Abraham and Sarah (2 page)

“Believe or not,” Nahor said, “this will affect our business.”

Terah had heard enough. He waved his hands wildly, signaling Nahor to stop. He wanted to end the discussion. There was a whole day before them and maybe he would think of something. He struggled to stand, and Nahor jumped up to help him.

“My father,” he said, “don’t worry. I have been to the temple and have chosen one of these women for a night. I couldn’t see that it hurt her.”

“But Sarai is so frivolous and strong-willed.” Haran was now standing, and his face was twisted into a look of misery.

“I’ll talk with the priestess … give her some silver. I’ll make sure Sarai is treated right,” Nahor said. “When this is over, Sarai will thank us. She can marry anyone in Ur, even a prince.”

Terah had heard enough. Without another word he turned and walked out the door and headed in the direction of the temple and the market. The
two brothers came to the doorway and watched him go. They stood in silence, thinking of all the complexities. Their sister Sarai was beautiful but headstrong, the darling of the entire family, and Terah—along with their older brother Abram—could refuse her nothing.

Abram was not to know of the scheme. He would never approve of it. In fact, ever since an experience none of them had been able to understand, Abram had been opposed to the family’s business in idols. He wanted them to stick to trading. He’d gone back to the ways of the old religion.

“It’s fortunate,” Nahor said now, “that Abram is safely off on a trading venture and won’t be back until the fertility festival is over. By that time Sarai will probably be happily married to a wealthy man in Ur.”

To everyone’s relief, Sarai did not balk at the invitation. Her brothers told her that she was to take part in the temple mysteries. When she asked more questions, they were evasive. The temple mysteries were always referred to with raised eyebrows and blushes, but the secrets were never divulged so she knew nothing of the sacrifice. She tried on the fine linen robe with many fringes, the caplet of silver leaves, and the new sandals with golden thongs and then paraded back and forth before the serving girls.

“The goddess will find you beautiful,” one of the young girls said, clapping her hands in delight.

“Better that Abram were here to see me. He always treats me as a child.”

A serving maid smirked and said, “He won’t think you a child after tonight.”

Sarai stopped preening and frowned. “No one believes me when I say I love Abram.” She looked around and saw their unbelieving expressions. She felt put out and contrary. In a burst of frustration she countered, “Someday I intend to marry him.”

An old woman cackled with amusement, “After tonight you won’t need Abram’s love. You can marry anyone in Ur.” Sarai fingered the fringes and brushed a strand of hair back under the caplet. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“Even a prince?” the women chorused.

Sarai laughed. “A prince? A Sumerian prince?”

“Why not?” the old woman said. “Every young virgin hopes to marry one of Ur’s princes.”

Sarai made circles with her fingers around her eyes. “They have big eyes and ugly shaved heads, and they are all fat.”

“And Abram …”

“Oh, he’s handsome and strong. He isn’t afraid of anything or anyone.” Everyone laughed as though it was a good joke. Abram was ten years older than Sarai and her half-brother. Though he was exactly as Sarai described him, still each girl assumed, given the chance, Sarai would choose a prince.

Once more she was the center of attention. Maids whirled around the room trying to grant her every wish, and she, giddy with excitement, joked and posed in the new garments until she was bored with the whole affair.

Sarai dropped the elaborate headpiece on one little slave’s head and thrust the fine robe and fancy slippers into another’s lap. “I’ll be back to get ready, but I have other things to do now.” Laughing, she turned to leave and was surprised to see her favorite maid blinking back tears and the others turning away so she couldn’t see their expressions.

“What’s wrong?” she chided as she stepped back into the room. “Why is everyone so sad?”

When no one answered, she snatched up the small image that had no body but sported two large eyes. “See, no evil djinn can harm me as long as I carry the eyes of the goddess. She sees everything.” She whirled around so that the eyes seemed to look in all directions.

The slaves and serving maids had to laugh. Impulsively they gathered around her, kissing her hands and the hem of her robe. “Surely only good will come to you tonight,” her maid whispered. “The goddess will be merciful. She will be pleased with your offering.”

Sarai tore herself away from them, and tucking the image of the eyes in the fold of her fringed robe, she joked, “Enough, the eyes have seen enough if I am to be approved by the goddess.” With that she left them, and it was only later, much later, that she remembered their tears and understood.

Sarai loved attention. When evening finally came and all the women gathered to see that she was dressed as befitted Terah’s daughter, she preened and paraded before them like one of the family’s peacocks.

Her robe was of the finest linen brought from Egypt on one of Terah’s trading ventures. Her caplet of silver leaves was the work of a royal artisan, and the jewelry she wore was chosen from the chest of family jewels hidden in the secret alcove beneath the stairs.

At last her father’s concubine brought her a bracelet of copper inset with jade and lapis lazuli. “Be brave and do whatever is asked of you and all will be
well. Remember it is only one night,” she said.

Sarai had been so excited, she paid little attention to the words but instead went from one admiring group to another, showing off the new bracelet. It was obvious she had loved every bit of the preparation, from the anointing with fragrant oil to the procession of dancers and magicians that came to lead her to the temple of Ningal at the foot of the ziggurat.

Terah, the brothers Nahor and Haran, a few of the slaves, and Terah’s concubine followed behind the procession, keeping a careful watch so that no harm should come to Sarai.

When they came to the great gate leading into the temple, the guards insisted that only Sarai and the slaves bearing her sedan chair might enter. For the first time Sarai felt a twinge of apprehension. It was too dark to see any of her family. Most of the torches had burned out, and she could make out only a large, dimly lit courtyard. The gate slammed behind her with a harsh, grating sound. Quickly she was carried through a mob of impatient men who were milling around and making crude remarks. The chair was set down in a cleared space before the venerated temple of Ningal, the earth goddess. Sarai peered into the shadows and saw a group of young women huddled together on a clay bench built out from the temple wall.

Without a word being said, one of the priestesses came and led her to a place on the bench. “What do we do now?” Sarai asked. “What does this mean?”

The priestess seemed to be surprised at her question. “I see,” she said at last, “you are not one of us. You are not a Sumerian.” She waved her hand toward the clumps of men. “You will wait here until you are chosen by one of them,” she said. “He will pay the goddess for your favors.”

Sarai had trouble comprehending just what the priestess meant. She couldn’t imagine the delightful preparation and all the excitement were to lead to this. She sank down on the clay bench and turned to the young girl next to her. “What’s to happen?” she asked.

“We’re to sacrifice our virginity to the great goddess,” the girl whispered.

“I know that,” Sarai said, “but what does that mean?”

The girl looked at Sarai in surprise, then whispered, “It means we will be chosen by strangers who will pay the goddess the price of our virginity.”

“And then what?” Sarai demanded with growing apprehension.

“We must go with the man into the temple. He can do with us as he pleases,” the girl said, blushing.

Sarai suddenly understood enough to be alarmed. “Must we be chosen?” she asked. “Is everyone chosen?”

“If a person isn’t chosen, the price is lowered until even a poor beggar can afford the unfortunate girl.”

Sarai noticed with mounting disgust that the ribald crowd of men had pushed forward to look over the offerings for the night. Most of them were old enough to be her father. Some wore strange garments of other countries. They were traders looking for entertainment, and they had the money required. Others were from Ur and wore the typical fringed garment and had the usual shaved head and bulging eyes.

One old man, obviously wealthy, leaned heavily on a slave’s arm while pointing with a long, bony finger at first one girl and then another.

“He’s trying to decide which of us he wants,” the girl next to Sarai explained. “He’ll get his choice. You’ll see, he’ll get his choice.”

Sarai was indignant. “I don’t care who he is or what the priestess wants, I won’t go with any of them no matter what they pay.”

At that moment the old man pointed at Sarai and then prodded the young slave to lead him over for a better look. Sarai shrank back. Her hands clung to the bench with such force her knuckles turned white. The old man had to lean down to get a closer look. For a moment the torchlight glinted on his shaved head and greedy, lustful eyes. His clothes were of rich embroidery and fringed, but reeked of garlic and wine.

He was about to reach out and test the firmness of Sarai’s arm when several young men pushed him aside. They, too, had settled on Sarai. With crude jokes and obscene gestures they tried to get her attention.

Sarai eyed them defiantly, but that seemed only to make them more interested. The young priestess in charge noticed and raised the price on Sarai until some of them backed off.

“It won’t be so bad,” the girl next to Sarai whispered. “If we are fortunate, the high priestess herself will come to bless us and give us one of the small images for good luck. There will be entertainment before we are finally chosen.”

No sooner had she spoken than a sudden commotion arose near the great bronze doors of the temple. From inside could be heard trumpets, then chanting, and at last a grating, grinding sound as the huge doors slowly opened. The singing and chanting grew louder and louder. From the doorway came a great
burst of blinding light and flames, then smoke billowed out into the courtyard, carrying with it the pleasant odor of sandalwood. In the midst of the smoke an apparition of female beauty appeared. Most of the men and many of the women fell to their knees and wept for joy, crying, “Inanna, Inanna, queen of heaven, give us blessing.”

She wore a crown of sparkling jewels and a garment of such dazzling white that no fuller could claim credit. The garment was decorated with only a jeweled girdle, and her feet, fragile as alabaster, were enclosed in golden, jeweled slippers.

“The queen of heaven. It’s the queen of heaven,” whispered the people in awe.

Sarai had not bowed; instead she looked with intense curiosity at this woman who was the high priestess of Inanna, the queen of Ur. The high priestess moved out to join one of the young priestesses who carried a basket on her arm filled with small images of the goddess. The high priestess proceeded to give each young woman one as a talisman to bring her luck and good fortune in love. Each time she handed one to a girl, she would say, “May the earth goddess, Ningal, be pleased with your offering and make you fruitful.”

Sarai was surprised that the hands of the high priestess belied the youthful impression she created. She was much older than she at first appeared. Looking more closely, Sarai noticed hard lines around her mouth and saw that her eyes were glazed as though she was not really seeing anything.

Sarai took the small image from her and sat studying it. To her confusion and astonishment, she saw that the image was quite familiar. She had seen hundreds like it being crafted in her father’s shop.

She had no time to think about the strangeness of her discovery because at that moment the young priestess began to pass through the men with a large bronze pot. There was much discussion and at times tough bargaining as each man picked out the young woman of his choice. With a flourish he dropped the gold pieces in the pot, claimed the young girl, and disappeared into the dark, shadowed entrance of the temple.

Sarai was fifth in the line and could see that it would be but a short time before the old man would drop his coins in the pot and come to claim her. She broke into a sweat and angrily peered into the darkness, looking for a familiar face. Where were her brothers or her father? How could they leave her here? How could they desert her, knowing what they must know?

She saw the leering stance of the old man as he fumbled in his belt for the coins. He handed them to the young slave and waved his cane at the priestess, demanding that he be next.

Sarai jumped up, ready to object, and dropped the small clay image. As it hit the cobblestones of the court, one short arm broke off and rolled under the bench. Instantly the air was filled with wailing and shrieking as a dozen young priestesses rushed to pick up the broken image.

“It is an omen,” they shrieked. “The goddess is angry.” They turned and glared at Sarai and were about to insist that she go with the old man.

Suddenly there was a disturbance at the gate, followed by shouting. A band of armed men pushed their way into the courtyard. Their leader, who was tall and handsome and had a reckless air about him, stepped forward into the light. He looked boldly around as though challenging the crowd, and then with long, sure strides he walked to the priestess holding the brass pot.

With a thrill of recognition Sarai stepped forward. It was Abram. She hesitated as she saw him take a pouch from his belt and pour its contents into his hand. Then while they all watched in stunned amazement, he let the gold slip through his fingers slowly so they would know he was paying a good price.

For a brief moment he looked at the priestess. Turning, he strode over to where Sarai was standing. He took her in his arms, and she clung to him with all hauteur gone, only unabashed relief evident. Then holding her at arm’s length, he asked if she was all right. Sarai nodded and noticed that his eyes were tender and filled with compassion.