“You aren’t going to marry Abiahaz?”
“No!” Sarai said shortly.
“But he’s been coming around here for a year. You never said you wouldn’t have him.”
Sarai loosened her hair and let it fall down her back, staring into the polished bronze mirror on the wall. “It was amusing to watch him come sniffing around.”
The blurry image staring back from the mirror revealed a tall, proud woman, with a prominent nose, high cheekbones that accented the hollows of her cheeks, and black eyes with strange green flecks in them. Her skin was as smooth as a baby’s, the envy of every woman in the land. Sarai’s family was originally from the city of Uruk, many miles upriver. Being from the privileged class, and having been successful in business, they owned homes both in Ur and in the smaller, but also impressive, city of Uruk. The entire household would travel upriver with Garai and stay in their other house whenever he had business to attend to.
Zulda went on with her questions as she once again combed out her mistress’s hair. “What will your brother say?”
“I’ve already told him.”
“Well, what did he say, then?”
“He screamed like a wild donkey—as he always does.”
Zulda finished off Sarai’s hair by inserting two decorative jeweled combs. “But you’ve got to get married, mistress.”
“I do? Why?” Sarai’s well-shaped lips parted. Her enormous eyes, almond shaped and deep set, now sparkled with amusement. She loved to tease Zulda, for the girl was easily fooled. “Why do I have to get married?” she asked again in her deep voice.
“Why…what else is there for a woman to do?”
Sitting down at a dressing table filled with cosmetics, Sarai put the tip of her finger into a small jar carved out of semiprecious stone. She pressed the contents of it to her cheek and began spreading it on. “What else is there for a woman to do? Why, nothing much. When I find a man I can love, I’ll marry him.”
Zulda stared at Sarai with astonishment. “But fathers choose husbands for girls! And since your father is gone, your brother will choose your husband.”
“I’ll pick my own husband.”
Zulda took in a short breath. She was shocked but intrigued. “Nobody but you would say that, mistress.”
“I’ll do it, though.”
“What kind of a man will you pick?”
Sarai paused from putting on the cosmetics and thought for a moment. “He won’t be old like that…that old Malater my brother wanted me to marry! Why, he was so old he would have died on the marriage bed.”
Zulda was accustomed to Sarai’s half-ribald statements, and she merely giggled. “What will your husband be like?”
“Oh, he’ll have to be young and good-looking.”
“Is that all?”
“No, he’s got to be intelligent too,” Sarai insisted. Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Most men can only talk about business. The man I marry must have a broad knowledge of life…and most of all, he must know that women are equal to men.”
“Mistress, you mustn’t say that!”
Laughing, Sarai reached out and caressed the maid’s cheek. “I do shock you, don’t I?”
“There’s no man like that in the world.”
“Then I’ll buy a young slave. I’ll train him up to be my husband. He’ll do everything I tell him to do. If you see a good-looking, strong young fellow for sale, let me know about it.” Sarai laughed and rose, moving swiftly and gracefully toward the doorway.
As Zulda watched Sarai disappear, she shook her head and murmured, “I don’t know what’s going to become of you, mistress.”
****
The family was gathered in the dining room with Garai, the head of the house, who paced about impatiently. He was a small man with sharp, light brown eyes and well-kept brown hair. His wife, Rufi, watched him moving back and forth nervously. She was a pretty woman, a few years younger than her husband, and she kept glancing at the door, waiting for Sarai to enter.
Zaroni, the mother of Garai and Sarai, stood calmly next to her daughter-in-law. She was a small woman with greenish eyes, and traces of her youthful beauty still remained. Turning to Garai, she said, “Don’t be impatient, son. Sarai will be here soon.”
“She’s always late. She’ll be late for her own funeral!” Garai muttered.
Hanna, Sarai’s sister, stood next to Eliphaz. She was a pretty young woman, but her attractiveness was eclipsed by Sarai’s beauty. She stayed very close to Eliphaz, as if he were apt to run away, and now she smiled at him flatteringly. “I had them fix your favorite foods for supper.”
“It’s always a pleasure to dine here,” Eliphaz said, nodding enthusiastically.
At that moment Sarai entered and cooed innocently, “Oh, am I late?”
“You’re always late,” Garai growled.
“I’m so sorry, brother, but I’m here now, so we can eat.”
“You look very nice,” Zaroni said.
“Thank you, Mother.” An impish look touched Sarai’s eyes, and Zaroni knew at once that her daughter was up to some outrage. She watched as Sarai walked over to Eliphaz, smiled warmly, and said, “How well you look, my dear Eliphaz. That’s a new robe, isn’t it?”
“W-well…as a matter of fact, it is,” he stuttered, flushing at Sarai’s intent gaze and proximity.
“It suits you splendidly.” Sarai reached out and fingered the robe, feeling its texture with an admiring glance. She then touched his cheek lightly and leaned against him. “You’ll have to tell me all about your trip to Akadd.”
Hanna turned pale, and the others saw her fury as she grabbed Eliphaz’s arm. “Come along!” she snapped. “It’s time to eat!”
Sarai smiled blandly as her mother came to her side and whispered, “Why do you torment your sister so?” She was not angry, however, but simply shook her head in a mild reproof.
“Because it amuses me, Mother. Come along. Let’s eat.”
Two young servant girls served the meal, while Mahita oversaw them with a sharp eye. They carried in flat metal plates filled with wild roast duck, goat, boiled eggs, leeks, and cucumbers, and poured wine from metal flagons.
Midway through the meal, Garai remarked, “I understand that the decision’s been made about where to put the new canal.”
“Yes, it has,” Eliphaz said, nodding eagerly. “It’s taken a long time, but the city council decided it just this afternoon.”
“Where will it be?”
“Across the northern sector of the city.”
“That’s foolish,” Sarai spoke up. “It should go where the old road was. There’ll be enough incline there to carry the flow.”
Garai threw his head back and glared at his sister. “You don’t know anything about it, woman!”
“I know that the council’s made a total wreck out of it,” Sarai answered with a sweet smile.
Hanna snapped, “Women have no place arguing with men!”
Sarai turned to glare at her sister but said nothing.
Her mother watched the exchange, well aware that this would not be the end of the matter. Sarai will find some way to get even with Hanna for that comment, Zaroni thought. She always does.
After the meal Sarai smiled slightly and went directly to Eliphaz, taking him by the arm and pulling at him gently. “Come along, I must show you my garden…and you must tell me about your trip.”
Eliphaz stared at her, unable to speak. Her beauty was enough to stop most men in their tracks, and he allowed himself to be led out of the dining room. As the two disappeared, Hanna threw herself into a chair and began to cry.
Her mother went right to her, putting her arm around her older daughter. “Don’t let her see you crying, Hanna. She’s just doing this to torment you.”
“No, she’ll take him away from me!”
“No, she won’t. She doesn’t really want him,” Zaroni said quietly. “She does this only to stir you up. Just laugh at her, Hanna.”
Garai
’s temper exploded at this and he blustered, “She’s driven away every man who has come to court her, and now she’s trying to drive Hanna’s man away!”
Zaroni shook her head. “It will be all right. The more you oppose her, the more she will resist. Haven’t you two learned that yet?”
“It has got to stop!” Garai blurted out. “She will have to marry now!”
Zaroni stared at her son. “Who have you picked out this time?”
“Elam.”
“Elam who owns the vineyards outside of town?”
“That’s the one.” Garai grinned and rubbed his hands together. “He’s one of the richest men in Ur.”
“He’s also old and fat and has three wives,” Zaroni said sardonically. “She’ll never marry him.”
“She’ll marry him or I’ll beat her!” Garai shouted. “I’ve had enough of her proud ways!”
****
“You shouldn’t torment your sister like that, Sarai.”
Sarai had known when her mother entered her bedroom that she was in for a lecture. She shrugged her shoulders and ran her hand over her glossy black hair. “I know it, but I couldn’t help it.”
“I think I’d better tell you before you hear it from your brother.”
Sarai stared at her mother. “What is it now?”
“Garai’s making a match for you.”
“Who is it this time?”
“Elam.”
“I won’t marry that old man. He’s already got two wives. Or is it three?”
“It’s three, but it doesn’t matter.”
“I won’t do it, Mother. You may as well tell him and let him have his screaming fit.”
“Sarai, you have strange notions about marriage.” Zaroni came closer and put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “We have to settle for what we can get. You want the ideal, but the ideal doesn’t exist. Not in this world.”
“In the next world, then? That’s when I’m supposed to have a husband that I want?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. You’ve got to see things as they are.”
Sarai loved her mother, but now there was a hard look in her dark eyes as she said between clenched teeth, “I’ll marry the man I choose, Mother, and that’s all there is to it. You may tell my brother I said so!”
Chapter 2
The bleating of the sheep and the sight of the young kids butting each other pleased Terah. He stood on a slight mound looking over the herds of goats and flocks of sheep that spread out in every direction. He always felt a glow of satisfaction when his eyes fell on his possessions. In his mind he could see these animals transformed into houses, expensive furnishings, jewelry, and other signs of wealth. He was a burly man, tall and deep in the chest, with sharp brown eyes, curly gray hair that had been black in his youth, and a beard to match. Some individuals’ looks matched their personality, and so was the case with Terah. He was burly both inside and out, aggressive and bold at all times, a man who had to have his own way.
Picking his way through the animals, Terah stopped from time to time to lean down and pull the wool on one of the sheep, testing it. His mind was working ahead, considering ways to increase the size of the family holdings. Though he was old now, he was still the strong, vital presence he had been ever since taking over the family’s business from his own father. His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he thought of that time when his father, Nahor, had left the family. The thought still rankled him, but he consoled himself at the thought of how he had stepped into his father’s place. Since the day Nahor had disappeared on his fruitless quest, Terah had been the unquestioned leader of the family.
A shout brought Terah out of his deep thought, and he turned to see his middle son, who bore the same name as Terah’s father, winding his way through the flocks. Nahor was built like Terah—tall, broad shouldered, with a deep chest and sinewy limbs. His face was coated with the dust raised by the animals. Coming to stand before his father, he looked around and smiled, his teeth white against his suntanned complexion. “They look good, don’t they?”
“We’re going to have more increase than last year, aren’t we, son?”
“Oh yes. We’re going to have to hire more help. Maybe buy some more slaves. That’s cheaper than hiring the work done. Those freed men are always walking off and leaving when we need them the most.”
Terah scanned the horizon and frowned. “Where’s Abram?”
A scowl twisted Nahor’s lips, and he shook his head as he exclaimed bitterly, “Gone to worship—back to that blasted temple!”
“The temple? But he was there yesterday!”
“And he’ll be there tomorrow. Father, you’ve got to do something about Abram. He’s got his head in the clouds and is no help at all with the animals.”
Terah licked his lips and paused, a dark cloud gathering across his features. He stared at Nahor for a moment, then asked, “Did you tell him what I said?”
“I told him you’d left orders for him to stay here, but he insisted he had to go to the temple and would be back early tomorrow morning.”
The two men looked at each other, puzzled by Abram’s idiosyncrasies. He had always been different from Nahor and from the oldest son, Haran. Given to constant introspection, Abram had often disappeared out on the hills, even as a youth, and whenever he returned, he had always said, “I was just out thinking.”
Terah gnawed on his lip nervously. “At thirty the man should have settled down and had a family.”
“He never shows any interest in that sort of thing,” Nahor scoffed.
“Why can’t he be like you, or like your brother?” Terah asked.
“Or like you,” Nahor said, grinning. “That’s what you’d really like. You know, sometimes I think he’s not right in the head.”
“Don’t say that!” Terah retorted.
“But I’m right about it. He’s like Grandfather. I remember him fairly well. He was always talking about the gods, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. And I made offerings, pleading that Abram wouldn’t be like him!”
“Well, you’d better make another offering, because he sure doesn’t show any sign of coming out of it. You’ve got to do something about him.”
“All right, I will.” Terah’s jaw set firmly, and he nodded emphatically.
“What will you do, Father?”
“I’m going to tell him right out that he’s spending too much time in the temple, and he’s got to settle down and act like a man.”
“You ought to make him get married.”
Terah laughed shortly. “It’s a shame when a man has to make his son get married. I didn’t have that problem with you and Haran.”
Nahor laughed loudly. “No, you didn’t. But Abram’s different from us. I think he’s lost his mind over religion, but if we all work together, maybe we can make something out of him yet.”
****
For Abram, leaving the crowded streets of Ur and coming into the magnificent temple area was like entering another world. The streets swarmed with the sounds of barking dogs and braying donkeys as they pulled their burdens, of people talking and shouting, of children screaming as they played their games—a world of busy activity. But now as Abram mounted the steps and entered the temple complex, the raucous noises faded and the smells and sights of the bustling city passed away for him. The huge temple area sprawled out over acres of ground, much of it in a level courtyard paved with stone hauled, at considerable expense, from the distant quarries of Akkad. To his left were two flat-roofed buildings that housed the numerous priests who served the gods of Ur; a third building was devoted to the multiple activities of the temple, including the lucrative temple prostitution business.
Dominating everything, however, was the huge ziggurat that rose high into the air. It was the highest structure Abram had ever seen, and he always felt a sense of awe as he approached it. He paused for a moment, looking up at the huge steps and remembering what he had been taught—that this ziggurat was relative
ly new. It had been built upon older temples, which time had eroded, and the remains of which had gradually grown upward in a mound. The steps had been added, and now the sunbaked bricks of the structure glistened as they caught the rays of the sun.
Abram stopped beside the god of water, Enki. He bowed low before the shrine and then dropped down to his knees. He prayed fervently to the stone god, which stood six feet high with wings spread as if they were arms. On top of the god’s head was a sharp-peaked hat, and he was clothed in a garment made from the stalks of rye that filled the fields around the city. Because the Chaldees lived in fear of both prolonged drought and severe floods, Enki was one of the more important deities, often glorified in sculpture and sacred verse. Abram opened his eyes and read the inscription on the base supporting the idol: When I draw near unto the yellowing fields, grain piles are heaped at my command. Abram prayed aloud, “Oh, most powerful Enki, send no floods to wipe our fields away, and yet send rain so that the crops may grow.” He continued to pray for some time, and his voice rose unconsciously as he worshiped this stone god of Ur, in the manner that he had been taught by his parents.
Finally he rose and made his way past other gods, each occupying their own shrines. The temple contained no fewer than three thousand deities; almost every element—including rain, sun, and wind—was represented by its own god. The gods, however, were not considered equal. The most powerful was An, ruler of the heavens. Often considered his wife, and queen of the universe, was the fertility goddess, Ishtar. It was to this idol that Abram now made his way.
When he entered the interior of the ziggurat, he was impressed, as always, by the magnificence of it. Artists had covered the walls with paintings, and sculptors had adorned the inside with many statues. Most of the men depicted in the wall murals had long, curling beards and long hair parted in the middle. They were bare chested and wore skirts drawn in severely at the waist. The women on the frescoes wore their hair in braids coiled around their heads. Abram passed by many of these sacred paintings, pausing from time to time to offer a brief prayer.
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