The Sons of Isaac (10 page)

Laban flung off his headgear in frustration and kicked the clay mugs of wine, making them spill across the tiles in a red streak. “The man is a fool to depend on some mysterious angel or his God. Nazzim has armed retainers and a host of the local gods to come to his aid. I have been foolish to entertain such plans for Rebekah. We will all be attacked one way or another.” With that he dashed for the stairs; taking them two at a time, he landed at the bottom not knowing what he should do. When he ventured into the far court, he found Eleazar and his men already sound asleep.

Laban paused by the door that led to the idol’s shrine under the stairs. From around the door came a sweet smell and small wisps of smoke. Laban realized that either his father or his grandfather had taken the matter into his own hands and had implored the old goat-man to intervene in this problem of Rebekah’s marriage.

He gently lifted the latch and opened the door a slight crack. In the dim light of the oil lamp, it looked as though the idol was smiling. “So you think you’ve won,” he muttered. “You aren’t afraid of Abraham’s God? We know what side He’s on. He wants our sister for this Isaac.”

Laban was about to close the door and go back to the roof when quite suddenly Nahor appeared out of the shadows. He was shuffling along and leaning heavily on his gnarled cane.

“So you’re wondering,” Nahor said, “who prepared the incense and lit the lamp and for what purpose.”

“Of course,” Laban said.

“I don’t want Rebekah to leave. I never wanted Abraham to leave.”

Laban was not surprised. “You want Rebekah to marry Nazzim?”

“No, no, not that old man,” Nahor said, thumping his cane on the hard packed earth. “The old idol must do better.”

Laban chuckled. “He’s smiling in there. What does that mean?”

Nahor came close enough to whisper, “He’s about to show us how strong he is.”

For a moment there was silence between them as they thought of all that might mean. Then Laban turned and headed for the stairs. “We’ll see,” he said. He went back up the stairs to the roof, lay down on the straw mats under the grape arbor, and pondered the situation. After rehearsing all the facts in his mind, he came to the conclusion that this time there was no way the God of his uncle Abraham could win. It was obvious the old goat-man favored Nazzim, and it was only a matter of time before Nazzim would come to claim Rebekah. No matter how clever this Eleazar might be, there was not enough time for any plan he might devise. Laban shifted to a more comfortable position, but he could not sleep.

E
 arly the next morning Eleazar woke his men and ordered them to prepare the camels for departure. This did not take long and they were soon gathered for the repast Bethuel and Laban had promised them. The sun was just coming up over the roofs of the nearby houses and somewhere over the far wall a rooster began to crow. One of Laban’s shepherds knocked on the courtyard door and handed in a kidskin container of fresh goat’s milk, while fresh bread was passed around with chunks of tart smoked cheese. The men ate with relish and then sat silently waiting for Eleazar to tell them what they were going to do.

Eleazar ate calmly and with unusual deliberation. When he had finished, he turned to the three men of Rebekah’s family. “It’s obvious to me that we must leave immediately. I have accomplished all that my master commanded.”

Rebekah’s mother stood in the shadows, and when she heard what he intended to do, she let out an anguished cry and rushed forward. “Please, I beg of you, let my daughter stay with us awhile. It’s so far to Canaan. We may never see her again.”

Eleazar answered slowly, “Do not keep me. I understand your concern. I wish it could be an easy matter. However, you have seen how my way was prepared, and now it is clear to me that the time has come to return to my master.”

Then Bethuel, who saw the wisdom of the man’s decision, stood up. “We must send for Rebekah,” he said, “and let her decide.” With that he led the men of the family to the visiting room and sent the mother to bring Rebekah.

When they were by themselves, Laban said, “This seems to be very wise. If they linger even a short time, Nazzim will be down on us with his men like a pack of wolves.”

“But if she goes with him, old Nazzim will never forgive us,” Bethuel said.

“When Nazzim hears what we have tried to do, he may decide not to marry Rebekah just to punish us,” Laban admonished.

“You were so eager to marry her to Nazzim. Why have you changed?” Nahor’s voice was thin and petulant.

This silenced them for a few moments while Laban thought about the strange events that had conspired to change his mind. He had been influenced by the gifts, but it was more than that. He found it hard to put this feeling into words. Finally glancing around as though to be sure only his father and grandfather were listening, he whispered, “It’s Abraham’s God, Elohim. He seems to be able to arrange things. It somehow frightens me to go against His will.”

“So it is agreed that we will leave it to Rebekah to decide,” said Bethuel.

“She’s not shy like some,” Nahor said. “She knows what she wants, and if she doesn’t want to go, she won’t. She probably won’t want to go, especially not in such a hurry.”

Laban resumed his most crafty look, usually reserved for dealings in the market. “You must see how brilliant this is,” he said. “If she decides to go, we’ll blame it all on her, and by the time Nazzim hears about it, she’ll at least be a day’s journey away.”

There was a soft knock on the door, and when Laban opened it he saw his mother standing with his sister in the shadows. Laban drew himself up, and with a voice that suddenly sounded unusually kind and conciliatory, he welcomed them into the small reception room.

Rebekah stood looking around the room with amazing composure. In just these few hours she had gone from the carefree, fun-loving daughter to a confident young woman who could make difficult decisions.

Laban closed the door. Turning to his mother, he said, “Have you explained to her what Eleazar has proposed? Does she understand what may happen if we do not go along with his plan?”

To his surprise it was Rebekah who answered with a slight lifting of her chin and a note of disgust in her voice. “Of course I understand. I’ll never marry that terrible old man your ugly god picked out for me.”

“We must not speak against the old goat-man,” Laban admonished. “He can wreak terrible revenge.”

To everyone’s surprise, Rebekah grinned. “He’s not very strong if Nazzim is the best he can produce.”

“You have to admit he’s rich and probably would not have lived very long. Two very good recommendations for any husband.” Laban was stern and defensive.

“There’s no need to argue,” Rebekah assured them. “I’ll go with this messenger from my uncle and marry the young man who has been so obviously chosen for me by his God.”

Laban stood studying her for a moment. He knew his sister very well. Often she was sweet and obliging, but there were times when she asserted herself in what he considered a stubborn and even manipulative way. He nervously pulled at his short beard as he admitted to himself how often his whole family had been known for their ability to bend and twist even difficult situations to attain their own ends.

He shrugged and walked to the door. “Wait in here,” he said, “and I’ll bring Eleazar so we can discuss this more thoroughly.”

*  *  *

Eleazar had asked to meet with Rebekah, her nurse, Deborah, her handmaidens, and her immediate family. When they were all assembled, old Nahor rose with difficulty and with a quavering voice confronted Rebekah. He voiced the question for the last time. “You are the light of this house, the joy of my old age. Will you choose to leave all of us and your life here to go with this messenger of my brother?”

“It’s best that I go, Grandfather,” she said, looking at him sadly but not moving to embrace him as she normally would have done.

“But my dear child, you know the story of how my brother, Abram, who’s now Abraham, left us, broke up the family to follow this God of his. Now he wants to take the very apple of my eye for his son. It’s too much. He asks too much.”

Laban began to be concerned that the old man would persuade her to stay, so he broke in, “It’s quite simple, Rebekah. We’ll abide by your decision. Will you go with this man and marry the young son of our uncle, yes or no?”

Rebekah looked around at all of them and then focused her gaze on Eleazar, who had been sitting silently in the seat of honor. “I intend to go with this man and marry my cousin.”

As she said that, her mother gave a cry and ran to embrace her. Nahor turned his face away and wiped at his eyes, while only Laban looked relaxed and pleased.

“My father,” Bethuel said at last to Nahor, “will you give her the family’s blessing before we send her away?” Nahor frowned and coughed and motioned for Bethuel to pronounce the blessing. He had not forgiven his brother, Abram, for leaving, and he could not bless this taking of his favorite granddaughter. It gave too much the look of compliance.

Bethuel, without hesitation, called for Rebekah to come kneel before him. As was the custom he placed his outer, fringed garment over her head and lifting up his eyes, he said, “Thou art my much loved daughter. Be thou the mother of thousands of millions and let thy seed possess the gate of those that hate them.” He had remembered that she would be traveling to a strange country and her children would no doubt need strength and courage to face those who would hate them just because they were different.

The camels were ready, and her handmaidens were gathering up their things and the belongings Rebekah had said she would take. It was important to leave before the sun mounted too high in the sky and it became hot and uncomfortable to travel. Even more important was the necessity of being well on their way before Nazzim discovered he had been robbed of his bride.

While her handmaidens were busy, Rebekah’s mother took her to one side. Usually a prospective bride had hours of instruction. Rebekah’s mother was frustrated with the turn of events that gave her no time to give much advice. “Aye, aye,” she moaned, clutching her mantle across her trembling mouth. “If I had known how it would be, I would have been wiser. How you will manage I don’t know.”

“Mother, I’ll manage very well. I’ll be quiet and demure, the perfect young bride.”

The mother held her at arm’s length. “You are too young, too impulsive. How will you manage?”

Rebekah saw the tears beginning to gather in her mother’s eyes. “So you wish I were marrying that old man Laban chose for me?”

“Ayeeeee,” her mother objected, throwing her hands in the air. “I would rather see you dead than married to such a one.”

“Eleazar says my young cousin is handsome, very rich, and generous.” Rebekah held her arm out and twisted the bracelets back and forth with obvious delight.

“His mother, our Sarah, died. Who will show you what to do? How will you manage?”

Rebekah shrugged and looked at her mother with amusement. “Look, I’ll show you.” With that she pulled her mantle around to cover her face so only her eyes were showing. She lowered her head and took small mincing steps as she had seen the local brides do so often. “I’ll be the perfect bride. You needn’t worry. I’ll be shy and quiet.” She spoke the words in a low, diffident manner that surprised her mother.

“There, that is right,” her mother said, smiling. “That is the way. A bride must remember these things are important.”

Rebekah stopped and looked with delight at her mother. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she reached out and hugged her. “I will do everything right until they are used to me and then … I may surprise them with my true self.” Here she flung back the mantle and with quick springing steps danced across the room.

“Too much freedom. I gave you too much freedom,” her mother cried as she sank down among the colorful bedrolls all neatly stacked in the corner of the room.

Rebekah saw that her mother was really disturbed and she felt remorseful that she had caused her so much concern. “Come, Mother,” she said. “I promise I’ll be shy, quiet, and modest just as you would wish.”

“You’ll keep your face covered …”

“I promise. I’ll do everything just the way everyone expects.”

With that her mother struggled to her feet and brushed her gown to straighten it, adjusted her mantle, and then with one long, fond look at her daughter, said, “There’s one consolation, you’re going to close relatives. You’ll be safe—no talk of divorce, beatings, or turning you out.” She sighed and wiped two large tears from her cheeks, then in a burst of emotion she embraced Rebekah and clung to her sobbing.

There was the sound of running, then voices low and insistent. Slowly her mother released her as she whispered, “It’s time to go. It’s bad luck to keep men waiting.”

With that, the two went out to join the others in the courtyard.

*  *  *

At the very last moment Rebekah’s mother called Deborah, Rebekah’s old nurse, aside. “Here,” she said, handing her a small, tightly wrapped bundle. “These are the swaddling clothes I wove with my own hands for my daughter’s first child.”