No Woman So Fair

by Gilbert, Morris

  And Lot’s answer had cut into Sarai like a knife. “Why, it’s my uncle’s, of course.”

  “Your uncle Abram! What makes you think that?”

  “Well, all you have to do is watch her when Abram’s around. She never takes her eyes off him.”

  “That’s so,” Meri had said, nodding. “I wonder if he will claim the child.”

  “I doubt it,” Lot had said carelessly. “But she’s always loved him. Anybody can see that.”

  Now as Sarai moved along, the thought became intolerable. I’ll find out who the father is. I’ll make her tell me!

  ****

  For several days after Sarai resolved to question Layona, she found herself being short with Abram, and he, of course, noticed it. He said little, only asking her if she was not feeling well, and she had answered curtly, “I’m very well.” He had left her then, but she was aware that he was watching her curiously and with some concern.

  Her opportunity came one evening after the flocks were grazing and the evening meal was being prepared. Sarai found herself working on a pot of thick porridge prepared with sesame oil, which Abram loved. They had stopped early to bake barley cakes, milk the goats, and fill their earthenware pots with river water. Abram and Lot had gathered together the herdsmen who were not on guard against wild animals and predators of the two-legged kind, and Sarai saw that she was alone with Layona. Moving closer, she studied the woman for a moment. Layona was a slim woman, but the child she bore now filled her shapeless smock, which hung loosely from throat to hem and displayed her bare feet. Her black hair had a slight curl to it, and two braids curling at the ends hung across her cheeks and down upon her breast. She had stopped for a moment to gaze out toward the desert, one hand toying with one of the braids. She had a sweet face, and Sarai had always loved the woman—until now.

  “Layona?”

  “Yes, my mistress.”

  “I have to ask you something.”

  Layona’s fear at the question was obvious in her eyes and in the tremor that shook her breast. She said nothing, standing defenseless before Sarai.

  Finally Sarai said, “Layona, you must tell me who the father of your child is.”

  Layona swallowed hard and met Sarai’s eyes fleetingly but then looked downward and remained silent.

  Sarai took Layona’s silence as a confirmation of her suspicions, and her voice grew sterner. “Speak up, Layona! I insist that you tell me!”

  The slave woman continued to stare at the ground, and in the silence Sarai heard the voices of the men and the lowing of the cattle. From far away she heard happy children’s voices as they participated in a game. After waiting several moments for Layona’s response, Sarai’s face hardened and her lips drew into a straight line. “You’ve always loved my husband!” She waited for Layona to deny or to confirm this, but Layona did not lift her head. “It was him, wasn’t it?” Sarai demanded.

  Layona suddenly lifted her eyes, and Sarai saw the misery in them. Layona was a small woman, strong and well shaped, but despite her years, she still seemed almost childlike to Sarai.

  “No,” Layona whispered finally.

  “Then who is it?”

  Still Layona said nothing.

  Sarai grew angry and, moving forward, yelled, “Tell me the truth!” To the surprise of both of them, Sarai slapped Layona, something she had never done before. “Tell me!” she cried fiercely. “You’re lying! It’s Abram, isn’t it?”

  “No, it is not.”

  Sarai stared at the servant and saw that she would get nothing out of her. She said bitterly, “You managed to trap him! I hope you’re happy, but he’ll never claim your baby, I’ll tell you that right now!” She whirled and walked away, her back stiff. She felt somehow that she had lost something in the encounter, and the scene had so disturbed her that she could not join in the meal. She went instead to her tent and lay down. She found her hands were trembling, and she had to struggle to keep the tears from running down her cheeks. As she had grown older she had become a placid, even-tempered woman as a rule, but the idea of another woman giving birth to a child by Abram shook her to her very foundations.

  Anger swept over her after a time, and she thought bitter thoughts about the slave. I’ll make Abram sell her! No, she’s mine. He gave her to me. I’ll sell her myself to the first traveling band we meet. She let these thoughts run through her mind and savored them, but deep down she knew she would never do a thing like that. Finally she heard Abram come into the tent. He stood over her, then knelt down over her. “Are you not well, Sarai?”

  Abram’s voice was tender as always, and Sarai blinked her eyes to keep back the tears.

  “I’m just a little tired, husband.”

  “You didn’t eat anything,” Abram said with concern. “I’ll go fetch you something.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You must eat. You lie there, and I’ll get it for you.”

  Sarai reached up and caught his hand. “No. Just sit here beside me for a while.”

  Abram sat down and put both of his hands around hers. The size and strength of them gave her comfort, and she looked up and saw his warm eyes gazing at her with concern.

  “I’m a trouble to you,” she whispered.

  “How could you be that?” Abram reached over and ran his hand over her hair. He whispered, “I couldn’t ever let anything happen to you. What would I do without you, Sarai?”

  “Do you really feel that way, husband?”

  “There is no woman so fair,” Abram said. “Not just outwardly, but in your heart and your spirit. That’s what I love even more than your beauty.”

  The tears did come then. She could not hide them but suddenly sat up and put her arms around him. She lay against his chest, holding him tightly.

  Abram, surprised by this, continued to stroke her hair. “You’ll feel better after a time,” he said.

  “Yes, husband, I will.”

  ****

  “Son, we’re going to have to stop and give your mother a chance to get better,” Terah said to Abram after several more weeks of travel. They had left the Euphrates River now to follow northward along a tributary—the Balikh River. Traders along this well-traveled caravan route had told them that in that direction lay several settlements, where they hoped to replenish their supplies and perhaps rest for a time.

  Abram and his father were moving along at the head of the procession. Behind them came the beasts of burden loaded with the household equipment, and Abram caught a quick glimpse of Layona as she trudged along beside a heavily burdened donkey. She occupied his attention for a moment, and a worried frown pinched his brow. For months now he had watched her swell with the child that was to come, and although he was no judge of such things, he could tell that Layona was not doing well at all.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Terah’s voice was sharp, and he waited until Abram turned around to face him. “You don’t pay any attention to me most of the time, son.”

  “Oh, I heard you. I was just thinking about what to do.”

  “Well, I can tell you what to do,” Terah snapped, pointing up ahead. “There’s a good-sized town up there—one of the ones those traders told us about. Our scouts just told me that they’ve spotted it on the horizon. We’re going to have to wait there until your mother recovers before we can go any farther.” Irritation tinged his voice, and his eyes were hard as he stared at his tall son. “I think sometimes you care more about these sheep and goats and cattle than you care about your mother!”

  “That’s not true, sir,” Abram said defensively. He loved his mother, and he was aware that Terah knew it, but the patriarch had gotten snappy over the months of travel. They had been on the road for six months now, having stopped twice for extended periods of time because of his mother’s health. Abram had never complained of this, which his father well knew, but Terah was unhappy.

  “We should never have left Ur,” Terah grumbled, his lips drawn together into a tight line, dissatisfaction refl
ecting in his eyes. “We’ll probably all die out here in this desert.”

  Abram had to keep a close rein on the words that rose to his lips. For a moment he felt a raw bitterness toward his father. He wanted to say, It was your idea to come along! Nobody invited you! Almost from the time they had left Ur, Terah had started complaining about the hardness of the way and more than once had urged Abram to turn back. Now Abram kept silent, despite his anger. He trudged along, listening as Terah griped, and tried to figure out his own feelings.

  Something is wrong with all this. The Eternal One told me to leave my country, but he also told me to leave my father’s household. I know that somehow the Eternal One has a mission for me, although I have no idea what it is. But whatever it is, He intends for me to do it alone, not with the rest of my family. Maybe I ought to insist that Father and Mother stay in this place or turn around and go back to Ur if that’s what they want.

  As they drew near the town, Abram tried to sort out his thoughts and Terah continued his complaints. When they reached the outskirts of it, Terah said, “Well, this looks like a place we could stay until your mother is stronger.”

  Abram slowly turned to his father and said grudgingly, “All right, Father, we’ll wait here until Mother is better, but then I’m moving on.”

  Having won the victory, Terah smiled. “Well, that’s more like it. Now, let’s see what kind of a place this is.”

  As they made their way toward the town center, the inhabitants watched them curiously. Living along a well-traveled trade route, they were accustomed to travelers who often stopped for long periods to trade and rest before heading west to Carchemish or east to Nineveh. These people were, as far as Abram could see, very much like those he had left in Ur. They came to the temple area, where a ziggurat, much like those in Ur and Uruk, rose above the rest of the city. They stopped in front of an official-looking building with tall columns, and a man, evidently one of the city leaders, came out to greet them. He was short and broad, encased in fat, and his eyes were sly as he advanced. “Greetings, travelers. Have you come far?”

  Terah stopped and bowed. “We come from Ur,” he said.

  “My, that’s quite a ways south of here. You’ve come a long way. My name is Oliphaz, and I welcome you to our city.”

  The three men studied each other, and it was Abram who said, “We would like to stay for a time, sir. We will keep our herds and flocks well away from the town so they will not disturb you.”

  “You are most welcome to stay as long as you like,” Oliphaz said. “Perhaps we can do some trading. My people are fine workers in metal. Also they make clever pots with clay from the riverbed.”

  “What is the name of your town?” Terah asked as he cast his eyes around, studying the homes and small shops.

  “This is Haran.”

  Instantly Terah turned to face him. “Haran,” he whispered.

  “Why, yes,” Oliphaz said. “You’ve heard of it?”

  “No, but that was the name of my son who died.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Was his passing recent?”

  “No, a long time ago.” Terah stood there pensively staring at the buildings around him and appeared not to listen.

  Abram continued the conversation, making arrangements with Oliphaz to come in and do some trading after they found a good place to let the herds graze. Finally, when the arrangements were made, Abram said, “My mother has been ill for some time. We would like to keep her in town for a while if we could rent a place.”

  “I have just the place you need,” Oliphaz said quickly. “And I would trade it to you for some of your fine cattle or sheep.”

  The two men discussed the barter terms, and when both were agreed, Oliphaz said, “I will go see that it’s made ready. You may bring your mother in anytime.”

  “Well, that’s fortunate,” Abram said, turning to his father. He would have said more, but he stopped at the strange expression on Terah’s face. “What’s wrong, Father?”

  “Haran! The name of this place is Haran.”

  “Yes, it’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “Coincidence!” Terah snorted. “It’s not a coincidence—it’s a sign, boy. It’s a sign!”

  “A sign of what?” Abram asked.

  “Why, that this is the place where we’re to stay.”

  “Well, we’ve agreed on that, but I don’t think it’s a sign. It’s just a coincidence.”

  But Terah would have it no other way. He grew excited and hurried back to tell Metura what had happened. He turned around and shouted over his shoulder, “It’s a sign, Abram! The gods have provided this place for us. You’ll see.”

  Abram did not respond but shook his head imperceptibly. He knew that his father was tired of traveling and would welcome any excuse to settle down permanently, but deep in his heart Abram knew that Haran was not the place to which the Eternal One was leading him. He prayed as he stood there. “O Eternal One, I fear I have not obeyed you in bringing my parents, but please help my mother to get well so that we can continue our journey.” The prayer seemed feeble and weak to him, but he knew no other way to pray. Wearily he turned and went back to inform Sarai of the change in plans.

  ****

  Everyone seemed happy to settle down at Haran. They were all tired of the hard travel they had endured, and Haran was indeed a good place, very much like Ur, only smaller. The house that Oliphaz leased to Terah was not as nice as the one they had left behind in Ur, but it was comfortable. And as soon as they were settled in, Terah set out for the temple to pay homage to the special god of the city and pray for his wife’s recovery. He found out that Nanna, the moon god, was held in high esteem by the dwellers in Haran. He quickly hunted up the high priest of the cult and made a generous offering. The high priest, a fat, oily man with smallish eyes, took the gifts and assured Terah, “Your wife will be fine, sir. Have no fears.”

  Terah did not wait long after this, only a few days, to confront Abram. “You see,” he cried, his eyes shining. “Your mother is better already.”

  “And you think the moon god had something to do with it.”

  “What else could it be?” Terah demanded. He was happy and had already made friends in Haran. He had found that he and Oliphaz had a great many things in common, and Abram had heard him talking about starting a trading venture based in Haran and sending craft downriver to the Euphrates. Terah was more excited about this prospect than his son had ever seen him, and Abram felt it necessary to warn him, “Father, don’t get too involved here. We’ll be moving on before long.”

  “Not until your mother is well,” Terah insisted. “I’ve done my part. I’ve left my home, and we’ve come all this way with you. It would be cruel to drag your mother on a tiresome journey to nowhere.”

  Abram argued long and finally said with exasperation, “Perhaps you may want to stay here, but I must press on.”

  Terah grew incensed. “After all we’ve done, you would leave us! You’re her favorite. You always have been. Would you leave her here to die?”

  The words cut into Abram, and he could not answer. He sat beside his mother for long periods during the days that followed. He could see that she was still ill, although she had improved some. She clung to him, and his heart cried out at the choice that lay before him. Just the very thought of leaving her here to die and never seeing her again vexed and pained his heart.

  He talked to Sarai about this, and she said, “I don’t see how you could leave your mother, Abram. She may not live long. How would you feel if you left her alone, knowing she loved you more than anyone else?”

  “But what about the Eternal One’s command?”

  Sarai said nothing, and his heart was heavy as he turned away. I should never have allowed my parents to come!

  ****

  Sarai was weary of the journey too, and to her Haran suddenly looked like a very restful place. The long months of travel and worry over her mother-in-law and the upcoming birth of Layona’s baby had taken
their toll on her, and she tried to soothe Abram, thinking, If he just stays here awhile and settles down, maybe he’ll forget about this journey he’s on. This left her feeling disloyal, for she knew how much the Eternal One meant to her husband. At times she was resentful of Abram’s experience with this unseen God, thinking, Why doesn’t He ever speak to me? But the Eternal One had not spoken to anyone other than Abram, as far as she knew, and she said no more about it. She knew Abram was engaged in a tremendous struggle, but deep in her heart she had no desire for going on to whatever lay ahead of them in the trackless desert.

  ****

  “What’s wrong, Sarai?”

  Sarai was hurrying toward her tent when Abram stopped her. He had come in from keeping the herd and was covered with a fine dust.

  “It’s Layona. The child is coming.”

  Abram blinked with surprise. “Why, it’s too early!”

  “It’s coming anyway,” Sarai snapped.

  Abram saw the strain in Sarai’s face. There was some constraint between the two about this subject. He had found out by picking up on the gossip that many among his workers felt the child was his. He had waited for Sarai to ask him about it, but she never had. Now he stood there helplessly, as a man will at such times. He glanced over toward the city of Haran and thought of going there to find a midwife. When Sarai came out of the tent again, he asked her about this, but she said, “I doubt there is time, but you can try.”

  Glad to have something to do, Abram went at once into Haran. He looked up Oliphaz, told him the problem, and Oliphaz said, “Why, yes, we have many fine midwives here. I’ll choose the very finest.”

  “Thank you, my friend—and I think you’d better hurry.”

  Oliphaz did hurry, bringing Abram an older woman with white hair and sharp black eyes. Abram promised her a rich fee and then hurried her back to the camp. When he saw Sarai exiting the tent, he asked anxiously, “Has the child come?”

  “No,” Sarai said, shaking her head sadly, “not yet, but I don’t think Layona will live.”

  An expression crossed Abram’s face that Sarai could not read. She knew he was very fond of Layona, and she wondered at the pain she saw reflected in his eyes. “Who is this?” Sarai asked, nodding toward the old woman.