Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) (33 page)

So Zilpah’s modesty must arise from some other motive, and Bilhah had just about decided that it was actually Zilpah’s nature to be modest, and her immodesty had been the result of her own fears and uncertainty. Whatever the reason for it,
though, in the years since Zilpah became Leah’s handmaid, she had turned into a woman of some grace and modesty.

I only think ill of her, thought Bilhah, because I resent the fact that she has prospered where I failed. Together, she and Leah have turned into good women, the one ready to take her place as a great lady, the other her honorable handmaiden. And I am … what? My lady is still a rough boyish girl who dislikes dressing as a grown woman, even though her wedding is not many months away. And when she does dress up to show her beauty—at feasts, or when her father asks it of her—it’s someone else who tends to her, not her ostensible handmaiden, because I scarcely know how to do up my own hair, let alone a lady’s.

Zilpah has shown me up.

And even though it annoys me, I can’t bring myself to care enough to do anything about it. I could learn how to do hair, if I wanted to. But my real work is in Jacob’s dooryard. I have copied so many books in these seven years—faithfully, and in a good hand—that surely I’ve exhausted his supply. How large a sack had he carried on his back when he came here all those years ago?

I have put the words down on scrolls, I have read them aloud to Leah and Zilpah and even, on rare occasions, to Rachel; and I have also written them in my heart. But no one can see such adornment. As I walk about the camp, the words of God don’t draw anyone’s eye to me, and no one sighs at my beauty when I pass them by. It’s foolish of me to be envious of Zilpah and Leah, but I am. For are they not also as beautifully adorned in their hearts as I am? Are the scriptures not as much a part of their memory as they are of mine?

I should have learned from them, as Zilpah learned reading
from me. How will I ever marry, when there’s nothing about me to recommend me to a man?

The sheep was finished, and Bilhah quickly filled the basins. She had learned what order to fill them in, so she wouldn’t be in the way, and by the time she was done, the shearing of the next sheep had already begun.

Outside the tent, Zilpah was waiting, and fell into step beside her, reaching for the water jar.

“I can carry it,” said Bilhah.

“Let it be that I’m helping you,” said Zilpah.

“What’s the great secret, Zilpah?”

“Leah is very worried and doesn’t know what to do, and she needs your advice.”

“She has only to ask. I see her nearly every day.”

“It’s a strange kind of question, and I think she’s afraid to ask you, because it’s about your mistress.”

“About Rachel? They’re sisters. They talk. They like each other. Why do they need us as go-betweens?”

“Leah’s worried. Rachel seems not to realize that her wedding is coming nearer, only a few months away.”

“You can be sure she hasn’t forgotten.”

“No, no,” said Zilpah. “That’s not the question. It’s … Leah worries that … does Rachel know the ways of men and women?”

It took a moment for Bilhah to realize what the question meant. “She knows the way of rams and ewes,” she said.

“Well, yes, of course, but … my mother explained things to me long ago,” said Zilpah, “and there came a day when it was clear to me that Leah did
not
know anything, and so I offered to explain it to her. It came as quite a shock, and so
now she’s worried that Rachel seems so blithe about her wedding because she doesn’t know what’s expected of her.”

“Rachel knows. She and Jacob even talk about it.”

“What?”

“Not about themselves, but about … no, don’t look so horrified, Zilpah! Jacob thought of this very problem, and made sure his own wife would not be taken by surprise. That’s the kind of careful man he is.”

“Well,” said Zilpah. “But I wonder if he knows that much himself. Seven years here, and I’ve never heard anything about him lying with a woman. Have you?”

“Not a word,” said Bilhah. “And he doesn’t visit harlots in Haran or Byblos, either, or we’d hear tales from the men who travel with him.”

“So how much does he even know?”

“It’s none of our business, Zilpah,” said Bilhah.

“My mistress is making it her business,” said Zilpah.

“Then let her talk to Rachel and keep us out of it!”

Zilpah rolled her eyes.

Bilhah thought she understood. “Leah’s too shy and modest to discuss it herself, but she can send you to me, and then expect me to—”

“She’s
tried
to discuss it with Rachel, don’t you see? And
I’ve
tried, and Rachel just walks away. She refuses to talk about it.”

“What makes you think I’d do any better? If she doesn’t want to talk about it, then—”

“Leah says it means that Rachel’s frightened.”

“Rachel isn’t afraid of anything,” said Bilhah. “Least of all Jacob. Her whole life revolves around him. She adores him. How can she possibly be afraid of him?”

“He’s like a brother to her,” said Zilpah. “That’s what Leah’s afraid of. They’re so close that Leah thinks Rachel is afraid that marriage is going to ruin everything, and so she refuses to think about it or talk about how their love for each other has to change into something it hasn’t been before.”

“What makes you think she’ll listen to
me
when she won’t listen to her own sister? It’s not as if I have any knowledge of it. You’re the only one of the four of us who even knew her own mother, at least long enough to learn about marriage.”

“I don’t want you—I mean, Leah doesn’t want you to talk to
Rachel
. She wants you to warn
Jacob
.”

“Me? Jacob? I can’t talk to Jacob about—”

“You’re the only one who can.”

“Then
no
one can.”

“It would be extremely improper for the unmarried older sister of the bride to talk to Jacob about how unready Rachel is for their coming marriage. And as for me, I behaved in ways, when Jacob first came here, that make it very inappropriate for me to bring up such a topic, because he’ll think I haven’t changed since then. And don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Bilhah. Though of course she was.

“You work with him every day. With the holy books. You have no history of … provocation.”

I’m plain and men don’t think of love when they look at me, that’s what you mean, thought Bilhah. Again she kept the words to herself.

“And you’re Rachel’s handmaiden. You have the right to speak plainly to her husband about private matters.”

They reached the well and Zilpah lowered the bag to draw out water.

“Whoever her handmaiden is when she gets married,
she’ll
have that right,” said Bilhah, “but not me.”

Zilpah laughed. “What do you mean? Do you think you
won’t
be her handmaiden?”

“I’m free,” said Bilhah. “I’m not Laban’s, to be given away as a wedding present. I’ve
acted
as her handmaiden, that’s all—and not very well, I might remind you, in case you’re the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“You could learn to do better if you cared.”

“But I don’t care,” said Bilhah, “because I will
not
be her handmaiden after she’s married, so there’s no reason to learn it any better than she wants me to, and she’s never wanted me to do more than I do.”

“So what will you do when she marries Jacob?”

“I’ll go to Byblos,” said Bilhah, “and become a scribe.”

The look of shock on Zilpah’s face reminded Bilhah of why she had never spoken of this plan to anyone. “Women can’t be scribes,” said Zilpah.

“Obviously they can, since that’s what I’ve been doing every morning for seven years.”

“They can’t get
paid
for it.”

“Well I’m not going to do it for
free
,” retorted Bilhah.

Zilpah shook her head. “What a pair you and Rachel are. Rachel refuses to admit she’s about to get married, and you refuse to admit that you’re stuck as somebody’s servant as surely as I am.”

“I’m free,” said Bilhah fiercely.

“You’re only free if you have choices,” said Zilpah.

“I have choices.”

“You have delusions,” said Zilpah.

“Maybe I’ll
marry
a scribe.”

Zilpah sighed. “
Please
talk to Jacob and warn him about his bride.”

“Warn him that she’s beautiful and loves him devotedly?”

Zilpah flicked a drop of water in Bilhah’s face. “Warn him that he’s going to have a terrified, unready woman in his bed. Warn him that if he thinks she’s ready, he might give her such a horrifying wedding night as will stand between them all the days of their lives.”

“And this is the wisdom that has been stewed up in the pot of Leah’s tent?”

“When a woman is terrified,” said Zilpah, “her body isn’t ready, and her husband can
hurt
her without meaning to. And then she’ll be terrified forever after.”

“Where did you hear that!” said Bilhah scornfully.

“From my mother. It happened to her, and she says it’s happened to others. A woman who isn’t filled with desire can’t be
loved
that way, she can only be forced.”

“And I’m supposed to talk like this with
Jacob?
”

“You will if you love Rachel.”

“You and Leah can love Rachel and talk to Jacob. I won’t do it.”

“You are a selfish girl and a faithless friend.” Zilpah turned to walk away.

Bilhah’s face turned red in shame. “How could I explain anything to him when I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!”

Zilpah turned around and looked at her witheringly. “Say what I said, and Jacob will understand.”

“Have your mother talk to him!” Bilhah said. She hoisted the water jug onto her shoulder and walked back to the shearing shed.

Somehow she was letting Rachel down, she understood that, but she could not discuss this with Jacob. She could hardly bear to think of it herself. Until now, she had thought she knew everything about the ways of men and women. But now it seemed that there were things about women’s bodies—about her own body—that Zilpah and Leah both knew, and Bilhah herself had no idea of.

Jacob couldn’t hurt Rachel, ever. A good man like him, he’d
know
. Leah and Zilpah were worried about nothing. Or else they were trying to trick Bilhah into doing something outrageous. Was it a joke they were playing on her? Or was the joke on Rachel? Or on Jacob himself?

Whatever game they were playing, Bilhah wasn’t going to play. There were things that even a slave handmaiden shouldn’t be asked to do, and a free girl certainly didn’t have to do them.

T
he shearing was nearly done when Choraz came home, the little brother who had gone into the service of Prince Kedar. He came covered in glory, leading three armed men on horseback and five camels, four of them loaded with riches, and one of them bearing his wife, an Elamite woman who, he assured them all, was not captured in a raid but married him willingly, “from her father’s house.”

The woman’s name was Hassaweh, or that’s what Choraz called her, when he was speaking to them in Hebrew; talking between themselves, they spoke her language, which sounded strange, jabbery and whispery, both at once.

“Hassaweh is the glory of my tent!” cried Choraz for all to hear.

And so it was that after Choraz had hugged Father, and then helped his lady from her camel, it was Rachel’s duty—because she was there, and Mother was dead, and Leah couldn’t see well
enough—to embrace the haughty and beautiful woman and welcome her to the camp of Laban at Padan-aram.

Without a smile, Hassaweh looked around her and said to Rachel, in heavily accented Hebrew, “I see many tents, but not a hundred, and many animals, but not ten thousand.”

Rachel was surprised at the woman’s ignorance; if Choraz had told her the size of his father’s camp and herds, then what kind of wife would speak in a way that suggested she doubted his honesty?

“Perhaps you’re not used to shepherds’ ways,” said Rachel, speaking quietly.

“Perhaps not,” said Hassaweh, “if one sheep counts as ten, and a single tent as five.”

This was too much to bear. Rachel didn’t even try to keep the scorn out of her voice. “If the herds and flocks were all here at once, they’d starve in two days. Father keeps them widely scattered through the hills and plains of Syria, and each flock is watched over by men enough to dwell in the tents that you don’t see here.”

Hassaweh held very still. “This is something that a shepherd’s wife would know without asking,” she said.

Rachel realized it was a question. “Yes,” she said. “But not a warrior’s wife.”

For the first time, Hassaweh looked at her, face to face. “You have saved me from embarrassing myself in front of this company.”

Privately, Rachel thought that a good wife would not have said anything to disparage her husband’s father even if her calculation of their poverty had been correct. But she kept this view to herself. If Hassaweh was humble enough to admit she’d been wrong, and to be grateful that Rachel had corrected
her before she blundered in front of the whole company, that spoke well enough of her manners.