Abraham and Sarah (24 page)

On this night Sarai had gone to her tent, and Hagar was left sitting alone by her fire. They had come several days journey past the border of Egypt and were in the desert with bright stars overhead and the low murmur of voices coming from other tents.

Her thoughts turned to Sarai. She knew Sarai would never have a child now. She had passed the age when a woman conceived. She no longer had her monthly visitations. That made it inevitable that at any time now, Abram would call Hagar to his tent. She was surprised to find the idea somewhat exciting. She had watched with curiosity as he had greeted his men with enthusiasm, at the same time commanding their respect and admiration. She had been amazed to find him always gentle and understanding with Sarai, even when she was most difficult. She had also on occasion noticed his love of small children, his generosity, and his hospitality.

She who prided herself on being aloof and obstinate found herself first fascinated and then close to admiration as she studied this man who was not
only her master but perhaps the future father of any child she might have.

She was not eager to have a child. A child would need love and could make her vulnerable. A child was not important to her at the moment. However, if she became genuinely attracted to this man, she might need a child. A child was what he wanted, and perhaps it would be well worth the trouble to gain the attention of a man like this who walked before them like a god.

She rubbed her arms to keep warm, then held them out over the fire to feel its heat. She was waiting … waiting for something. She couldn’t even admit to herself that it might be for a glimpse of this man she was beginning to find so fascinating.

That he had never so much as glanced in her direction annoyed her. His eyes rested on Sarai with warmth and delight, and his interest in her baffled Hagar. Sarai wasn’t young, and more than that, she was obstinate and at times quarrelsome.

Hagar had to admit that for the first time in her life she felt challenged. She wanted this man to look at her the way he had looked at Sarai, and she was determined to somehow make it happen. That was a small thing. Whether she would have a child was another matter. With that settled in her mind she rose and got a goatskin wrap from the tent and curled up by the fire. She was soon asleep and didn’t know that Abram passed just a few steps from her, walking tall and composed to spend the night with Sarai in his section of the tent.

W
hen they came to Luz in the mountains above the Jordan, Abram surprised everyone by insisting that they camp and build an altar. It had been almost four years since he had last worshiped his God in this place. It was springtime and all traces of the famine had vanished. The spring rains had been abundant and the almond trees were covered with white blossoms. The spring wheat was up and the grape arbors were touched with the green of new leaves.

Their flocks covered the hillsides in every direction and young lambs were being added daily. Abram, Lot, Iscah, and Eliazer went to the village to seek permission to camp. The leaders remembered and welcomed them. Abram had been generous with food and gifts during their former stay, and the village chief, seeing their wealth, was anticipating even greater largesse this time.

In a great show of hospitality and goodwill, the chief of the village took them to the roof of his house where a grapevine arbor offered shade. When they were comfortably settled on the straw-filled cushions, he offered them heaping trays of almonds and dates. Drinks of pomegranate juice followed in large, clumsy clay bowls. Finally, settling back among the dusty cushions, he asked them for news of Egypt. They soon found the village chief was already so well informed there was little to relate, and news of the Jordan Valley took up most of the conversation.

The Elamites who had caused such devastation in Ur had, during the same period, captured the neighboring cities that surrounded the Salt Sea. They had been exacting tribute from them ever since. Now for the first time, there was resistance.

“The men of Sodom and Gomorrah are objecting to the tribute,” the village chief said as he slowly stirred the juice with his forefinger. When no one spoke, he continued, “Ched-or-la’o-mer, king of Elam, is vowing to come and bring the rebellion under control.” For a moment he held his bowl suspended as his eyes nervously darted from one to the other, then with a shrug he drank noisily.

“And,” questioned Lot, bending forward expectantly, “what do you think their answer is going to be? Will the men of Sodom and Gomorrah give in?”

The chief again held the clay bowl suspended as he seemed to ponder the question. Then absentmindedly setting the bowl down, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and turned to Lot. “The men of Sodom have no interest in fighting,” he said. “They live only for drinking and partying. They take pleasure in every fleshly whim.”

Lot leaned forward with growing interest. “It sounds like what we enjoyed in Egypt.”

“Perhaps,” the chief admitted. “I know nothing of the customs of Egypt, but of Sodom and Gomorrah I know. They are not what we here in Luz would call ‘real men’ with the normal interests of real men.”

With that the conversation came to an end. Abram invited the chief and his men to visit them and then, with the usual expressions of goodwill, bade them good day.

“Now,” said Abram as they made their way up the path to where they were camped, “it’s time to rebuild the altar and start over again. Elohim may never have intended that we go to Egypt. I moved too fast without listening. We must not make that mistake again.”

Hagar stood in the door of the tent and watched the embers slowly die on the rough pile of stones these people called an altar. From a distance she had watched the men as they built this strange edifice and then raised their hands as they prayed and sang. She was fascinated. The altars she had known were hidden in the darkest corner of the great temples and were approached with fear and trepidation. These men were joyful. Some even seemed to be dancing.

In the midst of the men was Abram, his head thrown back and a look of wonder on his face. It was no ordinary, routine procedure such as would be carried out in the temples of Egypt. It was some mysterious, reverent-yet-joyful ritual, and Abram was the leader. As the fire leaped up and the smoke rose, Abram led the men in singing. It was singing such as she had never heard before. It was hauntingly majestic and had overtones of deep emotion.

It brought tears to her eyes and, strangely enough, a reluctant admiration for this man and his God. She who had known various emotions had never felt admiration for anyone nor had she ever cried. Now she hurried into the
tent so that no one would know she had been so moved.

When she was again in control of her emotions, she went to find Sarai. Sarai was in her tent with the flaps up. She was sitting on a black-and-white goatskin rug working on a basket made of reeds gathered from the Nile. To Hagar’s surprise, she was facing away from the obvious view of the altar.

When Sarai looked up, Hagar could see that she was in a bad humor. She knew better than to ask questions when Sarai was so out of sorts, but she was so curious and astonished by what she had seen that she couldn’t resist.

“The God … where is the God they are worshiping? Where is His image?” she asked.

“No one can see him,” Sarai said without looking up. “He’s like the wind. Not like something made with hands.”

“There’s no image of Him?”

“Image?” Sarai looked up in surprise. “No, there’s no image, and no one has ever seen Him.”

“Then,” said Hagar, narrowing her eyes in speculation, “how does my lord Abram know this God really exists?”

“That’s simple,” said Sarai, twisting a reed to fit at the base of the basket’s handle. “This God speaks to him. Tells him things, gives him wonderful promises.”

Hagar was immediately entranced. “Promises? His God really speaks and makes promises?”

Sarai stopped twisting the reed and jammed it into the opening with deliberation and a show of frustration. “Yes, promises. His God has told him this land is going to belong to him and to his descendants.”

“Descendants?” The word seemed so out of place, so inappropriate. Hagar couldn’t resist asking, “Has the voice ever spoken to you?”

Sarai looked up quickly and paused to determine whether Hagar had meant anything by her question. Was she making some point or statement? She decided Hagar was just curious, and so she answered with a shrug, “No, I’ve never heard Him speak, but He’s promised Abram a child, descendants. It’s all foolishness. Imagine promising a child at my age?”

Hagar could hardly take in what she was hearing. What a strange thing, to actually hear a god speak. She glanced at Sarai, ready to ask more questions, but she could tell by the tight set of her lips and the way she yanked the reeds to get them to fit that it was not the time for more questions.

Hagar turned away and headed out of the tent. She wanted to be alone, wanted to think about all that was happening and had happened. Off to the right was a path that led up to a rocky ledge. Impulsively she turned and within minutes was sitting on the ledge overlooking the camp and the men who were still gathered around the altar. The sun was setting; it would soon be dark. She rubbed her bare arms to keep warm and wrapped the fringed shawl more tightly around her.

The moon came up and one star shone out of the blue-green darkness. An eagle hung suspended in space above the altar and then flew off in the direction of the Jordan River. In Egypt they would see that as a sign of something—either very good or very bad. Everything was still now except for the sound of a baby crying in one of the tents and the high, sad sound of one of the men singing an old tribal song.

“His God has promised him descendants,” she whispered. “It is obvious they won’t come through Sarai.”

She stood up and lifted her chin in the old defiant way. She was a stranger among these people. Their ways were not her ways and their God was unknown to her. However, if she managed her situation with cleverness, she could become the mother of this tribe’s next leader. It would be her child, flesh of her flesh, bone of her bones, heir of all Abram’s fortune. Of course, Sarai would claim the child. It was her right, but for at least three years Hagar would be needed to nurse the child.

Her lips curved in a smile of unabashed delight. She would have to be patient. She must do everything she could think of to please Sarai. That wouldn’t be hard since they were friends. She had noticed that Sarai was hot-tempered and disagreeable at times, but that was to be expected of someone who had been cursed with such a terrible curse. Who would want or need a barren woman? It was indeed strange that Abram had kept her and even seemed to love her. Undoubtedly it was because she was also his half-sister.

Slowly she retraced her steps and found her way to Sarai’s tent. As she raised the tent flap, she noticed that Sarai was already asleep. She moved noiselessly past her to the back of the tent, unrolled the heavy goatskin robe, and spread it out on the bare ground. The dew was heavy in these parts, and she had learned from experience to sleep inside the tent where it was dry and safe from wild animals. She lay down and pulled the robe up to her nose. Then smelling the rancid odor of the goat hair, she flung it away.

In the darkness Hagar reached up and fumbled in the chest that held all her belongings. She pulled out the delicate linen and wool piece that smelled sweetly of balsam and jasmine. Wrapping that around her, she once again lay down and was soon asleep. Her last thoughts were of the future. She would become Abram’s mistress and mother of his child. He would love her devotedly for giving him the desire of his heart and would grant her every wish. Then she decided with a triumphant smile, I’ll get rid of all the goatskin covers and have only linen shipped from Egypt.