Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge))

by Orson Scott Card

  “My lady, I assumed that you would have such thoughts simply because any human being in your position would have to have them. You give no outward sign of it. And it is not a lack of faith. You can’t stop thoughts like that from entering your head. Faith doesn’t mean that you never doubt. It only means that you never act upon your doubts.”

  “Abram never doubts,” said Sarai.

  “First, I don’t believe that,” said Eliezer. “He, too, is human. And second, if he has fewer doubts than you, it might be because God speaks to him more often than to you or to anyone else in this world. So it’s easier for him to drive out of his mind any questions about how many more years you’ll be young enough to bear children at all, and when it is that God is going to get around to granting you a son.”

  “God doesn’t speak to him constantly, you know. He goes months and sometimes years without a word from heaven.”

  “But I have never heard the voice of God at all,” said Eliezer.

  “But you have,” said Sarai.

  He looked puzzled and perhaps a little angry. Apparently it mattered to him that he had not heard God’s voice himself. “When?” he demanded.

  “Coming from the mouth of the prophet.” She grinned at him. “There, I caught you being less than perfectly faithful.”

  A smile slowly came to his face, too. “Now we’re even,” he said.

  Hagar was coming back—and not alone. Qira and three servants were with her. It made Sarai tired just to see them coming.

  “Eliezer, you know that I can’t speak to you like this again,” said Sarai.

  “We both stepped outside our roles as mistress and servant,” said Eliezer. “We spoke for a few moments as brother and sister—children of God. It will happen again if it needs to, and not if it doesn’t.”

  “Yes,” said Sarai, “that’s right.”

  “But we both know that while we must treat each other properly, to maintain the good order of the camp, in the eyes of God there is no master and slave, but only men and women trying, with varying degrees of success, to be good. That is truth, my lady, but you never need to fear that I will treat you with anything other than the proper respect that the world requires of one who is in my position when dealing with someone who is in yours.” He bowed his head.

  Qira and Hagar were nearly within earshot, and Sarai could see now that Hagar’s face was rigid with anger.

  “About your original business,” said Sarai to Eliezer. “I will speak to Abram and make it clear that in your judgment, Bethuel’s, and mine, something must be done.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” said Eliezer. “And I hope you will also tell Hagar that because of a vow I have taken, she must not hope to marry me, but must look for love somewhere else.”

  “I will,” said Sarai.

  And then Qira was upon them. “Did you deliberately humiliate me, Sarai, or is your envy of me so ingrained that you don’t even notice when you insult me?”

  “It’s hard to know which answer is right,” said Sarai, “until you tell me what it is that I apparently did that caused you to be embarrassed.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, for me to repeat the whole humiliating experience in front of that gossipy little dirty-mouth Egyptian servant that you spoil so shamelessly.”

  “Hagar,” said Sarai mildly, “my sister feels uncomfortable speaking candidly in front of you. Perhaps you can find a shepherd within walking distance and stand near him until he makes an indecent suggestion so you can give him a good, solid slap across the face.”

  The anger on Hagar’s face gave way just enough for Sarai to see the corners of her mouth twitch toward a smile.

  “I must also take my leave, Mistress,” said Eliezer. “Bethuel will want an accounting.”

  “Of course,” said Sarai. “Thank you for calling the problem to my attention.”

  In moments, Eliezer and Hagar were both gone, leaving Sarai alone to face the lioness.

  “Now we’re alone,” said Sarai. “What is it that I—”

  To her shock, Qira lashed out with her right hand to try to slap her across the face. Sarai’s reflexes were quick, and she ducked in time to catch the blow glancingly across the top of her head. Even at that angle, the blow was painful. Qira had not intended the slap to be symbolic.

  And she meant to try again. Sarai had to catch her by both wrists to stop her, and when Qira tried to kick her, Sarai had no choice but to twist her around and hold her from behind.

  “Let go of me!” howled Qira. “How dare you!”

  “It was you who hit me,” said Sarai.

  “Get your filthy sheep-covered hands off me!”

  “First give me your word that you won’t hit me or kick me again.”

  “I promise!” said Qira.

  Sarai let go. Immediately Qira whirled around and kicked at Sarai. It was like their fights when they were little children—and, just like then, Qira got clumsier in exact proportion to her rage. It took little skill for Sarai to catch Qira’s foot and raise it high, upending Qira and leaving her flat on her back in the dust and grass. Qira rolled onto her side and curled up into a ball, sobbing dejectedly. Nowadays, though, Father wouldn’t come into the room and see Qira sobbing like that and demand to know what Sarai had done to her. Some plays worked only in front of a select audience.

  “Now you really are humiliated,” Sarai said. “How much better it might have been if you had merely told me your message instead of trying to deliver it physically.”

  “Don’t play the princess with me,” snarled Qira. She went back to sobbing at once, but it was even less convincing now that she had shown the rancor that underlay the tears.

  “I’m going into my tent,” said Sarai. “If you wish to speak to me, you may enter and we can have privacy. But if you raise your hand against me again—or your foot—I will forbid you to come near me again, and the servants will be happy to see to it that I am obeyed.”

  As Sarai expected, Qira’s crying ended the moment Sarai went inside the tent. And it took very little time for her to compose herself enough to enter with a shy little smile. “I was so very upset, I didn’t know what I was doing,” said Qira.

  This was as close to an apology as Qira was likely to produce. But Sarai wasn’t inclined to be forgiving. She and Qira had never been close, but they had stopped exchanging blows by the time Qira was twelve. And there had been times, in Qira’s teens, that the two of them had almost been friends. All that was gone now. Qira had somehow reverted to the worst aspects of her childhood. Was it Lot who had done this to her? Or Sodom? Or . . . was this Qira’s true character and she had merely stopped concealing it?

  “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” said Qira.

  Good thing. “Have a seat,” she said aloud.

  Qira lowered herself daintily to the carpets. She was not young anymore, but she still had the grace that had once made Sarai so envious. “To look at you, you’re still a girl,” said Sarai.

  “After all those babies, it’s a miracle I’m not a cow,” said Qira. “But you wouldn’t know what a battle it is to recover from being pregnant.”

  Sarai sighed inwardly. Was it truly impossible for Qira to respond to any overture of friendship without saying something hurtful?

  “I believe you said that I somehow humiliated you earlier,” said Sarai. “Since I was obviously not present for the event, I will need to have you explain to me which of the many traps I’ve set for you happened to be sprung.”

  Qira looked at her in wide-eyed surprise. Then her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see, you’re mocking me.”

  “Make your accusation, Qira.”

  “Yes, and that weary tone in your voice. I’ve heard quite enough of that, I can tell you.”

  “Have you forgotten what was bothering you? I can always go ask the servants to remind you.”

  Sitting there on the cushions, Qira drew herself up into her most regal posture. “You are destroying my daughters,” said Qira,
“and teaching them to hate me.”

  I’m sure they’ll come up with their own reasons for hating you, if you treat them the way you treat everyone else. “Qira, just tell me what made you angry, will you?”

  “I have devoted my life to making sure they do not become shepherdesses, thank you very much, and now you’ve given them a sheep.”

  At once everything became clear. “I haven’t given them anything,” said Sarai. “They saw a ewe with its lamb only moments after the birthing. They asked if they could have it—an absurd idea, of course, and I told them that the lamb needed to stay with its mother or it would starve to death. But that made them cry, so I told them they could visit the lamb every day and they could give it a name.”

  “Yes, and thank you for that, too. They are now arguing bitterly about that, which gives me a headache.”

  “What I don’t understand,” said Sarai, “is how any of this could possibly have humiliated you.”

  “Oh, no, of course not. You interfere with the way I raise my children, and there I am in front of everybody, not even knowing what my girls were talking about. Come away from that sheep, I tell them, and they answer me by saying, ‘Aunt Sarai gave us this lamb and she’s in charge!’”

  “I’m sure they meant that I’m in charge of the lamb, which I am, since it was one of our ewes.”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t tell one sheep from another.”

  “The lamb is the little one. The ewe is the big one.”

  “You made me look as though I had no authority at all over my own girls!”

  You always look as though you have no authority over them, Qira, because you barely notice they’re alive most of the time and whenever you do, you clearly have no idea who they are, beyond their names. “My dear sister, everyone understands that children leap to wrong conclusions. All you needed to do was remind them that you’re their mother and they must obey you.”

  “I don’t need lessons in child-rearing from you,” said Qira.

  Well, you need them from someone. “Of course not, Qira,” said Sarai.

  “And there you are, sounding weary and put-upon again.”

  “I don’t think I sounded that way at all, except that I am, in fact, weary. But that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with getting little sleep last night.”

  “Oh, and there you go with the other thing, telling me for only the ten thousandth time how busy you are while I, apparently, do nothing at all.”

  Apparently. “Qira, it appears that whatever happens is going to be my fault, and whatever answer I give you will only make it worse. So before you accuse me of murder and declare a blood-feud between us, let’s have done with this conversation. You go to your tent and I’ll stay in mine, and we’ll both calm down and realize that neither of us is trying to harm the other.”

  “Well, I know I’m not trying to harm you.”

  You were the one with the slapping and kicking. But never mind. “I’ll explain to your girls that the lamb is not theirs, and that even if I had intended to give it to them, you’re the one with the final say.”

  “Indeed I am,” said Qira.

  “Yes, and so I will say.”

  “I don’t need you to tell my daughters that I’m in charge. I already explained to them that Uncle Abram would no doubt take their little lamb and kill it and burn it up on that altar of his, so you couldn’t possibly give the lamb to anyone.”

  “I’m sure they were happy to hear that tale.”

  “They cried, but they obeyed,” said Qira.

  “So everything’s all right.”

  “Nothing’s all right,” said Qira. And she burst into tears.

  All Sarai wanted was to lie down and sleep long enough that when she woke up, Qira would not be there. Instead, she moved over to sit beside Qira and hug her and pat her hand. To see us, thought Sarai, no one would imagine that I’m the younger sister.

  “Lot hates me,” Qira wailed.

  “I have it on very good authority that he loves you.”

  “Do you think so?” said Qira. “Well, what kind of love is it when he hasn’t come near me since Ajiah was born?”

  Sarai tried to conceal her disgust. She already knew through Abram that it was Qira who banned Lot from her bed after her fifth daughter was born. It had been the cause of great grief to Lot, and not just because he had no son yet. “Every day she lives in that city,” Abram had said, “she becomes more and more like the other women of Sodom. Except that her husband is not at all like the men of Sodom. He actually loves his wife, and she’s breaking his heart.” That was even before this last quarrel, when Lot decided that as long as he was going to live like a bachelor, there was no reason for him to do it in a city that he hated. He could be a bachelor out with his herds and live the life he was born for. Twice before, Sarai had tried to explain this to Qira, but when Sarai used words that were gentle enough not to provoke a rage, Qira did not understand what she was trying to say.

  “Qira,” said Sarai, “I know how you can set everything right between you and Lot.”

  “Oh, of course, all I have to do is treat his every whim like a commandment from God and bow down to him like a slave, the way you do with Abram.”

  It took all Sarai’s strength of will not to make some cruel retort. But she knew that despite the obnoxious way that Qira had of expressing it, her misery was real, and even if she had caused most of it by her own choices, she was not yet ready to understand that. You have to speak to people in a language they can understand. “I believe, Qira, that you and Lot are at cross-purposes right now. I believe that he is quite sure that you don’t love him.”

  “I don’t,” said Qira.

  The words stunned her. “Then I don’t know what to say,” said Sarai.

  “Well, how can I love a man so selfish that he turns me out of my home and takes my children off to make shepherdesses out of them and ignores me completely when I come to the desert to join him!”

  “I believe,” said Sarai, “that he did those things because he already thought you hated him.”

  “I didn’t hate him,” said Qira. “I thought he was boring and rude to my friends and utterly lacking in ambition. I thought he needed to dress better and let himself take part in the life of the city.”

  Do you still not understand precisely what that would require of Lot, to become a man of Sodom?

  “Perhaps he needed to hear an occasional word of love from you.”

  “I gave him five girls, didn’t I? And if he had been a true husband to me, and helped me take my proper place in the city, he would have heard whatever words of love he wanted.”

  The whole idea Qira had of marriage—that you were nice to your husband only to the degree that he obeyed you—appalled Sarai. Again, it took all her strength not to speak bluntly.

  “Lot kept his promise to you—for all these years, you’ve lived in the city. But he never promised you that he would become a man of the city himself.”

  “Well, I don’t see the distinction. Without a husband I can be proud of, I’m completely on my own in society. I do rather well, but still, it cripples me, and it’s not that many years until the girls will need husbands so I can have grandchildren. Someone needs to keep alive the blood of the true kings of Ur. He should be thinking of that, not of his own petty desires.”

  To answer this completely idiotic statement would have been pointless—if Qira couldn’t see how unlikely it was that her daughters would ever bear children to men of Sodom, it was because she chose to be blind.

  “You see, Qira? You have only to talk reasonably to him, and listen to his words when he answers you.”

  “But he doesn’t answer me. He hasn’t spoken ten words to me since I came here!”

  “I’m not talking about now,” said Sarai. “Back in Sodom, when you said these things to him, didn’t he answer you?”

  “Oh, of course he did. He nattered on and on about things he would never do and how I was asking too much and on and on.
”

  “Qira, listen to yourself. You’re telling me that you didn’t listen to him.”

  “I did listen. I just didn’t agree.”

  “Well, he listened to you, too—and didn’t agree.”

  “But he didn’t listen, or he would have understood just how impossible he was being!”

  It was too maddening to continue. Qira simply could not see her own actions from Lot’s point of view.

  “Well, Qira, what can I say? It looks to me as though you won’t be going back to Sodom until you convince your husband that you intend things to be different between you.”