers of that one god. The idea was impossible! No, ludicrous!

  It would be too easy, too obvious, child’s play—and yet, even he, a god of Egypt, had not seen it until now. Sweat chilled the back of his neck as the truth penetrated his mind. These Hebrew people are a remnant of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten! They were Akhenaten’s followers—the similarities blaringly obvious.

  Belief in only one god, a god of the heavens.

  Refusal to acknowledge the other deities.

  Supreme loyalty to their clan.

  Now he grasped the Hebrews’ sly intent. By resurrecting the cult of Akhenaten, they would destroy Egypt, completing what the heretic pharaoh had begun. Although mostly laborers, the Hebrews’ increasing infiltration of Egyptian society—some working for court officers, some posing as merchants—was glaring proof of their treachery.

  Ramses swore, cursing his blindness to the plot. Was this the god-vision the priest Umi had prophesied?

  Umi’s prophecy. A warrior taunted a cornered lion cub, unaware a full-grown lion crouched nearby. That was odd. Male lions ignored their offspring. The foolish warrior threw away his food, his water, his shield and spear—systematically destroying himself. As he drew his sword, the powerful beast leaped between him and the cub. The man fled—or did he fall into the river and drown—Ramses shrugged. That detail eluded him, but he remembered the ending. The scroll’s words singed his mind.

  “From the banks of the Nile the lion and its cub prowled across Egypt, bringing death and destruction to all who opposed them. No one could stand against their power—for if one cub was slain, three appeared to take its place.”

  He had deemed the prophecy absurd when first reading it, but now … looking at the riverbank’s offspring, those huts rising from the mud … Ramses forced himself to relax his grip on the reins, compose his thoughts, chart his strategy.

  He would not simply defeat their plans. He would systematically destroy any hope, any chance these heretics had of survival. A smile eased across his lips. He would thwart the Hebrews and be forever hailed as Egypt’s savior.

  With a black look at the mob of dirty children who called out and raced toward him, he ignored the foremost boy until Victory-at-Thebes shied, the jolt throwing Ramses against the edge of his chariot. Ramses balanced and pivoted toward the piercing scream. The idiot! If his horse was injured or the chariot damaged…

  In one fluid movement Ramses slid his sword from its sheath and dealt with the little fool.

  He released the reins to his driver then wiped the blood from his jewel-hilted sword. One less Hebrew to bother with. He should have silenced them all.

  He smirked.

  He might do just that.

  Taking the reins again, he did not look back at the still body. He ran his tongue under his lip, feeling the grit caught between his teeth. It was impossible to stay clean while traveling. He looked forward to bathing at the palace and scraping the hair from his body.

  Vexed by the change in the horse’s cadence, Ramses cursed the little wretch who could have carelessly crippled his prize stallion.

  Determination hardened the stern lines of his face.

  The Hebrews must be terminated. Anything less would only serve to delay the inevitable—the cost to him or his heir. Raising his fist, he gestured to move faster.

  Ramses glanced at the nest of houses. Today he’d taught them to stay out of his way. Someday he would return to destroy them. They would rue the day their ancestors set foot in this land. They would curse their delusion of outwitting him.

  The Hebrews would suffer beyond their comprehension.

  Gripping the curved edge of the chariot, Ramses twice rammed his clenched fist into the air. Onward! Homeward!

  His was the power of the gods, and he could not be deceived.

  Chapter 2

  Amram reached the remains of the child. Kneeling in the pool of red, he gathered the limp body in his arms.

  “Samuel, keep the girls away. Quickly! They should not see this. Zackary, take the other boys to Elisheba and leave the girls with Lili and Jochebed. Now, Zackary. Move! Send Deborah to find Puah—is she still the head midwife? Have her go to the child’s home. His mother will need a woman with her.”

  Stunned, Jochebed sank to her knees, her thoughts as broken as the field where chariot wheels had knifed the earth. Slender stalks ripped and uprooted by countless hooves lay mangled in the dirt as if prostrated in grief for the child’s severed life.

  The little boy had crumpled in the ruts of a chariot wheel. Only a moment ago he had turned his smiling face toward her, seeming so proud to have outraced the other bigger boys, and now his laughter was silenced, the brightness of his eyes lost, his life sliced away—a reminder of their paltry significance to Pharaoh, to Egypt.

  Sobbing, the children clung to Jochebed, and she kept her arms wrapped around their bony shoulders in wordless protection, trying to block the macabre death etched in her mind.

  “It hurt my ears. It was so loud.”

  “Why doesn’t Gray Ear stand up, Bedde?”

  “So many men…”

  “… with whips and yelling. Why, Bedde?”

  The girls cried from their fright, their calloused knees, the blisters and mosquito bites, the splinters and sweat as Jochebed listened. Nothing she could think to say calmed them. Her mother would have known what to do and how to comfort the single child who showed no emotion—the one standing alone, watching blood darken and disappear into the sand.

  Ramses turned over the bracelet, weighing the gold, admiring the craftsmanship with its string of delicate wires wrapped around the brilliant jewels. It was worth a small fortune—a man’s life, so to speak. Such a thing of beauty should belong to only one person, Nefertari, his wise and beloved wife.

  Did she realize her skill of asking seemingly innocent questions or making offhand remarks that led him to form new perspectives? A woman’s wiles were of inestimable value, an art form at which his dear one excelled.

  Ramses knew Nefertari would come quickly upon receiving his summons. Since becoming his wife when she was thirteen, she had never failed to please him. He had been fifteen when they married, reigning as vizier with his father, Seti.

  Ramses recognized the cadence of Nefertari’s quick steps. Other wives might be sent to the harem complex of Mer-Wer at the mouth of the Faiyum, but he wanted this one close at hand. He smiled, thinking of the night to come.

  “My lord, welcome home.”

  Catching her soft hand before she could bow, he pulled her close. “Now that you are here I am truly home, Nefertari.”

  “You are well? I have been so worried. Merit-Amun’s dreams returned, and then I heard Hebrews attacked you. Dear one, tell me you were not injured.”

  “An annoyance, a mishap, nothing more. Beloved, I hav
e a gift for you. It will be enhanced by your beauty.” He held out the bracelet, enjoying her look of pleasure.

  “Ramses, it’s breathtaking. Wherever did you find it?”

  “In Syria. Fascinating place. Would you like to hear about it?” Ramses continued without waiting for her nod. “We stopped near a village in the mountains. These people build houses on, or into, or out of the mountains with no apparent plan. Their houses look as if they will fall off the rocks in the next windstorm.

  “Sometime during the night, one of the village leaders entered our camp. The guards seized him before he reached my tent and were about to slay him when he cried for mercy and swore by all the gods he could ransom his life if I would allow him to retrieve his treasure. Curious, I stayed his execution and sent three guards to accompany him and return with this great treasure he promised.”

  Nefertari turned the bracelet, admiring its sparkles dripping against her dark skin. “What a wonderful story.” She slipped the gift on her wrist and pushed it snugly against her arm. “Do you think he grieves the loss of it?”

  “Beloved, I don’t think he misses it at all.”

  “You are so generous to me, Ramses, and how kind you were to let the man ransom his life.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Truly you are a benevolent god, my husband. The gods showed their goodness to me by allowing me to be your wife.” She raised her face for a kiss.

  Tendrils of blue-lotus perfume wafted around her, soothing him. “It is easy to be generous with one such as you, Nefertari,” he whispered as he kissed her smooth forehead. “Go now, return to your maids, consult your priest about Merit-Amun’s dreams, and see to our other children. You are too great a distraction for me. I have work I must attend to this day.”

  Ramses watched his Nefertari glide from the room and nodded. Her name suited her completely. She was indeed a “beautiful companion” in spite of being too compassionate toward lesser beings and tenderhearted with the unworthy.

  Eyes hooded, he smiled. He’d told her the truth. The man certainly did not miss the bracelet, the chalice of gold, or any of the jewels. How could he, when he lay rotting beneath the tree where the treasure had been hidden?

  Jochebed’s shoulders sagged in relief. Finally she was home after taking the terrified girls to their parents and helping Lili corral the scattered sheep. She was tired of being an adult, tired of being a woman, and wanted nothing more than to hide her face in Mama’s shoulder and bawl until comforted. Mama always knew how to make everything right.

  She pushed open the door. Her mother had returned earlier and now sat on the low stool, an island surrounded by waves of reeds and grasses. As usual she wove, working to fill the quota of baskets and mats that Pharaoh required, working to avoid the certain beating of an incomplete quota.

  “Mama.”

  Without a word, her mother dropped her work and held out her hands. Jochebed wrapped both arms around her mother’s neck. The familiar feel and scent of Mama’s skin broke through her shock. She began to shake, choking on her sobs, her throat aching from holding back her tears. They clung together, not speaking. Mama gently rocked her until her trembling eased.

  “They saw us, Mama. I know they did, and they could have steered away but they came right at us and killed that boy like he was a fly. He didn’t do anything to them and now he’s dead and little Gray Ear was whimpering and looking at me for help but the men made me turn away and they—”

  Jochebed choked on a sob. “It’s horrible. Everything is wrong. Why do we stay here? I hate them and I hate this place and I’d have taken care of Gray Ear until he could walk!”

  Mama murmured her comfort, and Jochebed felt a calm settling over her. She looked up at her mother’s face. She looked as grieved as Jochebed felt.

  Closing her eyes, Mama took a deep breath. “Gray Ear was a big help with the sheep, wasn’t he, dear? So much loss in your young life—too much, too much.”

  Wiping away a tear from Jochebed’s lashes, her mother sighed. “Ah, dear one, it is hard to stay here, I know it is, but if we left, we wouldn’t get very far, now would we? The desert is even less forgiving than the Egyptians. It would kill us quickly.”

  She pushed a wisp of hair from Jochebed’s face and kissed her forehead. “It’s not right, Bedde. It’s not fair. I don’t know how people can be so heartless, so cruel. I have never understood why there is so much sorrow for our people. But I do know this, child. We stay because we were led here and deliverance has been promised. It has not come yet, but it will.”

  “No it won’t, Mama. Nothing’s going to change.” Jochebed wiped her face. “I don’t think deliverance will ever come. It is a dream, nothing more.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, Bedde, but by waiting on the Lord, we obey Him, and because we obey our people will survive. He will keep His promise to us.” She rubbed Jochebed’s back, her fingers gentle. “Can you listen a bit and let me tell you an old story a new way? It might help if you can hear it all the way through.”

  Jochebed nodded, glad for the excuse to linger, and nestled closer, searching for the steady beat of her mother’s heart. Soothed, she hiccupped in the safety of her mother’s warm arms.

  “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. As each part of creation was complete, God said it was good. You know what happened next—the deceiver convinced Eve to sin, and Adam joined her. Evil slithered into God’s perfect place because Adam and Eve chose to disobey Him.”

  “Yes, so they had to leave Eden. Mama, I’ve heard this a thousand times, a million times. It’s not helping.” Jochebed sighed. “I wish the Egyptians could be banished from here like Adam and Eve had to leave Eden. Egypt would be perfect without Egyptians. Well, not perfect.” She flattened a mosquito.

  Her mother smiled. “Over time, people became more wicked, more corrupt—and violent. The thoughts of their hearts were evil.”

  “Egyptians, huh?”

  Jochebed’s mother ignored her muttered comment. “The Lord regretted creating people and determined to wipe them from the face of the earth. But there was one man God called righteous.”

  “Noah and the ark…” Jochebed pulled away. “I know all this. This has nothing to do with that little boy and Gray Ear and those butchers. Everything is wrong, Mama. You are just fooling yourself if you keep thinking that somehow someone is going to rescue us. They’re just stories, Mama. Stories to keep us here until we’re all used up and die.”

  Mama nodded slowly and settled an unfinished basket into her left hand, beginning to weave. “We’re almost there, Bedde. Noah had a choice to make when the Lord spoke to him. He chose to be obedient, and so his family survived when no one else did. When the rains came, the earth flooded and every living creature”—she winked—“even the mosquitoes, perished except for the ones taken on board and those people who obeyed God and stayed in the ark. Much of the Lord’s work from the fifth and sixth days of creation had to be destroyed because of the evil in man’s heart.”

  Mama paused and selected a reed as thick as her little finger. “But He didn’t give up on mankind. He didn’t give up on us. He started over. He gave us another chance.”

  “So you’re saying we don’t give up when they murder a child and an old one-eared dog?” How could Mama say such a thing? “No, you’re wrong. This is different.”

  “Shhh, listen to me, child. I think the Lord wants us to keep trying with living, with each other, and with the Egyptians. By obeying Him, we choose life, we choose survival.”

  Her mother bent over her work and waited.

  “Survival? We’re choosing death, Mama. Death and slavery and beatings. Can’t you see the truth? That’s not life. What possible difference does giving them another chance make? Another chance to use us until we’re dead?” Had Mama forgotten the crisscrossed scars on her own back? The penalty for missing her quota?

  But when her mother spoke, her tone was even. “The difference is we are the chosen ones. We follow the Lord’s w
ays. If He does not give up, if He is willing to start over, then that is the example we choose, too. Can you do that?”

  Jochebed slid her gaze to the floor and shrugged one shoulder. She’d gladly give up on the Egyptians—and Deborah and Old Sarah, too.

  Mama and her stories, always talking about how wonderful God used to be. Exasperated, Jochebed shook her head. She picked up a water jug and left the house, trudging through the mud to where water ran clearer.

  As she climbed to the flat spot on a rock, her mind churned in time with the river. Her mother’s words swirled together—choices, chosen, chances. Jochebed had heard Noah’s story more times than she could count, but never the way Mama told it today.

  She rubbed her eyes, still gritty from the dust in the field. The more she thought about Mama’s story, the less she liked it. Maybe the Lord—if He was even real—chose to give second chances, but she did not.

  Besides, it was just a story.

  What was real was that little boy who never had a second chance. If only she had run to him instead of standing still, would he be alive now? If she had called to him, would he have heard? She should have done something, anything but just stand there watching his murder. Jochebed fought against the sob rising from her chest and wished Gray Ear was close by, scratching his fleas.

  Amram probably wished he had smiled at Lili.

  Ramses read the message.

  Once.

  Then he tossed the paper into a smoldering brazier, watching its edges waver and darken. Still, no uncertainty shadowed the pharaoh’s mind. The man would die. It was not a choice or a decision. It was simply ma’at. And there was no changing truth and order.

  No one distressed his beloved Nefertari and lived, be he slave or royal, Egyptian or inferior, child or adult.

  No one.

  Aware of the priests with their ears canted forward like prowling dogs, Ramses motioned the guard to step closer. He would not have his wife further disgraced and dishonored through court gossip. She had suffered enough.