Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Joy lit the boy’s eyes, and a look of appreciation crossed his dusky complexion. “Thank you, Father!” He gave Abram an impulsive hug and then turned and took off at a run through the camp toward the road where Eliezer had gone.

  Sarai did not miss the affection evident in Abram’s gaze as he watched his son go, stirring the seeds of jealousy already growing in her heart. She should never have given Hagar to Abram that long-ago day. She should have let them both remain childless and given their inheritance to Eliezer and his children. What difference would it have made who gathered their wealth when they were gone? And yet how could she refuse Abram the joy she saw light his eyes whenever Ishmael entered his presence?

  When Ishmael was out of earshot, Abram turned to face her, extending his hand. “Why would you keep him from joining us?” His tone held kindness mingled with a gentle reprimand. “Most of the camp wants to go, and only the most feeble or infant among us will not. You know this, beloved.”

  She placed her hand in his and followed as he led them toward the road to meet the caravan approaching from the King’s Highway. “Sometimes it is hard to compete with the boy.” She spoke softly, knowing he heard her, not wanting Hagar or those who had fallen into line behind them to overhear.

  Abram squeezed her fingers in a possessive grip. “You have nothing to compete with, dearest wife. You alone are the one I love.” He bent his head toward her as he spoke, the warmth of his breath tingling the skin on her neck. “But don’t deny me the pleasure the boy brings. We will not have him forever. We have only each other until the grave takes us.”

  “Don’t speak of the grave.”

  Though Abram still carried a spring in his step, his years were nearing the one-hundred mark, and she could not deny the fear that age brought with it. The fear of losing him. What would happen to her if she lost Abram while Ishmael still lived among them? Would Ishmael inherit Abram’s wealth? Would she be at his mercy?

  But of course she would.

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and placed his hand over hers. “Do not fear the grave, Sarai. Adonai will not abandon us. He will fulfill His promises to us.”

  “His promises to you, you mean. Isn’t Ishmael the fulfillment of that promise? What more is needed of you or me once he reaches manhood? The land Adonai promised will go to him, and you and I will be forgotten.” The excited voices of the women and children grew at the sight of the camels approaching just over the rise. Sarai felt her own heart quicken again at the thought of news from home.

  At Abram’s lengthy silence, Sarai thought he would not answer her question. She glanced at him as some of the older children raced ahead to greet the merchants. It would take time for the camel drivers to unpack their wares, but the thrill of something new interrupted the normal daily routines.

  As they came upon the caravan, Sarai looked again at her husband, surprised to find his gaze on her. She came to a halt beside him, waiting.

  “I do not know if Ishmael is the fulfillment of Adonai’s promise to us, Sarai.” His low tones were barely above a whisper, and he glanced around them as though to make sure he was not overheard.

  She followed his gaze, relieved to see Hagar move with the throng of maids heading toward the merchants. She looked at him again, startled by the uncertainty in his eyes.

  “I always thought the promise would include you.” He touched her cheek, and an inexplicable longing filled her. But it was far too late for such misguided hopes.

  “I had hoped so as well, my lord, but obviously it was not meant to be.”

  Abram shrugged, then straightened, as though he realized the conversation held no purpose. Of course Ishmael would fulfill the promises. There was no one else. “I don’t know why I entertain such thoughts,” he said, taking her hand again and turning them toward the caravan. Camels had already begun to kneel, and she spotted Ishmael trotting along behind the caravan leader, engaged in some conversation she could not hear, as though he were already taking charge of the situation that belonged to Eliezer or his father.

  “Come. There is no use discussing it further. In time, Adonai will show us His plan.”

  Never mind that Adonai had remained silent these past thirteen years.

  The afternoon waned, and the merchants began to pack up their wares for their trip to the next settlement on their way to Egypt. The day had been productive, and Abram’s heart had swelled with pride as he watched Ishmael barter with one particularly difficult trader. The boy would do well someday. He had the makings of an able prince, if not for his quick temper. If he learned to keep his fists at his side, men would follow him just for his charm.

  He sighed, imagining the time when he would hand over control of his house to his son. The boy still had years of growth ahead. Surely Adonai would not ask it of him too soon.

  His feet crunched the stone path from the tents toward the hill where the altar stood bathed in the sun’s fading glow. There was still time before the evening meal to offer a sacrifice, and he needed time alone. Time to hear from Adonai. If only He would speak. Years had passed since God had given him the covenant, the promise to give the land of Canaan to his descendants. Since Ishmael’s birth, there had been no further word, and with the boy’s approaching manhood, he worried. It made no sense to keep Eliezer as his heir when he had a son of his own flesh and blood.

  He rounded a bend past a copse of trees, his walking stick holding more of his weight than it had in recent years. Admitting the fact that he was feeling his age was something he did in private with Sarai. No sense letting the boy know how frail his father felt at times.

  He passed the sheep pens and took time to select the choicest year-old lamb, then carried it on his shoulders up the low hill to the altar. The sacrifice brought a sense of sadness, an acute awareness of his sins, his many failings, and how far short he came of Adonai’s goodness. He knew Adonai could be trusted to keep His word, but it was the details of not knowing, not understanding, that made Abram weak.

  He sank to his knees, his face to the dust. Accept my offering, O God who sees me and knows me. Forgive my frailty. Guide Your servant to do Your will.

  The wind whispered in the trees above him, and suddenly he sensed he was not alone. Lifting his head, he looked up into the face of a man who was clearly not as other men. Abram dropped his face to the dust again, his heart seizing and yet somehow still beating. Fear and love mingled until the overpowering presence cast Abram’s fear out of reach. He raised his head again and sensed a silent urging to remove his sandals and stand. He quickly obeyed.

  “I am El Shaddai. Walk before Me and be blameless.”

  Abram did not speak, but he felt his spirit agree, his gaze fixed on the blazing light surrounding the man, his ears ringing with the deep, ageless voice.

  “I will confirm My covenant between Me and you and will greatly increase your numbers.”

  The promise brought with it such an overwhelming sense of relief that God had heard his inner yearnings that he fell to his knees once again, his face to the ground.

  “As for Me, this is My covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations. No longer will you be called Abram; your name will be Abraham, for I have made you a father of many nations. I will make you very fruitful; I will make nations of you, and kings will come from you. I will establish My covenant as an everlasting covenant between Me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. The whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you, and I will be their God.”

  Abram’s mind spun with the implications, and he rose up on his knees. Abraham. Father of many. What did it mean?

  “As for you”—God’s voice interrupted his fleeting thoughts—“you must keep My covenant, you and your descendants after you for the generations to come. This is My covenant with you and your descendants after you, the covenant you are to keep: Eve
ry male among you shall be circumcised. You are to undergo circumcision, and it will be the sign of the covenant between Me and you. For the generations to come, every male among you who is eight days old must be circumcised, including those born in your household or bought with money from a foreigner—those who are not your offspring. Whether born in your household or bought with your money, they must be circumcised. My covenant in your flesh is to be an everlasting covenant. Any uncircumcised male who has not been circumcised in the flesh will be cut off from his people. He has broken My covenant.”

  Abraham nodded his understanding, waiting.

  “As for Sarai your wife, you are no longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah. I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she will be the mother of nations. Kings of peoples will come from her.”

  Sarai a mother? Abraham’s strength failed him even as laughter bubbled from somewhere deep within him. His knees would not hold him, and he fell facedown to the earth once more. Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah—the new name came easily to his heart—bear a child at the age of ninety? The idea seemed ludicrous. Impossible.

  “If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!” Surely it made more sense to bless the child he already had. Yet he could not deny the increase of his heartbeat or the excited sense that God could indeed do as He had promised.

  “Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac. I will establish My covenant with him as an everlasting covenant for his descendants after him. And as for Ishmael, I have heard you. I will surely bless him; I will make him fruitful and will greatly increase his numbers. He will be the father of twelve rulers, and I will make him into a great nation. But my covenant I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you by this time next year.”

  The words rang in his ears, matching the pace of his heart. Sarah would bear a son. How God would quicken a dead womb was more than he could fathom. But he did not question the promise. He waited, his heart and ears attuned to every sound, realizing in that moment that when the voice had spoken, there had been no other noise. No wind, no birds, barely a breath from his lips. And then suddenly the blinding light disappeared, the wind picked up, and birdsong floated softly downward from the trees.

  He slowly stood, new life pouring through him, his strength renewed. Leaving the walking stick behind, he made his way back to camp. El Shaddai had told him to circumcise every male in his household. He would not sleep until the task was accomplished.

  34

  Melah lifted her face from the cool tiles of the temple to Ningal and rose from her knees, feeling every aching joint. When had her body betrayed her so? She was older now, nearly seventy, but the years since the loss of her son felt like they had passed times ten. No children had followed his death, and her daughters were now grown and soon to marry. Her future sons-in-law were good men—as good as any that could be found in Sodom. So why did the future seem so dark?

  She glanced at the shimmering idol, her offering of fruit and nutmeats sitting untouched in a golden bowl at its feet. Ningal had abandoned her long ago, but she could not bring herself to walk away.

  Heaviness settled over her as she backed from the sanctuary and turned at the door to step into the sunlight. The temple courtyard buzzed with the chanting of priests, and cones of incense tainted the air with sickening sweetness. In the paved street in front of the gated court, donkeys pulling well-laden carts trudged past, and young children raced by, shouting curses and scooping up stones to throw at some unfortunate person who had angered them.

  Melah glanced at the Egyptian slave Lot had secured for her and nodded once. She pulled her cloak over her head, clutching the folds tighter at the neck, and made her way toward the merchants’ stalls. Cries of anguish pierced the air, an all-too-familiar sound. The boys’ stones must have found their mark. She hurried on, ducking to the side of a cart, keeping close to the buildings. She did not wish to see a child beaten to death. When had the city become so violent? Would her son—had he lived—have been part of the crowd casting stones or the one destroyed by the hatred of bullies?

  A shiver worked through her as the sounds of anguish died away. Where were the city guards at such a time as this? Why didn’t the magistrate or the king do something to quell the cruelty? If things were this bad in daylight, she couldn’t imagine what atrocities took place after nightfall.

  She glanced behind her again at the Egyptian, relieved to see he kept up with her hurried pace. His size alone would scare any who might approach her, and he was useful for carrying her wares back home. If her daughters could have been roused from their beds, she would have brought them as well. But they had spent the night with friends who stayed too late and drank too much, and Melah had left her maids behind to clean up the mess they had made.

  A few more turns and she at last reached the market district. The bartering over fresh fruits and vegetables never took long, but the haggling over fabric and a new water urn took longer, and sweat dotted Melah’s forehead by the time she finished. She ended up filling her arms, along with those of her slave, and hurried home before the midday meal.

  Flower stalls caught her attention as they moved toward home. She would need baskets filled with some of the cultivated lilies for Kammani’s wedding next spring. Surely Pirhum, her future son-in-law, would have the house finished by then. She clucked her tongue, wishing she could use a goad on both young men to get them to hurry so her daughters could be safely married.

  The thought made her pause mid-step. She glanced ahead to where the pinnacle of Ningal’s ziggurat could easily be seen, like a beacon guiding her home. And yet she knew Ningal had not been the one pushing Lot to secure men to wed their daughters. If not for Melah, the girls would never leave home, never breed and give her grandchildren to love. Though at times, she wondered if they might not have found better husbands in a town outside of Sodom. If the rumors were true . . .

  She shuddered, hurrying on. At least Lot was faithful to her. His faith in Abram’s God would not allow him to be like the other men around him. Regret filled her. She wished she could have shared that faith.

  Thundering hooves suddenly shook the hot pavement, startling her. The Egyptian shoved her to the side, barely in time to escape the prince’s chariot as it rattled past, followed by another reckless sea of horses and chariots filled with shouting and laughing young men.

  Screams pierced above the racket, and she turned toward the sound, her stomach roiling at the sight of a young child run over by the flying wheels. The driver did not bother to stop or take notice. Why must they race through the city during the busiest part of the day, with no warning to clear the streets to protect the people?

  “Are you all right, mistress?” The Egyptian touched her arm, snapping her thoughts from the horrid sight.

  As the dust settled, she looked warily down the street, relieved to see no more sign of the brash young men, only normal early-morning travelers and merchants. “I am well. Thank you.”

  She glanced at the child lying in the street, his cries gone silent. Someone should go to him, find his mother. She waited a moment, relieved when a young woman raced to the boy, screaming his name. At least someone would care enough to bury him.

  Shaken, she turned away and hurried on. Lot had been right. Sodom was not a safe place for a woman alone. Or for children. Her feet flew past the temple, the priests’ chanting somehow louder this time.

  Up ahead, her house came into focus, but she did not stop until she entered the courtyard and the Egyptian shut the gate behind them. Stepping into the house, she set her basket of vegetables on a long table, grabbed a sharp knife, and set about chopping, her fear and horror pouring out through the rhythm and strength of the blade on wood. She was through going to market, and her girls would never set foot there without ten guards to watch them. It wasn’t safe. No. Safe was inside the house where she could shut out the noise of the city, and with it th
e brutality she could not bear to witness ever again.

  Abraham closed his eyes, listening to the leaves brush against one another in the welcome breeze, cooling the heat on his skin. The awning of his black goat’s-hair tent cast him in shadow, though his spot here near the great oaks of Mamre afforded him a wide view of the valley below. Birds chirped merry songs, no doubt enjoying the breeze as much as he did. A dove’s mournful call rose above them all.

  He moved gingerly, still healing from the rite of circumcision he’d performed on himself and his household the week before. Ishmael and the younger men had recovered days ago, but he still moved with measured steps. The reminder never ceased to bring a sense of humility to his heart. God would keep His promise after all. If only he had waited and not succumbed to a loss of faith.

  He glanced beyond his tent toward his family, spotting Ishmael, bow slung over his shoulder, headed with a friend toward the hills where they would hunt small game. A surge of pride rushed through him. His faith had not been perfect, but he would never regret fathering his firstborn. God Himself had said He would bless Ishmael. Abraham took comfort in that fact.

  He courted a smile as the two young men disappeared from sight, then turned his gaze toward the entrance to his campsite, where the great oaks stood guard like towering sentinels. The breeze flickered, then suddenly died like flames blown out. Birds grew silent as if anxious, holding their breath. Abraham blinked, shading his eyes from the sun’s overpowering glare.

  But it was not the sun causing the ethereal glow, as it stood behind him now, to the west. His eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness, and in its midst he saw three men standing near the oaks. He pushed to his feet and grabbed his walking stick, his heart thudding hard and fast in his chest. Anticipation mingled with recognition, and he hurried closer to his guests and bowed low, his face to the ground. A thrill raced through him, and suddenly every part of his body tingled with life. Joy filled him as he lifted his gaze to theirs.