Tomorrow we go forward to meet the water.’ –
‘Water to cross?’ asked Aaron. And Moses: ‘Hardly.
No boats, no bridging, no fording places.
We have to keep to the western shore, upstream.’
Joshua said: ‘Still on Pharaoh’s soil. Or sand.
I somehow still feel him breathing down my neck.’
‘Let us’, smiled Moses, ‘now do what must be done –
Go round the encampments. See to the sick.
Soothe the querulous. Put our
Fractious children to bed.’ Smiling. They all smiled,
With the first faint lines forming on mouth and brow
Of loving exasperation.
And Pharaoh said,
From his chariot, in his ornate armour, the lines forming
Of geometrical pursuit, the squadron leaders
Calling out names, said to his chief of staff:
‘A minimum of violence you understand.
We are not fighting a war. There are no army.
Threats, however, will be much in order. Hostages,
Especially high ones. As for Moses…’ Moses, sir?
‘No violence, no. He is to be brought back.
Stand trial. A public execution. Formal charge.
Formal arrest. The charge? All the charges in the world –
Blasphemy, disaffection, treason, murder.
Very much murder.’
In rocky terrain, at sunset,
Joshua sat alone, fashioning a bow. Arrows,
Already fashioned, lay neatly by him. Then he saw,
Out of the sun, a cloud of moving dust,
He peered narrowly, then ran to make his report.
But Moses already had heard, saying to Aaron:
‘You hear nothing?’ – ‘Nothing unusual.’ Moses said:
‘Pharaoh must know I can hear him. We expected this.’
Joshua running towards them, pointing. ‘A cloud of dust,’
Moses said. ‘The dust of his chariots. The masters
Are coming to reclaim their property.’ And Joshua:
‘What do we do? What do we fight with? I always said
That sooner or later it would be a matter of fighting.’ –
‘Sooner or later, yes,’ said Moses. ‘But not now.
We do not fight the Egyptians. Nor do we
Go back into slavery. What is left to us?
We progress, Joshua. We move on.’ Joshua, gulping:
‘I say it with respect, but – ‘ And Moses: ‘Yes, I am mad.
And our cause is mad. And the Lord God is mad.’
But, those miles distant, at nightfall, Pharaoh was saying:
‘They will never cease to be slaves. Slaves
To hunger and thirst, no doubt, at this very moment.
At least we can liberate them from that. Slaves
To geographical circumstance. They cannot progress.
They can, of course, go sideways like crabs. But,
Whatever they do, they are certainly pincered.’
At first light, sir? ‘Oh yes’, said the Lord Pharaoh.
‘Their humiliation must be clearly visible.’
But, those miles distant, at nightfall, Moses stood
On a rock, looking down into a swirl of waters.
A wind blew from the west. The voices in his head
Were louder than the turbulent Sea of Reeds.
Why could we not stay in Egypt? At least we were fed.
At least we slept in a bed. Let us go back to
Slavery, as you call it. If that was slavery,
What name do we find for this? Are there not enough
Graves in Egypt? Dathan’s words. Dathan,
Truculent with his rebels, crying out:
‘Are there not enough graves in Egypt,
Since you bring us into the desert to find them here?
I was well enough off in Egypt. The lords of Egypt
Could be generous to those they knew were their friends.
Are there any ready to return with me to Egypt?’
And then the shame of it, Joshua’s discovery:
Dathan and his runagates, stuffing into sacks
The Israelite treasury, then, discovered, crying:
‘We were just protecting the treasury, no more.
There are thieves among us. I know what you are thinking.
But we have no such intention. We are all together in this.
We trust Moses. We trust Aaron. We trust you, Joshua.’
Then Joshua and some more of the young progressives,
Hit out, hit. Warm in his cloak, Moses
Reviewed all this sadly, snatching sleep,
Praying even in his sleep, then waking to the
First streak of dawnlight, aware of
Some change that had dawned in his sleep.
The wind was blowing out of the dawn.
‘The wind,’ he whispered, ‘is blowing out of the…’
And then: ‘Lord, if it be your will, if it be your will.’
He stood, praying as others came to see
The morning over the waters. They looked down in awe
At the waters ruffled by the wind out of the dawn,
A wind that seemed, oh God, to be parting the waters
As a comb parts hair. ‘Look,’ Aaron said,
‘See what the wind is doing to the waters.’
But they could not see what the wind was doing to the
Vanguard of Pharaoh’s army, the pillar of the cloud
Swollen and all about the horsemen, the sand in their eyes,
And in their horses’ eyes, hindering the advance,
Nor were their eyes turned to the west. Into the east,
As the sun rose, moved the Israelites, towards
Moses on the shore, making his decision, offering
A wordless prayer, stoutly raising his staff,
Then Moses, first, into the whistling wind,
Into the hair-parting of the Sea of Reeds,
Aaron after, the others after Aaron, timidly at first
But then with confidence growing – men, women,
Children, sheep, cattle, ox-carts, the young
Strong, fearless, astounded at something in the heavens,
Unseen of the others, pointing, then hurried on,
The waters seething on either side of them,
But the channel near-dry and safe.
At the water’s edge
The cavalrymen of Egypt stood hesitant, seeing
Moses and Aaron on the further shore, helping,
Bidding hurry, the eyes of Moses on the army
About which a dust-storm whirled and howled, seeing
One pair of eyes for the last time. And there were the eyes
Of Pharaoh, seeing trickery, not more, evil magic,
Pharaoh calling: ‘Why the hesitation? Why the delay?
The way is open. Go for them.’ So the charioteers
Went hurtling into the channel, seeking the further bank.
Some of the old and feeble were slow in reaching.
(A donkey grew stubborn, a cart-wheel broke). But the wheels
Of the chariots did not break, rather mud and reeds
Clogged them. Then the wind changed.
The wind changed and the water tumbled in,
And Pharaoh did not think now of mere magic,
Seeking men swimming but trapped in mud and reeds,
The horses struggling, the chariots overturned,
Dumb cries in the tumult of water. The eyes of Pharaoh
And the eyes of Moses sought each other, but in vain…
So the crossing was accomplished. The Israelite camp
Was joyous that night with fires and wine,
The flute, the harp, the drum, and Miriam
Led the maidens in song and dance, singing:
The Lord is our captain,
His helmet the sun, the moon his shield.
<
br /> The night sky is pierced by his arrows.
Halleluiah.
The hands of the Lord were with us.
They pushed the water aside and aside
Like the hands of the farmer dividing grain.
Halleluiah.
The horse and his rider were cast into the waters.
The Lord is just, quick to smite the tyrant,
Quick to heal the oppressed, comfort the afflicted.
He dips his sword in honey, in balm his spear.
Halleluiah.
We have seen the wonders of the Lord – in fire, hail,
Plague, famine, in the parting of the waters.
He leads us to a green abode, bursting like a pod with richness.
Praised for his name for ever and ever.
Halleluiah halleluiah.
But there some who listened to the tale of a child,
The child repeating and repeating to the questioners:
‘It was heaven, I say. I saw it. God was there.’
How do you know? Who has ever seen God?
‘It was God, I say. A beast with a man’s face.
And he was all made out of gold.’ What kind of beast?
‘Like that one there with a cow, his mother.’
‘It’s the children that see heaven’, said someone drunk,
‘That’s well-known. That’s written down in books.’ –
‘I saw it, I tell you,’ said the child, ‘crossing the water.’
Eat up your cake and go to bed. ‘I saw it.’
Moses grave amid the revelling, spoke to the elders:
‘You must make it clear to the tribes. That the worse is to come.
It is good to rejoice now. If we are truly rejoicing
In the Lord. His goodness. His omnipotence.’
And he looked with stern sadness on a
Passionate embrace in the shadows, the lurching
Of three men full of wine. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said,
‘Will be a hard day. Especially for some.’ An elder spoke:
‘The worst is to come, you say. It would be, surely,
Unwise to speak to the people of that. Is it not enough
To live for the day, hoping that the next day
Will bring sight of the land we are promised?
The day’s march is enough, the repose at nightfall.’ –
‘No,’ said Moses. ‘We enter on our inheritance
In the knowledge that freedom is a bitter gift.
It will bring many days of hardship. Shortage of
Water and of food. Sickness. Death. Cursing and grumbling.
Your task is to teach. The agonies of freedom.’
Another elder said: ‘It is hard for a man to keep
Authority with such a slogan.’ But Moses, with energy,
With bitterness: ‘Must we build on false promises?
It is dangerous to think in terms of the day.
If we eat and drink what the day sends
We shall have nothing for the morrow. The day is for
Slaves. Slaves. There is a bigger time for men
Who are free. Let us begin by thinking of the
Week. The week.’ And with his staff he traced
Seven strokes in the earth. ‘The Lord took six days
To make the heavens and the earth. On the seventh day
He rested. We shall follow the Lord. The seventh day
Shall be called the Sabbath. On that day we shall rest.
Think of the Lord. Drink in the new strength from the Lord.
And this this this shall be the law.’ A law? ‘And those who
Break the law must be punished.’ A third elder said:
‘Punished? How punished?’ Moses smiled a little,
Saying: ‘I will start to think of punishments later.
It is for the present enough to think of the
Lord’s displeasure. There will come a day
When that will seem punishment enough. Punishment enough.’
Dathan came with his friends to the assembly, drunk,
A bowl of palm-wine in his hands, saying, slurring:
‘Moses, we have come to express our
Complete confidence in your leadership.’ Moses said:
‘You will always have confidence, Dathan, when these things go well.’ –
‘No, no,’ said Dathan. ‘Well or ill, we
Acknowledge you as our undoubted leader.’ And Moses,
Sternly: ‘I am not your leader, Dathan. The Lord God –
He is your leader. I am but his instrument.
Never forget the Lord.’ But Dathan said, tottering:
‘Oh, this is a night for rejoicing, not for
Thinking about the Lord. We ask you, Moses,
In token of our amity and awareness of our confidence,
To drink wine with us.’ To which Moses replied:
‘I have but a weak head, Dathan. But I am
Sincerely grateful for your confidence.’
Then, with a drum-thud, a flute-skirl, and a
Sweep of the harp-string, the evening came to an end.
You must make it clear to the tribe that the
Worst is to come. The worst. Starting tomorrow.
8
MIRACLES OF THE DESERT
Sand-caked, sweat-blind, inexpressibly weary,
Through the scorching wilderness, Aaron panted:
‘Do you know where we are?’ And Moses, squinting about him,
Not showing weariness, upright, said: ‘The tribes
Called it the wilderness of Shur. We cross this wilderness
To reach Elim, Elim.’ And Aaron said: ‘What
Is at Elim?’ – ‘Palms. Tamarinds. Water. It will be a
Hard climb.’ And Aaron: ‘Can they make the hard climb?
They need water in order to reach that water.’
‘They drink too much,’ said Moses. ‘The tribal elders
Are too old to set a good example there.’ –
‘As I said,’ cried Aaron, ‘as I always said.’
I’d give all his Promised Land to be
Coming home from work in Goshen. Water.
A bite to eat. More water. So they were all saying.
They came to rock, a rocky land, and Moses,
Showing no weariness, comforting the snarling weary,
Saw two young men, not of his tribe, but of Joshua’s tribe,
Wresting from a wailing group of the old a water-skin,
Then drinking thirstily, spilling wantonly in the sand
Much water in their haste and greed. The old wailed.
And Moses said: ‘Theft, my brothers, theft.
We will have no theft. They have prudently saved their water.
You have imprudently used up yours. Now you steal.’
An insolent youth said: ‘Moses, this is the law.
The law that this desert of yours has taught us.
God made them weak. God makes us strong’, water
Dripping from his insolent young mouth. And Moses said:
‘The strength of the body is nothing. Is a crocodile
Better than a man? Men, my young brothers,
Are strong in a different way. What a man has
He has through foresight and prudence.
You shall not take from him what he has.’ And the other youth:
‘What will you do to us, Moses?’ Sneering. ‘Send down
Another plague? You would do far better to
Lead us to water. Including these weak and
Prudent snivellers here.’ And Moses said:
‘I will lead you to water. In time. But now I tell you
That you must not steal.’ Grinning: ‘No more than that?’ –
‘No more,’ said Moses, ‘for the moment. The time shall come
When we will try a man for stealing. Will exact
On the common behalf just punishment. But that time
Is not yet. For now, think t
hat you are
Displeasing to the Lord. And that the Lord
Could strike you down if he wished. But that the Lord
Would prefer you to learn how to be men.
Not crocodiles.’ And he passed on. And they sneered.
But did not sneer at Joshua, the young, the muscled
Progressive. So the thirsty journey continued,
Until, in that rocky wilderness, under a copper sky,
The sun all burning bronze, they came upon
A spring, a feeble spring running through rock,
And they feebly cheered, limping with their
Pots and cups and water-skins, while Joshua
And Caleb and the young of the tribe of Levi
Watched grimly, keeping guard, letting the old
To the stream first, trembling with relief and joy as they…
And then the old man screeched feebly: ‘No. No.
Nobody can drink this. Salt. It’s salt.’ Groans
And spittings and the mutter of anger, then more than a mutter.
The sneering youth: ‘He said he’d lead us to water.
But what kind of water he didn’t say.’ And Dathan:
‘You said you knew this place like the back of your hand.
Every rock and spring you said you knew,
Every tree and stone. But you were lying.
Lying, weren’t you? The Lord was lying too.
If he exists, that is. What now, great one,
Do you propose to do?’ Moses, wearily,
Humbly even: ‘One cannot always. Be exactly sure.
We have been taken. So much off the path. That I knew.
Strayed sheep. Stragglers. I promise you, promise.’
Faltering. But Dathan cried: ‘All promises.
Promised freedom, promised land, promised
Milk and honey, promised, promised. We can
Do without the milk and honey. We want water.
Water.’ That one word taken up – water water
Water water. And later, to the night sky,
Moses spoke, wretched, solitary: ‘Lord Lord,
What shall I do with these peevish children? Lord,
Tell me what I must do. Man is strangely made.
Fill him with bread, or water, and his spirit
Comes alive, ready to brood on heaven, on you, on
Human freedom. But let the meanest of your gifts
Elude him, and he croaks like a fractious frog.
Tell me, Lord, tell me. What shall I do?’
And what the Lord said or seemed to say,
Not from the silver and empurpled firmament
But from some dank small room in the skull of Moses,
Even in sunlight, the dead tree-trunk in his arms,
Ready to hurl. ‘Throw,’ said Moses. ‘Believe.’
Collected Poems Page 17