Sarah (23 page)

“What's the use of a god who doesn't help when we make him offerings?” someone dared to say.

Abram's mouth quivered with anger, but he contained himself. “You have all known ten years of happiness,” he said. “A happiness and a prosperity so perfect that they have aroused the envy of all the people around Canaan. Now at the first drought you forget all that. You're free to think what you like. But I say: We have known happiness, now we must know hardship. Yhwh wants to make sure that we trust Him, even when times are hard.”

THE drought lasted another year. The wells dried up, the pastures yellowed, then became dust. Long crevasses opened in the fields of cereals and became the lairs of snakes, which lay in wait for any prey they could find. The grasshoppers began to die, then the birds. The animals went mad, tearing off at a gallop until they fell to the ground dead. Sometimes they would simply drop dead in the heat of the sun or the cold of the night.

King Melchizedek opened the jars of grain kept in reserve in the cellars of Salem, but it was far too little. Hunger was a constant companion. Everyone was ashen-faced and hollow-cheeked. Sarai no longer dared show herself. Like everyone else, she was growing thinner, but her beauty was unchanged.

“I'm ashamed of my appearence,” she said to Sililli one night when neither could get to sleep. “How can I exhibit this horrible beauty that never leaves me, when the women don't have enough milk in their breasts to feed their children?”

The only response was Sililli's harsh breathing.

“Sililli?”

Sililli was gasping for breath. She was shivering, her eyes large with fever, her body hunched in order not to collapse.

“What's the matter?” Sarai asked, anxiously.

“It started this afternoon . . . ,” Sililli breathed, with great effort. “There's a lot like me . . . It's the water . . . The dirty water . . .”

Sarai sent for Lot and a midwife. They wrapped Sililli in covers and skins. She began to sweat and gnash her teeth. From time to time, her lips drew back to reveal unnaturally pale gums.

“The fever is taking her,” the midwife observed.

“She knows about herbs,” Lot cried. “She'll know what she needs.”

“She isn't in any fit state to tell us how to save her,” Sarai said, with a lump in her throat. “She can't even speak.”

By the middle of the night, Sililli was no longer conscious. The fever seemed to have turned her eyes inward. The midwife was called to other tents, where the same horror was being repeated. Lot stubbornly tried to pour beer down Sililli's throat. She choked and vomited, but for a time she seemed to settle down.

The next morning, in the cold dawn, she opened her eyes. Apparently quite conscious, she gripped Sarai and Lot by the wrists. They asked her where they could find herbs and how they should treat her. She batted her eyelids.

“My hour has come,” she murmured, in an almost inaudible voice. “I'm slipping into the underworld. All the better—it'll be one less mouth to feed.”

“Sililli!”

“Leave it, my girl. We're all born and we all die. That's as it should be. You've been the great joy of my life, my goddess. Don't change, stay as you are. Even Abram's god will bend his knee before you, I know it.”

“He has no body, remember,” Sarai tried to joke, her face flooded with tears.

Sililli half smiled. “We'll see . . .”

Sarai bent, in a gesture familiar from her childhood, and placed her forehead between Sililli's breasts. Her body was almost cold, but still throbbing with fever. Gently, Sililli's hand came to rest on the back of Sarai's neck.

“Lot, Lot,” Sililli breathed in a last effort. “Forget Sarai and find a wife.”

She died before the sun had cleared the horizon.

FOR a long time that morning, Sarai stood outside her tent, overcome with anger. She did not weep, though she could hear weeping all around her. The sorrow of loss and the pain of living were feeding the only abundant streams left in Canaan: streams of tears.

All at once, Sarai set off in the direction of Abram's great tent. She found him with the other men, having one of their usual endless discussions. Eliezer was sitting a few steps away.

Abram's face had a closed, severe, weary look. Like a rock abraded by sand. But as soon as he looked at Sarai, he understood. He asked everyone to go out and leave them alone. Eliezer remained seated on his cushion.

“That means you too, boy,” Sarai said.

Eliezer looked her up and down, fire in his eyes. He looked to Abram for support, but Abram gestured to him to obey.

“Don't be too hard on Eliezer,” Abram said, as soon as they were alone. “The drought isn't his fault, and his father and mother died yesterday.”

Sarai took a deep breath to calm her rage. “And dozens will die today. Sililli died this morning.”

Without a word, his eyes dimming, Abram lowered his head.

In the silence, Sarai's voice was like the crack of a whip. “Who is this god, Abram, who can neither feed your people nor make your wife's womb fertile?”

“Sarai!”

“He's your god, Abram, not mine.”

Abram's hands were shaking, his chest heaved as he breathed, and the blood throbbed in his temples. Thinking of Sililli's fever, Sarai took fright. What if the sickness had struck him, too? She rushed to him, seized his hands in hers, and lifted them to her lips.

“Are you sick?” she asked, anxiously.

Abram shook his head, gasping, unable to speak. Suddenly, he gripped Sarai's shoulders and clasped her to him, burying his face in her hair. “He doesn't talk to me anymore, Sarai. Yhwh is silent!”

Gently, Sarai pushed him away. “Is that a reason for you, too, to become powerless, Abram?”

Abram turned away.

“Your god is silent,” Sarai went on, “but this silence must remain between you and him. Abram, my husband, Abram, the equal of Melchizedek, the man who led us from Harran, who opened up the land of Canaan to the newcomers: That man is not reduced to silence! We are here, outside your tent, waiting for your words. They are here, those who came running to you, trembling with hunger and fever. They're waiting for Abram to give the order to strike camp.”

“Strike camp and go where? Do you think I haven't been dreaming of that for moons? Canaan is surrounded by drought and deserts: to the north, the east, and the south. To the west, there's the sea!”

“To the south, after the desert, there's the land of Pharaoh.”

Abram stared at her in amazement. “You know as well as I do what they say about Pharaoh, how cruel he is, how he loves to enslave men and make them sweat blood for him.”

“Yes. But I've also heard how fertile his land is, with its huge river, and how rich his cities are.”

“Pharaoh believes he's a god!”

“Why should that worry a man whose name has been uttered by God Most High?”

Abram looked sharply at Sarai. Was she mocking him?

“Abram,” she continued, more gently, “don't you understand that you have to decide without waiting for help? The worst thing we can do at the moment is stay in Canaan. We'll die here. And the people of Salem who welcomed us will die with us. What do we risk by going and asking for Pharaoh's protection? What death can he add to the death that already awaits us?”

Abram made no reply.

“Your god is silent,” Sarai went on, “and you're like a child who's angry because his father's ignoring him. I, Sarai, who abandoned forever the protection of Inanna and Ea for yours, want to hear your word.”

THAT evening, Abram told Melchizedek that they would set out for the land of Pharaoh the very next day. Moved, Melchizedek kissed him and promised him that the land of Canaan would always be his. When the barren times were over, Abram could return and would be welcomed with the greatest of joy.

Abram asked another favor of Melchizedek.

“Speak, and you shall have it.”

“The parents of young Eliezer of Damascus are dead. Before you, I declare that I consider him my adopted son. The favor I ask is that you keep Eliezer with you while I'm in the land of Pharaoh. Nobody knows what awaits us there. If I were to be killed, Eliezer will be able to stay in the land of Canaan and represent my name.”

Melchizedek thought the decision a wise one. But when Lot heard about it, he gave a cold laugh.

“So, Abram's found himself a child of drought,” he said to Sarai.

Sarai, My Sister

T
hey moved slowly, walking for short periods, and only in the morning and the evening, when it was cooler. It was Abram's intention not to exhaust those, human or animal, whose muscles had been weakened by the famine in Canaan.

The sea was resplendent with light. It dazzled the eyes, intoxicated the gaze, with its immensity. Most of Abram's people were not accustomed to it. At night, the noise of it kept them awake. But it gave them food. Abram showed them how to weave nets and then cast them, either standing on rocks or on the vast golden beaches with the water at their feet. He also showed them how to collect shells from beneath the sand and catch crayfish in baskets. The children, rediscovering laughter, were the quickest learners.

Sarai would watch him, and her heart would fill with tenderness as she recalled the words he had said to her on the banks of the Euphrates: “I was fishing. It's the best time for frogs and crayfish. If nobody steps on you and screams!”

They reached villages where the houses were nothing but huts. The wind from the sea blew through the bulrushes. They could be seen from afar: a motley crew moving slowly in a long line with their sparse flocks whose fleece had turned gray with dust. They were greeted with both suspicion and curiosity. Despite the fact that many of his animals had perished, Abram was always prepared to give up a sheep in exchange for dried fish, dates, fragrant herbs, figs—and information.

“We're going to the land of Pharaoh,” he would say, “because in the north, where we come from, there's drought everywhere.”

“Take care” would come the reply. “Pharaoh has waged many wars. He doesn't like foreigners. He takes the women and the livestock, and kills the men and the children. He has soldiers everywhere, vast numbers of them, armed to the teeth. He says he's a god, and he's so powerful everyone believes him. They say he can transform things, bring rain or drought. They say he surrounds himself with gold. His palaces are covered in gold—even his wives' bodies are made of gold.”

Abram would raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Wives made of gold?”

The old fishermen would laugh, and point at Sarai. “Not as beautiful as yours, of course. But that's what they say, yes. Wives made of gold. Pharaoh wants only beautiful things around him. That's his power.”

Abram would shake his head, incredulous but worried. From time to time, he would put up the tent with the black-and-white stripes, and listen to the complaints and suggestions of his people.

“What are we going to say to Pharaoh when he sends his soldiers to meet us?” many would ask.

“That all we need is some grass in order to let our flocks graze and grow.”

“But what if he wants to steal our women, like the fishermen say?”

“These fishermen are so scared of Pharaoh,” Abram would reply, with an angry, ironic snort, and a glance at Sarai, “that they're ready to grant him all sorts of imaginary powers. Anybody would think we were back in the kingdom of Akkad and Sumer.”

BUT as they went from village to village, the same warnings were repeated. Pharaoh had an invincible army. Pharaoh was a god. Pharaoh sometimes changed heads and became a falcon, a bull, or a ram. Pharaoh was insatiable in his taste for beauty, both in cities and in women.

Sarai could sense the growing fear around her. The word
Pharaoh
passed surreptitiously from mouth to mouth, casting a shadow over everyone.

Abram spent whole days away from the camp. Sarai guessed that he was off calling the name of Yhwh, hoping for His advice. But, when he returned, he said nothing, and his features were set hard with disappointment. He threw Sarai a look that seemed to say, “You insisted I lead my people to the land of Pharaoh. You see the danger we're running because of that decision.”

Lot caught this look and understood it. That very evening, he brought Abram the last pitcher of beer that remained from Canaan.

“Look how many of us there are, Abram,” he said, after drinking two goblets. “Thousands of us. A whole people. Without counting the animals, even if our flocks have become thin. It's like an invasion of locusts! Who wouldn't be scared to see us arrive on his land?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every day we're getting closer to the land of Pharaoh. We have to be careful.”

Abram laughed, sourly. “I don't know anyone here who isn't thinking the same thing.”

“But I have an idea: Let me go on ahead with a few companions to locate Pharaoh's soldiers.”

“To do what?”

“To find out how many of them there are, which roads they're using, whether or not they're expecting us.”

“Do you plan to fight them?” Abram cried. “As soon as you lift an arm, they'll cut it off! Besides, we're going to be asking Pharaoh for help. You don't fight someone you're holding out your hand to.”

“Who said anything about fighting?” Lot protested. “All I want is to meet Pharaoh's soldiers. There'll be only a few of us. They certainly won't think we're locusts come to ravage their pastures. We'll ask them for permission to enter the land of Egypt. They may accept; they may refuse. Either way, we'll know where we stand.”

“There's nothing to stop them slaughtering you.”

Now it was Lot who gave a mocking smile. “Well, at least I'll have shown that even if I'm not Abram's son, I'm worthy of his name.”

Abram ignored the sarcasm. He consulted the elders, who all came to the conclusion that the idea was a good one. Some twenty young men agreed to accompany Lot.

They left the very next day, taking with them nothing but a mule, some food and water, and their staffs. Sarai clasped Lot to her, kissed his eyes and neck, and in a tender whisper begged him to be careful. She watched, full of apprehension, as the little group moved away over the slope of a sandy hill and disappeared.

IN the days that followed, on Abram's orders, the column progressed even more slowly than usual. Everyone was waiting for Lot and his companions to return, and at the same time dreading to see Pharaoh's soldiers appear from around a dune or a grove of palm trees.

Finally, one afternoon, at the hour when the sun seemed to melt like silver over the sea and everyone was seeking shade, they were back.

After much laughing and hugging, they told their story. Less than four days of walking across the dunes and cliffs along the coast had brought them to Egypt.

“It's the greenest place you've ever seen. Greener even than Canaan before the drought. And huge. Wherever you look, you see only lush green fields.”

“But what about Pharaoh's soldiers?” Abram asked impatiently.

“We didn't see any!” Lot exclaimed. “None at all! Livestock, roads, brick buildings, villages, storehouses, yes—but no soldiers.”

“What did people say when they saw you?” someone asked.

Lot smiled. “Nothing. Or nothing we understood. They don't speak our language. And they don't have any hair on their faces. The men's chins are as smooth as the women's. And their character seems as gentle and calm as their cheeks are hairless. Several times, to welcome us, they gave us barley beer. The sweetest I've ever drunk. I still have the taste of it on my tongue. It's called
bouza
.”

There was laughter.

“So what those fishermen told us is wrong?”

“As far as we could tell,” Lot's companions asserted, “the land of Pharaoh is the most peaceful, most welcoming place there is. We didn't see anyone who looked like a slave, and we didn't see anyone lording it over anyone else with a whip in his hand.”

Joy and hope did not, however, completely dispel everyone's anxiety. Could they really settle on the land of Pharaoh like that, without fear of the consequences?

The noisy talk continued unabated until twilight, when it was time to attend to the animals. Through it all, Abram remained in the background, pensive. Toward evening, he withdrew to make offerings to Yhwh. When night had fallen, he joined Sarai, who was laying out a meal for Lot, now washed and cleanly dressed.

He sat down beside them in the dim lamplight. Sarai handed him a loaf of bread. As he took it, he kissed her fingers. Sarai and Lot looked at him more closely, guessing that he had made his decision.

He broke the loaf into three pieces. “I think the fishermen told the truth. Pharaoh's soldiers will come to us. I have no doubt about it.”

Lot opened his mouth to protest.

Abram raised his hand to silence him. “You didn't see the soldiers, Lot, but the people who saw you will tell them. That's how things happen.”

“How do you know?” Sarai asked.

“In Salem, the merchants who came from the land of Pharaoh all told the same story. Their caravans advanced into Egypt without incident. One day, two days, without anyone questioning them, without anyone asking, ‘What are you doing here, where are you going, what do you have in your bags and your baskets?' Then, suddenly, Pharaoh's soldiers appeared.”

Lot lost his temper. “So why let me go if you knew all that?”

“It was what you wanted. It was what everyone wanted. And it's a good thing that you went. Now we all know that the land of Pharaoh is as rich as they say, and that'll give us the courage to face his soldiers. And I know that the merchants in Salem were telling the truth.”

Abram smiled. Sarai echoed his smile, amused at his ruse.

“They will come on Pharaoh's orders,” Abram resumed, his eyes fixed on Sarai. “They'll examine our flocks, discover whether we're rich or poor. And they'll see how beautiful my wife is. If they don't already know it. They'll turn to me and ask: ‘Is this your wife?' ‘Yes,' I'll reply, ‘this is Sarai, my wife.' Then they'll slaughter us and carry Sarai off to Pharaoh's palace. That's what will happen.”

There was a stunned silence.

Lot was the first to react. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, in a shrill voice.

Abram did not reply, still staring at Sarai.

She nodded. “Abram is right. If what they say is true, things could happen like that.”

“Then we must hide you!” Lot cried. “We could . . . dress you as a man. Or put soot on your face. Wrap one of your legs in rags, as if you'd had an accident. Or else—”

“The soldiers will be fooled the first day, perhaps the second,” Abram interrupted him, calmly. “But eventually someone will tell them that Abram's wife is the most beautiful woman anyone has ever set eyes on. Then they really will be angry, knowing they've been tricked, and fearing Pharaoh's wrath.”

Once again they fell silent.

“What to do, then?” Sarai asked.

“Nothing like that will happen if I say you're my sister.”

Sarai and Lot both gasped.

“If I say you're my sister,” Abram went on, “Pharaoh may invite you to his palace. In fact, I'm sure he will. He'll want to see you. But he'll leave me alone. And the rest of us.”

Lot stood up. “You want to give Sarai to Pharaoh?” he cried, his mouth twisted with rage. “To save your life? Is that what the great Abram's courage amounts to?”

“No,” Abram retorted. “I don't want to give Sarai to Pharaoh. And it's not about how courageous or afraid I am.”

“I understand,” Sarai murmured, pale-faced, holding Lot back by the wrist.

“It's about my people's lives, not mine,” Abram insisted. “That's what we have to think about.”

“No!” Lot cried. “I don't want to think about it. You don't have the right to think about it.”

Sarai placed her hand on Lot's cheek. “Abram's right.” There was a sad, resigned gleam in her eyes.

Abram stood up in his turn, pushed Lot aside, and took Sarai in his arms. “It's up to you to save us all,” he said.

“If your god wishes it.”