No Woman So Fair (42 page)

Her pregnancy had gotten harder, until she had become almost as helpless as a child. She could have borne the discomfort of the pregnancy, but a problem had come to plague her that simply would not go away. And that problem was Hagar and Ishmael.

I wish I had never thought of allowing Hagar to have a child by Abraham. I should have believed the Eternal One, but it was so hard, and I just couldn't. It's been many years, and Ishmael and Hagar have all this time been secure in their position. If not for my son, Ishmael would be the true heir of Abraham, the real son
.

The child within her would be the child of the true wife, and Abraham would, by custom and tradition, make him the heir. Hagar was not even a concubine and really had no position at all. But Abraham had always been kind to her, and as for Ishmael, Abraham had doted on him all of his life.

At the cry of a hunting night bird, she clutched at a sudden drawing pain in her stomach. Instantly she felt a tinge of fear. She had told Zara she was not afraid of giving birth, but now that it was upon her, she did feel great apprehension. Slowly she rolled over on her back, her hands on her stomach, and waited to see if the time had come. Her mind went back to Hagar, and she reviewed her relationship with the bondwoman. She remembered how Abraham had stepped in and defended her from Hagar's attacks against her and how Hagar had run away for a time. It had seemed impossible that the two women could ever be friends again, but Hagar had returned to camp more subdued. They were no longer friends, but Sarah had tried to be civil toward her. She felt she owed her a debt for bearing her husband a son, but she could never bring herself to love the woman who had become her rival.

Her mind worked nervously as she went over the things that were troubling her about what the future might hold. She was old now and would not, in all probability, live to see her son grow up to manhood. And what if Abraham died? Ishmael would be a strong man, and their son, why, he would be only eight years old when Ishmael was in his twenties! Sarah tried not to think of it, but she knew that Ishmael had some wild blood in his veins. It came, of course, from his mother, who had come from a wild and violent tribe.

The possibility that her son would be at the mercy of a much stronger Ishmael, backed by an ambitious mother, terrified her. She was trying desperately not to think any more about it when she was hit with a pain much stronger than any she had felt yet, and she quickly forgot everything else.

“Abraham!”

“Yes?” Abraham awoke at once.

“I…I think it's time. The baby is coming.”

“I'll get the women.” Abraham scrambled to his feet, threw on a robe, and disappeared. Sarah lay quietly and waited, and before he returned, another pain swept over her. “O Eternal One, have mercy on me and this child,” she prayed.

****

The birth was difficult beyond belief. Sarah was willing, but her body was weak. She did not have the strength to push the child. Her bones were too brittle and her joints too frail to sustain the sitting position, and the midwives could do little to ease her pain. She lay hour after hour waiting for the child in agony.

Finally, after her mind was almost paralyzed by the terrible pain, she was surprised to feel some relief. In the dimness of half-consciousness, she was aware of a sensation of release. At first she thought she was dying, but then she heard cries of joy. She could not understand it at first, but then she felt a hand on her head, and she came back to the world. She saw Abraham's face, but her vision was blurred, and she could see him only unclearly.

“We have a son, Sarah! A beautiful baby boy!”

And then the joy came. She felt Abraham's hand on her, patting and stroking her. She heard the cries of the midwives, and she managed to say, “Let me hold him.”

Almost at once the bundle was placed in her arms, and her vision cleared. She looked down at the tiny bit of humanity, and her heart knew great joy. “Our son, Abraham. Our own son!”

“Yes. You have done well.”

“The Eternal One has given us this child. We must never forget it, husband.”

At that moment the child uttered a feeble cry, which grew stronger. Sarah felt herself slipping away again, but she also, strangely enough, laughed aloud. “There,” she said. “I laughed once in disbelief, but now I laugh because God has given me great joy.”

Abraham's eyes were filled with tears, but he managed a smile. “We will laugh together over this son of ours. His name shall be called Isaac, for this is the name given to him by the Lord of all the earth!”

****

Zara lifted the infant high in the air and rocked him back and forth. “What a fine, handsome boy you are, Isaac,” she crooned. She pulled him back into her arms and saw that he was drooling. She wiped his mouth, then sat down beside Sarah, who was watching her fondly. “This is the most beautiful baby in the world, mistress.”

“Well, I think so. But, of course, I'm prejudiced.”

“You're not in the least prejudiced. He's our miracle baby, and the great God above is going to do wondrous things with him.”

Sarah was feeling very good indeed. She had recovered slowly from the ordeal of birth, but now that terrible night was three months past, and she remembered it only faintly. What was real to her now was Isaac. Her days were filled with him, and Zara had become a second mother. Sarah had not produced enough milk for the child, but several of the women with infants had clamored over the honor of nursing the child of Abraham and Sarah.

Sarah studied Zara, pleased with her appearance, as always. She watched the young woman's lips purse together as she made cooing noises to Isaac. There was a glow in the younger woman's eyes that made her beautiful, and Sarah felt a great love for her—almost like that of a mother to a daughter. A thought came to her, and she spoke it aloud.

“You should be holding a child of your own, Zara.”

Zara quickly turned, and a strange expression crossed her face. It was fleeting and Sarah could not read it completely. Silently Zara rose and put Isaac into Sarah's arms. Sarah took the baby and asked, “What's wrong? Have I offended you?”

“No, of course not, mistress. But I am not sure that I will ever marry.”

“Why, you must!”

“Some women don't marry.”

“Only those who can't find a husband. But there must be at least a dozen men who would gladly marry you. I watch their eyes as they follow you.”

Zara shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps someday,” she said, turning away. “I must go fix Eliezer's meal.”

After Zara left, Sarah shook her head. “She needs to marry. She was made to be a wife and a mother.” Isaac grunted then, and Sarah pulled him up to a sitting position. She poked his fat cheek with her finger and said, “You beautiful baby, you! Your mother loves you, and your father loves you. You're going to be the most wonderful man who ever lived!”

A thin moon lay low in the southern sky, faintly lighting the river's surface. Upstream a rain had fallen, turning what was usually a quiet stream into a frothy turbulence. Abraham and Sarah walked hand in hand along the bank, speaking quietly and watching the youngster who ran ahead of them, stopping from time to time to throw a stone or dabble his feet in the water. Abraham's senses were alive to the life all around them—beetles and owls, animals small and large. He fancied he could even hear the trees growing, so much did he feel a part of the pulsing life of the earth all around him.

“Don't fall in the river, son,” Abraham called out.

Isaac stopped and straightened up, and by the faint silvery light the pair could see his smile. “I won't,” he cried out, “but I just saw a turtle, I think.”

“Don't let him bite your toes,” Abraham called and watched as the boy splashed the water upward and then ran farther downstream, his feet making a sucking noise in the rich mud of the bank. Overhead the wind was ruffling up the leaves of the small trees in the thicket to their left, and he savored the smell of the land that rose with the earth's dissipating heat. Overhead the clouds made streaky currents across the ebony sky, swiftly moving ghostly shadows.

Suddenly a star fell, scratching the velvety blackness of the heavens. The two stopped to watch it in wonder, and Sarah said, “I don't know why, but that always scares me a little.”

Abraham squeezed her hand. “Why should it scare you?”

“I don't know. If one star falls, another one might. What keeps them from all falling?”

“I don't know, but I believe that God would never let that happen. I like to think that a falling star is another way God speaks to us, to get our attention and make us think about the wonder and mystery of His creation.”

Sarah contemplated this and then pulled at him. “Come along. Isaac's getting way ahead of us.”

“He's growing like a weed, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is,” Sarah agreed. “I can't imagine what I did without him. It seemed like my life started the day he was born.”

“Mine too, in a way.” He looked up and saw the stars making their pattern across the sky. “Look at them all, Sarah.”

“I know. They're beautiful, aren't they?”

“And so many. And yet the Eternal One said that our descendants would be even more numerous. It is too wonderful for me to take it all in. From that one little boy will come multitudes.”

The two walked along the stream bank, staying close to Isaac, and the shadows of the night lay in velvet pools along the pathway. From far away a wolf howled, adding an indescribable note of wildness to the night. The diluted silver moonlight, the sounds and smells of the night, lent an air of ancient mystery to the scene. It seemed as though the night's blackness was squeezing down on the earth with its weight and its loneliness.

Suddenly Sarah turned to Abraham and asked, “Have you noticed how quickly Ishmael has become almost a man?”

“Yes. He was always a good hunter, and now he far surpasses any man in the tribe.”

Sarah did not answer for a moment. She called out once for Isaac to slow down, and then she turned and said quietly, “The Eternal One told you He'd make a great nation of Ishmael too, didn't He?”

“Yes, He did. I don't understand that, but the Eternal One is never wrong.”

Sarah was troubled but could not voice her fears to Abraham. His whole life was now tied up in Isaac, yet she knew he still had a fondness for Ishmael. She did not trust Hagar. Although the woman had not caused any trouble for a long time, Sarah could not help feeling there was something about Hagar and Ishmael that was not right. She shook off the thought and called out, “Come along, Isaac. Time to go back home.”

****

“Is there any more mutton?”

Hagar glanced up and saw that Ishmael had completely consumed the meal she had put out for him. “Yes, it's cold but there's plenty more.”

“I don't care. Let me have it.”

Getting up quickly, Hagar crossed to the meat that hung from a pole. She sliced off a large chunk of it with a sharp knife, brought it back, and put it down before Ishmael.

Ishmael picked it up in both hands and began gnawing at it as if he were starving, and Hagar shook her head. “You eat too fast.”

“Well, I'm hungry.”

“You always are, but you're growing so fast I suppose that's only right.” Sitting down, Hagar poured some wine out of a goatskin bag and sipped it slowly. It was bitter, but she liked it that way, and as she drank, she studied Ishmael. He did not look so much like Abraham as he did her own father. Abraham had always been relatively thin, but Ishmael was thick and heavily muscled. He was, in fact, a mirror image of Hagar's own father, and Hagar took pleasure in this.
There's more of me and my family in him than there is of Abraham
, she thought with delight.

Hagar had become an unhappy woman since the birth of Isaac. In her mind, the newcomer had burst from the womb and shoved his way into first place in the affections of Abraham and Sarah. It did not surprise her, for Hagar was a woman who understood the call of blood ties and the meaning of family. She was well acquainted with the fact that Abraham claimed God had promised him a son by his true wife, and there was no denying it was a miracle for Sarah to have had a child at her age.

Sipping the wine, Hagar was teeming with frustration. She studied her son, who was now as strong as any man in the camp, very fleet despite his size, and the best hunter anyone had ever seen. Still, her spirit was as sour as the wine she drank, for her hopes of Ishmael being the heir had vanished like a mist with the appearance of Isaac.

“What's the matter, Mother?”

Hagar looked up quickly to see Ishmael, who was chewing his meat and watching her steadily. “I'm just wondering what's going to become of us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We can't stay here forever—not like this.” Dissatisfaction swept across Hagar's face, and with a frown she put down the wine and folded her hands. Staring at him with her large dark eyes, she said, “We have no place, son.”

“Why, we've got a tent. I can bring in all the food we need.”

“That's not enough.”

Ishmael swallowed the last of the meat and belched loudly. He then drained the wine from his wooden cup and set it down hard. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You were born because Abraham wanted an heir, and for a time you were his heir. But then Isaac came along, and now where are we?”

Hagar spoke steadily, expressing her displeasure, and saw her words sinking into Ishmael. A heavy frown darkened his face, and when she fell silent, he said, “It's not fair! My father never pays any attention to me.”

“No, not anymore. He did once.”

“But no more. Now all he wants to do is play with that Isaac.”

Hagar listened as Ishmael complained. She had sown this seed of dissatisfaction in him, and it had found fruitful soil. Now she reached over and took his powerful hand in both of hers. The strength of it gave her assurance, and she said, “Well, there may be one hope.”