Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) (35 page)

“And he was a little boy.” Hassaweh laughed. “I wish I could have known him then. Before he had blooded his blade.”

The words sent a chill down Rachel’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was thrilling or appalling, how casually Hassaweh spoke of it. “Is Choraz such a killer, then?”

“A mighty warrior,” said Hassaweh. “But also a little boy. Who’s the strongest? Who can run fastest? Who can cut deepest? So much competition. But his men love him. The ones he brought with him, they came even though he forbade them.”

“So they love him but don’t obey him.”

“‘If you need me and I’m far away, how will I be able to serve you?’” Hassaweh quoted. “These are free men that Choraz could have killed or sold into slavery when he captured them. Instead they serve him, because they know quality when they see it.”

Rachel thought of the first time she saw Jacob. How different he was from all other men. Like a lion among dogs. Did Choraz look that way to Hassaweh?

There was no way to ask
that
question, so instead Rachel asked the obvious one. “Why did you visit me so early in the morning?”

“Because your sister and her handmaiden and
your
handmaiden are gathered in the dooryard of your husband, reciting from arcane scrolls and scratching papyrus till it bleeds black.”

Rachel laughed. It was the first time she’d heard anyone be really clever, and it was funny, to think of Bilhah’s writing as if it were an injury to the scroll.

“And I had no intention of breaking fast with my husband’s brother’s wives. I’m sure they serve the purpose for which they were obtained—your brothers have anthills of children, apparently, swarming madly about the camp.”

“Most of the children belong to the servants.”

“Out and about, underfoot?” Hassaweh seemed genuinely surprised. Which made Rachel wonder where servants kept their children in whatever city she came from.

“What city are you from?” asked Rachel.

“One you’ve never heard of,” said Hassaweh.

“Try me. I don’t live in a cave.”

“Axeptemantex,” said Hassaweh. Or at least that was what Rachel thought she heard.

Rachel smiled and shook her head. “Back to the cave with me.”

“No one speaks the language of the Medes,” Hassaweh said. “My ancestors conquered on horseback, but soon enough they lived like the people they conquered. Only their language did they keep. So when I saw your brother, I thought: This is the kind of warrior that once my own forefathers were. It made me curious, as if by knowing him I’d come to know myself as I might have been.”

“And who did you find yourself to be?”

“I found myself to be a woman, like any other woman, because he was a man, like any other man.”

The words had such bitterness in them that Rachel wasn’t sure she had understood. “Then why did you marry him?”

“Oh, you never find this out until you’re married,” said Hassaweh. “You’ll see.”

“What will I see?”

“Before they marry you, they’re so kind, so attentive. So …” She said a word in her own language. “Like a loving servant. Though I admit that your husband is the first I heard of who actually
became
a servant to win the woman he loved.”

“Jacob might enter into service for a time,” said Rachel softly, “but he is always a prince, the keeper of the birthright of Abraham.”

Hassaweh waved her hand airily. “I’m sure you’re right.” Then she chuckled dryly.

“But you think that even Jacob will be like all other men?”

“It’s all a show,” said Hassaweh. “I will love you forever. I will be so tender with you.”

“Choraz
is
careful of you,” said Rachel.

“For show. Outdoors, where others can see.”

“Does he … hit you?”

Hassaweh laughed. “No, he’s not such a fool as
that
. He’s a man, but he also knows who and what
I
am.”

“What are you?” asked Rachel. As long as she brought it up.

“I’m a woman that you only hit once,” said Hassaweh.

Rachel decided to be a bit perverse. “Are you that easily broken?”

Hassaweh hooted with laughter. It surprised Rachel that this aloof lady could laugh so loudly. “You’re a sharp one. Maybe you’ll be able to tame yours as well as I tamed mine.”

“But I don’t intend to tame him,” said Rachel. “He isn’t wild.”

“You’ll see,” said Hassaweh. “Tell me about rams and ewes, shepherd girl. Tell me about bulls and cows.”

Rachel turned away her face. “You don’t need me to explain such things.”

“I didn’t grow up among animals!” said Hassaweh. “But all I meant was this: Tell me what the ewe does, when the ram comes at her?”

“She … stands there … and then she … runs away.”

“Men are rams, only they think that every woman is always in heat.”

Rachel tried again to understand what she was saying. “Has Choraz been unfaithful to you?”

“Do you think I want him to father some other woman’s
brats? That’s the bitter choice: A man will love the woman who bears him sons. So you have to keep him coming to
you
when the desire comes on him. Or when his friends goad him to show how manly he is. That’s the best time, I can assure you,” she said, and from her tone of voice Rachel knew she meant it was the worst. “Always in their cups at such times,” said Hassaweh. “Stinking and fumbling until they either fall asleep or throw up. But
you
don’t want to shame him in front of his friends, so you cry out in
ecstasy
as if he had just transported you to heaven.”

Rachel blushed. She had heard servant women cry out sometimes in their tents and once, when she was young, she had told her Father, “We must go help,” and Father laughed and said, “Nine months later is when we go to help a woman in such distress.” At the time, Rachel had thought that Father’s laughter meant that the woman was not really in pain. Was it possible that she
was
in pain, but Father didn’t care?

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Rachel.

“Because, shepherd girl, I saw your holy man. How softly he speaks. Yet I also see he has the body of a mighty man of war. Otherwise, your brothers would have killed him long ago, don’t you see?”

“No,” said Rachel. “My brothers aren’t murderers.”

“Not yet,” said Hassaweh. “Your husband, your shepherd, your
ram
, he talks to you so gently, doesn’t he? Listens to you attentively. Are you warm enough? Cool enough? Hungry? Thirsty? Tired?”

Rachel shook her head. “Jacob knows that I know how to fetch water when I’m thirsty.”

Hassaweh rolled her eyes and lolled back on the rugs.
“Worse yet. He’s not even
trying
. Who can doubt how he’ll be after you’re married.”

“How will he be?” asked Rachel, defiantly.

“He’ll take what he wants. Whether you want it or not. Whether you like it or not. And when he’s finished with his own pleasure he’ll toss you aside. If you’re pregnant, he’ll leave you alone for a while. If you’re not, he’ll come at you till you are. You’re not a person to him, Rachel, little sister. You’re a lovely garden he’s been given in order to plant his seed. You’re dirt under his feet, until his garden starts to grow.”

“Do you have any children?” asked Rachel.

Hassaweh smiled broadly. “Not yet,” she said. “But Choraz says he’s glad of it, because he loves me
so much
that he doesn’t want to have to leave me alone at night.” Hassaweh’s smile turned nasty. “You can guess how long
that
attitude will last. I think maybe a year, and then if I’m not carrying his child, he’ll start to look for someone else.”

“He wouldn’t divorce you!”

“He wouldn’t have to,” said Hassaweh. “He just takes another wife. I’m the senior wife, yes … until the second one bears him a son. Then she becomes the mother of his heir, and what am I? No, you can be sure that I’ll bear him a son or die trying. It’s the only way a woman can keep her place in her husband’s house.”

Rachel knew this was true, but no one had ever said it in quite those words. It made it seem ugly and unfair.

“But a shepherd girl like you,” said Hassaweh, “you won’t have any trouble bearing children. I’d worry about your sister. She seems so … frail. While you’re … well, robust. Your arms are so strong. Your face is so
brown
. They tell me you’re out of doors all the time. Like a servant.”

“Jacob and I know every lamb in the flock,” said Rachel icily.

“Yes, well, the only flock
he’ll
care about is the one that comes out of your body. And the only herding he’ll care about is herding
you
.”

“Why do you hate Jacob? What has he ever done to you?”

Hassaweh looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t hate him. I don’t even know him.” She smiled. “I know
you
, though. Well enough to like you. I don’t want you to be surprised. I don’t want you to spend your wedding night weeping because now you know what your husband really is, and it’s too late to put a stop to it.”

“Put a stop to what?”

“To submitting to the bondage of your husband. You have a good and generous father. So did I. So you think your husband will treat you as your father did. But he won’t.”

“He’ll treat me better.”

Hassaweh got to her feet. “Come here, into the outer chamber. There’s more light.”

She led the way into the front room and pulled back the flap on the door to let in more light.

Then, to Rachel’s surprise, Hassaweh pulled her dress up to her shoulders, baring her torso.

“See the bruises?” asked Hassaweh. “Here. Here. But don’t touch them. They hurt me, being so fresh.”

Now Rachel could see that what looked like birthmarks in the slanting light of early morning were angry bruises. “I thought you said he never hit you.”

“No,” said Hassaweh. “He never has. He never will. Don’t you understand? These are the bruises he gave me during
love
.”

Rachel turned away, appalled. She had never heard any of the other women complain of such things. Perhaps it was something they all knew, but preferred not to speak of. “Why haven’t I heard of such things before?”

“Perhaps because no one loves you enough to tell you,” said Hassaweh. “Or maybe they just suppose that it’s the fate of all women, and it will happen to you whether they warn you or not. Better to be married and suffer. Besides, with any luck you’ll get pregnant right away, and then you’ll have some peace.”

“Please put down your dress.”

“Don’t like looking at the marks of your brother’s tender affection, eh? Women are so foolish, when they admire a man because he’s so
strong
. The stronger he is, the worse he can hurt you.”

Not Jacob, thought Rachel. He would never do anything that he thought would hurt me.

“I heard there was a little bit of pain, the first time.”

“I heard that, too,” said Hassaweh. She laughed bitterly. “You should have looked for a weak man. A grateful man. A man who wouldn’t dare to offend your father. You could tame him then. Rule in your own house. I had men like that after me, and I scorned them all. I set my heart on Choraz, the mighty warrior from the desert. What a fool I was. And you, desert girl. You think I haven’t heard the story of this man coming to you when you were—what, eleven years old? Twelve? A child—and he kissed you. Don’t you see? A strong man from the desert, and he looks for a
child
, someone he can overpower easily. Someone he can pick up and toss about however and whenever he wants. A plaything. Your Jacob
wasn’t looking for a woman to be his
wife
. He was looking for a girl to be his … ewe.”

Hassaweh might mean what she said, but she was wrong. Jacob was not like that. “I think,” said Rachel, “that it is disloyal of me to listen to someone speak that way of the man I’m going to marry.”

“Oh, of course. Be loyal!” Hassaweh winked. “Think of me however you like. We’ll talk again
after
your wedding. Then you’ll know who your true friend is.” Hassaweh laughed. “Your lucky sister Leah! So beautiful, so frail—just the sort of woman that brutish men find irresistible. Yet because she’s nearly blind, she gets to keep her freedom. She won’t die in childbirth.”

“She’ll get married,” said Rachel loyally.

“Not very likely,” said Hassaweh. “Or she’d be married already, wouldn’t she?”

“Leah
will
have children,” said Rachel. “She’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“It all comes back to that problem with men, doesn’t it?” said Hassaweh. “We need what they have. But to get it, we have to subject ourselves to them. That’s how the gods have arranged things, so we must endure it.”

Hassaweh slipped out of the tent so quickly that it was almost as if she were fleeing. And perhaps she was, because only a few moments later, Bilhah came in.

“What was Hassaweh doing in your tent, Lady Rachel?” she asked. And then, “Why are you crying?”

But Rachel had no answer. Was she crying because she had never had anyone be so wantonly cruel to her as Hassaweh had been, shaming her with nakedness and slandering her husband and her brother? Or because she feared that
Hassaweh was right about everything, and she was about to lose her happiness.