No Woman So Fair (15 page)

****

Milcah's thoughts were prophetic, for Lot, at that very moment, was being taunted by several of his friends. He liked them all, and they obviously liked him, but they were city boys, and he was from the country. They teased him constantly about this, and finally one of them said, “What about girls out there in the desert? I'm sure those shepherds must have daughters.” The speaker was a tall, spindly boy named Luz. He was the ringleader of the group and now winked at his followers. “Those country girls ought to be pretty sweet.”

The others joined in teasing Lot, and finally Luz said, “Come on, Lot, tell us about those girls. Are they pretty sweet?”

“I don't know any girls. N-not the way you mean,” Lot stammered.

Luz winked again at the others. “Well, that's easily enough remedied. You're as old as I am. You should have had half a dozen girls by this time.”

Lot could not answer. Indeed his body had been changing, and when one lissome young woman, the daughter of one of his uncle's herdsmen, had smiled at him, he had felt strange things happening inside him. He had been embarrassed by it, although he knew from hearing men talk that this was the way it was. Now he felt somehow ashamed in front of Luz and the others that he knew nothing about girls.

Luz said, “I think it's about time Lot here found out what women are like.” A loud chorus echoed this, and Luz leered at Lot. “Do you have any money?”

“Yes, I've got some.”

“Then I think we'd better go to the temple and make an offering to Ishtar.”

Lot clearly understood his meaning. When men gave offerings to Ishtar, it was to visit the temple prostitutes. He had heard his uncle Abram speak of this in a disparaging manner, but still he was fifteen years old and curious. He was also anxious to appear to be a man in front of his friends. “All right. I'm ready,” he said defiantly.

A yelp of assent went up, and the small band made its way to the temple. Luz whispered, “There's one right there. Go tell her you want to make an offering.”

Lot's heart was beating fast, and he walked up to the woman, who was no taller than he was. She turned to him and smiled, and he saw that her gown was very revealing and for a moment he could not speak a word.

“Well, what a fine man you are,” the woman said. She had full lips, and her face was painted, especially her eyes, which were large and lustrous. She leaned against him and said, “Have you come to make an offering to the goddess Ishtar?”

“Y-yes, I have.”

The woman laughed and put her arm around him. “You come with me, and we'll make your offering. Then we'll see what happens.”

Lot felt hot then cold, but as the woman led him away, he heard his friends calling, challenging him, and he knew there was no turning back.

The Lord had said to Abram, “Leave your country, your people and your father's household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation….”

Genesis 12:1–2

The blazing sun sent its blistering beams down over the land, causing shimmering heat waves to rise over the irrigation canal that lay just west of Ur of the Chaldees. Sarai sat on a low stone wall, holding a baby close to her breast. A beatific expression was on her face as she rocked the child slowly, cradling the precious treasure. She loved children of all ages, but especially helpless newborns. A longing reflected itself in her eyes, which her sister-in-law Milcah, who was standing a few feet away, recognized.
She wants a baby worse than any woman I ever saw. Why the gods have made her barren, I can't imagine. She and Abram are good people and would make wonderful parents
.

Milcah had thought this many times before, but being a practical woman, she knew the gods were fickle and often brought evil things to good people while at the same time lifting those who were downright evil to positions of prominence and wealth. Looking up at Sarai, she smiled. “You're going to spoil Bethuel.”

“Well, he's such a sweet child. He deserves a little spoiling.” Sarai held the baby up. His pudgy body squirmed, and he smiled toothlessly at Sarai. “Isn't he the handsomest baby that ever lived! Yes, you are,” Sarai crooned.

“He's not so sweet at times.” Milcah shook her head firmly and her lips pursed. “Sometimes he can be aggravating. He's strong willed.”

“Like Nahor, I suppose.”

“Just like him.”

The two women continued their conversation. From time to time Sarai looked around at the outskirts of the city where they sat, and where Nahor and Milcah made their home. Sarai had come for a visit on her own while Abram and Lot were away hunting.

The outer fringes of Ur were composed primarily of square houses built of sun-dried brick, scattered over the landscape in no particular pattern, some of them at right angles to the others. From where she sat Sarai could see the irrigation canal. The river overflowed once a year, if the gods were kind, and the workers had built ditches to bring water to the arid ground. Water was life in this place, and each year prayers were sent up to different gods to bring the precious fluid into the land. After the growing season was over, men and women alike would get out and repair the canals, which were their lifeline.

Overhead some birds were circling, and Sarai watched them idly. She was an observant woman, and now she turned her eyes out over the distance, studying the man who was plowing with a large ox. She had heard Abram's grandfather tell about the early days, when life was so hard that men and even women were used instead of beasts to plow the land. She felt a sudden gladness that things were better now.

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 heads 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.