Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (15 page)

Hagar silently pulled the linen over her head again, and tied the sash.

“We
will
get used to each other,” said Sarai.

Hagar nodded.

“Someday you may even trust me,” said Sarai.

Hagar nodded again.

“But for now, would you kindly go to Lady Eshut and ask her when I might come to see her?”

Hagar walked briskly to the door. If Sarai had not been watching her closely, she might not have noticed how Hagar’s hand flicked up to wipe something from her cheek. And then again, to wipe the other cheek.

So the saucy handmaid was not untouchable by kindness after all. If that was, in fact, what her tears implied.

Chapter 11

And what work,” said Eshut, “do you wish to do?” A cat preened on the bench beside her. Eshut ignored the cat—the animals were sacred to Egyptians, and no one interfered with them as they wandered about, doing what they wanted. Sarai, for her part, had no use for them, and she had noticed that when cats were near, her nose began to run, but Hagar had warned her never to be seen shooing them away.

“I’m experienced in many things,” said Sarai. “I can card and spin wool and weave it in my sleep.”

“We work in linen here, and flax is very different from wool.”

“I also managed a large household.”

“That,” said Eshut dryly, “is my job. I hope you do not plan to displace me.”

Displace her? What could possibly prompt her to suggest such an impossible thing? “I could be of help.”

“Knowing no one? Having no notion of what tasks are required, what flows in and goes out, or who does the jobs well and who badly? Nor are royal protocols second nature to you, as to the people trained to the service of this house. You would only get in the way, Lady Milcah.”

Of course this was not true. While Sarai did not know the particular people who did each task, she knew perfectly well what the work of a king’s house entailed, and she was quite sure she knew at least as much about protocol as Lady Eshut. But she could not explain this to Eshut without revealing that she was not Milcah at all, but Sarai, daughter of the exiled king of Ur-of-Sumeria.

“I can see that you are right.”

“And while I could have you trained in some lesser task, you must understand that it would shame Pharaoh for a visitor of your stature to be set to servants’ work.”

“My days are empty,” said Sarai.

“Among Pharaoh’s women are several from Retenu.” The Egyptian name for Canaan. “And others who are Fekhenu.” The polite word, Sarai was learning, for those more commonly called Hsy—people who tended flocks and herds. “Go and visit with them. Surely they would delight in news from home.”

“Am I here as entertainment, then, Lady Eshut?”

“I don’t know why you’re here,” said Eshut. “I did not bring you.”

“I am a woman of ability and experience,” said Sarai, “and I offer my service in whatever small ways I might be useful. With a little thought, you can find something for me to do that will not interfere with your work, but will, in some small way, ease your burden. Since I do not plan to stay, I will not seek to accumulate power or influence.”

“If you’re right, and you do not stay, then the time I spend training you will be wasted, and I’ll have to put someone else to do your work the moment you leave. And if you’re wrong, and you do stay, you will doubtless be in a position where Pharaoh would not be happy to have you working under me.”

There it was, as directly stated as it could be: Eshut knew that Pharaoh intended to marry Sarai, and not just as another concubine, but as a wife whose children might inherit the throne. Quite possibly as his queen, whose children would be first in line. Eshut had to make sure she had done nothing to demean the queen of Egypt, if Sarai should ever ascend to that position. And if she did not, then Sarai was indeed worthless to her.

“My hands are tied,” said Eshut, with a sweet and sympathetic smile. Her eyes also smiled, but there was no sympathy there.

Sarai left, sure then that her boredom would have no ease. As usual, she walked at evening by the river, and in a secluded stand of trees she knelt and prayed. Hagar knelt beside her; whether she prayed or not, Sarai did not know and did not ask.

O God, she said, what am I to do with these empty hours? I have nothing to study, nothing to do. How can I serve thee or serve my husband?

What have I done to deserve this maddening punishment? The sword of Pharaoh’s marital ambitions hangs over me and my husband, and I have nothing to take my mind from this danger. Am I meant to live in fear?

Abram has answers from thee, but to me the heavens are a curtain of brass. Do my words reach whatever star shines upon the world where thou livest? Hast thou no words for me?

Thus her prayer began, step by step descending from humble request to ardent complaint until, finally, she was once again pouring out the darkest doubts of her heart:

O Lord God of Abram, I see nothing of thy hand in my life. All that happens to me points to my being under the rule of Asherah. My womb is dry. I am to be taken from the man I love and given to a king, just as if I still lived in my father’s house. Did I dare to love Abram more than Asherah? Then she will have him killed. Did I dare to refuse to live in her house? Then I will live in the house of a god all the same, only instead of being pure, singing to the goddess all day, I will be in the bed of Pharaoh, bearing him children if Asherah deigns to forgive me, or being rejected in the end for my barrenness, if she does not. O God of Abram, why dost thou hide from me, while Asherah shows me her angry face everywhere I turn? How can I believe in thee, and disbelieve in her? Nevertheless I do believe in thee, and obey thee. Only help me, God of Abram! Give me the strength to conquer my doubts. Give me hope!

“Mistress,” said Hagar softly, “I have not seen such weeping in many years. Please don’t cry so much.”

Sarai was startled, roused from a prayer that had become nothing but a litany of grief. “I was praying,” she murmured as she wiped her eyes with her skirt.

“What god is heartless enough not to hear such a prayer?”

Sarai shook her head. She had no answer to that, except the bitterest one: A god who hates me, if he exists at all.

“God loves me,” she said insistently, more to reassure herself than to convince Hagar.

“As does your husband,” said Hagar. “Maybe your god is being kept from you the way your husband is.”

“Speak not of husbands,” Sarai said mildly. “We are not always alone, even when we think we are.”

“I have walked around and around this place while you prayed, Mistress, and I assure you that no one is listening.”

Not even God, Sarai thought. And then, hurriedly: Forgive me for that unworthy thought, O Lord!
“It’s a good thing I’m incapable of real misery,” said Sarai.

“Oh, Mistress, forgive me for my false and ungrateful words last night!” cried Hagar. “I know that your suffering is greater than mine. Because your mind is so much wiser than mine, your heart so much loftier, the pains you suffer must be exquisite compared to the poor dull suffering of a slave!”

“No, no, Hagar, don’t be foolish. You spoke the truth to me last night, and gave me more wisdom than I had before. I weep because I’m helpless, not because my suffering is so terrible. I weep because there is nothing I can do, of my own will, to help either Abram or myself. I have no choice but to rely on God, and yet I can’t bear to rely on him because . . .”

“Because he has never shown you that you
can
rely on him,” said Hagar.

“I have seen his hand, but always in Abram’s life. He only touches me to bring about Abram’s work. I am nothing of myself, and that is hard to bear. I’m a proud woman, that’s what I’m learning, and the silence of God is a constant lesson that I am nothing.”

“If that god of your husband’s thinks you’re nothing, then
he’s
nothing. How could a god be so foolish as not to know that you’re a great woman?”

“The greatness of this world is like a broken pot to God. It might have bright paint on it, but it’s good for nothing.”

“I don’t mean your greatness as a rich woman or a princess or anything like that,” said Hagar. “You kept your word to me and asked to keep me as your handmaid, so I could leave Egypt when you go.”

“I did you no favor. The lies we’ve told may lead to our destruction. What would happen to you then?”

“Mistress, why do you argue with me? You’re a woman with a noble heart, not just a noble bearing. If your god is God of gods, as you say, then he knows that. And for all you know, Mistress, he is planning great things for you if you only have the patience to wait for them.”

Sarai opened her mouth to argue once again, but then realized: I asked God for an answer. Whose mouth did I think his answer would come from? Could Hagar’s words not be God’s answer to me? Be patient and wait. God is planning great things. “Once again, Hagar, you have taught me wisdom.” Sarai rose to her feet. “Come, let’s return to the house. The sun has set and soon the desert cold will settle in.”

When they reached the house, there were many torches burning in the dusky light, and boats drawn up at the dock. Pharaoh’s boat was not among them—he had not returned. So what was this gathering? Sarai knew that as a shy and modest lady, she should stand away from the men’s work that was going on, as slaves loaded the boats with foodstuffs and tools. But she could not master her curiosity, and so she descended the steps to the water’s edge and asked the man who seemed to be directing the loading, “Who will use these boats?”

“Sehtepibre goes to the quarry for more stone tomorrow,” said the man. “The sarcophagus of Pharaoh is being built with great fineness, and Sehtepibre is not happy with the quality of the blocks most recently brought. So he will go and show the stonecutters where to find flawless stone that can be worked without crumbling or shattering.”

“Is the quarry far?” asked Sarai.

“Across the river and up into the mountain. It’s a journey of several days, Lady.”

From behind her came another voice. “Does the Lady Milcah wish to come with me?”

She turned to find that Sehtepibre had apparently followed her down the steps and listened to her question. She knew that if this wily steward was asking her to come with him, it was because he saw some advantage in it for himself. But she also knew that he was offering her a chance to get away from this house and see something of the land and hear conversation that was not the empty chat of bored women. She had never had anything to do with stone cutting, and so she had a chance to learn something new to her. She hesitated only a moment before saying, “Lord Sehtepibre is gracious, and unless it would displease mighty Pharaoh, Lady Milcah will make haste to be ready for the journey.”

“We leave as soon as the boats are loaded,” said Sehtepibre. “And your desert clothing will be useful to you, since the sun will shine brightly where we’re going.”

“I don’t have that clothing, sir,” said Sarai.

“I’ll have it sent to you,” said Sehtepibre, thus sweeping away in a moment the claim of Eshut that she did not know where that clothing was.

When the boats pulled away from the dock, Sarai sat on the largest barge, Hagar at her feet, Sehtepibre at her side. This was no procession. It was a working journey, and Sehtepibre did not bother to explain anything to her. Instead, once he saw that the boats were going where he had commanded, he lay down upon the deck of the barge and fell asleep almost at once.

“I can’t sleep on a chair,” Sarai murmured to Hagar. And in moments she, too, lay upon the deck. But she made sure that Hagar lay between her and Sehtepibre, so no tongues would wag and no scandal would endanger either her or Pharaoh’s steward.

Sarai had never slept on a boat before. Unlike the Nile, the Euphrates was not reliable for transportation, varying from flood to mud at different seasons of the year, and while traders sometimes floated their cargoes down the river, no one used it for ordinary travel. So she had never had the experience of being rocked gently by the current of a river. She slept as peacefully as she had used to sleep in her father’s house, when as a child her future seemed secure and no fretting kept her awake at night or invaded her dreams.

When she woke, though, she had lain too still, it seemed, for her neck was stiff. Like an old woman, she thought, as Hagar kneaded her shoulders to try to work the pain to the surface and away. “Not so old,” said Hagar, trying to be comforting and failing. Old enough that before long her natural child-bearing years would be behind her, and then all hope would be gone. Every joint that did not bend the way it used to bend, every muscle that ached where once there had been no pain, every breath hard-drawn where once she would not even have noticed the exertion, all were warning signs that her life as a woman would soon end in futility. And there was young Hagar, her buoyant breasts dancing under her translucent linen gown, telling her that she was not
so
old. How ignorant was youth! How devoid of understanding! And yet that was why youth was so precious, for most of its sins were sins of innocence.