Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (20 page)

Pharaoh got to his feet and called out to his soldiers to listen and watch. “I accept this man, Abram, as my guest and my friend! He is under my protection, and cursed be any man who lifts a hand against him in my kingdom! You are witnesses!” Then Pharaoh embraced Abram and kissed his cheek.

The soldiers nodded. Some saluted. Some knelt. It was done.

Pharaoh sat on a bench, exhausted. “Pray to your God now. Get him to lift the curse.”

“Not yet,” said Abram.

“You dare to demand more?”

“I demand nothing,” said Abram. “I merely want you to meet my wife, Sarai, daughter of the King of Ur-of-the-South.”

“What!” cried Pharaoh. “She is here in Egypt? This whole time you have kept her concealed from me? Where is she! Send for her!” And then, as the truth dawned on him, his face grew red again, and his rage was so terrible that he trembled with it. “You lied to me! From the very beginning you lied to me!”

“God told me to tell the soldiers who met us that Sarai was my sister and not my wife. I did not understand the reason for it, except that if I did not, you would surely kill me. It made no sense to me, but I obeyed God. If I had told you who she really was, how long would it have taken for you to kill me?”

“I should kill you now,” said Pharaoh, his voice choked with fury.

“What Hsy would follow a faithless killer of a guest?”

“How are you my guest, when you lied to me!”

“My lie saved my life, and kept my wife from being forced to marry you against her will. Your lies were meant to deceive me so you could kill me and take from me all that gave me joy in life. Which of us has reason to complain?”

Pharaoh again threw himself to the ground, and this time sobbed like a child, deep body-wracking sobs that made Sarai want to run to him, to comfort him like a baby. But she did not move. This was between him and God. She had no part in it now.

When the sobbing grew still, Abram began to speak. But it was not to Pharaoh that he spoke, and not to Sarai. “Thou knowest his heart, O Father. If there is still murder in his heart, then do not forgive him, for the law must stand. But if he has truly repented, then take the curse from his house, I pray. Thou art the judge.”

“I
have
repented,” Pharaoh whispered.

“Then the curse will be lifted,” said Abram simply. “It is entirely in your hands.”

“All my dreams are nothing,” said Pharaoh. “The year I wasted on you . . . I should have been tending to my kingdom.”

“All your choosing,” said Abram. “If you had not plotted my death—”

“I know, I know,” said Pharaoh miserably. “But marrying . . . Sarai . . . that was supposed to cure all these woes. Now I go to battle empty-handed and alone.”

“Pray to God and honor him as the only true and living God, and he will protect you from your enemies as he protected me and my beloved from ours.”

“I didn’t want to be your enemy,” said Pharaoh, weeping again. “I loved you. It broke my heart to think of losing you as my friend!”

“Set us free, Pharaoh. Let us go from this place. I’ll return to you all the flocks and herds you gave me. I know they were meant to be a bride-price, and you have no bride from me.”

“No,” said Pharaoh. “Keep all I gave you. I will give you more. Let me show God that I am not his enemy. I will give you gold and precious stones to take with you back to Retenu. I will give you servants and soldiers, horses and—”

“God’s love is not to be bought with gold,” said Abram. “It is bought with obedience, and paid for with humble service to God’s children. No one has it in his power to serve more people than Pharaoh. Even now, God has the power to save your crown.”

“I will,” said Pharaoh. “Stay with me!”

“No,” said Abram. “It is the beginning of wisdom for you to send us away. As long as we’re here, your enemies will use us as a cause against you.”

“Go then,” said Pharaoh. “Go at once. Your household awaits you. And the gifts I declared will still be yours.”

“May I take with me the handmaid you gave me?” asked Sarai.

Pharaoh turned away from her, covering his ears as though her voice caused him pain. “Yes, she’s yours, only don’t shame me by making me hear your voice or see your face again.”

They walked away from him. As they approached the nearest of the soldiers, the man glanced at Pharaoh and spoke to Abram. “What is all this?”

“A man is only great when he humbles himself before the Lord,” said Abram.

“They say there’s going to be fighting,” said the soldier.

“Have you given your oath to Pharaoh?” asked Abram.

“I have,” said the soldier. “But they say half of Egypt is in revolt.”

“Keep your oath,” said Abram. “You came to Egypt hungry, and he fed you.”

“What about you?” asked the soldier. “Are you going to fight for him?”

“I was never a soldier and I took no oath,” said Abram. “But I will pray for him.”

Hagar ran to Sarai as soon as they were beyond the circle of soldiers. “Is there anything you need to bring with you?” Sarai asked her.

“Nothing, Mistress,” said Hagar. “I own nothing, not even my own body.”

“That’s true of all of us,” said Abram. “This is the servant you asked about?”

“Hagar, this is my husband. Abram, this is my handmaiden. She knew my secret almost from the start, and did not betray me, even though she would have been well rewarded if she had.”

“Welcome to my household,” said Abram. “We’ll get you decent clothing when we reach my tent. You can keep that gown to show your husband on your wedding night.” He walked ahead of them, leading the way to the river.

Hagar leaned close to Sarai as they walked, so she could speak softly and still be heard. “I can never wear linens again?”

“You can wear them all the time,” said Sarai. “Under your clothing.”

“It’ll be like wearing a house,” said Hagar. She laughed at her own jest, but her hands trembled where they held Sarai’s arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Sarai. “We all work hard, but life is good for everyone, servant and master.”

“I have put my life in your hands,” said Hagar.

“As I put mine in yours,” said Sarai.

Abram commanded the pilot of the king’s own barge to take them down the river to where his herds were pastured and his household tents were pitched. The pilot obeyed him with only a glance at Pharaoh, who was visible in the distance, walking slowly to the House of Women.

“Don’t worry,” said Sarai. “Pharaoh has much to do in the House of Women before he’ll need this boat again.”

It was sunset when they reached shore, and only torchlight showed them the glad faces of their friends and servants when they reached the tents. Sarai was gratified to see that all was in order in the camp, everything in good repair and all at peace. Abram’s steward, Bethuel, had been ill, but had delegated everything to a young Damascene named Eliezer. Neither Sarai nor Abram knew him. It was an alarming thing, that Bethuel had reached outside Abram’s household to choose his second. What had he promised this Eliezer? Could he be trusted? Sarai was ready to be angry at Bethuel for such a dangerous decision.

But Eliezer took the initiative. “Abram,” he said, “Bethuel first gave me hospitality in your name, but I insisted that I serve for my bread. He would not take me as a servant, but he did allow me to labor, and he found my work pleasing. I did not seek the trust that he gave me when he became ill, and I have no expectation of keeping such a position. I only ask that you confirm the hospitality your steward gave me in your name.”

“I confirm you as my guest,” said Abram. “But we leave Egypt tomorrow.”

“Abram,” said Eliezer again. Sarai wasn’t sure she liked the way he called Abram by his name, though as a guest, and not a servant, that was technically correct. The man was young—scarcely twenty, by her estimation—but he carried himself with assurance, like a master or a host, and not a servant. She wondered if there had been resentment or even conflict when an outsider was given authority over many who were older than he, or who had been born into service to Abram’s family.

“Eliezer,” said Abram as mildly as if he had no such suspicions. Sarai was never quite sure whether Abram’s mildness represented great self-control or dangerous naivete.

“I came to Egypt because the drought had devastated my father’s household. Our wealth died with our cattle. I valued my father’s honor more than his wealth, but he was ashamed of having lost my inheritance, and when he dismissed our servants he left me and commanded me not to follow after him. Whether he died in the desert or begs in the streets of Damascus or serves in another man’s house, I do not know because he does not want me to know. What knowledge I have I learned from my father. It is my whole inheritance, and I now offer it in your service. Take me into your household forever, and I will serve you well.”

“Bethuel is my steward,” said Abram.

“I will do whatever task you find me suited for,” said Eliezer.

“And if I give you work to which you are not well suited?”

“Then I will learn the work until I do it as well as you need or wish me to.”

“It’s a solemn thing to give up your freedom to another man,” said Abram.

“It is no more than you have done, Abram,” said Eliezer.

Sarai gasped before she could stop herself. It was an outrageous thing to say. Abram was master of a house, a great lord of the desert, and no servant to any man.

“I think my wife wishes to know in what sense you meant those words,” said Abram—again, showing no annoyance at either his words or her gasp.

“You have given your life to God’s service, and God is your master in all things,” said Eliezer. “How then can I better serve God than to enter into obedience to his steward?”

Now Sarai’s suspicions were fully aroused. If a man wished to deceive Abram he could choose no more devious path than to pretend to serve God. Did Abram see this? Or would he simply take Eliezer’s protestations of faith as if they must be true?

“God is little spoken of these days, at least not with his true name. It is only Ba’al that I hear of now,” said Abram. “In Damascus as in any other city of Syria.”

“Not everyone forgets that Ba’al was simply a term of respect for the true God. My name is the one my father gave me. He taught me of Father El, and he told me also of the priestly family in which at last a new prophet had arisen—Abram son of Terah. He rejoiced when the priest of Pharaoh was slain by the hand of the true and living God. I have known your name from my childhood.”

If the man was a flatterer, he was better at it than any Sarai had seen in her father’s house, though that was partly because the best flatterers would not have wasted their talent on a king who had lost his city. Still, his words and manner were so simple that Sarai could not help but believe him, or at least wish to believe him.

Abram took Eliezer’s hands. “You stand here as my guest, and I offer you guest-right on the journey back to Canaan. I will teach you what I know of God during the journey.”

Eliezer shook his head. “I have no desire to be your guest, and I wish to learn about God, not just from your words, but from your life, and not just by hearing and watching, but by taking part in your works wherever and whenever you have need of me. Accept me as your servant, or I will not go with you.”

“You know, of course, that only a child born in my house can inherit from me,” said Abram.

So Abram was not naive. He knew that a man of his wealth who had no children could look like an opportunity to an enterprising young man. Abram’s people were not like the Egyptians, adopting adults as sons or daughters in order to circumvent the inheritance laws. Nothing of Abram’s would ever belong to Eliezer. A practical concern that had to be dealt with—though if Sarai were not barren, the question would never have come up.

“I know the law,” said Eliezer. “I want, not to have what is yours, but to
be
yours.”

“For a term of five years I take you,” said Abram.

“An oath that ends is no oath at all. I do not wish to be your hireling.”

“Let all here be my witnesses that I offered to take you with me as a guest and as a bondservant. It is at your insistence that I take you as a servant in my household, you and all the children who might be born to you.”

Eliezer knelt before Abram and stretched out a hand. Abram raised his foot and stepped on Eliezer’s hand, symbolically taking him as if he had been captured in war. Then he reached down and raised Eliezer by the hand.

“Eliezer,” said Abram.

“Yes, master,” said Eliezer. Sarai was pleased to see that he used the term of respect as soon as he was officially Abram’s servant.

“Please continue to help Bethuel as you have been doing. There will be time enough tomorrow for you and he to tell me all that I need to know. In due time I’ll decide where you fit into this camp.”