Abraham and Sarah (9 page)

U
ntil the last minute Sarai had hoped that Abram would change his mind. She didn’t want to leave the comforts, such as they were, of Haran. Though he didn’t discuss it with Sarai, she suspected it was again some message from his God telling him to leave. With only some vague mention of promises and blessings, he had packed up all their belongings, ready to move out of their dark fortress and head out along the old trade route toward Damascus.

Sarai had begged and complained until she realized that Abram was determined to go. In the end she had given in and began collecting the treasures that would make the trip more enjoyable.

Some whispered that she was trying her husband’s patience with all of her demands. It was evident that she had found Haran agreeable—not as suitable as Ur had been before all the trouble, but certainly better than living in a tent. She was annoyed with the turn of events, and her voice had a sharp edge as she inquired, “Where are we going? When are we going to settle down?”

As usual Abram was patient and unconcerned. “I don’t really know,” he said. “We’ll see where our God leads us.”

“What if it is some unpleasant place?” Her head was cocked to one side and her eyes studied his face intently.

Abram laughed. “I trust Him, Sarai. He’ll pick the very best place for us.”

“But what if He doesn’t? Will you go back to Haran?” This question became her chant, but her husband remained silent.

It took Sarai a week to get over her pique and admit to herself that she might enjoy this new adventure after all. It took her more time to get used to riding in the large, cumbersome cart. The wooden wheels creaked and groaned. The exterior was ugly and plain, but the inside was both comfortable and attractive. Abram had seen to that.

There were bright, cheerful reed mats covering the floor with embroidered armrests and straw-stuffed pillows strewn about just as in the finest
guest rooms of Haran. Overhead was a canopy of goat hair; the side pieces could be raised or lowered so the rider could see out. The exterior was drab, but on the underside stars were painted on a blue midnight background.

Sarai seldom rode alone, often inviting other women to join her. Sometimes it was Mara, Lot’s wife, and at other times some of the young daughters of their herders and servants. They sang, carded wool, and spent days working on woven mats and baskets made of the tall grass and weeds they found along the way.

Though she had often heard tales of the trips her father, grandfather, and uncles had taken as traders over this same route, Sarai was not prepared for the leisurely pace. There was no schedule, no time set for their arrival at any given place. When they came to fields of green grass, Abram encouraged her to get down from her cart and wade knee deep in the fragrant thyme and mint. He paused to watch her pick the small starlike flowers called dove’s dung, and often they stopped to enjoy the sharp, sweet song of a bird hidden in the thorn bushes.

Gradually, though reluctantly, she began to find solace in the peaceful rhythm. Yawash, yawash, slowly, slowly, seemed to be the words most often heard. It took a strong bashi or head of the caravan to get everyone organized for the day, but once they started to move it was a colorful procession.

Every animal was decked out by his rider and wore brightly woven saddle blankets, blue lapis lazuli beads to keep off the evil eye, and shells strung on cords so that as they clashed and clanged they made a pleasant sort of music to accompany the bumping and swaying of the carts.

Sarai especially looked forward to the camping at night. The smell of warm bread being cooked over an open fire and young lambs roasting on a spit gave promise of a plentiful feast. Later when the moon came up and the stars burst out in the blackness of the low hanging sky, she would lie with Abram’s arms around her, listening patiently as he talked of his dreams for the future.

From the first she had been skeptical of the promises he held in such regard. It seemed to her that they were always getting bigger and grander. First he was to have land, perhaps a whole country where they would enjoy a home and safety, and then he was to have descendants too numerous to count. He, who was no longer young, owned no land, and had no children, believed completely in these impossible promises. It bothered her that he should seem to know this unseen God so intimately, talked to Him, and even heard Him speak.

“This is the real God, the Creator, the One people have almost forgotten,” Abram explained.

“And where is this country that is to belong to you and to your descendants?” Sarai asked testily.

“We are coming to it soon now.” Abram smiled as though remembering something pleasant.

“You have seen it already?” Sarai raised up on her elbow and looked at him with astonishment.

“I’m not sure. When I was very young, I went on a trading trip down to Egypt with my father. We traded finely tooled leather goods for their sheer material. We had stopped in a great fertile valley where the earth was moist and rich and the grass was the darkest green you can imagine. We camped under a great tree. The place was called Shechem.”

“Didn’t it belong to anyone?”

“There were a few scattered villages built of mud bricks, but the valley had no well and was hard to defend, so it was left open for herders and traders like us. The people who live there are mostly Amorites.”

“How will you know if this is the place your God has promised?” Sarai asked as she shivered and drew closer into Abram’s encircling arms.

He pulled the woven robe over her bare shoulder and lay for a few moments quietly thinking. “When I get there, I’ll ask Him.”

When they came to Damascus, Abram found a pleasant location for their camp in a garden of date palms on one of the branches of the Abana River with the brown ruggedness of Jebel Kasyun looming in the distance. As soon as possible he took several of the men into the city to gather news and replenish their supplies. They needed many things and Abram knew that Sarai would want to see the best of the jewelry, cloth, and perfumes.

“Go to the market where they sell animals and see if they have any camels to sell,” he told Lot. “I’ll make arrangements for some merchants to visit the caravan with their wares.”

Lot knew very little about buying camels. Like Abram, he had heard the animals were being used by desert traders because they could go for days without water. Beyond that he knew little. They hadn’t been used in Ur and were a novelty in Haran. To help him, Abram had chosen a young man who boasted
of having traveled in a caravan made up entirely of camels and of knowing the markets of Damascus well.

The animal section of the market was near the khan or inn. It was an open area black with flies and smelling of straw, old leather, and urine. Here and there worn, striped awnings had been hoisted into place to shelter some wealthy merchants from the sweltering sun. Raucous traders milled around, shouting in hoarse voices the price and worth of their animals. Small boys ran in and out, either chasing a stray sheep or collecting the dung to be mixed with straw and burned as fuel.

Lot was amazed at the variety and number of animals in the market. Some were kneeling, others were standing, but all were held by ropes or tied to stakes. He was drawn to some fine, well-cared for camels, but his driver restrained him. He said, “They are only for riding, and the camels we need are those with the big, ugly heads.”

Lot again picked four camels from a friendly, persuasive fellow who had placed a variety of fancy trappings on them. Again the driver pulled him aside. “Pardon,” he said, “but you must not choose the camel by his trappings.”

Lot was exasperated. He wanted to finish buying the camels, and to him, they all looked very much alike. “What then am I to look for?” he asked impatiently.

“Come,” the driver said as he led him off to one side under the awning of the khan. “You must choose a camel by the breadth of his chest, the shortness of his leg, the fullness of his flank.”

“Then it is impossible,” Lot said. “There are so many and every owner has disguised his animal. Who can tell which are strong and which are weak?”

“There is one test that never fails. If I stand on the hocks when a camel is kneeling and he can still rise, this camel won’t fall by the wayside when things get difficult.”

The thought of a camel dropping behind and left to die in some desert place horrified Lot—such waste! He quickly made a decision. “You buy the camels. I’ll sit here in the khan and see if I can glean some news.”

Lot found many men standing or sitting in small groups in the open courtyard of the inn. He approached a group of men dressed in the long, fringed garb of men from the old kingdom of Sumer. They were sitting around watching two men play a game Lot recognized as one he had played often in Ur. The board the men were playing on was especially handsome. It was made
of colorful inlay, and the playing pieces were of black-and-white ivory. When the men saw Lot, they stopped talking and eagerly made room for him with nods of respect and deference. It pleased Lot that they recognized him as a man of means and prominence.

The time passed quickly, and before he was ready to leave, the driver was back with news that he had bought the necessary camels, even two extra camels to carry some food for the other animals. “They say there is famine in much of the area through which we are going,” he said. “We’ll need the extra supplies.”

Lot had also heard rumors of the famine and was worried. He could hardly wait to tell Abram. Surely they wouldn’t go on if there was a famine in the land. However, when he arrived back at camp, there was such an air of festivity that Lot hesitated to tell his disturbing news.

Abram had found a rich merchant named Eliazer who had also fled from Ur. Upon meeting a fellow countryman, Eliazer promptly closed his shops and brought much of the contents out to the place where Abram was camping.

“Pick anything you like,” Abram told Sarai. “Gather the women and let them have whatever they want as long as there is room for it.”

While the women were viewing the jewelry, ointments, headpieces, and delicately carved boxes, Abram was entertaining Eliazer in his tent. Lot was surprised to learn that Eliazer was going to sell everything he owned and join them. “It won’t take long. My brother and cousins will undoubtedly buy everything,” Eliazer assured them.

Lot was astounded. Here was a man of great wealth and position, willing to give up everything to join them. Lot wondered what Abram had told him; he knew that Abram made things sound exciting. He could feel the air of adventure and see that Eliazer had caught the dream, just as the rest of them had.

When Eliazer finally ordered his slaves to gather up the unwanted goods and depart, Lot stayed to tell Abram the disturbing news of the famine. “The traders I spoke with,” he said, “have warned of a famine. They say it has totally ravaged the land west of the Jordan. Do you think we should go on?”

Abram didn’t seem to hear him. “Eliazer has a big family,” he said. “They all fled with him from Ur just ahead of the armies. Fortunately they had sent some of their most precious belongings on to Damascus before the massacre.”

Lot was silent for a moment as he mulled over the whole situation. Abram never had been one to fear much of anything, but this was serious.
“The men suggested that we turn back while we can.”

“Turn back!” Abram was obviously not impressed. “I have faith that the God who called me out won’t let a famine defeat us.”

“What do you mean?” Lot questioned.

“By the time we get there, the famine will be over, or we will find it was all an exaggeration.”

“Everyone says the pastures have turned to dust. We’ll have to buy aliek for the camels.”

Abram was interested. “And what is aliek?”

“It’s a small grain like lentils, with a green husk. Here in Damascus they mix it into a dough with wheat flour and water, then press it into oblong balls. A camel needs six of these a day, and with water he’ll survive.”

Abram smiled. “Then it’s all taken care of, and we won’t worry about the famine.”

Lot said no more, but the whole thing made him nervous. He had seen the expressions on the men’s faces and heard the anxiety in their voices as they had spoken of the famine. Lot couldn’t help but wonder whether the gods Abram had lashed out against were getting ready to punish them. People—many people—had said that Abram would be punished for defying the earth gods and destroying the idols. Everyone agreed that Sarai was barren because of it.

Lot quickly decided that whatever happened, he was not going to sacrifice his life and risk losing his flocks for Abram’s dream. He would go along until he saw how things turned out. If there really was a famine instead of the promised blessings, he would quietly make other plans.