Metura shot her husband a troubled glance as he walked over and put his hand on Abram’s shoulder. “Look, I’ll build you a fine house. You’ll have many children. It’ll be a good thing. You’ve always liked children, haven’t you?”
“Of course I love children, but—”
“Well, a wife and half a dozen children will keep you from running to the temple every day.” Terah squeezed Abram’s shoulder and said, “Listen to me, son. It’s time for you to settle down.”
Metura came over also and put her hand on Abram’s other shoulder. He looked up to see the anxiety in her eyes and it grieved him. Her words, however, seemed to belie her worries. “Please, son, listen to your father. It would be wonderful to see you marry and have children. Won’t you do it?”
Abram felt trapped, but he did not want to displease his mother. As she continued to urge him, he finally agreed. “All right. I’ll go meet her at least.”
Terah expelled a big breath and said excitedly, “Good! You can leave this week. I have spoken to them already, and they told me you can meet them in Uruk. You’ll have to take lots of gifts.” Then he added, grinning, “We’ll get them all back and more with this woman’s dowry!”
Chapter 3
The captain of the small craft that made its way upriver toward Uruk was a brusque individual named Sargon. He had welcomed Abram on board at Ur, and between cursing the crew of four, who busied themselves with the oars or adjusting the triangular sail, he spoke constantly to his single passenger. “Can’t remember a time when I wasn’t on the river,” Sargon said. He took a series of swallows from a jug he kept handy, and Abram watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The master of the boat was crude, his speech studded with profanity. But he had traveled up the big river farther than any man Abram had ever met and was full of stories, most of which would not bear repeating in mixed company.
“I been up and down this river all my life, and let me tell you”—Sargon winked lasciviously—“the women of Babylon are the best! Now, I been all the way up to Mari, and all the way down past Ur to the big water. I been up the other river too, but there ain’t nothin’ there in the way of good-lookin’ women. But you take Babylon, now. Why, they got women you wouldn’t believe! Some of them black as night and some as pale as milk.”
The captain smacked his lips and gave details of the orgies he had participated in, obviously enjoying the sound of his own voice. From time to time he would cast his eye ahead, but there was really nothing to see. The river curved slightly, making no large sweeping turns, and the brown water looked almost thick with the silt that came down from distances so far Abram could not imagine it. Some called this “the land of the two rivers,” but the area to the north was unknown territory to Abram. In fact he wasn’t very familiar with any of the upriver places, such as Babylon. Intrigued, Abram leaned back and listened as Sargon continued to speak.
He had been troubled with a vague discomfort ever since his father had announced this expedition to meet his prospective bride. He knew he should have been excited at such a thing, yet he was not. His hunger to delve more deeply into spiritual matters consumed him, and he could not force himself to become interested in finding a wife. There were certainly enough women in Ur, had he been so inclined. Many of them had shown an interest in him, but he had not responded to their obvious suggestions. He remembered the words of his mother just before he left. “Son, you must find a good woman and have children. It would please me and your father greatly, for I know you’re lonely.” She had put her arms around him and held him, saying, “You can’t be alone in this life. Everyone needs somebody to cling to, to hold to, to know that they’re there. I’ve made an offering to the chief of the gods, An, that you’ll find the woman who can make you happy and give you many sons.”
As the boat forged its way steadily through the brown stream, Abram pulled his mind away from his mother’s admonitions. He glanced around at the boat, which was made of papyrus reeds bound together. There were few trees in this world to provide timber for boats. Any lumber had to be hauled from long distances and was used only for expensive furniture.
Abram let his eyes rest on the banks as they slid slowly by. All the houses were built from baked bricks and had flat roofs. Many of them, he saw, had gardens planted on the roofs, mostly in pots. A few people were tending to their roof gardens, and occasionally one of them would lift a hand to wave to the passing boat. From time to time Abram would wave back. He noticed a young woman walking along the riverbank with a child tied on her back. She waved too, and he saw the whiteness of her teeth and wondered, Is she happy? Does she have a good husband? Will the child she’s carrying grow up or will he die of some sickness? Does she seek after the gods?
Such thoughts were not uncommon for Abram. He was a man whose inner life was, in many respects, more powerful than his outer life. He had learned all that could be learned about taking care of sheep. He was far more able in this respect than his brothers or his father. They saw the sheep and goats merely as a way to make money and get ahead, but Abram had a real feeling for the flocks and herds, and the sight of a crippled animal made his heart ache with compassion. He had never seen this quality in his brothers, and he wondered at times if he was a fool to act this way.
As the time passed, Abram dozed off but was awakened by Sargon’s rough voice. The man was intensely curious and pried into Abram’s life. Abram finally let slip that he was going to visit the family of Garai in Uruk.
“Rich family,” Sargon grunted. He had smallish eyes, so deep brown they were almost black, and they never stopped darting here and there—some times taking in the banks, going to the river road ahead, and now they came to rest on his passenger. “You going to do business with him?”
“Well, actually I’m going because my father’s trying to work out a match between his sister and me.”
Sargon broke into laughter. He scratched his woolly head, which he kept uncovered, soaking up the sun, and his eyes sparkled. “I know a little bit about those girls. Of course, everybody in Uruk does.”
Abram’s interest was captured. “What about them?” he asked curiously.
“Well, one of them is good-looking and one of them is plain. Which one are you going after?”
Abram said, “I believe her name is Sarai.”
“Oh ho! You’re in for it, then, boy!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that woman’s got a tongue like a snake! She’s already run off half a dozen men who came to her brother. She’ll bring a fine dowry, but she’s got a temper like you never heard of. Take my advice—try to get the other one, Hanna. I hear she’s got a man that wants to marry her, but you can beat him out. She ain’t much to look at, but she’d never give a man a hard time. Not like that Sarai!”
****
As the boat nudged in toward the quay and the hands leaped out to secure it, Abram turned to Captain Sargon and took some coins out of his purse. “It was a good trip, Captain.”
Sargon took the coins, and his eyes were sharp as they rested on Abram’s face. “You mind what I tell you, young fellow. Stay away from that woman Sarai. She’ll make a man’s life miserable. Might as well marry a wild boar as that one!”
Abram smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind.” The sound of music floated out from the city, and he turned to see many people milling about, most of them dressed in their finery. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, it’s the Festival of Ishtar.” Sargon winked and nudged Abram with his elbow. “Plenty of fun at these Ishtar festivals. Them girls they keep in the temple, they’re pretty well used, but if you get yourself a fresh one, they ain’t bad.” Abram knew that the temple of Uruk was dedicated to the worship of Ishtar and that prostitution was a central part of the worship here. Abram was appalled to realize he had arrived at the time of such a festival and resolved to avoid the degrading festivities.
Ignoring the captain’s suggestions, Abram repeated, “It was a good trip, sir. Than
k you.”
“I’ll be heading back downriver in a week. Leave word with the harbormaster if you wish to return to Ur with me.” The captain hesitated, then laughed. “If you decide to bring that woman with you, you’d better put her on a chain. I wouldn’t want her loose on my boat.”
Abram smiled briefly as Sargon turned and went his way, laughing roughly at his joke. After hearing the captain’s comments, even if exaggerated, Abram now had even less inclination to seriously consider this woman Sarai as a wife. He would have to carry through with the visit out of duty, but he would make some excuse not to marry her. Digging through his travel bag, he pulled out a scrap of papyrus with the directions he had been given to the home of Garai. He turned and made his way through the town, finding that it was a much smaller place than Ur. The streets were full of the sounds of music and singing by rowdy crowds, who were clearly drunk with wine. He saw more than one man lying senseless in the street.
As he followed his directions he went past a small shrine of Ishtar in which the goddess was depicted with a skirt decorated with swimming fish amid flowing lines of the river. He almost stopped to pray, but the sight of two temple prostitutes heading his direction caused him to keep going. His stomach turned in confusion, wondering now if indeed it was even right to worship a goddess that demanded such degrading acts as he could see going on around him. He began heading down the street, but one of the prostitutes, a small bright-eyed woman with a painted face and wearing a gauzy gown over her full figure, caught up to him and asked, “Have you come to worship?” Then taking hold of Abram boldly, she said, “Come with me. I will help you.”
“N-no, thank you,” he stuttered. “I’m looking for the house of Garai.”
“You can go there later. Come on. It’s time to worship now.”
She began to pull off her gown right there in the street, and Abram panicked at the thought of giving himself to such “worship.” He shook his head vigorously and dropped his travel bag to stop her from disrobing fully. “Do you know where Garai lives?”
The woman glared at Abram in disgust, frowned, and shrugged. “Down that street until you come to the main thoroughfare. Turn right, and go that way. Ask anyone. He’s a rich man.”
Abram thanked her, and she turned with a burst of shrill laughter and grabbed another man, who seized her willingly.
Abram followed the woman’s directions, and the crowds increased in number. He asked a group of people who appeared to be somewhat sober, and they indicated that Garai’s house lay ahead. He finally came to a crowded bridge over a canal. He looked both ways and saw that the canal traversed the city in the same way as the one in Ur. The water level was quite low, the main channel no more than ten feet wide. On either side of the channel lay foul-smelling black mud. Waste matter and garbage had been thrown into it, and the stench made Abram wrinkle his nose. He started over the bridge, having to turn sideways to pass through the crowd, but just as he reached the middle, he remembered that he had dropped his travel bag back in the street by the shrine when the prostitute had grabbed him. Alarmed that he had likely lost the gifts he had brought for the family of Garai, along with his money and clothes, he turned back and broke into a run.
Near the end of the crowded bridge, he bumped into a woman. There were no railings, and he had time only to catch a glimpse of her beautiful but stunned face as she tumbled over the side. He made a wild grab for her but missed, and to his horror he saw her turn a somersault and land facedown in the stinking mud. Gales of laughter went up, and Abram looked about wildly. Feeling like a clumsy idiot, he knelt down and tried to reach the woman, but it was too far. He saw that she was struggling to get up, and when she rolled over, he could not make out her features, for the black muck covered her completely.
Abram jumped down and sank up to his knees in the mud. Reaching down, he took the woman’s arm and pulled her upright. “I’m so sorry….”
The woman was wiping the mud from her eyes and trying to speak, but mud had gotten in her mouth.
Abram said, “Here, let me help you.” He put his arm around her waist and picked her up. She was rather light and was no burden, but it was difficult to pull his feet out of the sucking mud. He struggled to the solid bank, where he put her down and pulled off his neckerchief. “Let me clean off—”
He had no time to say more, for a young woman had come racing up to them. “Mistress! Mistress, are you all right?”
“Look at me! This mud stinks and it’s all over me!”
“Come, we’ll take you home,” the servant girl said.
The mud-covered woman glared at Abram, fury in her eyes. She reached out and struck him on the chest with her fist. “You clumsy dolt!” she cried.
“That’s right! Give him a few!” a hulking onlooker cried out from the bridge. Abram looked up to see that the bridge was lined with laughing people. The woman saw it too, and she turned and fled, leaving Abram standing there.
Abram had never felt so stupid and clumsy in his life. He endured the jeers of the crowd as he made his way up the bank and back to the street. His legs were black with mud up to the knees, but he paid them no heed.
He was soon lost in the crowd and found his way back to the shrine. His travel bag was still there, and he sighed with relief and picked it up. He was ready to go when one of the priests of Ishtar approached him and said, “You’re a stranger here, are you not?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“You appear to have gotten into some sort of difficulty.” The priest, a thin man with kindly eyes, waved at his feet. “Come inside, and I will see that you get cleaned up.”
“That would be most kind,” Abram mumbled. He followed the priest, and all he could think of was what a fool he had made of himself. He did not want to stay in the temple precinct, but he could not go to the house of Garai like this and was grateful for the priest’s offer. He would wash, change, and be on his way at once.
****
Garai held a writing stick with its wedge-shaped tip and made indentations in a small holder of damp mud he held in his hand. He had become an expert at the new art of writing, an invention that priests used to keep records of which worshipers had made their annual contributions of barley to the temple granary. Traders had also found the record-keeping method invaluable for listing what was sent on their ships, and city administrators needed records of land surveys and civic activities. Businessmen like Garai had quickly found uses for the new system as well. The writing sticks could easily make marks in the damp clay, which would then harden into permanent records. At first the temple scribes had etched pictures of people and animals, but this had become so time consuming that a system of symbols had developed, such as Garai used now. He made a series of marks in a horizontal row going from left to right, and his hand moved quickly as he recorded his business activities.
As he worked, Garai wondered, not for the first time, if the new materials being developed, such as papyrus, might be more practical for storing large amounts of information. Papyrus reeds could be pressed flat and dried in the sun into thin sheets that would take marks from a small reed filled with a dark liquid. It seemed to Garai that they would take up far less space, but no one had yet figured out how to keep the dark marks from fading. So for this and other reasons, this method had not yet caught on for business purposes, and the cumbersome system of keeping thousands of clay tablets was still the most efficient way of preserving records.
“Sir, you have a visitor.”
Garai looked up at Hazil with annoyance. “I’m working. Who is it?”
“He says his name is Abram. Shall I send him away?”
“No!” Garai said quickly. “I’ve been expecting him. I’ll take care of this.”
“Yes, sir.”
Garai put the clay tablet down, washed his hands quickly, and moved out of the small storeroom into the corridor and toward the courtyard. He found a tall man waiting there, apparently in his thirties, wearing the simple dress of a shepherd. “Abram,” he
said. “Greetings. My name is Garai.”
“My father sends his greetings, sir.”
“Come in. You must wash, and I’m sure you must be hungry. When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you come at once?”
Abram had wound up staying the night in the priest’s private quarters at the temple, where the priest had insisted on having his garment washed and dried before he left. But Abram did not want to get into the story of why he was delayed. He simply said, “I got here rather late in the afternoon, and I thought it might be best to wait until today.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you in any case. Come along, and we’ll give you some refreshment.”
Abram submitted to Garai’s wishes, and soon he was sitting down drinking a thin, sour-tasting wine while the other man talked. “Your father and I have worked out all of the details—about the marriage, I mean. But now you must let me show you around.”
Abram nodded at once. “I’d be glad to see your city.”
“I’ll take you down to the river first to see our fleet of boats. I’m sure you’ll be interested in that,” Garai said. “And I’ll have the cook make a special dinner for when we return, and you can meet the family.” He beamed and said, “And, of course, you’ll meet your bride-to-be. I’m sure you’re anxious for that.”
“Of course, sir,” Abram said, inwardly wondering how he was going to get out of marrying the woman Captain Sargon had warned him about. Garai seemed to assume that the marriage deal was already done.
Abram mulled this over as he accompanied Garai to the waterfront and spent the afternoon looking over the family’s considerable assets. Garai was very proud of his fleet and spoke expansively of the advantages that would accrue to Abram’s family when the two joined forces.
“My family has been mostly into herds and flocks,” Abram said. “I know nothing about the boating trade.” He hoped Garai would not find Terah’s marriage offer so enticing when he learned of Abram’s business ineptness.
No Woman So Fair Page 4