No Woman So Fair (6 page)

The mud-covered woman glared at Abram, fury in her eyes. She reached out and struck him on the chest with her fist. “You clumsy dolt!” she cried.

“That's right! Give him a few!” a hulking onlooker cried out from the bridge. Abram looked up to see that the bridge was lined with laughing people. The woman saw it too, and she turned and fled, leaving Abram standing there.

Abram had never felt so stupid and clumsy in his life. He endured the jeers of the crowd as he made his way up the bank and back to the street. His legs were black with mud up to the knees, but he paid them no heed.

He was soon lost in the crowd and found his way back to the shrine. His travel bag was still there, and he sighed with relief and picked it up. He was ready to go when one of the priests of Ishtar approached him and said, “You're a stranger here, are you not?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You appear to have gotten into some sort of difficulty.” The priest, a thin man with kindly eyes, waved at his feet. “Come inside, and I will see that you get cleaned up.”

“That would be most kind,” Abram mumbled. He followed the priest, and all he could think of was what a fool he had made of himself. He did not want to stay in the temple precinct, but he could not go to the house of Garai like this and was grateful for the priest's offer. He would wash, change, and be on his way at once.

****

Garai held a writing stick with its wedge-shaped tip and made indentations in a small holder of damp mud he held in his hand. He had become an expert at the new art of writing, an invention that priests used to keep records of which worshipers had made their annual contributions of barley to the temple granary. Traders had also found the record-keeping method invaluable for listing what was sent on their ships, and city administrators needed records of land surveys and civic activities. Businessmen like Garai had quickly found uses for the new system as well. The writing sticks could easily make marks in the damp clay, which would then harden into permanent records. At first the temple scribes had etched pictures of people and animals, but this had become so time consuming that a system of symbols had developed, such as Garai used now. He made a series of marks in a horizontal row going from left to right, and his hand moved quickly as he recorded his business activities.

As he worked, Garai wondered, not for the first time, if the new materials being developed, such as papyrus, might be more practical for storing large amounts of information. Papyrus reeds could be pressed flat and dried in the sun into thin sheets that would take marks from a small reed filled with a dark liquid. It seemed to Garai that they would take up far less space, but no one had yet figured out how to keep the dark marks from fading. So for this and other reasons, this method had not yet caught on for business purposes, and the cumbersome system of keeping thousands of clay tablets was still the most efficient way of preserving records.

“Sir, you have a visitor.”

Garai looked up at Hazil with annoyance. “I'm working. Who is it?”

“He says his name is Abram. Shall I send him away?”

“No!” Garai said quickly. “I've been expecting him. I'll take care of this.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garai put the clay tablet down, washed his hands quickly, and moved out of the small storeroom into the corridor and toward the courtyard. He found a tall man waiting there, apparently in his thirties, wearing the simple dress of a shepherd. “Abram,” he said. “Greetings. My name is Garai.”

“My father sends his greetings, sir.”

“Come in. You must wash, and I'm sure you must be hungry. When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday.”

“Why didn't you come at once?”

Abram had wound up staying the night in the priest's private quarters at the temple, where the priest had insisted on having his garment washed and dried before he left. But Abram did not want to get into the story of why he was delayed. He simply said, “I got here rather late in the afternoon, and I thought it might be best to wait until today.”

“Well, I'm glad to see you in any case. Come along, and we'll give you some refreshment.”

Abram submitted to Garai's wishes, and soon he was sitting down drinking a thin, sour-tasting wine while the other man talked. “Your father and I have worked out all of the details—about the marriage, I mean. But now you must let me show you around.”

Abram nodded at once. “I'd be glad to see your city.”

“I'll take you down to the river first to see our fleet of boats. I'm sure you'll be interested in that,” Garai said. “And I'll have the cook make a special dinner for when we return, and you can meet the family.” He beamed and said, “And, of course, you'll meet your bride-to-be. I'm sure you're anxious for that.”

“Of course, sir,” Abram said, inwardly wondering how he was going to get out of marrying the woman Captain Sargon had warned him about. Garai seemed to assume that the marriage deal was already done.

Abram mulled this over as he accompanied Garai to the waterfront and spent the afternoon looking over the family's considerable assets. Garai was very proud of his fleet and spoke expansively of the advantages that would accrue to Abram's family when the two joined forces.

“My family has been mostly into herds and flocks,” Abram said. “I know nothing about the boating trade.” He hoped Garai would not find Terah's marriage offer so enticing when he learned of Abram's business ineptness.

“Oh, there's no reason why you can't keep that up, but the big fortune is to be made in trading. We'll send ships up the river and down. We'll charge freight for some,” Garai went on excitedly. He grew animated as he spoke of the profits to be made, and for the rest of the afternoon he entertained the prospective bridegroom royally.

Finally he said, “Well, we'll talk more of this later, but now it's time to go home. I'm anxious for you to meet the rest of my family—especially Sarai!”

****

“Another suitor,” Zulda said, helping Sarai dress. Her nimble fingers quickly fastened the abundant black hair of her mistress with ivory pins. “Aren't you excited?”

“No, I am not. He's probably so old he's toothless and has legs like sticks.”

Sarai was in a bad mood. It had taken a great deal of effort to remove the stinking mud from the river the day before. She had insisted that Zulda give her three baths, and when she was satisfied, she was anointed with sweet-smelling oil yesterday and again today. In her imagination she could still smell the stench of the mud that had coated her from head to foot. It had been almost impossible to get out of her hair, and she had almost vomited because some of it had gotten into her mouth.

She had slept poorly that night, going over and over in her mind the humiliation of the mishap on the bridge. She imagined that many who had seen her plight were aware of who she was and were laughing at her all over the city.

Knowing her mistress well, Zulda flitted around, making adjustments to the silky dress Sarai had put on. “But it's so exciting that this may be the husband you'll have.”

“I feel like a prize sheep that my brother's auctioning off,” Sarai grunted. “He might as well say, ‘How much am I bid for this woman?' Slaves are sold the same way.”

“But maybe this will be the one you want.”

“All Garai is interested in is how much money his family has,” Sarai sniffed. She stood up, looked down at herself, then drew her lips into a tight line. “Well, this will be a brief courtship, I can tell you that.” She moved toward the door, determination in every line of her body.

****

Abram had brought only one formal robe, and he wore it now as he waited in the room where the family gathered for their meals. It was a fine room, large and airy, with the tables made of wood such as he had never seen. It was polished smooth and had a dark glow to it. He commented on it, and Garai nodded with pride. “I don't know where that lumber came from. I've never seen anything like it. I only know I paid a pretty price for it!”

“It is indeed beautiful—worth the price you paid, I'm sure.”

Abram looked around the room, which was lit with lamps burning with a sweet-smelling oil. He had met Garai's mother, Zaroni, and his sister, Hanna, who was very curious. She had asked many questions, and Abram had answered them politely. He was surprised at her attractiveness. She was a small woman, dark-complected, and not at all unattractive as Captain Sargon had insisted. He found her even pretty, though her mouth was small and her eyes somehow seemed too close together. But she certainly was not the homely woman the captain had described. Hanna had informed him that she was engaged to be married and had gushed, “If you and my sister get married, it would be very nice. We'd probably be having children at the same time.”

Abram had flushed, embarrassed that she should speak of such things when he had no intention of going through with the marriage plans.

Zaroni had smiled at her older daughter's carelessness and smoothed it over. She now sat beside Abram questioning him gently, and Abram found himself liking her very much. When she asked about his family, he gave her a quick overview of them, and she smiled, saying, “It sounds like you have a fine family.”

“I have,” Abram said quickly. “Of course, I'm one of the lesser members.”

“Lesser in what way?”

“Pretty much every way,” Abram admitted. He smiled lamely and shook his head. “I'm not enough of a businessman to please my father and brothers.”

Garai, who had been listening, exclaimed at once, “Well, we can change all that, Abram! If you marry Sarai, you and I will be in business together. I can teach you all there is to know about trading up the river.”

Abram tried not to let his face show his dismay at this comment. He merely smiled as if in agreement and listened as Garai went on talking about the business.

“Sarai is always late,” Hanna said petulantly.

“Maybe I'd better send for her again,” Garai said. “You know how women are, Abram.”

Abram had no chance to reply, for at that moment a woman in a flowing, silky gown entered the room. Abram stood up and his eyes flew open. He had only caught a glimpse of the face of the woman he had shoved off the bridge, but he knew he would never forget it—and there she stood before him.

As for Sarai, she stared at Abram, shocked beyond belief. She had not forgotten the face of the man who had been so clumsy, and now she took a deep breath, anger racing through her. “What are
you
doing here?” she demanded.

Abram could not speak. Garai and the others stared at Sarai without understanding. “What's wrong, Sarai?” Zaroni said.

“This is the man that shoved me off into the mud!”

Abram could feel his whole face and neck turning red as everyone in the room stared at him. “Yes, I'm afraid I am that man,” Abram said meekly. “I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry!” Sarai cried. Her eyes were flashing, her fists doubled up. “I won't have this man in my sight. He's nothing but a country bumpkin! Get him out of the house, Garai!” She whirled and ran out of the room.

A dead silence followed, and Abram realized with some relief that his embarrassment might well be his salvation. He waited for Garai to dismiss him so that he could make his apologies and return to his home immediately.

Garai, however, smiled apologetically and cleared his throat. “My sister is a little excitable at times.”

“That's right,” Zaroni put in quickly. “Let me talk to her, Abram. She gets over things quickly.”

Abram managed a smile, but it came hard. “I'm not sure that you should even try. I don't blame her. It was an awful thing.”

Zaroni was greatly pleased by the young man's humility. She put her hand on his arm and said, “Try to be patient, Abram. She has a good heart.”

She turned and left the room, and Garai said quickly, “Sit down, Abram. You must eat.”

But Abram had lost his appetite. He wanted nothing more than to be out of this house and back in the fields with his flocks in Ur. He sat down heavily, hoping that this woman would refuse to forgive him and he would have his wish.

Although Abram wanted to leave the house of Garai immediately and return to Ur, it quickly became obvious that his host wanted him to stay for the entire two weeks his parents had arranged for the visit. For almost a week he remained a nervous and uncomfortable guest. He saw Sarai several times but only briefly, for she avoided him whenever possible. She refused to eat meals with the family as long as Abram was there.

As a result of Sarai's avoidance, Abram became very well acquainted with Zaroni, Sarai's mother. Garai was constantly busy with his trading ventures, and Hanna was equally occupied with Eliphaz, who seemed a weak man to Abram, but he said nothing of it to the others.

Zaroni had made it her business to make Abram feel as comfortable as possible, knowing that he was deeply embarrassed by the accident on the bridge and Sarai's refusal to forgive him for it. He showed much humility and understanding over Sarai's rejection of him, and as the days passed, Zaroni found herself liking him more and more.

Zaroni loved flowers and was surprised to learn that Abram knew more about them than most men. He even helped her with some transplanting. Late one afternoon the two of them were working together over a particularly fine specimen he had found outside the city on an early walk that morning and had brought to her as a gift. Zaroni had been very pleased, and now the two talked of flowers as they reset it in a decorative pot. “Not many men love flowers as you do, Abram.”

“I've always loved flowers. I suppose it's because I'm out in the fields all the time. My mother loves them too. I think you'd like her. You two are much alike.”

“Really? That pleases me very much. Perhaps we'll be able to arrange a visit soon.” She turned to face Abram and saw his embarrassment at her suggestion. Now she drew the young man out by saying, “Tell me more about what you do when you're home.”