Daughter of Deliverance (4 page)

“I think so. He's offered to help my nephew, who is very ill.”

“I hope it works out.”

“Are…are you his wife?”

The woman laughed aloud. It was a harsh laugh without humor. “His wife? Shalmanezer doesn't have a wife. Don't you know what this place is?”

“This place? You mean this house?”

“Yes.”

“Why, no—I assume it's his home.”

“It's a brothel. We keep prostitutes here—for men. No, Shalmanezer doesn't have a wife. He doesn't need one.”

Before Rahab had time to react, Shalmanezer appeared. “Well, Lamile, I see you're getting acquainted with Rahab. I've been trying to get her to stay with us.”

Rahab was paralyzed now with fear. She knew about brothels and whores and the men who visited them, but she had never associated all that with such a fine house as this. She could not think what to say. “I must go,” she said.

Shalmanezer lightly stepped closer and took her arm. “Why work yourself to death? It will be an easy life here. I'll see that your family is well cared for.”

Lamile's eyes glittered and she smiled cruelly, but she said nothing.

“I must go, sir. I thank you for your offer, but I couldn't live here.” She turned and hurried out.

****

As soon as the door closed, Lamile smiled, “Well, your charm didn't work this time, did it?”

Shalmanezer reddened with anger, but then he burst into laughter. “Oh, she will be back.”

“I doubt it. She appears to be meek enough, but I think she has a streak of stubbornness.”

“I can get any woman I decide on. I got you, didn't I?” he taunted her.

Lamile stiffened angrily. “You'll not get this one.”

“You're very sure of that, aren't you? But there are ways.” He ran his long, sensitive fingers over his beard, and his eyes glittered. “Yes, there are ways,” he said. “I will have her here, Lamile. You can count on that!”

Shalmanezer kept his word concerning the physician. The primary physician in all of Jericho came to see Oman the day after Rahab's visit. He prescribed medicine and was a cheerful, good-natured fellow. Before he left he turned to Rahab and winked lewdly. “Well, I've done my part. Now it's your turn.”

The roly-poly physician left, and Romar, who was holding Oman in her lap, asked Rahab quizzically, “What did he mean by that?”

Rahab had concocted a story in her mind and said, “Well, I agreed to do some work for Shalmanezer in return for the doctor's visit.”

“What sort of work?”

“Housework, I suppose. I can clean or cook.” Rahab could not bring herself to look directly at Romar as she said this. She felt guilty for deceiving her sister, but it had to be done, and that was all there was to it.

The next evening when she went to the house of Shalmanezer, Lamile met her. There was a strange smile on the woman's thin lips, and she said, “Well, you're back.”

“Just long enough to work off the debt I owe to the master for the physician's visit.”

“You aren't going to join us permanently, then?”

“Oh no. I couldn't do that.”

“You have something against harlots?”

The blunt question struck Rahab hard, and she did not know how to answer. Dropping her gaze toward her feet, she shook her head and murmured, “I just want to do housework or cleaning, something like that.”

“Very well. There's plenty of that to do,” Lamile said. “But you're a fool not to join us. It's an easy life here.” When Rahab didn't answer, she shrugged and said, “I'll show you your duties.”

Rahab threw herself into the work, happy that Shalmanezer was out of town on business. She did not think she could face the man again. She was aware that Lamile was watching her carefully as she worked at menial tasks for the next three evenings after her regular job at the weaver's. As she watched men coming and going for all the young prostitutes under Shalmanezer's care, she was convinced more than ever that she could never give herself to a life like this. She considered the men despicable, but she kept silent, especially around Lamile.

On the third evening, Lamile said, “That's enough. Your debt is paid, and I think you are a fool for working yourself to death when you could have an easy life.”

Rahab lifted her head and said quietly, “It's not something I could do.” She turned abruptly and left. It was dark, and she hurried through the streets lit only by dim torchlight. When she entered her house, she stopped dead still, for there was a man she did not recognize sitting at the table. Her father was sitting beside him, and Makon said, “Ah, here's Rahab. You remember her, don't you, Hamath?”

The man seated beside her father was thin and balding, about the same age as her father, or perhaps slightly older. He was apparently shortsighted, for he squinted and leaned forward, then smiled, exposing very bad teeth. “Why, she was just a baby the last time I saw her. She's grown up well.”

“This is our kinsman Hamath, Rahab.”

“How are your kinsmen?” Rahab asked politely. She did not remember meeting the man, but she had heard her father speak of him often enough. Hamath was his second cousin, but you would have thought they were blood brothers by the way her father had always bragged on their acquaintance.
“Why, he's the richest man in Bashan,”
he would often say.
“He's got money coming out of his ears. I wish he'd remember me with some of it.”

To Rahab, Hamath did not have the appearance of a prosperous man, though she bowed to him before going to embrace Oman. Zayna was helping her sister with the cooking, and Rahab whispered to them, “When did he get here?”

Romar's whisper was also low. “He just came about an hour ago. I hardly recognized him. The last time I saw him he was hale and strong and dressed in fine clothing. Now he looks like a beggar.”

“What does he want?”

“He's fallen on hard times. It's easy to see that. I expect he'll tell us his story after he's eaten.”

The two women prepared a meal, and Hamath ate like a starved wolf while he and Makon spoke of old times. Once the meal was finished and the single bottle of wine in the house was brought out, the two men drank and Makon asked abruptly, “You don't look well, Hamath. What's happened to you?”

“Don't look well?” Hamath snorted. “I guess I don't after what I've been through.”

“You've had hard times. That's easy enough to see. Where's your family?”

“Dead. All dead.”

Makon blinked with shock and shook his head. “That's a hard blow. How did it all happen? Why have you left your homeland?”

Hamath took a big gulp of the wine and then shook his head sadly. His eyes were dim with the beginning of cataracts. “Cousin, you know how well I did after I left Jericho and moved to Bashan.”

“I remember. Your father was against it. I guess we all were. After all, we didn't know anything good about those Amorites and people in that country. They're pretty vicious.”

“Men are vicious everywhere, but it turned out all right. I made a lot of money there. We had a good king. His name was Og. He was a hard man but fair, as kings go. As long as you didn't displease him, he wouldn't cut off your head.”

“Well, we heard word that you were prospering. What happened?”

Hamath finished off the cup of wine, then shoved it over to let Makon refill it. Everyone kept their eyes on the disheveled man who sat at their table. His clothes were filthy and patched. His cheeks were sunken in, and he had all the earmarks of a fugitive. Even sitting there in the safety of their home, he kept glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected someone to burst through the door and seize him.

“Everything was going fine—until those cursed Israelites came!”

“You mean the people we've heard about?” Rahab asked eagerly. “The ones who followed Moses out of Egypt?”

“The same bunch. They're a bloodthirsty, wicked bunch of cold-blooded killers.”

“You don't say!” Makon said, shock etched across his face. “We've heard rumors but nothing definite.”

“Well,
I
can tell you something definite.” Hamath gulped down more wine, letting some of it dribble over his chin. “They came into the Amorite country like an army. It all started when they asked Sihon, the king of the Amorites, for permission to pass through his country. Sihon's a hard man. He told them to stay out. Well, that was a mistake. The Israelites came down like a bunch of ravening wolves. They killed everything that had breath, even the children, all the way from Arnon to Jabok. They took all of Sihon's cities and all the villages. It's theirs now. But that wasn't enough.”

“You mean they came to Bashan?”

“We heard they were coming, and if I had sense enough, I would have sold out and left. It just never occurred to me that Og could be defeated by a rabble of shepherds. Og did his best. He armed every able-bodied man, including me, and we went out to meet the Israelites. We had good arms and good leaders, but we were like children against them.” Hamath began to shake and tremble. Putting his hands over his face, he even wept. “They killed us as if we were sheep. It was all the doing of their god.”

“What's their god's name?” Rahab asked eagerly.

“They call him different names. Most of the time it's Jehovah. Sometimes simply the Holy One.”

“What does their god look like?” Kadir asked, leaning forward, his eyes bright with interest.

“Nobody knows. That's what's frightening. We know all of our gods, for they're made out of stone or clay, but their god doesn't have any form.”

Kadir shook his head. “I've never heard of a god without form. How do they know who he is, then?”

“Oh, I don't know anything about that. All I know is he's the strongest god I ever saw. I ran away when I saw everybody was going to get killed. I went back home, but the Israelites got there before I arrived. My family were all dead, and everything was burned or destroyed or carried off. Even the king was killed.”

There was a silence around the table until Rahab asked, “What will you do now, kinsman?”

“I have nowhere to go. I came to beg you to take me in.”

“Well, we have little enough here, but you can stay with us,” Makon said. He was studying his kinsman with a critical gaze. “Do you think the Israelites will head this way?”

“I don't know, but if they do, I'm getting out. Nobody can stand against that god of theirs!”

After the guest had been given a corner to sleep in and had fallen into a drunken stupor, the family talked about what he had said. “It sounds like a bad situation,” Kadir said. “If the Israelites head this way, we're done for.”

“Not our city,” Makon boasted. “The walls of Jericho are famous throughout the world. Nobody could break them down.”

Rahab was not so sure, but she kept silent. At first she listened to the men talk, but then she put the children to bed. She herself lay awake for a long time and was preoccupied with the idea of the god of the Hebrews.
A god with no form that cannot be seen
. Somehow this appealed to her, for the statues of the gods of Jericho were oftentimes crude, and it was all she could do to make herself kneel down and pray to hunks of stone. She drifted off to sleep, wondering what it would be like to have a god like that of the Israelites.

****

Rahab quickly put the idea of Shalmanezer out of her mind, but a week after Hamath's arrival, one of the prominent citizens of Jericho, a merchant named Joar, stepped unannounced into their lives. Joar met Makon during a gambling match, and the two had become close friends. Makon had returned home exultant. He had money in his pocket, and he flung it on the table, crying out, “See this! I won all this tonight. I have a new friend named Joar. Tomorrow we're going to the home of the richest man in Jericho.”

“Who is that?” Kadir asked.

“His name is Shalmanezer. He's the one you worked for, isn't he, Rahab?”

“Yes.” Rahab's heart fluttered, knowing that the meeting between Joar and her father was not accidental. “If I were you, I'd stay away from there. It's a bad place, Father.”

“A bad place? But look at all this money,” Makon boasted. “Joar's good luck for me. You wait and see. We'll all be dressed in silks and drinking the best wine in the country. Just wait and see!”

****

That was the beginning of more anxious times for Rahab's family. Makon went almost every day the following week to the home of Shalmanezer. He brought home money every night, most of the time so drunk he could barely walk. In fact, one night he had to be carried home by Shalmanezer's servants.

Rahab was deeply troubled about all this, and she said as much to Romar. “Father's going to get in trouble with Shalmanezer and Joar.”

“Why do you say that? He's winning money.”

“They're letting him win money. Father's a terrible gambler. You know that.”

“Maybe he's just gotten lucky.”

Rahab did not answer, but she knew better. She tried to speak to her father to warn him, but he merely laughed at her. “Are you afraid of being rich, girl? Look at this money I won. This family is going up, I tell you.”

The next day Shalmanezer came to the weaver's establishment. As usual, Gadiah fawned over him, and when he led the rich man into the workroom, Shalmanezer came directly over to Rahab. “How's that nephew of yours?”

“He's doing better, sir. I thank you for your help.”

“Nothing to it.” Shalmanezer waved his perfumed hand. “And Lamile tells me you're a good worker. So I guess we're all even.”

“Still, I must thank you, sir. I'm very grateful.”

“It's nothing…nothing at all,” he insisted, then added, “I met your father. Perhaps he's told you about our acquaintance.”