No Woman So Fair Read online

  “Yes, it has, master. I’ve never seen a year like it,” Gehazi replied in his husky voice, which was no more than a half whisper. He had spent more time with sheep and goats than he had with humans—indeed, felt more at home with them than with people. Scanning the flocks, his deep-set eyes were narrowed and wrinkled at the corners from years of enduring the blistering Sumerian sun. He nodded with satisfaction and turned to face Abram. “You’ve done well, master. How long is it? Five years since you took over from Nahor?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, you’re a better man than he is.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Abram objected.

  Gehazi had a special affection for Abram, having known him since he was an infant. “You’ll have to make a good offering to Ishtar for this increase,” he said.

  Abram shook his head. “I’m going to give you the bonus, not Ishtar.”

  Gehazi blinked in surprise. There was a quality about his master that sometimes awed him but at other times troubled him, as it did now. “Don’t do that, master.”

  “Why not?”

  “You wouldn’t want to get the gods upset.”

  “Gehazi, do you really think that a piece of stone in a temple twenty miles away has anything to do with the increase of our herds?”

  “It’s not wise to question the gods. Who knows what they might do?” Gehazi muttered huskily. “And I’ll tell you what. She’s a female god, and that makes it even worse.”

  Abram laughed aloud. “What do you mean it makes it worse?”

  “Well, you know how women are.”

  “No. How are they? You tell me. You’ve had half a dozen wives.”

  “They get notions, that’s what! They like to get us men in trouble.”

  Abram laid his hand on Gehazi’s muscular shoulder and said, “You’re the one who deserves the bonus. Don’t worry about Ishtar.”

  “I don’t like it, master. You’re just asking for trouble.”

  Abram shook his head to signify that the conversation was over. “I’d like to move the flock tomorrow over to that grass by the river. It’s better this year than I’ve ever seen it.”

  “I’ll take care of it, master.” Then Gehazi scratched his head and asked, “What about your brothers? I never see them anymore.”

  “Oh, they’ve become so busy with their business and trading in town that they don’t care about coming out to see smelly goats and sheep.”

  “They’d better care,” Gehazi said grimly. “This is what’s real, not all that trading. A man can go broke and lose everything.”

  “Men can go broke raising sheep too.”

  “Not us,” Gehazi said firmly. He had few fixed ideas, but one of them was very solid: town was bad and the world of nature was good.

  “I’ll send some of the other shepherds over to help you move the flock,” Abram said. He turned and left Gehazi, feeling good about the increase in the flock. But as he made his way toward his and Sarai’s tent, he began to think about how he had prospered. Even before he had married, he’d begun to doubt the power of the idols that kept their place in the temple. He knew with certainty now that a greater, unseen God heard his prayers. He said little of this to anyone other than Sarai, and he prayed more now than he had as a younger man. But it troubled him that he still did not know the name of the God to whom he prayed.

  Threading his way through the flocks, he came to their large tent. It was bleached white to reflect the rays of the sun, and when he stooped to go in through the door flap, he smelled the fragrance of the incense that Sarai almost always burned. A sudden thought came to him. I’ve been married for five years, and I’ve prospered. But Sarai isn’t happy.

  He was more in love with her now than ever, and when he saw her lying facedown on their sleeping mat, he sat down beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Sarai?”

  Sarai was wearing a light blue dress. She had bathed recently, for even in the desert Abram had made a tub for her out of animal skins set on a frame. He had assigned one of the shepherds the task of bringing river water and filling the tub up each day so that she could submerge herself in the coolness of the water. He knew she loved this daily ritual, but he also knew it was not enough to soothe her aching heart.

  Pulling her up gently, Abram asked, “What’s wrong, Sarai? I hate to find you like this.”

  Her enormous black eyes glistened with tears as she told him bluntly, “I’m not a good wife.”

  “Not a good wife? Why, you’re the best wife in the whole world.” He put his arms around her and stroked her jet black hair. She laid her cheek against his chest and let the tears flow. “Of course you’re a good wife,” he insisted, rubbing her back.

  “But I’ve given you no son,” she cried. “Not in five years.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that. We’re young. We’ll have a dozen sons. You wait and see.” He knew how her barrenness troubled her. She wanted desperately to have a child, and Abram had often wondered why they had not. They were very much in love, and by all the normal ways of the world, they should have had at least one child by now, and probably more. But no child had come. Sarai remained despondent, though not once had Abram let her see that he was disappointed. He knew that she often cried when he was not there, but now, even in his presence, she could not hide her sadness.

  “Look, Sarai, I’ve made up my mind. We’re going to spend some time in town.”

  Sarai brightened up. She had learned to live in the desert with her only companions the shepherds and the few other women who followed their husbands’ flocks. They were not that far from town, and they went in from time to time for supplies and to visit their families. And yet she spent most days alone in their tent waiting for Abram to come home, after doing the few chores she had for just the two of them. She had found the loneliness overwhelming, and now she dashed the tears from her eyes. “Really?”

  “Yes. We’ve had a good year, so we’re going in, and we’re going to buy you a whole new set of clothes, some jewelry, and a beautiful ring, and we’re going to see your mother and your family again. Maybe we’ll take a second honeymoon on that boat. Would you like that?”

  “Oh yes!” Sarai threw her arms around him, and Abram patted her shoulder. At least for a time this would take Sarai’s thoughts from her barrenness.

  ****

  The fact that Gehazi was completely and utterly dependable permitted Abram to leave the flock for an extended time. He took Sarai to her home in Ur, where they were royally greeted as always. Her mother, especially, was delighted that they could stay for a while, and they spent two weeks there being entertained. After that they went upriver on the same boat they had used for their honeymoon. This time they went even farther than Babylon, and when they returned, the boat was loaded with gifts for everyone. Babylon had a thriving market, and Sarai had spent days there picking out the most delightful gifts she could find.

  When they returned, they stayed at Terah’s house in a large room built especially for them. They were comfortable, and yet there was a sadness in being with Abram’s family. Milcah, the wife of Nahor, had given him three sons, and Dehazi, the wife of Haran, had borne him a son, whom they called Lot. Sarai loved babies, and she spent every minute of her day helping to care for the two infants and playing with the older nephews. She tried to keep her sadness from Abram, but he was aware of it all the same.

  After staying a month at Terah’s house, Abram’s father approached him, and Abram knew almost instantly that Terah was troubled. The older man insisted that they sit down, and he asked a servant to bring wine. For a time they talked of the flocks and herds and of the family trading ventures. It was the kind of talk Abram expected from Terah, for his father was primarily a man of business. His father acted nervous, however, and Abram kept waiting for him to bring up what he really wanted to talk about. Finally Terah cleared his throat and got to the point. “Son, I spoke with the high priest yesterday. He’s been asking about you.”


  “Oh? What about, Father?”

  “I think…” Terah faltered and lifted his cup. He drained it and said, “Well, he told me you haven’t made an offering to Ishtar in a long time.”

  “Well, that’s true enough.”

  Terah stared at his son, waiting for an explanation. Abram gathered his thoughts, then asked bluntly, “Father, do you really think Ishtar has any power?”

  Terah’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean just that. Do you really think that a block of stone has any feelings? That Ishtar knows anything?”

  “It’s dangerous to talk like that, son! The goddess might hear you.”

  “Father, Ishtar is made out of stone. Her ears are stone. How can stone ears hear anything?”

  Terah was stunned by what Abram was saying. He himself was a solid individual who thought of little beyond the profit he could turn in a day. He liked his comfort, and he was fond of his family, but like all other dwellers of Sumer, he was deathly afraid of offending the gods. He lived in a world that was filled with catastrophe. Droughts burned up the crops, and floods wiped out whole communities. Sickness could come without warning, ravaging populations. Wild beasts could tear a man to bits. Terah had seen all these things happen, and although he had no deep feelings about religion, he was faithful to make offerings. With his voice lowered, he said urgently, “I hope you don’t say things like this to anybody else.”

  “Only to Sarai.”

  “That’s good.” Terah breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But think about it, Father,” Abram protested. “Some man made Ishtar. A worker in stone took a chisel and a block of senseless rock and made a statue. And then after he made it, he bowed down to it—the very thing he himself made.” Abram leaned forward and said, “Father, I’m desperate to find the God who made me, and it certainly wasn’t Ishtar.”

  Terah was shocked to the very depth of his being. He had once been upset with Abram for paying too much attention to the gods, and now he was upset because he was paying none at all! He also knew that Rahaz, the high priest, was a powerful man in the community. He had ways of getting at people who did not bring their offerings to the temple. He had grown wealthy on such offerings, and for some time Terah tried to persuade Abram to at least make some outward gesture of appeasing Ishtar and the high priest.

  He finally ended by saying, “A man needs to keep on good terms with the gods, son.”

  Abram saw that it was useless to argue with Terah. His father’s thoughts were as shallow as those of most other people in Ur, and Abram wondered sadly if anybody except himself would ever believe in the true God. He listened as his father continued to urge him, and finally he put up his hand wearily. “All right. It means nothing to me. I’ll take an offering by tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good son!” Terah exclaimed with delight. He clapped Abram on the shoulder and heaved a sigh of relief. “That takes a load off my mind.”

  ****

  Abram kept his promise to Terah and made a token visit to the temple. The high priest beamed to see him, exclaiming, “Well, I’m so happy to see you, my son!”

  “I brought an extra offering since I’ve missed a few,” Abram said. He saw a light in the eyes of the priest, eyes that were almost encased in fat.

  “I’m sure Ishtar will bless you,” Rahaz said, his words as oily as his skin.

  Abram went through the charade of worship, then turned to leave, glad that it was over. When he reached his father’s house, it was late afternoon, and he sat outside watching the sun go down. The outer court was quiet now, and the servants were busy inside preparing the evening meal. He could hear their voices faintly. He took his seat on a bench, leaned his head back against the wall, and for a time simply meditated on his life. It was a habit he had of letting all else fade away, and eventually he had discovered he could become completely unconscious of his material surroundings. He found himself praying silently, Help me, O God that I do not know. I do not know your name, but I know that everything I see around me did not make itself. Nor did blocks of stone make anything. I believe that you made it all. Please hear my prayer and show yourself to me.

  Suddenly a shadow fell across his face, and Abram opened his eyes, startled to see an old man standing in front of him. He jumped to his feet and bowed, for the man appeared to be very old and rather weak. “Can I help you, sir?” Abram asked gently.

  The old man had been tall once, as tall as Abram himself. Now time and difficulties had brought a stoop to his frame. Age lines crisscrossed his face, and he had few teeth, but his dark eyes were bright and alert. He leaned on his staff and coughed several times with a deep racking sound that alarmed Abram.

  “Come in and let me give you something to eat,” Abram offered, “and perhaps you need a place to stay tonight.”

  The old man straightened up, controlled his coughing, and stared at Abram. “What’s your name?” the old man demanded. His voice was shocking, for it had the strength of a much younger man.

  “Why, my name is Abram. This is my father’s house. His name is Terah.” The old man smiled slightly, and Abram could not fathom what it was about the ancient fellow that troubled him. “Come in,” he repeated. “We’re always glad to welcome a traveler.”

  The old man did not move, however, but stood silently for so long that Abram began to wonder if he was in his proper mind. He seemed to be alert, but he also appeared to be listening to something Abram himself could not hear.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” the old man finally said.

  “No, sir, I don’t think I do. Have we met?”

  The smile grew more pronounced. “Yes, we have met many times. The last time I saw you, you were very young, and I took you fishing down at the river. You caught a turtle and it frightened you. But we ate him for supper that night.”

  A faint memory began to stir in Abram, and then suddenly he straightened up and gasped with surprise. “Grandfather?”

  “Yes, I’m your grandfather. Old Nahor come home to die.”

  Abram could not believe his ears, but he had to believe his eyes. The memories were faint, and the family had long ago decided that Nahor had died on one of his journeys. But as Abram stood before him, something in the wise old eyes convinced him, and he stepped forward and put his arms around the old man. “I remember you well!” he cried. “You used to tell me wonderful stories!”

  ****

  When Abram went to fetch his father, Terah did not want to believe that Nahor was out in the courtyard, and he was reluctant to follow Abram. But follow he did, and when Terah saw Nahor for himself, he was stupefied. He spoke to the old man cautiously, trying to convince himself that this was an impostor.

  The old man’s mind, however, was sharp, and he saw Terah’s plight at once. “You think I’ve come home to take over as head of the family, don’t you?” Nahor said.

  This was exactly what Terah had been thinking, but he blustered, “Why, certainly not, Father!”

  Abram was standing beside his grandfather. He almost laughed when he saw how easily the old man read his son.

  Terah’s face could conceal nothing, and now he stammered unconvincingly, “Why…why, I’m happy to see you!”

  “Well, you needn’t worry that I’ll usurp your place,” Nahor assured him. “I’ve just come home to die.”

  Terah blinked with shock. “Why, that’s no way to talk!”

  Nahor smiled and shook his head slightly. “All I need is a bed to lie on and some bread once in a while.”

  “We can do better than that, Father,” Terah said. “Come inside. I’ll send for my sons. We’ll have a celebration.”

  Terah scurried off, and Nahor turned to his grandson. “He hasn’t changed much.”

  “Really?”

  “No, he’s as easy to read as a child.” Nahor stepped closer and peered into Abram’s face. “You’re not like him. You’re more like me.”

  Abram grinned broadly. “That’s what ever
yone says.”

  “Do they, now?” Nahor’s dark eyes danced with amusement. “We’ll have to have some talks, you and I.”

  “I’ll look forward to that, Grandfather.”

  ****

  Nahor’s return to Ur made little change in the household. He received the greetings of the family as if he had been only gone a week. For the most part he resisted the urge to tell about his travels, and for several days did little but sleep and eat. Sarai saw to it that he received nourishing food. She was fascinated by the old man and made sure that he got the best of care.

  Terah still remained unconvinced that his father had no intentions of taking back his place as the head of the house.

  “You haven’t been listening to him, Father,” Abram told him.

  “What do you mean, son?”

  “He’s not interested in this world.”

  Terah stared at Abram. “Which world, then?”

  “The one that exists beyond death.”

  Terah shook his head doubtfully. “He’s not still looking for that one God, is he?”

  For a moment Abram did not answer. Then he said so softly that Terah almost missed it, “I believe he’s found Him.”

  ****

  “The river hasn’t changed,” Nahor said. He was sitting down with his feet in the waters that swept by, and Abram sat cross-legged beside him. The two had formed the habit of coming down to the river in the cool of the evening after the sun had set. At first, Nahor had waited for Abram to pepper him with questions but soon discovered that the young man knew how to be silent. It was a quality Nahor admired, and he found a great deal of pleasure in simply sitting beside this tall young grandson of his.

  The western horizon still glowed red, but the desert air was cooling quickly now. From time to time Nahor reached down, cupped his hand, captured the water, and poured it over his head, washing the sandy grit from his hair. Finally he turned to Abram and said, “Well, the others think the crazy man has returned. What do you think?”

  Abram had discovered that Nahor had a quick sense of humor, and he answered lightly, “I think I’m as crazy as you, Grandfather.”