by Marek Halter
Abram would shake his head, incredulous but worried. From time to time, he would put up the tent with the black-and-white stripes, and listen to the complaints and suggestions of his people.
“What are we going to say to Pharaoh when he sends his soldiers to meet us?” many would ask.
“That all we need is some grass in order to let our flocks graze and grow.”
“But what if he wants to steal our women, like the fishermen say?”
“These fishermen are so scared of Pharaoh,” Abram would reply, with an angry, ironic snort, and a glance at Sarai, “that they’re ready to grant him all sorts of imaginary powers. Anybody would think we were back in the kingdom of Akkad and Sumer.”
BUT as they went from village to village, the same warnings were repeated. Pharaoh had an invincible army. Pharaoh was a god. Pharaoh sometimes changed heads and became a falcon, a bull, or a ram. Pharaoh was insatiable in his taste for beauty, both in cities and in women.
Sarai could sense the growing fear around her. The word Pharaoh passed surreptitiously from mouth to mouth, casting a shadow over everyone.
Abram spent whole days away from the camp. Sarai guessed that he was off calling the name of Yhwh, hoping for His advice. But, when he returned, he said nothing, and his features were set hard with disappointment. He threw Sarai a look that seemed to say, “You insisted I lead my people to the land of Pharaoh. You see the danger we’re running because of that decision.”
Lot caught this look and understood it. That very evening, he brought Abram the last pitcher of beer that remained from Canaan.
“Look how many of us there are, Abram,” he said, after drinking two goblets. “Thousands of us. A whole people. Without counting the animals, even if our flocks have become thin. It’s like an invasion of locusts! Who wouldn’t be scared to see us arrive on his land?”
“What do you mean?”
“Every day we’re getting closer to the land of Pharaoh. We have to be careful.”
Abram laughed, sourly. “I don’t know anyone here who isn’t thinking the same thing.”
“But I have an idea: Let me go on ahead with a few companions to locate Pharaoh’s soldiers.”
“To do what?”
“To find out how many of them there are, which roads they’re using, whether or not they’re expecting us.”
“Do you plan to fight them?” Abram cried. “As soon as you lift an arm, they’ll cut it off! Besides, we’re going to be asking Pharaoh for help. You don’t fight someone you’re holding out your hand to.”
“Who said anything about fighting?” Lot protested. “All I want is to meet Pharaoh’s soldiers. There’ll be only a few of us. They certainly won’t think we’re locusts come to ravage their pastures. We’ll ask them for permission to enter the land of Egypt. They may accept; they may refuse. Either way, we’ll know where we stand.”
“There’s nothing to stop them slaughtering you.”
Now it was Lot who gave a mocking smile. “Well, at least I’ll have shown that even if I’m not Abram’s son, I’m worthy of his name.”
Abram ignored the sarcasm. He consulted the elders, who all came to the conclusion that the idea was a good one. Some twenty young men agreed to accompany Lot.
They left the very next day, taking with them nothing but a mule, some food and water, and their staffs. Sarai clasped Lot to her, kissed his eyes and neck, and in a tender whisper begged him to be careful. She watched, full of apprehension, as the little group moved away over the slope of a sandy hill and disappeared.
IN the days that followed, on Abram’s orders, the column progressed even more slowly than usual. Everyone was waiting for Lot and his companions to return, and at the same time dreading to see Pharaoh’s soldiers appear from around a dune or a grove of palm trees.
Finally, one afternoon, at the hour when the sun seemed to melt like silver over the sea and everyone was seeking shade, they were back.
After much laughing and hugging, they told their story. Less than four days of walking across the dunes and cliffs along the coast had brought them to Egypt.
“It’s the greenest place you’ve ever seen. Greener even than Canaan before the drought. And huge. Wherever you look, you see only lush green fields.”
“But what about Pharaoh’s soldiers?” Abram asked impatiently.
“We didn’t see any!” Lot exclaimed. “None at all! Livestock, roads, brick buildings, villages, storehouses, yes—but no soldiers.”
“What did people say when they saw you?” someone asked.
Lot smiled. “Nothing. Or nothing we understood. They don’t speak our language. And they don’t have any hair on their faces. The men’s chins are as smooth as the women’s. And their character seems as gentle and calm as their cheeks are hairless. Several times, to welcome us, they gave us barley beer. The sweetest I’ve ever drunk. I still have the taste of it on my tongue. It’s called bouza.”
There was laughter.
“So what those fishermen told us is wrong?”
“As far as we could tell,” Lot’s companions asserted, “the land of Pharaoh is the most peaceful, most welcoming place there is. We didn’t see anyone who looked like a slave, and we didn’t see anyone lording it over anyone else with a whip in his hand.”
Joy and hope did not, however, completely dispel everyone’s anxiety. Could they really settle on the land of Pharaoh like that, without fear of the consequences?
The noisy talk continued unabated until twilight, when it was time to attend to the animals. Through it all, Abram remained in the background, pensive. Toward evening, he withdrew to make offerings to Yhwh. When night had fallen, he joined Sarai, who was laying out a meal for Lot, now washed and cleanly dressed.
He sat down beside them in the dim lamplight. Sarai handed him a loaf of bread. As he took it, he kissed her fingers. Sarai and Lot looked at him more closely, guessing that he had made his decision.
He broke the loaf into three pieces. “I think the fishermen told the truth. Pharaoh’s soldiers will come to us. I have no doubt about it.”
Lot opened his mouth to protest.
Abram raised his hand to silence him. “You didn’t see the soldiers, Lot, but the people who saw you will tell them. That’s how things happen.”
“How do you know?” Sarai asked.
“In Salem, the merchants who came from the land of Pharaoh all told the same story. Their caravans advanced into Egypt without incident. One day, two days, without anyone questioning them, without anyone asking, ‘What are you doing here, where are you going, what do you have in your bags and your baskets?’ Then, suddenly, Pharaoh’s soldiers appeared.”
Lot lost his temper. “So why let me go if you knew all that?”
“It was what you wanted. It was what everyone wanted. And it’s a good thing that you went. Now we all know that the land of Pharaoh is as rich as they say, and that’ll give us the courage to face his soldiers. And I know that the merchants in Salem were telling the truth.”
Abram smiled. Sarai echoed his smile, amused at his ruse.
“They will come on Pharaoh’s orders,” Abram resumed, his eyes fixed on Sarai. “They’ll examine our flocks, discover whether we’re rich or poor. And they’ll see how beautiful my wife is. If they don’t already know it. They’ll turn to me and ask: ‘Is this your wife?’ ‘Yes,’ I’ll reply, ‘this is Sarai, my wife.’ Then they’ll slaughter us and carry Sarai off to Pharaoh’s palace. That’s what will happen.”
There was a stunned silence.
Lot was the first to react. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, in a shrill voice.
Abram did not reply, still staring at Sarai.
She nodded. “Abram is right. If what they say is true, things could happen like that.”
“Then we must hide you!” Lot cried. “We could . . . dress you as a man. Or put soot on your face. Wrap one of your legs in rags, as if you’d had an accident. Or else—”
“The soldiers will be fooled t
he first day, perhaps the second,” Abram interrupted him, calmly. “But eventually someone will tell them that Abram’s wife is the most beautiful woman anyone has ever set eyes on. Then they really will be angry, knowing they’ve been tricked, and fearing Pharaoh’s wrath.”
Once again they fell silent.
“What to do, then?” Sarai asked.
“Nothing like that will happen if I say you’re my sister.”
Sarai and Lot both gasped.
“If I say you’re my sister,” Abram went on, “Pharaoh may invite you to his palace. In fact, I’m sure he will. He’ll want to see you. But he’ll leave me alone. And the rest of us.”
Lot stood up. “You want to give Sarai to Pharaoh?” he cried, his mouth twisted with rage. “To save your life? Is that what the great Abram’s courage amounts to?”
“No,” Abram retorted. “I don’t want to give Sarai to Pharaoh. And it’s not about how courageous or afraid I am.”
“I understand,” Sarai murmured, pale-faced, holding Lot back by the wrist.
“It’s about my people’s lives, not mine,” Abram insisted. “That’s what we have to think about.”
“No!” Lot cried. “I don’t want to think about it. You don’t have the right to think about it.”
Sarai placed her hand on Lot’s cheek. “Abram’s right.” There was a sad, resigned gleam in her eyes.
Abram stood up in his turn, pushed Lot aside, and took Sarai in his arms. “It’s up to you to save us all,” he said.
“If your god wishes it.”
ABRAM had guessed correctly.
They reached the outskirts of Midgol, a town of low white houses, without incident. It was clear to everyone that Lot had not lied. The inhabitants smiled when they saw them. Men with smooth cheeks greeted them with incomprehensible words in a slippery, sinuous language that sounded like flowing water.
There was water everywhere. Midgol stood very close to one of the branches of the Nile. The gardens, the pastures, and the groves of palms and orange trees were surrounded by well-maintained canals. They were allowed to water their animals there. Abram thanked them and presented them with a pair of turtledoves. Everyone laughed. They talked to one another with signs, grunts, and handclaps.
“Now let’s go to the river,” Abram declared, once the flocks had been watered. “We may find fallow land there where the animals can graze.”
The road leading into the land of Pharaoh was broad and shaded by tall palm trees. Abram walked in front, vigilant. Behind him, Lot and his young companions preceded the main part of the column. As Abram had ordered, the wives and children were standing in the wagons, surrounded by the animals, which had been brought together into a single flock.
Men and women working in the fields gathered at the side of the road to watch them pass. At the sight of all these bearded men, the children rubbed their cheeks and laughed.
Suddenly, the road opened out onto the river, which was straddled by a big wooden bridge. The bridge itself and both banks were covered with Pharaoh’s soldiers.
Two or three hundred of them. Perhaps more.
They stood in serried ranks, shield touching shield, so close together that a rat could not have squeezed between them.
Young, clean-shaven men in loincloths, their shoulders covered with very short capes. They wore no helmets, and their hair was thick, black, and shiny. Some carried spears and round shields, others bows, with brass daggers or stone maces at the belts of their loincloths.
Abram stopped and raised his staff. Lot and the others surrounded him. Farther back, men gave the call to halt the flock and the mules. The noise of the big wagon wheels ceased.
The soldiers moved forward in two columns, their spears raised, and surrounded Abram and the head of the flock. Those who had been on the other bank now occupied the bridge.
Three men holding gilded staffs approached Abram. There were bronze leaves sewn on their leather capes, and their forearms were covered with thick brass bracelets. They, too, were clean-shaven, but their cheeks were creased with age. Of the three, only one wore anything on his head: a kind of tall leather helmet, like a folded veil, with a little bronze ram’s head fixed above the forehead. His eyes came to rest without hesitation on Abram.
“My name is Tsout-Phenath. I serve the living god Merikarê, Pharaoh of the Double Kingdom.”
Surprisingly, they understood him perfectly. He spoke the Amorite language almost without an accent. His light-brown, expressionless eyes moved from Abram to Lot and the others, then returned to Abram.
“Do you know you have entered the lands of Pharaoh?” he asked.
“I know. I’ve come to ask for his help. My name is Abram. Drought has chased me from the land of Canaan, where I was living with my people. There is famine there. The earth is dry and cracked and everything is dying. All I ask of Pharaoh is some grassland so that our flocks can be replenished and my people no longer have to weep over the deaths of their children.”
Pharaoh’s officer remained still for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his lips curled with doubt. Perhaps he was taking his time in order to instill even more fear into them. Or perhaps he was simply trying to understand Abram’s words. In the silence, the anxious bleating of the animals could be heard, and the scraping of clogs, but not a word was spoken.
Then, all at once, without moving, the officer gave orders in his own language. Soldiers advanced along the column until they reached the wagons. They pushed the animals aside, causing the whole flock to became agitated. Lot made as if to stop them.
“No!” Abram said. “Don’t move.”
The second of the three officers, who had been silent until now, shouted something. Another group of soldiers pushed back Lot and his companions. A dagger prodding his ribs, Abram was forced to the side of the road. At the rear of the column, the soldiers made the women get down from the wagons. It took a long time. The man named Tsout-Phenath gave another order, and the third officer joined the soldiers.
Time passed. Tsout-Phenath stood impassively, waiting.
“What are you doing?” Lot asked, unable to stand it any longer.
Tsout-Phenath did not even deign to glance at him.
“They’re only following Pharaoh’s orders,” Abram said. “Stay calm. There’s nothing to fear.”
This time, Tsout-Phenath turned to Abram, looked at him closely, then nodded and half smiled.
Now the soldiers were returning, pushing a group of women—the youngest and prettiest—in front of them.
When they came to a halt, Tsout-Phenath gestured the soldiers to move aside. He stepped forward, and examined each woman’s face in turn, sometimes lifting their veils with his gilded staff. When he reached Sarai, he stopped. She stood there with downcast eyes. He spent so long contemplating her that she finally looked up, confronting his gaze with a severe expression.
Tsout-Phenath nodded. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Sarai.”
He gave a sign of approval, as if the name pleased him, and said a few words in his own language. The other officers came forward and surrounded Sarai, separating her from the other women.
“Pharaoh wants to see you,” Tsout-Phenath said, turning to Abram. “You and this wife of yours, whose name is Sarai.”
“She isn’t my wife,” Abram replied, without batting an eyelid. “She’s my sister.”
Tsout-Phenath stopped dead, surprised. “Your sister? We were told you were coming with your wife, the most beautiful woman ever seen among you in the land beyond the desert, near the city of Salem. Looking at this woman whose name is Sarai, I don’t see how you could have a wife more beautiful than this.”
“How do you know we’ve come from Salem?” Lot cried, unable to contain his anger.
Tsout-Phenath gave an arrogant laugh. “Pharaoh knows everything.” He approached Sarai. “Is this true? Are you the sister of the man named Abram?”
“Yes,” she said, without hesitation.
Tsout-Phenath consi
dered her a moment longer. His look was so sharp, so insistent, that Sarai had the impression that her tunic no longer covered her. He finally turned back to Abram.
“We’re going to take one of your mule carts. Pharaoh wants to see that, too. So your sister won’t have to walk. Appoint a chief for the others while you’re away. We’ll take them somewhere where they can pitch their tents and your flock can graze while Pharaoh decides what do with all of you.”
Land and Grain
Draped in a green toga, a necklace of red stones hanging between her breasts, the woman advancing toward Sarai had dark skin and teeth as white as milk. Her beauty seemed to echo Sarai’s own. She gave a deep bow.
“My name is Hagar. As long as you are within these walls, consider me your handmaid.”
She stood up again and clapped her hands, and ten young girls appeared, carrying linen, goblets of scents, pots of unguent, combs, and caskets.
“Your journey must have been long and tiring,” Hagar said. “We’ve prepared a bath for you. Follow me . . .”
She was already turning her back and leaving the terrace. Sarai followed her, docile and powerless, with the young girls at her heels.
The journey had indeed been long and tiring. They had had to cross six branches of the Nile and plunge deep into the rich lands of Egypt before reaching Pharaoh’s palace in Neni-Nepsou. Separated from Abram, Sarai had spent the whole journey imagining Pharaoh’s ferocity and the humiliations that she—who was now Abram’s sister—was going to have to endure.
Throughout the journey, in fact, her resentment toward Abram had continued to grow. She may have accepted his decision, but now, with Pharaoh’s officer Tsout-Phenath never letting her out of his sight, she felt alone, abandoned, and under threat.
But her anger and fear faded as soon as she saw the walls of Neni-Nepsou. Everything here was splendor, opulence, and sweetness. The palace was vast but elegant. Purple flowers cascaded from the top of its dazzling white walls. There were many gorgeous terraces and colonnades, some of stone, some of painted and gilded wood, linked by countless staircases.