Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “If I have found favor in your eyes, my lord, do not pass your servant by. Let a little water be brought, and then you may all wash your feet and rest under this tree. Let me get you something to eat, so you can be refreshed and then go on your way, now that you have come to your servant.”

  The glow dissipated like water into mist, and Abraham felt himself lifted without a touch to stand before them.

  “Very well.” They seemed to all speak at once yet with one voice. “Do as you say.”

  Abraham quickly found a servant to bring water to wash the feet of the men, then whirled about, the walking stick left behind, and ran as a youth to Sarah’s tent. He burst through the door without announcing himself and found Sarah nestled among the cushions, mending something. She startled, dropping the garment.

  “Quick! Get three seahs of fine flour and knead it and bake some bread.”

  He rushed out of the tent without waiting for a reply. She would do as he asked without question. Would the visitors stay as they had said? His heart beat the rhythm of a joyous dance as he lifted his robe, tucked it into his girdle, and ran unhindered to the hills outside of camp, where his herds of cattle grazed. One of the herdsmen met him and led him to the choice calves kept especially for guests or sacrifices. The meat would be young and tender, a savory offering to present the three men.

  “Kill it and prepare the meat over an open fire in the camp. Do not delay.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The man signaled another servant to help him and led the calf toward the place of slaughter.

  Abraham hurried toward the women’s area of the camp and roused Lila from her midday rest. “Milk one of the goats and prepare some fresh curds for my visitors. Quickly.”

  She gave him a brief nod. “Yes, my lord.” She hurried off.

  As Abraham left Lila’s tent, he spotted Sarah near the ovens, kneading dough to set to rise. In a few hours, all should be ready, but he chafed like an old woman, half fearing his guests would not wait. Yet even as the worry came, it disappeared, as though his visitors had somehow silently reassured him.

  Abraham glanced toward the trees near his tent where they still waited. They sat in a circle conversing among themselves, the two listening intently to the one who stood out as the leader. The one who Abraham knew in a place deep within him was Adonai come in the flesh. How God could become man was beyond his ability to comprehend. But he did not doubt. God could do anything.

  The thought lingered with him as he hurried back to the fire pit, where chief cuts of the calf now roasted. He carried a heavy wooden platter to a nearby rock, waiting. Would God speak to him of the promised child? The one He had said would come through Sarah’s womb? He laughed as he pictured Sarah with a small babe on her hip. A spirit of adventure filled him, much as he’d felt the day God had told him to pack his things and move away from Ur. Change was upon him again, and he was not afraid. He would embrace whatever God had for him.

  He turned at the chatter of women’s voices, clearly hearing Sarah’s in their midst. A servant turned the meat and checked for any remaining blood, then stuck a two-pronged fork into the thick slabs and pulled them from the fire onto Abraham’s wooden plate. Sarah approached with Lila at her side.

  “Here is the bread you requested, along with the milk and curds, my lord.” She handed him a basket and a skin of milk. “Would you like me to go with you?”

  Abraham shook his head. “No. Not yet. Go to your tent and wait until I summon you.”

  She bowed slightly in acknowledgment, then turned with Lila and walked back toward the camp. Abraham scooped up the basket, skin, and platter and headed toward the trees. He breathed a sigh at the sight of the men, wondering at his foolishness for worrying they would not keep their word. He set the food on the ground before them, then stood nearby.

  “Where is your wife Sarah?” they asked him.

  “There in the tent.” He pointed to the large goat’s-hair tent closest to his.

  “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.” The one Abraham sensed was Adonai spoke, making the hair on Abraham’s arms tingle.

  Abraham glanced behind him in the direction of the tent, catching a glimpse of Sarah in the entryway. A hand covered her mouth, though no sound came out.

  “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Will I really have a child, now that I am old?’ Is anything too hard for the Lord?” Adonai looked at Abraham, His gaze holding mild reproach. “I will return to you at the appointed time next year, and Sarah will have a son.”

  Sarah stepped from the shadows, and Abraham glimpsed fear in her eyes. “I did not laugh,” she said, though Abraham noticed the way she avoided the man’s searching gaze.

  “Yes, you did laugh.” The voice of the Lord held rebuke, and Sarah’s cheeks colored in shame. She had lied, and Adonai knew it. Had she so little faith then?

  Sarah lowered her head and stepped backward into her tent again, as though she could not bear to remain in Adonai’s company. Could she not hear the kindness in His words? Such a lie might have brought a slap from their father, justly deserved. If her faith was so weak as to lie to Adonai, perhaps she needed time to think over His rebuke and her response to the promise she had so long been denied.

  He watched her but a moment, then turned as the men stood, their meal complete. The Lord gave Abraham a steady look, then broke contact as the group directed their gazes toward Sodom. They moved forward, and Abraham fell into step beside Adonai, every part of his being yearning for them to stay, to fellowship, yet knowing they must go.

  “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?” Adonai’s quiet voice touched Abraham’s soul. He slowed to keep pace with the Lord, while the other two men moved on ahead. “Abraham will surely become a great and powerful nation, and all nations on earth will be blessed through him. For I have chosen him, so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just, so that the Lord will bring about for Abraham what He has promised him.”

  Abraham’s heart rang with the cadence of song as he sensed the Lord’s joy in the words. But as they came to the edge of the hill overlooking the valley to the east, where Sodom and the plains of the Jordan Valley spread out as a lush garden before them, the mood shifted, the air no longer sweet.

  Abraham looked at Adonai, whose feet had stopped moving. His expression filled with myriad emotions, none of them pleased, yet all of them saturated with love.

  What is it? he longed to ask, yet held his tongue. God could read his thoughts. He would speak in His own good time.

  They stood in silence a moment longer, the Lord’s gaze shifting from Sodom to Abraham. “The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous that I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached Me. If not, I will know.”

  At this, the two men who were still some distance ahead picked their way down the slope toward Sodom. Abraham watched them go, fear rushing through him. Oh, Lord, what of Lot? But his silent question brought no reply.

  Drawing strength from Adonai’s presence, that He still stood close by, Abraham quietly approached him.

  “Will You sweep away the righteous with the wicked? What if there are fifty righteous people in the city? Will You really sweep it away and not spare the place for the sake of the fifty righteous people in it?” He paused a moment, but at the Lord’s silence, he rushed on. “Far be it from You to do such a thing—to kill the righteous with the wicked, treating the righteous and the wicked alike. Far be it from You! Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?” He stepped back a pace, surprised at his boldness, yet thought he saw approval in the Lord’s gentle gaze.

  “If I find fifty righteous people in the city of Sodom, I will spare the whole place for their sake.”

  Shame filled him that he should have been so quick to assume otherwise. And yet as images of Sodom’s inhabitants whom he’d once rescued fro
m foreign kings flitted through his mind, he wondered. Would they find fifty righteous people there?

  He glanced at the Lord out of the corner of his eye, emboldened by an acceptance he could not explain. He cleared his throat. “Now that I have been so bold as to speak to the Lord, though I am nothing but dust and ashes, what if the number of the righteous is five less than fifty? Will You destroy the whole city because of five people?”

  “If I find forty-five there,” He said, “I will not destroy it.”

  “What if only forty are found there?”

  “For the sake of forty, I will not do it.”

  Abraham glanced down the mountain. The two men were mere specks on the horizon now, nearly to the gates. How had they gotten down there so fast?

  A sigh troubled his chest, and he told himself not to speak, but the words would not stay within him. As he counted Lot’s family and servants in his mind’s eye, he came up far too short of good men and women. “May the Lord not be angry, but let me speak.”

  At Adonai’s nod, he hurried on. “What if only thirty can be found there?”

  “I will not do it if I find thirty there.”

  “Now that I have been so bold as to speak to the Lord, what if only twenty can be found there?”

  “For the sake of twenty, I will not destroy it.”

  Abraham could no longer see the men as they crossed the Jordan Valley and were surely bordering Sodom’s gates. What would they find? Lot, Melah, and their two daughters made four. Surely there were more than that. Friends of Lot’s or sons-in-law?

  “May the Lord not be angry, but let me speak just once more.” He looked into approving, fathomless eyes, as old as the ages yet somehow new. He paused once again, sensing that after this there would be no more words. “What if only ten can be found there?”

  “For the sake of ten, I will not destroy it.”

  In the space of his next breath, Adonai vanished from Abraham’s sight. Abraham stood a moment longer, knowing only one prayer remained for his nephew’s wicked city. Oh, Adonai, please spare Lot. He closed his eyes against the grief at both the loss of Adonai and Sodom’s coming destruction. For despite his pleas, he could not count even ten people whose lives could save their city.

  35

  Melah shifted on her couch, closing her eyes against the throbbing at her temples. Heavy curtains had been drawn against the daylight, but by now the light creeping in at the edges had faded to a soft orange hue. Lot would be home soon, expecting a feast. Did the man ever tire of eating? He’d grown plumper than he’d been during his days as a shepherd, sitting in the gate with the elders of Sodom, demanding richer foods, moving less with each passing year. And he rarely spoke a word that wasn’t laced with sarcasm or said in jest.

  She couldn’t blame him, really. This town was obsessed with food and drink and making merry, with buying and selling and entertainment of every variety. Sometimes the pace was wearying. Still, she could not help a sense of pride at all the city had accomplished. Even Ur and Harran had not grown so prosperous or allowed for such a life of ease.

  She opened her eyes, adjusting to the dusk, the throbbing in her head releasing with her musings. Life was good here despite the violence. She would just send her servants to fetch whatever was needed from the market. There was little need for her to take such risks at her age. She had earned the right to rest.

  A door banged at the front of the house, and male voices drifted to her. Hurried feet, probably those of her lazy maidservants, rushed past her room, and giggles from her daughters roused her curiosity. Lot often brought visitors home, though few ever ventured into Sodom these days. No doubt rumors had spread of the vile practices of the men of the city. Especially when darkness fell. A shudder shook her, and she forced herself up from her plush bed.

  She checked her appearance in the bronze mirror through the dim light of the oil lamp, pinched color into her wan cheeks, and squinted at the wrinkles she could no longer hide with oils and ointments. She never could match Sarai’s beauty. A veined hand smoothed the fabric of her embroidered robe as she took it from the peg on the wall and slipped it over her shoulders. She could match Sarai’s wealth, though, and more. The thought held a hint of a lie, but she lifted her chin and squelched the guilt, moving into the hall toward the cooking room. She found Lot directing the servants.

  “Bake bread without yeast, and bring out some of our best cheeses and wine.” He looked up. “Melah, there you are. We have guests, and I promised them a meal. Can you see to it?” His helpless expression did not impress her or move her to act, and it was on the tip of her tongue to retort and tell him to make it himself.

  The girls burst into the cooking area, hands covering their mouths in an attempt to suppress their laughter.

  “Aren’t they handsome? Too bad we are already promised. Pirhum is not nearly as finely crafted as either of those two men!” Kammani turned to her father. “Abi, won’t you introduce us? The sounds of their voices are like music. I should so like to meet them.”

  Lot looked askance at the girl, a look Melah had not seen from him in years. He shook his head as though the request disgusted him. Ire lifted the hairs on Melah’s arms.

  “Why would you deny them? After your guests have eaten, will there not be a cause to introduce your family?” She leveled a gaze at him he could not ignore, one he had succumbed to all of their married life.

  He shook his head again and took a step back toward the sitting area where the men waited. “Please, just hurry with the food. These are not ordinary men.” He disappeared through the archway.

  “Not ordinary men? What sort of men aren’t ordinary?” Melah shot the words after him, but he did not respond.

  “Perhaps they’re like the men of the city who lust after other men,” Ku-aya said.

  “Wouldn’t that make them ordinary?” Kammani moved to the cutting boards and lifted a knife to chop vegetables. At least the girl could be useful when needed.

  Melah glanced from one to the other. The girls accepted Sodom’s vices as though everything was normal. Had they no concept of wrong?

  A check in her spirit made her pause. Was anything really sin? Abram had taught such a concept, but the thoughts had blurred once they moved to the city. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. Why should her daughters be any different?

  She picked a cheese from the shelf and cut thick slices, adding it to the wooden tray where the flat bread waited. Kammani added sliced cucumbers and olives and honeyed melon. It would do. Whoever these men were, they had come unannounced. They would not expect a lavish feast.

  Hefting the tray in her arms, she shooed the girls out of sight and walked into the sitting room where Lot waited. One glimpse of the tall, muscular men made her knees weak. When they glanced at her, she nearly dropped the tray and had to steady herself in order to place it on the table before them. She bowed low and backed away without speaking.

  They spoke in low tones with Lot while Melah slipped back to the cooking area to catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong, Mama? Are they not handsome?”

  Melah could not speak, wondering at the strange weight in her chest. Though the glimpse had been swift, it was enough to sear her to the core, as though in a moment her conscience had been laid bare, all her pride exposed. She placed a hand to her heart. Who were these men?

  A rumble of voices came through the open window, growing louder and coming closer. She moved on trembling legs to the window overlooking the courtyard and was jolted at the sight of men, young and old, descending upon their house. She quickly shuttered the window and hurried to the other rooms to make sure each fastener was securely in place.

  Kammani and Ku-aya rushed after her, doing the same without being asked. They met in the hall, their fear matching her own. “What is it, Mama? Why are they here?”

  “I don’t know.” Melah reached to place one arm around each girl, suddenly grateful beyond words for their presence. “Let’s go.”

  Sh
e walked them toward the sitting room where they stayed against the walls, listening.

  “Lot! Open the door. Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so we can have sex with them.”

  Horror slid down Melah’s spine. She dared a look at the two men, but they appeared unruffled by the noise or the request. Lot bounced up from his seat as though stung with hot coals. He hurried to the door, slipped out, and shut it behind him.

  Melah rushed to the window nearest the door, checked the latch, and pressed her ear against it, straining to hear. She felt Kammani and Ku-aya pressing against her back.

  “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing,” Lot said. “Look, I have two daughters who have never slept with a man. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do what you like with them. But don’t do anything to these men, for they have come under the protection of my roof.”

  At the gasps of her daughters behind her, Melah turned and wrapped them in her arms. Soft weeping came from them both, and she shook with their trembling. He was joking as he always was. Surely he was joking.

  “He can’t do this.”

  “Why would he do this? We’re promised to others.”

  “We’re nothing to him. We were not sons.”

  Melah’s heart stung with every whispered word. “He never means what he says. You know this.” He could not be serious, could he? Did he even stop to think what he was saying? The girls would be dead by morning if he gave them to such men. And these men would not think he was kidding. Did he care nothing for his family? Bitterness scalded her throat. Lot was a fool.

  “Get out of our way!”

  The women jumped at the shouts coming from the men outside. Melah pulled her daughters further from the door and glanced for the briefest moment at Lot’s two visitors, willing them to put an end to this madness.