No Woman So Fair

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I shot it, Aunt Sarai,” Lot said proudly.

  “Good for you!” Sarai exclaimed. She reached over and kissed the boy and hugged him. “You’re getting to be a great hunter.”

  Abram thought of how the boy had outrun him, and his pride rose up, but he fought the urge to defend himself, praising the boy instead. “He did indeed make the kill…and he outran his old uncle here to bring the beast down!”

  “Well, you will get the best part of the meat, son,” Sarai said proudly. “Here, let me get started on this.” She called loudly, “Layona, come and help me.”

  Layona came forward at once, and as Abram glanced at her, he could see little sign of the frightened, skinny girl he had purchased twenty years ago. She was a mature woman now and had been a faithful servant to Sarai’s household all these years. She had not always lived in the desert with Abram and Sarai, but in recent years she had agreed to join them there. She was really more like one of the family than a slave, and she smiled at Lot and winked, saying, “I hear that you killed this beast yourself.”

  “I did, Layona, and Aunt Sarai says I get the best part of it!”

  “Well, you come along, and I’ll let you pick it out.”

  Abram began to follow them, but as the two moved away, he felt Sarai grab his arm. “You come with me,” she ordered. “You’re filthy. You need to wash and lie down and rest.”

  “Why, you treat me like an old man!” he griped.

  “I don’t think you’re an old man,” Sarai said and smiled knowingly up at him. “You’ve proved that to me often enough.”

  Abram laughed and reached out to embrace her. “I’ll prove it again tonight, my love!” He kissed her and marveled again at her beauty. She was, to him, even more beautiful now than when he had first seen her. Her figure was still that of a young woman, and even the desert sun had not been able to destroy her complexion. True, she was not as pale as she had been when he had first seen her. But her complexion was now even more attractive—golden, tinged with the sun, but as smooth and clear as alabaster. Her outdoor life had given her a fresh, hearty coloring, and Abram felt a pride as he looked at her. He was aware that every man who saw her was taken by her beauty, but there was no jealousy in him, for he knew that her love was only for him.

  After he had washed up, the two sat down in front of their tent, the largest one in the camp. He looked out over the work that was going on, noting that one woman was churning cream in a device he himself had invented. It consisted of a tripod of saplings on which was suspended a long stick. At one end of the stick was tied a goatskin bag filled with the cream. A small woman was rocking the stick back and forth, her mind elsewhere as her arm moved rhythmically. She would keep this up, Abram knew, until the butter was rich and creamy, and then it would be removed from the goatskin bag.

  He looked over to his left and saw a woman on her knees in front of a flat stone that was slightly hollowed out in the middle. Holding a smaller stone in her hand, she was grinding meal for the daily flatbread. After the grain was cracked, it was further refined into flour with a mortar and pestle. After this it was moistened, shaped into flat loaves, and then baked on hot stones. The bread was the mainstay of the nomadic diet, for it was light and easily carried to the next campsite.

  “It’s nice here,” Sarai murmured, looking about them. “The flowers are beautiful this year.”

  It was the sort of thing Sarai would notice, and indeed the flowers were striking. Many of them were yellow, but there were delicate purple and blue ones, and here and there among them a crimson flower dotted the landscape. The lowing of the cattle made a soft music, and the bleating of the goats became an antiphony to their song. It was music to Abram’s ears because these were his riches—these cattle with their calves, goats with kids, and the pure white sheep that dotted the landscape with their lambs frolicking in the late-afternoon sunshine. The harsh, abrasive cry of the Damascus donkeys that were used almost universally for beasts of burden punctuated the softer cries of the cattle, and Abram found even this sound pleasing.

  After a time Layona announced that the meal was ready. The family ate in the open—the meat of the hart flavorful and tender on the inside and crisp on the outside, washed down with goat’s milk, and afterward butter and honey smeared on flatbread to satisfy the sweet tooth.

  While Lot ate with the appetite and exuberance of youth, he looked over to see Abram tenderly touching Sarai on the cheek. She responded by leaning over and kissing him.

  “I don’t know any other old people that kiss each other like you do. Why is that?” Lot asked curiously. “Most old people fuss a lot and argue. Some of them even hit each other—like old Hamaz hits his wife, Lamer. Why don’t you two ever do that?”

  “Because we love each other,” Sarai said quickly.

  “Don’t those other people love each other?”

  “Not as much as we do, son,” Abram said. He had gotten into the habit of calling Lot “son,” which gave him a feeling of pride, as if he himself had produced the boy. “But mostly it is because your aunt here is the sweetest, most beautiful woman in all the world. Any man who wouldn’t want to kiss her needs to be buried.”

  Lot thought this was funny and laughed. “When I get married I’m going to marry someone as pretty as you, Aunt Sarai.”

  “Oh, I hope much prettier!” Sarai smiled at him. “I want the very best wife for you. But that’ll be a long time yet.”

  The meal was almost finished when a rider came in. He slipped off of his donkey and came forward quickly. It was one of his father’s servants, and Abram got to his feet. “Hello, Bamud.”

  “Sir, your father sent me to get you. He’s not well.”

  “Is it serious, Bamud?”

  “I can’t say, sir.” Bamud was a stocky, muscular young man with shaggy hair and an unkempt look. “He just asked you to come and visit him.”

  “You’ll have to go,” Sarai said at once.

  “We’ll all go. It’s time we had a holiday in town.”

  Lot let out a shrill yelping cry and said, “I get to go too, Uncle?”

  “Of course you do. Maybe there’ll be a festival, and at least we can buy you some of the sweets you like so much.”

  Lot left at once to get ready, and Sarai said, “I’m worried about your father. He hasn’t been well for the past year.”

  “He’s getting quite old,” Abram said. “We’d better get ready quickly. It’ll be late when we get there.”

  ****

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Terah grumbled. He was half lying down, propped up in a bed with pillows. He held his stomach and grimaced. “I feel like I’ve swallowed a thorn bush. My stomach is killing me.”

  “Maybe you’re eating the wrong things.”

  “No maybe about it. I know I am. A man hates to admit he’s not as strong as he once was.”

  Abram nodded. “I know what you mean. Lot and I were hunting this morning and wounded a hart. We took out after it running as hard as we could, and I gave out. That boy just shot by me like I was standing still. Made me feel old for the first time in my life.”

  “You’re not old,” Terah growled. “You’re in the prime of life.”

  “I don’t know. I’m fifty now!”

  “I’d like to be your age again,” Terah said. “Metura wants me to do nothing but drink milk and eat baby’s food. A man likes good, strong drink and fresh meat with garlic. I can’t even taste the stuff she feeds me! You know, son, things don’t taste as good. Why, I can remember when I was your age I’d go out and pull an onion out of the ground, wipe the dirt off of it, and eat it like a piece of fruit. It was strong and good, but now I’ve lost my taste. I’m getting old.”

  “You’re good for a lot of years yet, Father.”

  Terah hesitated, then answered cautiously, “I’ve been making offerings to more of the gods. Surely one of them will be able to help me. The trouble is there’s so many of them! Why can’t there be just one god in charge of
stomachs? Then a man could go and make his offering and get well.”

  Abram did not answer at once. He knew that there were gods for almost every excuse, even a god in charge of keeping rats from the house. And none of them were any help. He did not want to say this, however, for his father looked poorly.

  Terah suddenly turned to him. “What about this mysterious God of yours? The one you call the Eternal One—like my father did. If He’s all-powerful, He ought to be able to cure one man’s stomach, shouldn’t He? Do you think He can make me well?”

  Abram hesitated. “I don’t know Him too well, Father.”

  “Don’t know Him too well! Why, you’ve been running around for years talking about Him.”

  “Well, that may be so, but He’s not an easy God to know.”

  Terah stared at him and grumbled. “Hmmph. Then maybe He’s not worth knowing! I’ll just have to keep on sending offerings to the temple until I get lucky and hit on a god who will help me.”

  Abram sat quietly thinking over what his father had said. He knew that the Eternal One had power to heal, but Abram did not know yet whether God would choose to listen when people asked Him for things. As for offerings, he had never once thought of offering anything to Him. The Eternal One seemed above all that. Abram was jolted out of his mental wanderings when his father said, “Aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Why, I guess I was still thinking about your stomach problem.”

  “I was saying that what really worries me is the business—it’s going into the ground. Nahor works hard at it, but we’re not making any headway.”

  “What about the trading business with Garai and those people in the north?”

  Terah shook his head glumly. “Nothing is going right. What have I done that the gods are punishing me like this?”

  Abram tried to comfort his father, but as he sat beside him, he was still wondering, Why is God not speaking to me? Why don’t I sense Him near me all the time? Perhaps if I knew Him better, I could ask Him, and He would heal my father. It was a question he had often wrestled with but even now found no answer to.

  Days later, Terah was up and about, feeling no effects from his ailment. He insisted that he had finally made an offering to the right god—but he grumbled that he couldn’t figure out which one had answered his pleas. In his heart, Abram knew the stone gods had no power, but he wished with all his heart that he could know the Eternal One well enough to make requests of Him.

  ****

  Sarai was having a wonderful time visiting Nahor and Milcah and their children. Milcah had given birth to a baby girl only three weeks earlier, and Sarai was cuddling her, touching her cheeks and laughing when the child laughed. “She is beautiful, Milcah, absolutely beautiful!”

  “You’re so good with babies, Sarai. It’s a shame you don’t have children of your own.” Milcah had spoken quickly, but seeing Sarai’s face fall, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Sarai. I know it’s a grief to you.”

  “Yes, it is. I feel like I’m failing Abram.”

  “Has he said anything to you?”

  “No, he’s never reproached me once. I know he loves me, but I know also that he would love to have a son.”

  “Well, you have Lot. He’s become like a son to you.”

  “That’s true, but still I’d give anything to have one like this.” Sarai cuddled the girl in her left arm, smoothed the silky hair down, and looked deep into the guileless eyes of the child. “She’s such a sweet baby.”

  “Well, she is now, but what will she be when she grows up?”

  “Let’s hope she’ll always be sweet like she is now.”

  Milcah shook her head sadly. “People don’t stay sweet. They turn out to be adults.”

  “Adults can still be good. Look at my husband. He’s the best man I know.”

  Milcah laughed. “You’re like a young bride, Sarai.” Then changing the subject, she asked, “Did you bring Lot to town with you?”

  “Oh yes. He likes to visit his friends here. Speaking of good boys, Lot certainly is one.”

  Milcah started to say something regarding the goodness of young boys but refrained. She was very fond of Sarai and knew that the woman had enough to bear without her adding to it. Silently she thought, Lot may be a good boy, but he’s a boy, and he’ll become a man. And I never knew a man that didn’t get into trouble sooner or later.

  ****

  Milcah’s thoughts were prophetic, for Lot, at that very moment, was being taunted by several of his friends. He liked them all, and they obviously liked him, but they were city boys, and he was from the country. They teased him constantly about this, and finally one of them said, “What about girls out there in the desert? I’m sure those shepherds must have daughters.” The speaker was a tall, spindly boy named Luz. He was the ringleader of the group and now winked at his followers. “Those country girls ought to be pretty sweet.”

  The others joined in teasing Lot, and finally Luz said, “Come on, Lot, tell us about those girls. Are they pretty sweet?”

  “I don’t know any girls. N-not the way you mean,” Lot stammered.

  Luz winked again at the others. “Well, that’s easily enough remedied. You’re as old as I am. You should have had half a dozen girls by this time.”

  Lot could not answer. Indeed his body had been changing, and when one lissome young woman, the daughter of one of his uncle’s herdsmen, had smiled at him, he had felt strange things happening inside him. He had been embarrassed by it, although he knew from hearing men talk that this was the way it was. Now he felt somehow ashamed in front of Luz and the others that he knew nothing about girls.

  Luz said, “I think it’s about time Lot here found out what women are like.” A loud chorus echoed this, and Luz leered at Lot. “Do you have any money?”

  “Yes, I’ve got some.”

  “Then I think we’d better go to the temple and make an offering to Ishtar.”

  Lot clearly understood his meaning. When men gave offerings to Ishtar, it was to visit the temple prostitutes. He had heard his uncle Abram speak of this in a disparaging manner, but still he was fifteen years old and curious. He was also anxious to appear to be a man in front of his friends. “All right. I’m ready,” he said defiantly.

  A yelp of assent went up, and the small band made its way to the temple. Luz whispered, “There’s one right there. Go tell her you want to make an offering.”

  Lot’s heart was beating fast, and he walked up to the woman, who was no taller than he was. She turned to him and smiled, and he saw that her gown was very revealing and for a moment he could not speak a word.

  “Well, what a fine man you are,” the woman said. She had full lips, and her face was painted, especially her eyes, which were large and lustrous. She leaned against him and said, “Have you come to make an offering to the goddess Ishtar?”

  “Y-yes, I have.”

  The woman laughed and put her arm around him. “You come with me, and we’ll make your offering. Then we’ll see what happens.”

  Lot felt hot then cold, but as the woman led him away, he heard his friends calling, challenging him, and he knew there was no turning back.

  Part Three

  The Calling

  The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation….”

  Genesis 12:1–2

  Chapter 9

  The blazing sun sent its blistering beams down over the land, causing shimmering heat waves to rise over the irrigation canal that lay just west of Ur of the Chaldees. Sarai sat on a low stone wall, holding a baby close to her breast. A beatific expression was on her face as she rocked the child slowly, cradling the precious treasure. She loved children of all ages, but especially helpless newborns. A longing reflected itself in her eyes, which her sister-in-law Milcah, who was standing a few feet away, recognized. She wants a baby worse than any woman I ever saw. Why the gods have made her barren, I can�
��t imagine. She and Abram are good people and would make wonderful parents.

  Milcah had thought this many times before, but being a practical woman, she knew the gods were fickle and often brought evil things to good people while at the same time lifting those who were downright evil to positions of prominence and wealth. Looking up at Sarai, she smiled. “You’re going to spoil Bethuel.”

  “Well, he’s such a sweet child. He deserves a little spoiling.” Sarai held the baby up. His pudgy body squirmed, and he smiled toothlessly at Sarai. “Isn’t he the handsomest baby that ever lived! Yes, you are,” Sarai crooned.

  “He’s not so sweet at times.” Milcah shook her head firmly and her lips pursed. “Sometimes he can be aggravating. He’s strong willed.”

  “Like Nahor, I suppose.”

  “Just like him.”

  The two women continued their conversation. From time to time Sarai looked around at the outskirts of the city where they sat, and where Nahor and Milcah made their home. Sarai had come for a visit on her own while Abram and Lot were away hunting.

  The outer fringes of Ur were composed primarily of square houses built of sun-dried brick, scattered over the landscape in no particular pattern, some of them at right angles to the others. From where she sat Sarai could see the irrigation canal. The river overflowed once a year, if the gods were kind, and the workers had built ditches to bring water to the arid ground. Water was life in this place, and each year prayers were sent up to different gods to bring the precious fluid into the land. After the growing season was over, men and women alike would get out and repair the canals, which were their lifeline.

  Overhead some birds were circling, and Sarai watched them idly. She was an observant woman, and now she turned her eyes out over the distance, studying the man who was plowing with a large ox. She had heard Abram’s grandfather tell about the early days, when life was so hard that men and even women were used instead of beasts to plow the land. She felt a sudden gladness that things were better now.