No Woman So Fair

by Gilbert, Morris

  “This is the midwife.”

  “You’d better come and see if you can do anything,” Sarai said sharply. The two women disappeared into the tent, and Abram stood outside helplessly. He bent down to get a drink of water from a clay jug on the ground and sat down with his legs crossed. Thoughts ran through his mind, and from time to time he jumped at the cries of pain issuing from the tent. It disturbed him so much, he got up and walked away out of hearing range.

  “Come quickly,” Sarai called out to him many hours later. She had come to find Abram standing on the outskirts of the camp gazing out at the flocks.

  “Is the child here?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s a boy.” Sarai’s voice cracked with brittleness, and she stared at Abram, waiting for him to speak.

  “How is Layona?”

  “Not good. She wants to see you.”

  Abram stared at Sarai and saw that she was worn out by the long ordeal. Everyone in camp was nervous, aware of the difficulty of the birth and anxious for Layona’s life.

  “Come quickly. She’s going fast,” Sarai urged.

  Abram followed Sarai through the camp until they came to their tent. He stooped and went inside and saw the old midwife standing there wearily, her face tense. She gave Abram a sad look, then shook her head and left the tent.

  Abram went at once to Layona, who lay still and gaunt on the sleeping mat. Her face was paler than any face he had ever seen, the long and painful ordeal having drained the life out of her. He reached out and put his hand on her forehead, aware that Sarai was watching from the door of the tent.

  “Is it well with you, Layona?”

  Layona did not answer. Fear gripped Abram, and he wondered if she was still alive.

  “You have a fine son, Layona,” Abram said tenderly.

  Layona’s eyes opened slowly. Gazing up at Abram, she whispered, “I have a son?”

  “Yes, a fine boy.”

  “I’m dying, master.”

  “No, no, you will be fine.”

  “No.” The single word was all she had the strength for, and again Abram was seized with fear.

  Abram turned to see Sarai watching, her face tense. Turning back to Layona, he touched the child that she held to her breast. “A fine boy,” he whispered.

  Layona was dying—there was no question about it. She lay there for so long that both Abram and Sarai thought for a moment that she had already died, but he could still see her chest rising and falling gently. She stirred and in a burst of strength pulled the child closer to her lips and kissed his forehead. Then she looked up at Abram and said, “Will you take care of him?”

  Abram said quickly, “Yes, of course I will.”

  “Will you take care of him…as your own son?”

  “Yes, Layona, I will.”

  When Sarai heard these words, she stiffened as if she had been struck by a harsh blow. But it was an inward blow, and she did not move. She watched as Abram picked up the child and held him in his arms. Then he reached down and touched Layona’s face once more, closing her eyes. He rose and stood before Sarai. Sorrow was written on his countenance, and he held the child tenderly. “She’s gone, Sarai.” Hesitantly, he said, “We must care for the boy.”

  Sarai reached for the child. “One of the slave women has a baby. She can nurse him. Give him to me.”

  Abram extended the infant and watched as Sarai took him.

  “Will you name him?” Sarai whispered as she gathered the baby to her. It was a poignant moment. Sarai could not tell what was taking place within her own spirit. She held the child tenderly, but the tenderness she felt was tinged with bitterness. This was not her son but another woman’s. And from Layona’s last request, she still did not know if the boy was Abram’s. She looked at Abram and asked again, “Will you name him, Abram?”

  Abram hesitated, then said, “I would like to call him Eliezer.”

  “None of your kin are named that.”

  “I know, but I like the name. It means ‘God has helped me.’ Poor little fellow. He will need God’s help!”

  Sarai stared at Abram’s face again before turning and saying, “I’ll take him to the wet nurse.” She left the tent, and as she walked across the ground, conscious of the slight weight of the child and of the feelings that mingled in her breast, she wondered how she would ever reconcile her love for Abram with this new development.

  ****

  Sarai’s fears proved groundless. She grew very fond of the baby, and except for nursing him personally, she took care of him constantly. As the days passed and the child grew stronger, she searched his face every day for some sign of resemblance to Abram, but it was impossible to tell. Abram himself took great interest in the child, and more than once she almost demanded of him if he was Eliezer’s father, but somehow she could not bring herself to do this.

  Despite Sarai’s uncertain feelings about Layona and Abram, the child proved to be a great comfort to both her and her husband in the loss of their beloved servant, who had been with them almost their entire married life. Except for her recent jealousy, Sarai had loved Layona, and she grieved over her loss, even in the midst of her confused feelings.

  Abram loved the child as he loved all babies and always had. One day Sarai asked him, “Will we stay here for a long time, Abram?”

  Abram was holding Eliezer on his lap, gazing at him fondly. He looked up and for a moment did not speak. It was as though he were weighing something in the balance. Sarai could not know that he was trying to settle in his mind whether it would be in the will of the Eternal One for him to go on and leave his parents here. He had struggled hard over this and had reached a decision.

  “We’ll stay here until my mother is well.”

  Sarai was content. She had no desire to leave Haran, and she was taken up now with the care of the child. Her love of babies overcame her doubts and fears, and she looked ahead to a time of peace and quiet and of raising the son that was not her own.

  Chapter 12

  A spirit of festivity filled the city of Haran with the jubilant sounds of singers and musicians in every street. The city was like an anthill swarming with men, women, and young people of every age. The air was filled with the scent of the harvest, especially the sharp, aromatic smell of grapes, which always pleased Abram.

  Leaning back against the wall of his parents’ house, he thought, This is the tenth harvest I have watched in this place. It’s hard to believe that Sarai and I left Ur ten years ago.

  The thought brought a frown to his face, disturbing the evenness of his features. He was sixty-five years old now, but he still felt like a young man. His limbs were strong, his face was relatively unlined, and if his wife were to be believed, he was more handsome than when she had taken him for her husband.

  Ten years!

  Despite the festivities surrounding him, Abram felt grief at the thought. He had waited for the Eternal One to speak to him, but there had been nothing all this time. The divine silence was profound, echoing in his heart more than the sound of singing that was coming from a group treading grapes.

  Something rubbed against his bare calf, and he leaned down to see a strangely colored cat touching him tentatively with a paw. Leaning over, he picked up the loudly purring animal. Stroking the fur, he turned his attention to the crowd around him. Everywhere was shouting, and processions were coming in and out bringing harvest offerings to the city. The grapes had been plucked with singing, and now young men and young women were laughing and shouting, treading them with their naked feet into the stone winepress. Their legs were purple to the thighs, and a sweet juice flowed through a trough into the vat.

  The seven-day feast would begin as soon as the wine was racked. There would be sacrifices of cattle and sheep, also of corn and oil, followed by much feasting and drinking. Abram’s eyes narrowed as they brought the idol from his temple. Six strong young men, priests in training, carried Nanna, the moon god, on a platform, lifting it by two long poles. Musicians playing drums and cymbal
s lead the procession as the neophyte priests bore Nanna around to bless the city. He would then be carried out to the fields and the vineyards to give his blessing there.

  Abram was unhappy as he stared at the idol, disgust rising in him when he watched people crowding forward to kneel down and kiss the idol as it passed.

  “Kissing a block of stone and singing songs to it,” Abram muttered. “People should have better sense!” His eyes narrowed as he saw that Lot was in the way of the idol, waiting until it passed. Then he too reached out and kissed the stone block, raising his hand in worship.

  “You ought to have more sense, Lot. That’s a fool thing to do,” Abram grumbled. Leaning back against the wall, Abram thought of the possessions that had come to him throughout the ten years he had tarried at Haran. He had thousands of sheep now, not just hundreds, and thousands of cattle too. He had numerous household servants and more shepherds and drovers than he could count to tend all the animals. He lifted his eyes to the hills beyond the city and could see his tents in the distance. He wished he were there now. Haran was a fine city, and his father, Terah, had prospered in business here. But it held no charm for Abram. A persistent restlessness possessed him, urging him to move on from here. Shoving himself away from the wall, he began to walk among the crowds. He was greeted by name time and again and returned the greetings. It distressed him that he had become so settled in this place that no one thought of him any longer as a visitor but rather as a permanent member of the community.

  He made his way to the winepress and caught sight of Eliezer, leading a group of youngsters around the outside of it. An involuntary smile came to Abram’s lips. The baby that he had held only moments after his birth was now approaching ten years and was as fine a boy as Abram had ever seen in his life. The children he led were shouting and, from time to time, snatched at the grapes piled high waiting to be pressed. Purple juice ran down Eliezer’s face, and Abram could not restrain the surge of pride that ran through him.

  He watched a young woman, who was bringing a huge cluster of grapes to be pressed, step up on the rim of the stone press with her arms full. She was about to throw the grapes down when Eliezer suddenly darted forward and gave her a tremendous shove. The young woman uttered a piercing scream and threw the grapes high in the air. Her arms cartwheeled as she tried to keep her balance, but it was too late. She fell full-length into the mixture of juice and crushed grapes, and a great shout of laughter went up from everyone.

  Despite himself, Abram laughed aloud. He knew that there was a naughty streak in Eliezer, but he could never bring himself to worry about it.

  Suddenly Sarai appeared, grabbing Eliezer by the arm and shaking him. Abram moved forward to hear her accusing him.

  “What do you think you’re doing, shoving Lina into the vat? You might have hurt her.”

  “No, she’s all right,” Eliezer said quickly. He looked up to see Abram watching with a half smile on his face. “Did you see her fall, sir?”

  “Yes, I did. You’re a naughty boy.”

  “But it was funny, wasn’t it?”

  Sarai waited for Abram to say a word of chastisement to the boy, but Abram merely said, “You’d better be careful. You might find yourself in there too.” He quickly moved forward, snatched the boy up, and held him out over the grapes.

  Abram could hear the others crying, “Throw him in! He deserves it!”

  Eliezer screamed and yelled, grabbing helplessly at Abram’s robe. “How would you like to be stomped like these grapes here?” Abram said.

  “Don’t do it, sir—don’t do it!”

  Abram then laughed and pulled the boy back. He gave him a hug and said, “Go along, now. And don’t shove anybody else into the winepress.” He watched as Eliezer darted away, followed by his friends. Then he turned to find Sarai staring at him.

  “You ought to be ashamed,” she snapped.

  “Why should I be ashamed?” He came forward and put his arm around her in an embrace.

  “Let me go!” she said. “You ought to take a stick to that boy.”

  “He was just having a bit of fun. Look, Lina’s all right.” He pointed toward the young woman, who was up and laughing now, wiping the grape juice from her hair and face. She joined the rest of the grape treaders, and Abram said, “See? She’s fine.”

  “You spoil that boy terribly.”

  Ignoring her words, Abram kept his arms around her and pulled her closer. “You know, you’re a fine-looking woman. The best-looking woman in Haran—or anywhere else for that matter.”

  Sarai tried to keep a frown on her face and shoved at him uselessly. She was proud of Abram’s looks, even at the age of sixty-five. His face was strong, and although he was not as handsome as some men, there was a leanness and a strength in him that made her feel secure. She was pleased at his attention and finally broke into a laugh. “What are you going to do—throw me in there too?”

  “No. Come along. Let’s just walk around for a while.”

  The two walked among the celebrants, and the time passed quickly. They stopped to eat some of the succulent melons a vendor was selling, and with the juice running down her chin, Sarai said, “It’s a good time of year, isn’t it?”

  A shadow crossed Abram’s face, but he smiled. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Harvest time is always good.”

  Sarai had noticed his reaction, however, and she took his arm and turned him to face her. “You’re worried about your mother, aren’t you?”

  “I never thought she’d live this long,” he said, “but she’s really sick this time.”

  Sarai almost asked what they would do if Abram’s mother died. He had talked to her before many times about leaving Haran, but the thought of his parents, who needed him desperately, had always held him back.

  The two walked over to the edge of the festivities and sat down in the shade of one of the houses. They watched for some time in silence, and finally Sarai asked an unexpected question. “Do you ever still think about the Eternal One, Abram?”

  Abram looked up, startled, then dropped his head and stared at his hands. Finally his voice came out in almost a whisper. “He’s forgotten me, I think, Sarai, and I can’t blame Him.”

  Sarai put her arm around him, feeling the strength of his body. “You don’t worship any of the gods in Haran.”

  “No, and I never will.”

  “You still love the Eternal One.”

  “Yes, I do. But I think…I think the Eternal One gives a man a chance, and if he fails to carry out His will…why, God finds another man.”

  “How did you fail the Eternal One?”

  “I didn’t obey Him.” Abram turned and faced her, saying in a quiet but intense voice, “He is the God above all gods, and I disobeyed Him, Sarai.”

  Sarai saw the pain in her husband’s eyes and on his face. She reached for his hand and he took hers, holding it in both of his. As always, the strength of his hands made her feel secure, but she was aware that Abram was an unhappy man. “You haven’t failed Him.”

  “Yes, I have. He told me to leave my country and my father’s house.”

  “You did leave. We left Ur ten years ago.”

  “I left Ur—but not my kindred.”

  “Surely the Eternal One knows you have a duty to your parents.”

  “I don’t know, Sarai. I’ve thought about it in every possible way, but one thing is clear—He hasn’t spoken to me since we left Ur.”

  Sarai knew then what she must do. She squeezed his hand and tightened her grip. “When your parents die,” she said quietly, “you can go.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I’ll be too old. The Eternal One will find another man.” He fingered the medallion and said, “He hasn’t even told me who I should give this to.”

  “You could give it to Lot.”

  “Lot? No, he’s too frivolous. It has to be someone that the Eternal One puts on my heart. But I don’t think He will ever speak to me again.”

  ****

  Abram’s mo
ther died quietly in her sleep a week after the harvest festival. Abram hurried to town, but when he got there it was too late. He sat beside the body of his mother, grieving over her. He had loved her dearly, and now she was gone.

  Terah was distraught. He had loved his wife as much as he loved anything on earth, and now he was afraid. Abram could see it in his eyes but said nothing to him until after the funeral. Terah stood before him then, his hands unsteady. “I know what you’re going to do now, Abram. You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”

  “Why do you say that, Father?”

  “Because you’ve always intended to. You didn’t want your mother and me to come with you in the first place.”

  Abram said quietly, “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “But you are going to leave, aren’t you?”

  If the question had been asked five years ago, Abram would have said yes. But he was now totally convinced that the Eternal One, who had been silent to him for ten long years, had put him aside. Somewhere, he thought, God is speaking to another man. He’ll not speak to me again. He looked down at his father and saw how he had aged. He was an old man now, weak, and had been almost as sick as his wife. He can’t live long, Abram thought, and besides, what else is there for me to do but take care of him?

  “Don’t worry, Father. I wouldn’t know where to go. The Eternal One will never speak to me again.”

  ****

  Later that day Sarai saw that Abram was troubled. “I saw you talking to your father,” she said. “What did you say to him?”

  “He was afraid that we were going to start out on our journey again.”

  “Well, are we?” Sarai’s voice was sharper than she intended.

  Abram looked at her and sadness welled up in him. “No,” he said heavily. “My father can’t live long. You can see it in him. Death is a shadow that’s over him. I’ll stay until he dies, but even then where would we go?”

  Sarai knew that something had changed in her husband, and she came to stand beside him. She loved him with all of her heart, and now she said quietly, “Whatever you do will be right.”