By Way of the Wilderness (9 page)

He turned and walked toward the camp with Gili following, peppering him with questions. It was the one trait of the young shepherd that got on Moses' nerves. He himself loved the peace and quiet of the desert, but he could enjoy little of it with Gili around. The lad seemed to have a compulsion to talk constantly, and when he asked a question, he immediately forgot Moses' answer.

When they reached their rough camp, which consisted of a pile of rocks made into a fireplace, some bundles of hides to sleep on at night, and a small store of food kept in a wooden box held together by pegs, Moses opened the box and got out a small clay jar. Taking out the stopper, he dipped his fingers in the ointment and began to apply it to the wounds of the tiny beast.

“What does one lamb matter?” Gili demanded. “He's going to die anyway.”

“You never know what's going to be important, Gili. The Great Creator put me here as a shepherd. It's my task to care for these sheep, and this little one is important.”

Gili stared at the tall form of Moses. He admired the strength of the older man intensely, and, indeed, Moses had become a magnificent figure. He had always been strong, but now his years in the desert roaming the hills had hardened him, burning his skin a deep, coppery hue that accented his fiery eyes, which, though soft and gentle at times, could flash like lightning during periods of anger.

“I don't know why you want to waste your time out here with these sheep,” Gili said. He watched as Moses put the little one down and the tiny animal staggered around. “He's hungry,” Moses said. “We need to get him back to his mother.”

Gili ignored the instruction and moved around to where he could face Moses directly and repeated his question. “Why do you want to fool with these sheep? You've got money enough to hire shepherds. You could do anything you wanted to.” When Moses didn't answer, Gili shook his head in disgust. “People say you're strange.”

Suddenly Moses' face broke into a smile. “You mean they say I'm crazy.”

“Well, some say that. Some say you can do magic—Egyptian magic.”

“That's foolishness.”

“That's what they say.”

“People will say anything.”

Gili shrugged and went over to pick up the lamb and go in search of a ewe that was missing its baby. When he found her, he plunked the lamb down in front of her. “Now, you better take better care of this one. The master thinks he's important.”

Gili returned to Moses' side, then opened a box, reached in, and got out a handful of dried figs. He tossed one into his mouth and began chewing. “Mmm … good figs,” he said.

“Save a few for me, will you?”

“So you can't do any magic. Then why do people say you can?”

Moses hesitated. Ever since he had become Jethro's son-in-law, stories about him had swept through the countryside. Many believed he had magical powers, that he could heal the sick or even raise the dead. This had worked to Jethro's advantage, for he had quickly learned that the skill and the knowledge his son-in-law had stored up in Egypt came in handy out in the desert.

Moses admired his father-in-law—or, at least, respected him—but he had quickly discovered that Jethro, the priest of Midian, pretty much believed in all gods without giving total allegiance to any of them. He dealt with amulets and magic formulas, performed rudimentary medical care, including even a little minor surgery. Jethro, as priest, was also called upon to settle disputes among the tribes that he ministered to. Here, too, Moses was called into service for the Midianites, who had an almost reverential awe of him.

Moses lived among the Midianites, sired two sons, and had a genuine affection for his wife, Zipporah, but his heart was constantly searching after God. As he sought for the God whose name he did not know, he studied the people around him. Although he had led a lonely life, he somehow knew, deep in his heart, that the Almighty would someday reveal himself. Moses did not worship the local gods, nor did he observe any ritual for his own God. It was out in the loneliness of the desert, in the intense and almost palpable silence, that he tried desperately to open up his heart and soul so that the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob would come to him. So far it had not happened—even after almost forty years—but Moses knew he would die seeking God.

****

An hour after the lamb had been rescued from the thornbush, Gili cried out, “There they come. It's Paz and Zimra.”

Moses looked up and listened as Gili railed at the two men for being late. Paz was a fat young man with a round, moonlike face and a foolish grin. Zimra was an old man, whose leathery skin was baked and lined by the desert sun. As Moses gathered his things to go back to his home in the village, Gili winked at him and said, “Don't forget your lamb over there. It's a valuable creature.”

The old man Zimra stared at the scrawny lamb. “What's valuable about him? He probably won't even live.”

“Our master Moses says he's an important beast, and you know Moses is always right.”

Moses paid little heed to Gili's taunts. He nodded to Paz and Zimra and gave them a few instructions, and then, without another word, walked off into the desert. Gili followed alongside him, pestering him with questions.

Paz stared out of his rheumy eyes at the two as they walked off, then shook his head. “Moses worries about a lamb that's nearly dead.”

“He's crazy!” Zimra said. “Anybody'd have to be crazy that would stay out here in this heat when he could be home in comfort. Why does he stay out here?”

Paz nodded wisely. “Well, living with his wife is worse than living out here. She never gives him a minute's peace.”

“He ought to beat her.”

“Yes, he should—but he never will. He's too tenderhearted. That's a serious flaw in a man.”

****

As Moses entered his house he found Zipporah sewing a garment. She had grown rather heavy over the years, and her once black hair now had threads of silver, but her eyes were still sharp and her voice was even sharper.

“So you finally decided to come home.”

“We had to go farther than I thought to find pasture,” Moses said defensively. He walked over and sat down across from Zipporah. “Where are our sons?”

“They've gone to a wedding feast with their friends.”

Moses stared at Zipporah for a moment, but then asked, “Which friends?”

Immediately Zipporah was angry. She threw down the garment she was sewing and got to her feet. “They have to take their friends where they can find them! I'll fix you something to eat.”

Moses sat back on a bench and leaned his head against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for the time he would spend at home. Over the years Zipporah had gotten more difficult to live with. He never offered a word of criticism to her, but he knew she was disappointed in him. His two sons, Gershom and Eliezer, were also critical of him.

“You can come and eat now.”

Moses got to his feet, walked over to the table, and sat down and began to eat. The food was sharp and seasoned with garlic and leeks and onions, and he smiled at her. “This is good.”

“If you'd stay home more, you could have more good cooking.”

“I have to take care of the flocks. You know that.”

“You could hire someone to do that.” Zipporah pulled at her hair, which hung down her back. “You let my father take advantage of you.”

“No I don't. He's always been goodhearted and kind to me.”

“You should demand your share of the profits.”

“All right, I will.”

“No you won't. You ought to think more of your family. What's going to become of us?”

Moses had been through this many times. Indeed, he had been a help to Zipporah's father, but he had no plans to make any claim whatsoever for money or position. Jethro had one son, who had been born a year after Moses married Zipporah, and Moses was content that he would be the heir. Zipporah sat down and watched Moses eat. She could not be quiet for long, and soon she got back to her favorite theme. “Have you thought any more about going back to Egypt?”

“I could never go back there.”

“Why not?”

“That life's closed to me.”

“Your foster mother is a sister to the pharaoh. She's rich. You could have anything you wanted. I don't understand why you don't go back and claim what's rightfully yours.”

Moses had long ago given up any attempts to explain his background to Zipporah, and he did not try now. He knew she was unhappy, and his mind went back to the time when he had first seen her. She had been happy then, and he remembered the dark beauty of her eyes and her hair, her trim form. It seemed like another lifetime to him, and he felt a sudden twinge of guilt because he had not provided for Zipporah the things she seemed to require.

“Why don't you become a priest like my father?”

“I could never do that, Zipporah.”

“Why not? You know all about the gods.”

“There's only one God. I've told you that many times.”

“You could do so much more with yourself.” Zipporah leaned forward, and her mouth twisted with anger. “I can't understand why you're content to stay out in the desert and ignore your inheritance in Egypt.”

Moses had become accustomed to Zipporah's railings, and now he almost welcomed the sound of footsteps. As his father-in-law, Jethro, stepped in, he said with some relief, “Well, I'm home, Father.”

“I know. Gili told me you'd come back. How are the sheep?”

“We'll have one of the best crop of lambs in years. Many fine young animals.”

“Sit down, Father, and let me feed you,” Zipporah said.

Jethro sat down, and she put a huge bowl of the soup before him. Grabbing a wooden spoon, he began to shovel it down, making noises of pleasure. He was a glutton, and it was only when he had finished the bowl that he turned to Moses, belched loudly, and patted his stomach. “Well, Moses, have you thought any more on what I talked to you about?”

“Not really.”

“You ought to.” Jethro leaned forward. “You could become the head of the whole Midianite nation. All it would take would be a little effort on your part.”

“I'm a shepherd.”

“We can hire shepherds by the dozen,” Jethro snorted impatiently. “I'm talking about your future. You could even be a king.”

“I don't want to be a king.”

Zipporah gave a disbelieving cry and shook her head. “If you don't want to be a king, what do you want to be?”

Moses wearily put his spoon down and tried to think of an answer, but he had none. Finally he said, “I will never do more than herd sheep.” He saw the look that passed between Jethro and his daughter and knew he would never please either of them. “I'm going to bed,” he said. “I'm tired.”

****

A month had passed since Moses' return from the wilderness, and during that period of time he had been miserable—as he usually was when he was at home. When he could get away from the house, he prayed all the time. He tried to spend time with his sons, but their interests were so different. They cared nothing even for the gods of the Midianites, and as for an unseen god, they merely laughed at him.

“We have to have a god we can see,” Gershom said. “How can we know he is there if we can't see him?”

Moses had never been able to make his sons or his wife or Jethro understand what it was he was searching for. During the past month he'd had a strange feeling he could not define. It was as if he were rushing toward something up ahead. He could not see what it was. He could not sense it with any of his physical senses—but, finally, he could no longer bear it.

“I'm going to go find new pastures for the flock.”

“You can never be happy here at home, can you?” Zipporah said sadly. She felt she had failed as a wife, and she knew her tongue was too sharp, but she could not seem to help herself. “Don't run off. Spend some time with Gershom and Eliezer.”

“I asked them to go with me, but they claim there's too much to do at home.” Moses knew that was not so, but he had not argued with the two. “I shouldn't be too long this time,” he said defensively.

“Go on, then! If you love your sheep better than your family, go to them!”

****

Moses looked up and saw Mount Sinai, which broke the horizon ahead of him. The sharp, pointed mountain was the highest in the Horeb range, and Moses' eyes scanned from Sinai's craggy peak to the lower rises surrounding it. The Midianites had always considered Sinai a sacred place, and Moses found himself heading toward it, even as his shepherd's eye kept a lookout for pastureland or springs.

Silence rested over the land for the most part, but as Moses drew closer to Sinai, occasional reverberating echoes thundered down from its peak. Moses took it to be falling rock, despite the Midianites' superstitions about the gods of Sinai. Moses had never believed their stories.

Struck by the silence of the land, the old shepherd stopped and fell on his knees to pray. “O God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, look down on your servant. Remember your people, Lord, who are still in bondage in Egypt.”

His voice began to break, and he wept. Finally he rose and wiped the tears from his eyes, then continued on toward Sinai. He had reached the base of the mountain, and as he looked up its rocky slopes, his eyes narrowed at something unusual in the distance. He began to climb toward it and saw that it was a bush on fire. This in itself was not unusual, because in this arid climate, a dry lightning strike could set a bush on fire. But watching carefully, Moses was puzzled to find that the bush was not consumed. He thought to himself,
I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up
.

As he walked toward it, a voice calling his name struck him with the force of a blow.

“Moses! Moses!”