No Woman So Fair (20 page)

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 mother 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.”

The two stood there, and Sarai knew that her words had meant little to Abram. His thoughts were in the past, and she knew he was thinking about the time that the Eternal One had appeared and given him a glorious promise.

Now a gloom settled over him, and he shook his head. “I do not think He will ever speak to me again.”

He turned and left Sarai, who stood looking after him, a sadness in her own heart. She had never seen Abram's God herself, but now she prayed to him. “O Eternal One, do not forsake my husband. He loves you dearly!”

When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw that she was a very beautiful woman. And when Pharaoh's officials saw her, they praised her to Pharaoh, and she was taken into his palace.

Genesis 12:14–15

Abram sat in his home in a long, narrow room between pillars that supported the roof, looking out over the darkening sky to the fields in the distance. It was a pleasant and airy haven from the heat of the day. Turning his head, he looked out past another pillar into the quadrangle of the inner court, hung with colored awnings and with a wooden gallery running around it. The silence of the afternoon was broken by the hum of the servants' voices, and from far off a wild donkey brayed raucously.

Evening was coming quickly, and now a maidservant fetched fire from the hearth and lit the three earthenware lamps that stood upon tripods. Abram watched her listlessly and could sense the aroma of fresh bread baking. To his right stood a great earthenware jar filled with goat's milk. Two large wooden chests occupied the outer wall of the room, and two dark brown dogs slept soundly in a patch of sunlight that flooded the outer court.

Knowing that the evening meal would soon be served, Abram got up and left the house. He had purchased the home from Oliphaz since his mother's death. His father had become almost helpless and it was necessary for Abram to stay close to him. Ten more years had passed in Haran, and he now spent much of his time here at his home in the city, dividing his attention between his father's needs and those of the herds that proliferated out in the pasturelands close to the river. Now he made his way through the city, needing a break from his father almost as much as he needed air. He passed by the houses on the outskirts of the city, nodding or speaking to those he knew, until he finally reached the edge of the city.

He paused beside a large wall of unmortared blocks of stone on which was perched a statue of the god Nanna. Abram observed the remains of offerings that had been left—food and flowers—and he watched three mangy dogs fighting over the scraps of food.

“That's about the only good that'll come from those offerings,” he muttered. Then he turned and made his way to the well that lay on the outer side of the city. When he got there he paused and, feeling thirsty, leaned over and stared into the water. Even in the fading light he could see his reflection in the still water below. He stared at it, noting how white his hair had become in the last ten years. He saw his dark skin, bronzed from a lifetime of exposure to the sun, and the ever-deepening wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. He noted that his neck was not as strong and muscular now as it had once been, and he could foresee the day when it would be scrawny and thin and weak.

“What are you looking at, master?”

Abram whirled around, startled, and saw that Eliezer was standing behind him. “Oh, nothing,” he said quickly, shaking his head at the tall young man.

Eliezer, not fooled, came over and looked down into the well. “Admiring yourself in the water, eh?” he said, smiling.

Abram bent over again next to Eliezer and studied the two reflections. “Who is that old man in there, Eliezer?”

“Why, it's you.”

“That's not me! That old man is seventy-five years old, my son.” Abram looked at the reflection in the water again, then picked up a pebble that lay on the wall surrounding the well. He tossed it in and watched the stone break the water's smooth surface, turning his image and Eliezer's into rippling waves of concentric circles. He muttered to himself again, “Who is that old man? Where is the young man who could run like a deer and never grow tired? Where is that young fellow who could lift more than anyone in the city of Ur? Where is he?”

Eliezer was staring at Abram. He had a worshipful attitude toward this man, who had always been like a father to him. He smiled quickly and reached out to touch Abram's arm. “Why, you look like a man of forty, and my mistress, Sarai—why, she looks like a young woman!”

Abram turned quickly and smiled. “You're right about her at least. She may be sixty-five years old, but she's more beautiful to me than any woman on earth.”

Eliezer nodded quickly. “That is so true, master. But it's true of you too. You're still tall and strong, and if you would enter into the games that the young men sometimes engage in, why, you'd put them to shame.”

Abram shook his head, but his eyes lit up with humor. “You must want something, Eliezer, talking like that.” He regarded the twenty-year-old man, who was tall and slender with a muscular build. He could win most of the races among the young men of Haran, and in the feats of strength, he held his own. He was a handsome man too, with lustrous black hair and dark eyes.