Pearl in the Sand (39 page)

Clenching her jaw, she turned to face him. “What are we discussing?”

“Zedek.”

She slashed at the air with a dismissive hand. “We already did that.”

“We started, but we didn’t finish. I want to tell you what I’ve been thinking, but I’m not going to do it standing here like a caravan camel.” Without waiting to see if she followed, he went back into the
main area of the tent, which was strewn with comfortable overstuffed pillows and colorful woven rugs. Rahab followed behind, resenting every step. When he sat on a cushion, she chose a rug. When he stretched his legs, she gathered hers into her chest. When he leaned forward, she leaned back.

Salmone ignored her wordless acts of rebellion with the same unruffled immovability he might have shown a child. “We’re going to talk about your nightmare.”

Rahab, who had not expected him to go for the jugular with such persistence, sprung to her feet. Salmone leapt in front of her with a quickness of motion that shocked her.
“Sit down.”
He planted himself before her, a wall of muscle and bone that refused to be budged. She wilted, feeling helpless, and sank back down.

“That’s better.”

“For you, perhaps.”

“True. Now. The nightmare. People have nightmares because they’re afraid of something. What is it you think you’re afraid of?”

“Nosy people?”

He ignored her again. Physical resistance didn’t work. Sarcasm didn’t work. What was going to discourage this man from pursuing this course? What would penetrate his thick skin with the reality that he was wasting his effort and causing her a thousand pains in the process?

“You said that night that you have nightmares because you gave in to Zedek’s every demand. You capitulated to his desires. What you were saying, though I was too dense to see it at the time, was that you were filled with shame about your willing participation. Guilt and shame have eaten at you year after year, increasing with every willing act of adultery.”

Nausea rose up in waves and clogged Rahab’s breath. Large beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she said huskily, unable to repress the panic that mastered her.

Salmone bent forward. “But you are going to.” A cup of water
rested near his hand. He raised it to Rahab’s lips. “Drink this.” She shook her head. “Don’t say no to me,” he commanded. “Drink.”

She drank, too weak to deny him.

“Better?” he asked, as she drank the last drop of water.

“No,” she replied, though the water helped settle her roiling belly.

“I regret that,” he murmured. His eyes were at once soft and intractable. Rahab saw that he would continue, and he did. “I’ve found a strange thing about guilt. Sometimes it’s real—the expression of something wrong that must be appeased. Forgiven. Sometimes, though, it’s guilt for something not really our fault, not really a sin. The right kind of guilt, the kind planted inside us by God’s Spirit, leads us to repentance. Leads us to change. Leads us to the forgiveness of God. It leads to peace, Rahab. But when you become more and more tangled in shame without a way out, without real access to repentance and forgiveness, then you are closing the door to God and to His restoration. There are few things more destructive than unrelenting shame.

“Your problem is that your insides are tangled between shame and honest guilt, and you can’t tell the difference.”

Rahab snorted. “There’s nothing false about my shame.”

“Isn’t there? Let’s talk about Zedek. He took advantage of your poverty. Of your need. If he had been a man of honor, he would have helped you without exacting a selfish price. Instead, he used you. You were fifteen years old! Stuck between a father whose weakness outweighed his love and a man whose lust outweighed his integrity.”

Rahab doubled over. “I should have resisted him. You said so yourself, that night.”

Salmone let out his breath like a giant had stepped on his chest. “Oh, Rahab. The words of a hurting husband don’t always make for truth. Set aside my sinful anger for a minute. Let’s sort through this from God’s point of view. Ideally, if you were a woman grown, if you had the resources to stand against this wrong, yes, you are right. You should not have capitulated. But you were young and
helpless. You had been taught to obey your father and mother. You had been impressed with the direness of your family’s need. So you used your considerable intelligence to work within the parameters that were given you. What sin you committed pales in comparison to the sins committed against you.”

Rahab wanted to believe Salmone’s words, and she wanted to believe that he believed them. Her mind even began to soften a little to the logic of his argument. Her heart, however, would not bend. It insisted on being mired in shame. She could not step out of that shame through the door of well-expressed argument. “You forget that I went on with that life even after I was freed from Zedek. Even after I grew into womanhood and established my independence.” Each word, as it left her mouth, held a bitter taste. Why was she telling him these things? Was she trying to goad him into hating her? Leaving her?

“I told you that what you need to sort through is where your guilt is real and where it is imagined. Miriam told me your story. It always puzzled me that a
zonah
would only have a dozen lovers. Could you have had more if you wanted?”

Rahab avoided looking at him. “Of course,” she said, half hysterical at the thought of discussing such things with her husband.

“I have always wondered about that, Rahab. You’re so beautiful; surely men clamored to be with you?”

Something too close to pride nipped at her heel. Her popularity had been one of the few things in her life that had given her a sense of well-being, albeit fleeting. Here with her husband, that popularity could not count for much, not with her sins hanging out like so much dirty laundry for him to sort through. “Men did want me,” she murmured.

“And you denied them. Why? Wouldn’t you have been wealthier if you had—” Salmone broke off, looking lost for the right words, then pressed forward. “If you had kept company with greater numbers?”

“Please! Can’t we stop this?”

“Not yet. Tell me what I asked.”

She stared at him with unconscious appeal. He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me,” he insisted, refusing to relent.

She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, why won’t you just let me be?”

“Answer my question. The sooner you do, the sooner it will be over.”

She groaned. “I wanted to be with as few men as I could.”

“Why?”

“I felt helpless—caught in this life that I believed I could not change. So I tried to limit the horror of it. Limit my own transgression.”

Salmone leaned forward and stroked her shoulder, his fingers trailing down her arm with a fleeting motion before withdrawing his hand. “I think the Lord takes note of such choices. Takes note of a heart that tries so hard to avoid sin. You had deceived yourself into believing you were helpless—that you could not stop. Of this deception you must repent. Of the acts of adultery that it led you to, you must also repent. But you must let go of the guilt that stands over you like a corrupt judge, always accusing and condemning. When you accept these false accusations, you are willingly participating in them. That is like me helping the men of Ai attack me instead of fighting against them. You have to begin fighting against this condemnation instead of agreeing with it.”

“I don’t know how. Besides, I’ve already repented to the Lord, and nothing has changed.”

“That’s because you don’t understand the mercy of God. You can’t believe, and therefore can’t receive His forgiveness. Do you believe He would extend the same goodness to you that He has offered Izzie?”

No
. She gazed at his calm face with mute helplessness.

Salmone sighed. “Promise you will think about what I’ve said.”

Rahab gave a bitter smile. “Now you want my thoughts too.”

He twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him. His mouth pressed against hers, a demanding searching touch that gave no quarter. Into her lips he murmured, “I want everything.”

H
e was so annoying. Always poking into places she would rather ignore. Yet, Salmone proved his steadfastness in a dozen ways each day. Even his prodding questions demonstrated his interest in her. Annoyance aside, Rahab’s heart increased in love for him every hour. She wanted to shower him with some tangible show of affection, but could think of few things that might please him. One day, it occurred to her that he had not had much opportunity to spend time with old friends since their wedding. In his bachelor days he had been able to entertain friends with more casual ease. Rahab wondered if a modest supper with close friends might please him. As soon as the thought came to her, she decided to act on it that very night. She didn’t think Salmone would enjoy a surprise, so she set out to find him.

He was still entangled in the difficult case involving two influential families. The families in question lived near each other, which aggravated their problems, but helped Rahab locate Salmone quickly. She found him sitting cross-legged outside a luxurious brown tent, the leaders of the two families on either side of him. One of the
men was speaking, his thin lips moving fast so that small droplets of spit flew out of his mouth, landing on his beard and mustache and Salmone’s tunic. Every once in a while, he gesticulated with a wild motion of his ruddy hands, pointing this way and that. Salmone sat stone still, his countenance blank. Rahab had come to know that expression well. It meant he was not pleased. She felt sorry for the spitting fellow. Perhaps this was the wrong time to disturb her husband with something as inane as a feast. She could wait for another night. Swallowing her disappointment, she turned away.

“Rahab!”

Too late. He had seen her. She felt ridiculous now, interrupting an important discussion for a frivolous request. He ran up to her, his eyebrows locked in a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing. I’m sorry to intrude on you. I only have a silly question.”

“An intrusion would be welcome, believe me. Ask your question.”

“I thought, if you are agreeable, to invite a few friends for dinner. Your sister and Ezra, Hanani and Abigail, and my sister and her husband.”

“That’s a fine idea. I would enjoy that.”

“May I use an extra portion of the grain for supper?”

His brows shifted back to a frown. “You don’t need to ask. It’s your grain. Do as you like, Rahab.” His brusque tone hinted at exasperation.

“Most husbands get annoyed if their wives
don’t
ask permission before spending their riches.”

Salmone bent forward, his lips close to her ear. “I’m not most husbands. Haven’t you noticed yet?” And he left before she could tell him that oh, she had noticed. How she had noticed.

The guests arrived before the host, who was late to his own feast. When eventually he showed up, his steps hurried and march-like,
his face was frozen with tension. But within moments of being with trusted friends and family he began to smile, his body relaxing. Pleasure washed through Rahab as she noticed the change. Every moment of the afternoon’s preparations was worth the good it did him.

Dinner, according to unanimous opinion, was a success. Israelite men were easy to please, having for most of their lives feasted on simple and uniform fare. And Israelite women were eager to learn and admire. It was late by the time everyone left, and Rahab and Salmone walked outside with their guests, accompanying them part-way as was custom. Cleaning up took some time since Rahab had sent the servant to bed. He had already fetched fresh water, so she was able to rinse the dishes with relative ease in the dark, using sand to scour them.

When she finally undressed and went to bed, she found her husband fast asleep. Quietly, so as not to disturb him, she slid next to him. The last thing she thought of as she closed her eyes was a picture of Salmone’s face wreathed in laughter at one of Hanani’s witty responses. She had managed to do something that made her husband happy.