“There’s no need for every stray glance to be recorded. Strike the names from the record.”
“But Pharaoh?”
“We aren’t concerned with Pharaoh now. This girl has been insolent and brash enough to challenge me. I will have her name stricken from the record.”
“But Pharaoh …”
The little man was more frightened of the pharaoh’s anger than of the new favorite. He knew the former concubine had been prized and the daughter shown special favors. If Pharaoh found out that a name such as that had been blotted from the record without his approval, it could mean death for the scribe.
“Blot it out,” she stormed, standing over him and thumping the offending scroll with her flail. “I will tell Pharaoh that I, and I alone, ordered it. When he hears of the arrogance of this girl, he will agree with me.” Hajar felt faint, and the heavy odor of dried roses made her feel sick. This room looked bright and cheerful in the daytime, but at night most of it was engulfed in dark shadows. Only one torch gave off any light, and she felt as though she must have died and was being judged by the gods Anubis and Thoth. Even though her arms were tied, she still clutched the small glazed figure of the cow goddess Hathor in her right hand. “Hathor,” she prayed quietly, “I’ve served you well. Now I need help. You’re stronger than the scribe and stronger than this new favorite. If you are really there, now is the time to prove what you can do.”
The scribe talked for a few moments with Senebtisy. She nodded and then turned and mounted to her small throne. All eyes studied her as they waited for the verdict. Slowly and with planned hauteur she held out the flail instead of the crook, and everyone knew that Hajar was to be severely punished. “For your arrogance and pride, your open hostility to me, Pharaoh’s favorite, you will be chained to the wall in the court of women. You will be whipped and fed only bread and water. More important, your mother is even now being taken as a slave into one of the temples where you will never see her again. Finally, your name is to be changed to Hagar, meaning ‘flight,’ so everyone will remember your foolishness.”
Hajar, now Hagar, had never imagined that she could cause her mother such harm. It was almost unbearable to realize that because of her impulsive, rash action she would probably never see her mother again. Now she fell to the floor and cried, “Punish me as you like, but spare my mother. She had nothing to do with this.”
“What is done is done and what has been spoken will stand,” the new favorite said. With that she rose and looked around at the soldiers and then at Hagar. She once again assumed the pleasant look that royalty in Egypt were accustomed to wear, and then swept from the room.
The guards picked Hagar up from the floor with difficulty. She was almost wild with outrage and animosity. They brought her to the courtyard of women where they fastened her ankles to the wall with a chain that had served this purpose before. In the daytime it would be blistering hot, and at night it would be treacherously cold. Hagar knew that, and she swore with a great oath to get even. She would rely on her own wits and ingenuity to cause trouble wherever possible. She was determined to be a thorn in the flesh of the whole court.
As soon as her hands were loosed, she raised her right hand, and to the horror of the guards threw the small image of Hathor across the courtyard where it shattered into a dozen pieces.
The guards drew back in fear. “Hathor will see that you suffer,” they said to her. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“Hathor’s been no help to me. I’ll win by my own wits. Just wait and see. I’ll win.” She spat out the words in an angry torrent and the guards fell back. Never had they seen any but the most hardened criminals curse the gods.
The guards left and the courtyard again became quiet. Hagar could hear the sound of a fountain splashing, a flute being played in some distant courtyard, and faint and far away laughter. It was getting cold and she had no covering. She was hungry and thirsty. She suspected that she was to be kept as miserable as possible to be a lesson to others.
She thought about her mother and was on the verge of tears. She couldn’t afford to cry. She had to be strong. She had neither the gods to protect her nor friends to help her. She was alone with only her anger and hatred to keep her alive. She wanted revenge. Revenge against Pharaoh, her father, who had loved her a short time ago. Revenge against this new favorite who wielded such power. And revenge against Hathor who had deserted her in her time of need. Once she had succeeded in wreaking revenge, she could die—but not until then.
She slid down into a seated position and tried to get comfortable, but with her feet in chains it was impossible. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. Hot anger burned within her.
How I hate her! She thought as she pictured the young favorite proudly holding the place her mother had held such a short time ago. She pulled at her hair and dragged her dirty fingers down her face. “It’d be worth all of this if I could just live long enough to see her suffer.”
Sarai and the women loved to visit the palace. Slowly they became used to the formalities and the new Egyptian words and expressions. Even Abram relaxed and no longer feared for Sarai’s safety. A month had passed when a special invitation came for Sarai and the women to visit the ladies of Pharaoh’s house. The occasion was the birth of a new child to one of the concubines.
This time Abram gave no warning, and Sarai went off with the women, lighthearted and glowing with the anticipation of a real celebration. There was no hint of disaster or any reason to suspect that things would not go as they had gone in the past. However, hours later when the women returned to the villa, Sarai wasn’t with them.
Abram was called immediately. He had only to look at their faces to realize that something fearful had happened. At first they all spoke at once with words tumbling out in a torrent until Abram could hardly gather the facts. Finally Lot’s wife, Mara, pushed forward and began to explain in such a forceful way that the others grew quiet.
“I tried to warn Sarai,” she said, “but she wouldn’t listen. She was so flattered, so impressed by all the attention the old queen mother had given her.”
“I suppose she was trying to be charming and entertaining?” Abram asked.
“Oh, yes,” Mara said. “That’s when the old queen nodded to one of her serving girls, and they brought bracelets, rings, and earrings and put them on her. The queen kept saying, ‘We want you to stay. You can have anything you want.’”
Abram questioned them until he feared that Sarai was to be groomed as either a bride or a concubine for Pharaoh. It all fit together. Pharaoh had welcomed him as a man of position and means from Ur of the Chaldees. How could he better honor him than to marry his sister?
Abram dismissed the women. He needed to be alone to think. He paced the floor as he went over all the possibilities. Maybe it was nothing serious. Perhaps in Egypt, it was acceptable for a queen to detain someone she took an interest in. There had been no mention of Pharaoh. Perhaps he was assuming the worst when the situation would soon be explained.
He finally decided that he must get a message to Sarai. But he realized that short of some unusual circumstance, that would be impossible. The women’s quarters were in a remote, very secluded, and well-guarded section of the white palace.
The next day it became evident that Pharaoh had definitely decided to add Sarai to his harem. Just after sunrise, Abram was awakened out of a troubled sleep by a loud pounding on the front gate. He hurried out just in time to see the gate being opened for a company of Pharaoh’s bodyguard. They were dressed in their most festive attire, and each one carried a gift.
Behind them came men from the pharaoh’s kitchens with a feast of choice roast lambs, sweetbreads, and baskets of ripe fruits.
A scribe followed the procession. He positioned himself by the gate and took from his belt a written message, broke the pharaoh’s seal, and proceeded to read. Abram turned deadly pale as he anticipated the worst.
Pharaoh acknowledged having heard reports of Sara
i’s charm from some of the princes and then to having observed the women from his covered balcony. He was fascinated by Sarai. He intended to marry her as soon as possible, and in gratitude and as a symbol of their new relationship he was sending these small gifts as a token of what was to follow. “It is my great pleasure to make my new friend Abram rich.”
Abram struggled to maintain his composure until the messengers had left. Then he turned back to the villa, numb with dread. The realization that he was hopelessly enmeshed in a tangle of lies was unbearable. It was certain that if he confessed to the truth, Pharaoh would kill both of them.
All day he mulled over the situation, seeking some kind of escape, but by early evening he knew there was none. He climbed to the roof where he could see the glistening white of Pharaoh’s palace just visible between the trees. Somewhere within those walls his beloved, naïve, and saucy Sarai was being held. Was she crying? Was she frightened? Did she realize the danger she was in? He instinctively knew she wouldn’t be reacting in any of these usual ways. She was probably enjoying herself.
These thoughts drove him to despair until he realized her pleasant demeanor was probably her best protection. It wouldn’t do for Sarai to understand everything and get upset. She wouldn’t hesitate to explain that she was already married and insist on being brought home. It was hard for her to believe that these nice people could have her killed for much less.
Abram moved along the parapet until he could see the last bright glow of the setting sun. He was always amazed at sunrise and sunset in Egypt. It seemed to happen with very little warning. For a moment the glow highlighted the half-finished pyramid of the pharaoh that loomed to the west where the desert began. Pharaoh had taken him to see the pyramid. For the first time he had clearly understood that his old friend the vizier no longer existed. The vizier had become the pharaoh, wielding the crook and flail and wearing the two crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt.
Abram groaned. The vizier could have forgiven the lie and the complications involving Sarai, but not this god-man. Pharaoh made the sun rise after the blackness of night, and by his will and strength he held the two lands together. He believed he was a god. Who would dare to toy with the affections of a god as Abram and Sarai seemed to have done?
Abram groaned and sank to the floor with his head in his hands. “Elohim, Elohim, if You can hear me calling out from this strange land, help me! I am completely helpless to rescue Sarai. Terrible tragedy can result.” He waited, hoping he would hear the quiet inner voice that had once guided him. There was nothing but silence. Either Elohim wasn’t in Egypt, or else he had given up on him altogether. Abram wouldn’t blame him.
He bowed his head to the dried mud of the roof. Before his God he must be honest. “Whether You answer me or not, even if You’re through with me, maybe even sorry You chose me, I have to admit I did this whole thing. I got myself into this and I can’t get out. If You don’t help me, it’s hopeless.”
Abam couldn’t go on. He was too broken and distraught. He waited while the new moon rose and then set, and there was nothing. Finally a soft breeze blew across the roof and rustled in the branches of the palm. Abram rose and dusted off his robe, looked over the wall at the quiet scene, then glanced up at the cluster of stars hanging so low he felt he could touch them. He remembered Elohim had promised descendants as the stars, and he wondered if the promise still held. There was no way he could tell. The only small thread of hope was that he had prayed the right prayer. He had laid it all out honestly, stating his involvement in the problem. But even that could not quell the rising flood of anxiety.
Abram was weak from lack of food. He couldn’t imagine how he could possibly go to his bed and sleep. He clutched the borders of his robe so tightly that the veins stood out, dark cords against the tanned skin of his hand. Fear rose in him like a swirling tornado. If his God didn’t hear him, or refused to answer him, what would he do?
Abram’s part in the deception loomed ominously before him. How could he have thought it better to call Sarai his sister? It was the truth, but only a small part of the truth. He could imagine Pharaoh’s face, eyes flashing with indignation and hurt pride, his mouth twisted in contempt. Worse still, he could see how it would look to Pharaoh. The few times he had mentioned his God and the relationship he had with him would now seem the idiotic dream of a madman.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” was all he could say.
By the next evening he was exhausted. Abram had waved aside all food and had refused to see anyone. He wandered out to the pond and sank down on a marble bench. He tried to calm his fears by listening to the night sounds of the frogs and crickets. Instead of calming him, they made him nervous with their constant repetition. Finally he stood up and started toward the villa. He had come to a decision. He would at least try to settle things. I’ll go to Pharaoh and try to explain, he decided. I’ll set things right tomorrow.
Everyone else, family and slaves, had been sleeping for hours when he finally went to bed. Sleep evaded him. When it did come, he dreamed of the pharaoh with sharp, accusing eyes, holding out the dread flail that promised sure and terrible punishment, even death. The dreams were so real that when morning came, he had lost his resolve altogether. He didn’t go to square things with Pharaoh. Instead he accepted an invitation to dine as though nothing had happened.
Sarai lay in a half-awake state trying to remember where she was and what the strange disturbance was that had nudged her out of a sound sleep. She heard the soft humming sound of pigeons nearby and the whispers and then giggles of young girls passing her door. She heard the cry of the water carrier and the baker with bread. For a moment Sarai thought she was back in Ur, in her father’s house. Then she remembered. She wasn’t in Ur at all but in Pharaoh’s palace.
Gradually it all began to come back to her. The party with the old queen mother first appearing so formal and dignified and then laughing boisterously at Sarai’s antics. The wonderful cakes and luscious dates, the dancing girls and the gifts.
They had been entertained regally, but then the queen had motioned for Sarai and her women to contribute to the entertainment. Eliazer’s wife and sisters and Mara, Lot’s wife, drew back and hung their heads while the others did the same. Only Sarai responded. She had never been shy or self-conscious. She first showed them how the women of Ur danced. Then feeling more relaxed and at home under their obvious approval, she showed them how a shy young bride would dance. She snatched up a woven mat and held it on her head as she explained the custom of carrying a lighted oil lamp in this way by the bride. She then executed the mincing steps and shy retreating movements.
The queen’s eyes sparkled as she said, “And the bridegroom. Show us the bridegroom.”
Sarai by that time was glowing under the approval of these sophisticated women. She thought only a moment before she pulled up the pleated robe to resemble a man’s tunic, snatched up an embroidered sash to hold it in place, borrowed a dagger from a surprised guard, and was transformed into a bridegroom from Ur.
She performed the leaping, posturing, strutting dance so well, the women were hysterical with glee. Only when she was exhausted did they let her stop, and then they wanted her to tell stories of her people’s customs. Sarai loved the attention and the approval until it was time to go. Then from a curtained enclosure came a dwarf. He bowed before the queen with his head touching the ground. When she tapped him on the back with the crook, he rose and came close enough to whisper something in her ear. Without a word the queen motioned to one of the serving girls who quickly moved to detain Sarai.
“The queen wants you to stay with us awhile. She is very pleased with you,” she said.
Now Sarai remembered everything. She hadn’t been able to send a message to Abram, and she knew he would think the worst. She had seen nothing of the pharaoh. She felt sure the queen meant no harm. It was probably some custom, a way of honoring special guests.
She sat up, pulled the fine linen covering over her shoulders, and looked
around. The room was large and ornate. It reminded her of the decorated and pillared rooms of the villa. The smell of jasmine was in the air, though it wasn’t yet time for flowers to bloom.
A face appeared at a latticed window, smiled, and then disappeared. Within moments Sarai could hear the quick padding of feet along the corridor, a bolt unlatched, and the same smiling eyes peeped around the door. She couldn’t understand what the young woman said, but she handed Sarai a bowl of steaming barley gruel then smiled again and disappeared.
I like this, Sarai thought, and it can’t hurt for Abram to worry about me just a little. We’ll laugh about it later.
She idly sipped the hot gruel and wondered what could make it taste so good. She set the bowl down and shivered as she hugged her knees.
Outside her door were new noises. Slaves shouting to each other. Bare feet hitting firmly on the baked tiles as someone ran by, breathing hard. There was a distant clanging of cymbals and chanting as though some morning ritual were being carried out. A baby cried and some small children stopped quarreling as they heard shouted instructions from the outer courtyard.
Those sounds were normal. It was the other sound that finally got Sarai up from the pallet. She shivered in the clear, cold air and hurried out into the sunshine where it was warm. Her feet moved to a sun-drenched spot where she could feel the warmth of the tiles.
There was the sound again, a clanking sound, a sound of brass on stone. She looked around and saw the reason for the noise. It came from the corner of the courtyard where there appeared to be a crumpled mass of rags. Suddenly the crumpled mass stretched, came alive, and developed large round eyes, a pointed chin, and full, pouting lips; unbelievably dirty hair snaked down over the creature’s eyes. It took a moment for Sarai to realize that she was seeing a very young woman whose feet were chained to the stone wall. She had heard the chains. The young woman was making the noise on purpose just to annoy someone.
Abraham and Sarah Page 13
