Abraham and Sarah (31 page)

Abram smiled. For the first time he took her seriously. “He is Creator of all things and all people,” he said, “so He must be a God for Egyptians too.”

She looked skeptical and hesitated as though reluctant to ask the next question. Finally she dropped the bit of mantle and looked at him directly. “Your Elohim, is He a God for women too?”

Abram was taken aback. He had never thought about his God in that way. “I don’t know,” he said, “I just don’t know.”

“Tell me,” she said earnestly, “does He see me?”

No woman Abram knew asked about such things. They left such questions to the men. When he didn’t answer, she asked another question: “In Egypt there are gods for men and goddesses like Hathor for women. Who do I pray to for this child?”

“We have only the one God called Elohim. He is the God who told me to look at the stars and try to count them. When I couldn’t, He told me I would have descendants as the stars, and I believe Him.”

Hagar sighed. “How will I know if your God favors me?”

At that Abram smiled. “All that we know of Elohim has been told us by our fathers, or we have learned by watching what he does. He has promised me a son and land, and we will see what comes of it.”

There was a long silence. A wind came up. The flame in the alabaster lamp flickered and almost went out, a baby could be heard crying, and somewhere down toward the campfire came the sound of a shepherd’s flute. Its notes rose and fell in a familiar tune for hopeless lovers.

Slowly Hagar turned and looked at Abram. He had been studying her and had noticed the faint resemblance to his friend the pharaoh. There were
the same well-shaped nose, large eyes, full mouth, and royal demeanor. He had thought her face ordinary, but now he saw a haunting beauty about her. The beauty was illusive. It was not the beauty of Sarai but a much more sensual beauty that moved him deeply.

He experienced strong emotion, and it frightened him. He had not intended to feel anything for this woman. He loved Sarai and nothing must sully that love. She was of his family. She was of the same blood. She understood him. He suddenly feared that he might be carried beyond himself, led out to some new experience that would touch him at some deep level of his being. He struggled to resist the feeling, but with Hagar’s upturned face and the look of admiration that had melted her haughty stance, he forgot his caution. He reached out and drew her into his arms. He was filled with exquisite delight to hear her softly breathe, “It’s time. Oh, yes, it’s time.”

A month, then two months passed before Hagar could announce a change had taken place. By the time of the third new moon it was almost a sure fact that Hagar was expecting a child. Abram was elated. He acted like a young man in love, jovial, swaggering a bit, relaxed. He ordered special food for Hagar, music to be played, celebrations in her honor, and several serving girls given to her for personal use. It was difficult at first to tell whether he was just happy to be expecting a child or whether it was more than that.

Sarai knew right away. Abram, who had been unswerving in his love for her, had somehow changed. Her first thought was that he had been bewitched. She suspected the Egyptian of casting some strong spell on him. He no longer noticed her in the same way as before, but instead his eyes followed the Egyptian with obvious approval. It was more than delight at the prospect of a child. It was as though he’d totally forgotten Sarai in favor of the Egyptian.

To make matters worse, Hagar was different. Her eyes shone with some new fire, and even her walk was more sure and arrogant. “I am with child by Abram,” she said with a proud toss of her head as she joined the women at the well.

“I conceived so quickly. It’s not at all difficult,” she said, looking toward Sarai. The women sat together spinning thread to be woven into new tents. She seemed to be expecting Sarai to treat her with new respect and deference.

Sarai was furious. From the moment Hagar had announced her pregnancy,
Sarai had grown more and more resentful and angry. She was angry with Hagar for her arrogance, with Abram for his delight, and most of all with Abram’s God for giving Hagar, an Egyptian, a child so quickly and so effortlessly.

She resented all of her ardent prayers for a child, the concoctions she had swallowed, the new moons and the full moons, counted and observed. Most of all she was bitter, thinking of the times she had waited expectantly with unswerving faith that she would conceive. She had left nothing to chance, and still she had not become pregnant.

Then another thought occurred: Perhaps Abram’s God is not a God for women. Perhaps one needs the blessings of the earth goddess after all. The one certain fact was that she had been rejected by Abram and his God. Sarai had always been a sure, confident person, and this new feeling was devastating. Quickly following this feeling was a violent hatred toward Hagar.

She could see that Hagar expected her to be overjoyed at the turn of events. Of course, Abram was to blame for making so much of the girl’s accomplishment. If he hadn’t repeated over and over the promise and then accepted Hagar’s condition as the wonderful fulfillment, all of this could have been avoided.

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed Abram’s fault. He was the one who had lingered over the meetings with Hagar. He was the one who had flattered her and made her feel that she had been chosen by the Elohim to have the promised child. He was the one who had elevated Hagar to a place of prominence.

Without a moment’s hesitation she called one of the young men and told him to go quickly and bring Abram to her tent. While she waited, she paced back and forth, getting angrier and more resentful. She would confront him, make him reject Hagar.

Abram was bewildered to find Sarai in such a state of anger. He had known she was spirited and hot-tempered, but he had thought she would be pleased. She had wanted a child so badly. The idea had been hers. He could not untangle the perplexities of her reasoning. She kept saying it was his fault. He was to blame, but he could not understand what he had done.

He stood and watched her frenzy grow to frightening heights. He tried
to interrupt and soothe her anger with reason, but she would not listen. In one last effort to calm her, he said, “She is your handmaiden. Pharaoh gave her to you, and you may do with her as you please.” With that he turned and strode from the tent.

From that moment Sarai regained her composure. She was relieved that Abram didn’t defend the Egyptian. He obviously didn’t love her. He was simply using her to gain the promise. She didn’t admire him for his callousness, but nevertheless she was relieved.

Sarai now decided it wasn’t her husband’s fault at all. The fault lay with the girl Hagar. She had posed as such a friend, and now she had turned out to be capable of such cruelty. Sarai could not forgive her for her arrogance and thoughtless bragging.

She sent for Hagar and was surprised to see her enter the tent smiling and confident. Sarai glared at her and spoke sharply, “What charms have you used to get a child by my husband?”

Hagar was confused. “I used no charms,” she spoke hesitantly, not sure what Sarai meant.

“You have deceived me. You have worked Egyptian magic to get this child and to alienate my husband.”

“I have done only what you asked. I thought this was what you wanted.”

“Oh yes, you had to have the bridal tent, feasts, and special attention, and then you had to spend all those nights with my husband. You are evil beyond my imagining. I trusted you and you’ve deceived me.” Sarai’s eyes flashed and her voice was strident.

“My lady … Sarai.” Hagar backed away and a look of bewilderment crossed her face.

“Well, things are going to be different. You can stop your bragging about the child and putting on airs about how fast you were able to conceive. From now on you will live like the humblest servant. You will go out with the goats in the morning and come in at night and milk them. You will draw the water and grind the wheat. You will wear only a servant’s crudely spun clothes and eat after the others are finished.”

While Sarai spoke, Hagar began to back away. “My lady,” she said, “you forget the child.”

With mention of the child, Sarai’s anger became unbearable, and she slapped the Egyptian with the palm of her hand, raising a red welt. “There,
you see, I am not to be trifled with,” she said, rubbing her sore hand on her thigh.

Hagar backed to the tent door, holding her hand to her face. “In Egypt it is an imprisonable offense to slap a princess.”

“We are not in Egypt now, and you are my handmaiden. I can do as I please.”

“You forget I am carrying my lord Abram’s child. He will defend me.”

Sarai grew livid with rage. “You foolish one,” she said, “it was Abram who told me I may do with you as I like.”

Hagar let out an anguished cry. “I don’t believe you!” she said.

Sarai’s laugh was harsh and held a note of triumph. “Go, foolish one, and ask him. He himself will carry out my orders.”

Hagar backed away, feeling the sting of Sarai’s words sharper than the sting of the bruise on her face. She groped for the opening to the tent and plunged out into the moonless night. Would Abram truly not speak for her, defend her? Hagar knew Abram had always done whatever Sarai requested, but certainly he would not allow the mother of his child to be treated so badly.

Sarai’s cruel words echoed in Hagar’s ears, reminding her that despite the child she carried, Hagar remained merely a handmaiden, forced to do the bidding of her mistress.

Hatred flared up in her, and she began to run through the loose sand, stumbling and falling, picking herself up. With each step she felt the urgent need to escape. She ran aimlessly down the path that led south, away from the camp.

She had no idea where she would go. It didn’t really matter. Just to lose herself, to find a place where she could hide from these ones who had crushed her joy. She fled through the darkness, avoiding any familiar path that would lead to the campfires of shepherds or nearby villages. She stumbled and ran, feeling the jagged rocks pierce her light sandals. Thornbushes tore at her skirt and legs, and the cold, the creeping cold of the spring night, penetrated her thin mantle. Her head throbbed, and she felt a strangling, choking sensation, an unrelenting pain somewhere in her chest.

When she began to slacken her pace, hurt and outrage boiled to the surface. She clutched at knotted roots and twigs to climb rock barriers and slid down gullies, tearing her clothes. Branches of wild fig caught her uncovered hair and held her hostage until she could pull loose. She had no idea of where
she was or where she was going. She knew only that she must escape.

Hagar finally sank down at the base of a small tamarisk tree and waited for the moon to come up. The light from the moon revealed the vast, barren expanse of the Negev stretched out before her. She stood up and tried to determine how far she had come, and then hurried along at a slower, less-frenzied pace.

By morning she was beyond the planted, walled terraces of farmers and was looking out over a wide stretch of rolling sand and small bushes. She was exhausted. She sank down under an acacia bush and drank a bit of the precious water from her goatskin flask. She was soon asleep.

When she awoke, a subtle change had taken place. A hot wind blew from the south, and the sky had grown overcast. Hagar feared it was the dread Sherkiyeh, a wind that blew with the force of a furnace and stirred up sand until one could not see even a few steps ahead. There would be only a short time and the light would fade and the sand would begin to blow. She had to find shelter fast. All thought of her recent ordeal faded before her new problem.

Hagar found an outcropping of rock just in time. In great bursts the wind dug at the hillocks of sand and sent them billowing and rolling in ominous clouds until even the nearest bush was blotted out. She could see no sky and no solid ground. She covered her face with her mantle and still found it difficult to breathe. The heat was oppressive, the air dry and hostile. She tasted the gritty sand on her lips and, reaching up, felt her hair caked with it. Her skin was pummeled by small particles, and she seriously began to fear that she would suffocate alone in this wilderness, far from any familiar face.