A boy of about ten years of age appeared, walking from the canal holding a string of small fish. His brown hair had a reddish tinge in the bright sunlight, and his eyes were dark and lustrous. Sarai’s eyes followed him, as they always followed children, until he walked past a collection of small round reed huts, where the cattle were kept. There was little good grazing land left this close to Ur, so the cattle were kept in huts and carefully fed the grain that was stored from the harvest.
“Where has Abram gone this time?”
Sarai started at Milcah’s question, for she was caught up in her surroundings and in the pleasure of holding the baby. “He and Lot have gone off together hunting. I think they were going to try to bring in some birds and look for new forage.”
“Those two are so close. Abram is very fond of Lot, isn’t he?”
“So am I, Milcah. He’s a fine boy.” A brief smiled lifted the corners of her mouth. She was forty-five years old now but still had the creamy skin and good looks of a woman of twenty. “Yes, we love Lot as if he were our own son.”
“Does it worry you, Sarai, that Abram is so unsettled?”
“Unsettled? Why, he’s the steadiest man I know!”
Milcah’s lips tightened. “Well, I suppose he is about most things, and I know he’s a good husband. But I’m not the only one who wonders about his seeking after a God nobody has ever heard of.”
Sarai did not answer. She had long since given up trying to explain to anyone Abram’s preoccupation with the Eternal One. She herself had never had an encounter with the God whom Abram served, but she knew he was a man of truth, and there was nothing in her husband’s life any stronger than his belief that the Eternal One was the one true God. She had often seen him sitting and staring at the medallion he always wore. He seldom spoke of it, and she had long ago ceased to ask him questions about it. But she knew that he believed it came straight down from his ancestor Seth and that somehow it marked him as being a special servant of the God in whom he believed so fiercely.
The two women were silent for a time, submerged in observing the life of the townspeople about them. It was a busy time of day, and old and young had come out to enjoy the afternoon. Milcah’s face was thoughtful. She cleared her throat and then tentatively expressed what she’d been thinking. “Sarai, I’ve been wondering about something.”
“Wondering about what?”
“Well, I know that you want a child more than you want anything else.” Milcah saw a pain flare in Sarai’s eyes and hurried on. “I’m just wondering if you and Abram shouldn’t offer sacrifices to some of the gods of Ur.”
“Which ones?” Sarai asked sarcastically. She might not have seen with her own eyes or heard with her own ears the God that Abram spoke of, but she had little faith in the thousands of stone idols that were so precious to the inhabitants of Ur. Families even had their own special gods, and Sarai had, for a long time, observed that little came of the offerings given to them.
She did not like to speak of her lack of bringing a son into the world, but Milcah loved Sarai and spoke of it forthrightly. “Time is running out for you and Abram to have children. I do wish that Abram would offer sacrifices to the gods before it’s too late.”
Again Sarai gave her sister-in-law a strange look. “Which god would you suggest?”
Milcah shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. Start in and try one, and if that doesn’t work, try another one. Sooner or later you’re bound to find the right one. Why, you know my cousin Denae. She didn’t have any children for four years, and then she took an offering to Ishtar, and now she’s got three. Why don’t you try Ishtar?”
“Abram would never do that.”
Sarai rose, anxious to get away, and Milcah said quickly, “Well, Lot is almost a son to you.”
Sarai handed the baby to Milcah, saying sadly, “It’s not the same thing, Milcah.”
Milcah shook her head sadly as Sarai ran back toward the house. “Those two are stubborn,” she muttered to herself. “I can see no harm in asking the gods for help.”
****
The river made a pleasant sibilant murmur as it purled at the feet of Abram and Lot. They were standing in a grove of reeds that rose over their heads, peering out at the river as it spread itself before them. The water was brown, warm as stew and almost as thick. The bank was slick, and Abram peered through the reeds carefully. The sinking sun made slatted bars of alternate light and shade across his bronzed skin, and he shut his eyes against the glare of it. Although he was fifty-five now, he was still strong and hearty, and the sun had tanned his skin to a golden glow. He was wearing a simple garment that met at one shoulder and hung down to his knees. His arms were corded with muscle, and he hefted the spear in his hand and glanced over at Lot, who stood beside him.
“We’re going to have to do better than this, boy.”
Lot was twenty now, fully grown and much slimmer than Abram. He was a fine runner, although not physically as strong as some of the other young men. He had handsome features, and Abram had noted that young women, both in town and among the sheepherders’ families, found him pleasing indeed, and Lot returned their admiration.
“There they come. Look!” Lot whispered.
The two men swung their heads to gaze toward a flock of white birds that were approaching.
“We’ll get them as soon as they land, son. You take the closest one. I’ll take one a little farther away.”
“Yes. I’ll bet I get one.” Lot’s eyes glowed, and Abram felt pleasure in just being with the young man. Lot had become an integral part of his life over the years, taking away at least some of the pain he felt at having no son of his own. This nephew of his had managed to work his way into Abram’s heart.
The birds came in, and as soon as they settled, Abram whispered, “Now!” and with all of his strength, he flung the spear. It made a whistling sound, but he saw that he had overthrown the bird.
Lot’s spear, however, caught his prey squarely with a solid thunk, and the bird fell into the river and floated there. Lot began to laugh. “I told you you’d miss, Uncle. I’m going to have to give you throwing lessons.”
Abram reached around and picked Lot up. He was still a powerful man, and now holding his nephew pinioned, he said fiercely, “I’ll teach you to make fun of your elders. I’ll throw you to the crocodiles!” He moved out from the reeds and stood on the riverbank, ignoring Lot’s futile attempt to get away.
Finally, reaching out, he set Lot down until his feet sank in the mud up to his knees. “Now, go out and get that bird. I want it for my dinner.”
As soon as Lot was free, he reached forward and grabbed Abram’s ankle. Throwing himself backward, he said, “We’ll both get him. Come on!”
Abram was caught off balance. He wheeled his arms in an attempt to catch himself, but it was too late. “Why, you young—” He could say no more, for he fell full-length in the mud. At once he reached up and grabbed Lot, dragging him down with him, and for the next few minutes he proceeded to smear the thick river mud all over Lot.
Lot did his best to do the same to his uncle, and the two men wallowed in the thick, juicy mud.
“Now,” Abram panted, winded from the exertion, “go get that bird.”
“I will, but you’ll have to split him with me for dinner.”
Lot floundered out into the slow-moving stream until he reached the bird. He brought it back, and the two men cleaned themselves off as well as they could and then climbed out on the bank.
“You’re making a fool out of your old uncle, boy.”
“Why, you’re more fun than any of my friends,” Lot said. He reached up and patted Abram’s arm, looking at him with obvious affection.
For one moment Abram could not speak. His throat was tight, and he felt a surge of thanksgiving. As he often did, he offered up a quick prayer. O Eternal One, thank you for this boy! He has indeed become a son to me. Aloud he said roughly, “Well, well, come along. Sarai will pull every hair out of our hea
ds if we don’t get home soon.”
The two men started back toward home. As they walked briskly along under the hot sun, Lot began to chatter about the young woman he was presently smitten with. “She’s the only girl for me. I’ve made up my mind to win her,” Lot said exuberantly.
“Seems I’ve heard this before,” Abram said, smiling. “What about that other girl? The one from the village of Laniel?”
“Her? She’ll be fatter than a hippopotamus by the time she’s thirty. No, I’ve got a new system for finding a woman now.”
“I’d be pleased to hear it,” Abram said dryly.
“Well, you have to look at her mother. If you find one with a pretty mother, then you’ll have a woman who’ll never be fat and ugly.”
Abram laughed aloud. He was always vastly amused by his nephew’s schemes. “What if she’s a poor girl?” he asked.
Lot chewed his lip thoughtfully, swinging the bird by its legs as he walked. Now he reached down and plucked out a handful of the white feathers and tossed them into the sky. As they fluttered downward, he said, “There’s bound to be a rich woman whose family has a lot of money and whose mother is good-looking as well. I’ll tell you what. When I find one whose mother is as pretty as Aunt Sarai, that’s the one I’ll have.”
Abram was pleased at the young man’s fondness for Sarai. She was indeed a second mother to him. Lot’s own mother had died not long after she had remarried, which had made the boy even more dependent upon Abram and Sarai. Lot continued to talk about girls, and finally he remarked, “Well, you know a man can’t take the first woman he falls in love with.”
Abram was quiet for a moment, then said with a peculiar inflection, “I did.”
Lot suddenly turned. “That’s right, you did. Saved you a lot of trouble, but I suppose the gods must have helped you. Did you pray for the gods to find you just the right wife?”
“Back in those days I prayed to a lot of gods.”
“Which ones?”
“All I could find. I was looking for the true one.”
Lot considered this for a while. “Most people,” Lot said cautiously, “think that all of the gods are true gods.”
“I can hardly remember a time when I believed that. When I was even younger than you, I began to think that there was just one God. I don’t know why I thought that, but it came to me clearly.” Abram continued to speak of his search for God and how he had found Him in the desert that day long ago. Finally he said, “I’ll hear from Him again someday.”
“Do you really think so, Uncle?”
“Yes. I can’t believe that such a God would only appear to me once and never again. There is such a longing in my heart to know Him more. I can’t believe that He would not want to satisfy that longing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you get thirsty, don’t you, Lot?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Suppose there was no such thing as water. Water was made to quench your thirst. Food was made to satisfy your hunger. Rest was made to meet your need for sleep, and somehow I know that this longing I have is the same thing. I believe that the Eternal One, whom I have met, longs to satisfy the deepest need of every man.”
Lot admired his uncle more than any other man he knew, and for a time he questioned him about the God he prayed to. “Uncle, can I ask you a question? A personal one.”
“You can ask me,” Abram smiled, “but I won’t promise to answer.”
“Well,” Lot said hesitantly, “did you ever…ever…”
“Did I ever what?”
“Did you ever go to one of the temple prostitutes?” Lot blurted.
Abram shot a quick glance at Lot, who was deliberately looking away. He saw that the boy’s face was flushed and said quickly, “No, I never did, Lot. Those women aren’t good for a man.”
“Most of my friends have gone,” Lot said defensively.
Abram almost said, And have you gone too? but he managed to choke back the question. He knew what a temptation it was for young men when women were readily available, and he knew also that temple prostitutes were considered a form of worship. The whole idea disgusted him, and he said, “I think a man ought to do better than that.”
Lot did not answer, and finally he turned to his uncle with a warm smile. “I think so too.”
The two walked briskly along the road with Abram speaking of the Eternal One. He desperately wanted Lot to find God, and he saw the young man was soaking all of it in.
Finally Lot interrupted him to say, “There’s Gehazi.”
The men waited until Abram’s chief herdsman came forward at a trot. Gehazi did everything fast. He walked fast. He ate fast. He even slept fast, it appeared. He stopped before them, a sunburned individual, scarcely larger than an adolescent boy but wise in the way of flocks, knowing more about animals than any man Abram had ever seen. “About time you two came back,” he grumbled.
“We found some good grazing ground over to the north,” Abram said. “When this grass is gone, we ought to move some of the flocks over there.”
“I knew about that already,” Gehazi said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked down at the bird in Lot’s hand. “Did you bring that bird for me?”
“No, it’s my uncle’s dinner.”
“You get only one?”
“I got one. My uncle here, he couldn’t hit a ziggurat from ten paces away!”
Abram laughed. “I think you’re right about that. You’re better at hunting birds than I ever was.”
Lot laughed and wandered off to speak to another one of the herdsmen.
Abram said, “How’s the boy working out?”
“He’s bright and good with the animals. He’s a little lazy, though. You should’ve taken a stick to him when he was growing up.”
“Perhaps I should have,” Abram said, smiling.
Gehazi sighed, his eyes fixed on Abram’s face. “You would never have done it, not you. Spoiled the boy rotten, I’d say.”
Abram nodded. “I guess I did, Gehazi. I love him so much—I just never can say no to him.”
****
Sarai rose to meet Abram, taking his hands and kissing him. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Did you find more grazing ground?”
“Yes, and we’ll be moving some of the flock there. I talked to Gehazi about Lot. He says he’s a good herdsman. Just a little lazy.”
Layona came out to meet him and said, “I fixed you a good supper, master.”
“Well, that’s good. We only got one bird.”
“I’ll fix it for you just the way you like.”
“You always do.” Abram smiled at the woman fondly.
Sarai watched this brief scene cautiously. Layona had become a most helpful servant and an excellent cook. She was still an attractive woman, even though she too was getting on in years. Sarai had expected that long ago some young man would have taken her for his bride. Several had made offers for her, but Layona had begged each time to be allowed to remain with the family. It was common practice for men to take on female servants as concubines who would bear them sons, and Sarai often wondered, as she did now, if Abram had ever considered doing so with Layona. But then she dismissed the thought. She wasn’t being fair to him. Abram had never expressed anything toward Layona other than simple affection.
Now Sarai waited until Layona brought out the meal—mutton soaked in sour cream along with wheat cakes dipped in oil.
“What have you been doing while we were gone?” Abram asked his wife.
“Oh, nothing really. I’ve been visiting with Milcah and the baby.”
Abram was very sensitive to his wife’s sadness over being childless herself. Quickly he said, “We need to go into town to stay for a time, Sarai. To have an extended visit with the family—and buy you some new things.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “A pretty wife like you deserves pretty things.”
Sarai reached up and cov
ered his hand with hers. “That would be fine,” she said quietly.
****
Abram’s parents now lived in one of the finer homes in Ur. Though the trading business was faltering, its earlier success had provided a fine house. It had two large stories, built of mud bricks around an open courtyard. There were lavatories and drains, but no baths. The upstairs housed the bedrooms, all of which looked down on the open courtyard, and the area around the courtyard on the ground floor had rooms for cooking, washing, and spinning, and bedrooms for the servants.
As Abram and Sarai entered the house, they were greeted by Abram’s parents, Terah and Metura. “About time you came to stay for a while!” Terah said. “You’ve neglected your mother and me badly.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” Abram said. “You’re right. We’ll have to try to see you more often.”
Metura came over, and Abram bent over and kissed her. She patted his cheek and said, “You look thin, son. I’m going to fatten you up a little bit.”
Abram was very fond of his mother. He embraced her and said, “That’s good. And you’ll get to pamper me all you want to. This woman here never pays me any mind.”
Metura looked at Sarai, who was smiling. “I believe you’ve taken up lying in your old age, son. Come along, Sarai. Let’s see what we can scare up for these two hungry men.”
As the two women prepared the meal, Abram accompanied his father up on the roof. The shadows were growing long now, and a breeze was coming over the rooftop. Terah had been listening to Abram’s report of the flocks, and he expressed his gladness that the herding business was going well.
“I wish things were going as well for me.”
Abram glanced at his father with surprise. “The business still isn’t going well?”
Terah had purchased several boats lately for his trading business, sending them upriver past Uruk to the distant villages along the route to Babylon. People there seldom got into the larger cities, and Terah had done well with the trading in the past.
“It’s not as easy as it used to be. There are other traders now. Some of them are pretty sharp fellows.” He turned suddenly and said, “I want Lot to stay with us and learn the business.”
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