No Woman So Fair (50 page)

Hagar turned to him and whispered, “You never loved me.”

Still Abraham remained silent. He held her eyes for a moment, then turned to meet Ishmael's gaze. “This is not my choice. It is yours, Ishmael.”

In a flash of anger Hagar whirled and shouted, “You'll regret this! My son will become a great man. We will have our revenge on you and all your people! Come, my son.”

Abraham stood his ground and watched as the two walked steadfastly away, tears streaming down his cheeks at the pain his choices had brought to so many. Not once did either Hagar or Ishmael look back, and when they had disappeared over a rise, Abraham heard again the voice of the One he loved more than life itself.

“Abraham, do not be so distressed about the boy and your maidservant. Listen to whatever Sarah tells you, because it is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned.”

Abraham stood long and listened to the voice that spoke to him. It was a voice filled with comfort, and Abraham, who had thought that nothing could comfort him, found that the Eternal One was indeed able to do all things. He knew he had brought this on himself, but even so, the voice carried no tone of censure, no condemnation. Abraham heard nothing but love, and he fell on his face and cried out, “O Eternal One, you are the strong God, but you are also the God of goodness and mercy.”

Two oil lamps cast an amber corona of light over the interior of the tent. They twisted the shadows into tortured shapes, shedding yellow, flickering beams on the carpet and walls of the tent. Abraham's face looked worn, for the lamplight deepened the shadows of his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks and made the lines of his face more apparent.

The boy who sat across from him had none of these, for at the age of fourteen, Isaac's face was smooth, his eyes clear, his features showing traces of his mother's beauty. He studied the game board in front of him carefully, then reached out and moved one of the pieces. He looked up and laughed. He had a good laugh, in keeping with his name, which meant “laughter.” His skin was olive but fairer than most boys of the tribe, more like his mother's in her youth. His voice was high and clear. “I've beaten you again, Father!”

Abraham looked down at the board and shook his head as if he had just awakened from sleep. He searched for a way to extricate himself, then had to concede that he was indeed trapped. His lips turned upward in a smile, and he shook his head. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Isaac. Beating your old father like that!”

Isaac's face softened and he said gently, “Well, you're not thinking about the game, Father. You're thinking about Zara.”

Sarah, who sat holding Zara's one-year-old infant, smiled at this. Isaac had all the qualities that she most admired in a man—gentleness, goodness, compassion.
He can't even stand to beat his father in a silly game
, she thought. Suddenly a sigh caught her attention, and she looked down to see Zara's sleeping three-year-old daughter curled up on the floor. Looking at the little girl's lovely face highlighted by the glow of the oil lamp, Sarah spoke her thought. “These girls are the very image of their mother.”

Abraham turned away from the board and studied the two children. “You're right,” he said. A glow of humor touched his eyes, and he said, “And it's a good thing they take after their mother. She's a lot better looking than Eliezer.”

Isaac spoke up. “I don't think Eliezer's ugly, Father.”

“No, of course not. But these girls here, they're going to be beauties just like Zara.”

Isaac turned his head at the sound of a woman's cries of agony coming from a nearby tent. “Are you worried about Zara?” he asked Abraham, and then his eyes went to Sarah, as they always did. She and Isaac were very close, and she understood what he was asking.

“Giving birth is always a dangerous matter, son. Many women die bringing new life into the world.”

Isaac grew thoughtful as the two adults watched him. He had a way of thinking things over. One could almost hear his mind working. He was not quick to speak, as a rule, but he often asked very difficult questions.

“Why does having a baby have to be so hard on a woman, Mother?”

Sarah blinked with surprise. She glanced at Abraham, who was waiting for her answer, his hand covering his mouth. She knew that he was smiling at her, but this didn't trouble her. “I don't know, son.”

This answer did not satisfy Isaac. “I don't see why everything can't be different.”

“What do you mean by different?” Abraham asked.

Isaac struggled to put into words what was troubling him. He looked up and met his father's eyes. “Why are some things in this world so beautiful and some so terrible?”

Abraham shook his head in wonder. “Men have been asking that question for thousands of years, son.”

“And women too,” Sarah added, rocking the sleeping child back and forth. “The world is not what God intended it to be, son. He made it good, but people sinned and brought pain and suffering into the world, spoiling His perfect creation.”

“Well then, why doesn't God just destroy everything bad and make everything good again?”

Abraham folded his hands and leaned forward. He began to speak earnestly, as to an adult. His son was young in years, but he had been asking questions since he had learned to talk. At first they had been simple ones, but as the boy grew they became more and more difficult, framing problems that the seers of all nations in all generations had struggled with.

“You've heard me tell the stories as they came down to me from my grandfather. He got them from his father, stories that had been passed down through generations.”

“Yes, Father, but don't those stories tell of how God destroyed the world with a flood because it was so evil?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Then everyone in the world goes back to Noah.”

“That's right. You've learned your lesson well, Isaac.”

“But then if God destroyed all the evil, why is it still here?”

Abraham sighed and struggled for an answer. “I think because when our first father sinned, something in him changed, and he somehow passed that on to his sons.”

“Yes—I remember the stories. Cain killed Abel, and then Adam and Eve had another son, Seth.”

“That's right. And all of our line comes down through Seth, the more righteous of the sons of Adam. Nevertheless, the descendants of Adam all had evil in them, and they spread it again throughout the earth, even after the flood.”

Isaac sat listening as Abraham talked, but when his father fell silent, Isaac said, “When the first man sinned, I wonder why the Eternal One didn't just destroy him and start all over with another good man.”

“No one can answer that question, son. The Eternal One does what He chooses, and we mustn't question it.” He leaned forward and took the medallion he had worn all his life from beneath his robe. He rubbed it with his thumb and studied the lion with the uplifted paw and the fierce, noble face, wondering what it all meant. For a long time he remained silent, then said, “I think that someday one is coming who will be what the first man, Adam, should have been. And he will set all things right again. There'll be no more ugliness in the world or injustice or sin.”

Sarah watched as Abraham continued to speak. Her eyes fell on the medallion, and she wondered if Isaac would be the next to wear it.

A cry came from outside, and Isaac rose and flew to the door of the tent. “It's Eliezer!” he cried. He stepped back in as the tall form of Eliezer entered.

Sarah saw the relief on his face and cried out, “Is the child here?”

“Yes.” Eliezer had to keep himself from shouting. He had such joy on his face, they did not need to ask if all was well.

“Come and see our son,” Eliezer said, his face beaming. He reached over, picked up his sleeping daughter, and left the tent.

Sarah tried to get up, but the child she was holding was heavy.

Isaac reached out to take the baby. “Let me carry her, Mother.”

As Sarah surrendered the child, a warmth grew in her heart over Isaac's concern. It pleased her that her son loved all children—especially the daughters of Eliezer and Zara.

Sarah stepped out of the tent, and Abraham took her by the arm, making their way as quickly as their old legs would carry them to Zara and Eliezer's tent. Eliezer had arrived ahead of them and was now kneeling by his wife and baby. Sarah moved closer and saw that Zara was exhausted, her face pale and wan. Yet she had a beautiful smile.

“Let me hold my son,” Eliezer whispered. He took the child, and the three visitors moved forward, gathering around to stare down into the red face of the infant.

“Why, he looks like you, Eliezer,” Isaac said.

“That's right,” Abraham said. “I can see he's going to be a fine, strong man just like his father.”

While Isaac and the men admired the infant, Sarah went to Zara and kissed her, whispering, “You've done so well. What will you call him?”

Zara smiled as her eyes went to the baby. “His name is Zani.”

Abraham had taken his turn holding the infant. “‘Gift from God,' “ he said, smiling. “What a wonderful name!”

Eliezer had gone over to kneel again beside Zara. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. “You did so well. Thank you for giving me such a fine son.”

Zara touched Eliezer's cheek and said fervently, “I hope he's as good a man as his father!”

****

The sun had already gone down when the moon made its appearance, a pale globe in the sky. It was five months after Zani's birth. Sarah looked up at the moon and turned to Abraham, who was sitting beside her outside their tent. “Last night I was holding Zani,” she said, “and he saw the moon.”

Abraham turned to her with interest on his face. “That's an observant young fellow. He's growing so fast.”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “He's a beautiful boy. I was looking at the moon, and suddenly I saw his eyes focus. And you know what he did?”

“What?”

“He reached for the moon, just as if he could reach out and grab it in his hand.”

Abraham chuckled. “I guess I've been doing that myself for a long time.”

Sarah smiled. “I think you've been reaching for something as long as I've known you. Probably even before.”

Abraham took her hand. “Well, I don't have to reach anymore. I have you, and I have the son God promised.”

He would have said more, but suddenly there was a sound of an animal approaching. There was still enough daylight left to see a traveler come to the edge of the camp and dismount. He was immediately challenged by the guard and stopped. Abraham and Sarah could hear the voices, then could see the guard wave the traveler on into the camp. They watched as the tall man strode purposefully toward them.

“Who could that be coming this late?” Sarah asked quietly.

“I have no idea.”

They could not make out the man's face, but finally he came to stand before them, and a shock ran through them both.

“Ishmael!” Sarah uttered.

Abraham was so surprised he found it difficult to speak. Ishmael was robed in a thin black garment with a black turban wrapped around his head. His eyes had always been deep set and sharp, but now they were like the eyes of an eagle. Strength was in every line of his body, and for just an instant both Abraham and Sarah felt a touch of something close to fear. This son of Abraham's was so vital and strong he could be dangerous.

Abraham rose, as did Sarah. “Welcome, my son. Come in. You must be hungry and tired after your journey.”

Ishmael bowed low and said, “Father, it's good to see you.” He turned to Sarah and studied her briefly and smiled. “It's good to see you also, mistress.”

Sarah raised her voice, and a servant appeared. She commanded that food and drink be brought, and Abraham invited Ishmael into the tent. Sarah helped with the meal while the two men talked. When the food was ready, she set it before Ishmael. Abraham was not hungry, so the couple simply sat down across from him as he ate. At Ishmael's request, Abraham told him about various members of the tribe. When Ishmael had finished his meal, a servant carried away the plates. Ishmael took the cup of barley beer, drank it down, then nodded, saying, “The food was good. I was hungry.”

Abraham hesitated, then said, “I have heard, my son, that you have done well—that you have a family now and that many are joining your clan.”

“Yes, Father, that is true.” Ishmael looked at Abraham with a question in his eyes. “Are you well, Father?”

“Yes. Sarah and I are very well.”

“And Isaac. Is he well too?”

An instant's hesitation revealed Abraham's agitation over the circumstances leading to Ishmael and Hagar's dismissal from the camp. He could not read anything in Ishmael's eyes, so he finally said, “Yes, very well.”

Ishmael nodded. “That is good. I am glad.”

Sarah raised her voice and asked the question that was on her mind as well as on Abraham's. “How is your mother, Ishmael?”

“She is dead.”

The blunt announcement brought a pang of grief to Sarah. During the last years Hagar had been with them, there had been much trouble, and Sarah had grown to hate her. But she remembered how kind Hagar had been to her in Egypt, and she whispered, “I am so sorry. When did she die?”

“Only a month ago. She caught a fever and could not get rid of it.”

Abraham was silent. “She was a strong woman,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and spoke the question that was most on his mind. “Son, did your mother ever forgive me?”

Ishmael dropped his head, unable to meet his father's eyes. “She was not a forgiving woman, Father.”

“I'm sorry to hear it.” Abraham knew he had one more question that he must ask. “And you, my son, have you forgiven me?”