Pearl in the Sand

by Tessa Afshar

  “Then let me be a husband to you,” he soothed. “Let me take the lead. You don’t need to perform for me. You don’t need to act, or do anything unless something wells up in you out of love, or out of your own desire. I want nothing from you except what is freely given.

  “When I touch you, it is an outward expression of a love that fills every part of my being. I long to be connected to you. My body demonstrates the longing of my soul. I have no interest in using you to slake my lust. I have no interest in using you at all. What I want is an intimacy that encompasses every aspect of our being. Together. Let me touch you like that. And you touch me the same way. I have no expectations of you, beloved. There’s no need to perform. Just love me, and I will feel it and be satisfied.”

  Rahab was silent as she digested his words. With more courage than confidence, she lifted her hand and placed it over his chest. “I want to try your way,” she declared, her voice raw.

  Salmone’s flinty gaze as he studied her was unflinching. “There is one condition over which I will not compromise. The moment you slip back into old memories, the moment your mind turns my touch into work, or shame, I want you to stop me. As hard as that might be for me, it would be a thousand times worse to find out afterward that I caused you turmoil or humiliation. The thought of harming you in any way turns my stomach. Can you understand? Will you promise to do as I ask?”

  “I promise,” she whispered. She knew it would not be an easy promise to keep. Stopping him partway because she didn’t feel right seemed to her the most selfish behavior imaginable. Would he not resent and revile her for being such a bundle of needs? Such a burden of requirements? And yet she had to trust him when he said that he would feel worse if she did not express her needs. She had to believe he could bear the weight of her brokenness and not give up on her.

  Almost as though reading her thoughts, he whispered again, “Trust me,” and then kissed her, his hands twining in her hair and lifting up her face to deepen the kiss.

  “Do you like this?” he asked later, and forced her to answer when she would rather stay mute. “And this?” he insisted, not giving quarter until she learned to be honest with what she felt. “I want to know what you like. Tell me,” he said. “Do you want this? Shall I stop?”

  “No!” she cried out, and he laughed, a triumphant, wholly masculine sound that sent shivers down her spine.

  That night Rahab learned purity in the bed of her husband. She learned that there was nothing dirty or sinful or corrupt about being touched, being possessed by one to whom God had joined her. And she began to comprehend that Salmone could willingly bear being delayed for her sake. He enjoyed only what she could mutually enjoy with him, and he held no grudges for the differences between them. The more freedom he gave her, the greater her ability grew to find pleasure in his arms. That night, Rahab left Jericho and its massive walls behind her.

  Morning came much too soon. Salmone’s good-bye was wrenching. Half his mind was already on his mission, Rahab could see. She gave him a swift embrace, trying to memorize the contours of his lips against hers, the shape of his hands branding her back, the tickle of his clean beard, and the expanse of chest that seemed to envelop her. Then she let him go, sensing his impatience to be on the road. She walked with him to Caleb’s tent where Ezra and Hanani and Miriam already awaited. Joshua had arranged for three swift donkeys to be given to the men, and these stood at the ready, peacefully chewing fodder. Here in public, her good-bye was formal and constrained. But Salmone, obviously not suffering from shyness, pulled her into his arms and held her with passionate possessiveness. “I’ll be back for more,” he whispered in her ear, and was gone.

  To Rahab’s delight, Miriam moved back home that evening. She helped store Miriam’s clothes back in a carved chest made from acacia wood. By the standards of Jericho, her belongings appeared meager, though they met the needs of a maiden of Israel. Nonetheless, Rahab promised herself to weave fabric for a new dress for her sister-in-law as soon as she finished the tunic she was making for Salmone.

  It would have been unbearable, Rahab reflected, to go through the agonizing hours of her husband’s absence by herself. She found herself, instead, delighting in Miriam’s company. They had already learned to live together from their days in the tent of the wounded. Neither grated on the other; neither felt intruded on by the other. They made a good match, Miriam easygoing and ready to help, Rahab organized but not bossy. Together, they often prayed. In those times Rahab felt closest to God and buoyed by hope in the face of near constant concern for Salmone’s well-being.

  On the second day of Miriam’s return home, the two women rose with the sun and set out for the tent of the sick with the bundles they had prepared the previous day. Rahab welcomed the distraction.

  To her amazement, the greatest diversion came from an entirely unforeseen source: Miriam. Unexpectedly, she entered into a heated argument with the wife of one of her patients. Rahab thought her sister-in-law’s anger understandable since the wife of the patient, a man by the name of Benjamin who suffered from a wasting disease, was an unpleasant complainer who would have tested the patience of an angel.

  Zuph had assigned Benjamin to Miriam’s care, hoping that her meticulous ministrations might help improve his condition. Rahab was caring for a sleeping boy next to Benjamin when his wife, who had stepped out for a respite, came back into the tent to find Miriam tending her husband.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed.

  With characteristic calm, Miriam responded, “I am Miriam of Judah; I help with the sick. Zuph sent me to look after your husband.” The woman curled her lip. “That incompetent jackal Zuph? As if I would depend on anything he said.”

  Miriam stiffened. “Would you like me to stop caring for your husband?”

  “Caring? You call what you people do caring? You’ve caused him more damage than good, I shouldn’t wonder. Get your hands off him.”

  Miriam tightened her lips and rose up. “As you wish.” Her patience, worn thin already, ran out completely when she observed the woman feeding Benjamin the kind of solid food Zuph had expressly forbidden.

  “Stop giving him that! You’ll make him sicker.”

  “And who do you think you are, telling me what to feed my husband?”

  “You’re doing him no service by giving him that food. He needs light liquids.”

  “Can’t you see how skinny he is? And should I starve him more when he’s wasting away already? Mind your own business, you nosy Judean wench. I know what’s best for my own husband.”

  Miriam stormed forward to stand very close to the woman. “If he dies, his death will be on your head. I’ve never seen such an ill-mannered, selfish, ignorant woman in all Israel.”

  Rahab stood up, certain that if someone did not interfere, matters would turn ugly. Fortunately Zuph must have arrived at the same conclusion. He walked up to the two women and, taking Miriam by the arm, pulled her away. “She cannot be reasoned with, child. Let it go,” he murmured.

  On the way back home Miriam kept silent, walking with absent-minded grace and furrowed brow. They were in the territory of Judah by the time she opened her mouth. “Well, at least now I have disabused you of the notion that I am without fault.”

  “What did you say that she didn’t deserve?” Rahab responded. “Most people would have exploded long before you did.”

  “I am not saying she wasn’t wrong. It’s my response to her behavior that’s the problem. She was in anguish, Rahab. Filled with worry for her husband. I could have been more understanding.”

  Rahab frowned. “Miriam, I was there and believe me when I tell you, you were the one wronged.”

  “I am aware of that. But she’s answerable to God for her wrongdoing, not to me. I should have reacted out of mercy. That’s why God provides me with a sacrifice when I make wrong choices, isn’t it? So He can extend mercy to me. Should I not treat others the same? Yet, I’m struggling to forgive her, Rahab. I don’t want to. I like holding o
n to my grievances. It helps me focus on her wrong rather than mine.”

  Rahab was quiet. Miriam’s words prodded an old agony for her. She had her own struggles with forgiveness and mercy, struggles more profound than Miriam’s current situation. She had never forgiven her father. Not truly. She had helped him financially and preserved his life during Jericho’s downfall, but these many years she had also held his failure against him, not letting go of the wrong he had committed against her. The last time she had called him Abba, she was fifteen.

  Her sister-in-law was battling with herself because she wanted to extend to others the pardon she received from God. Although she hadn’t achieved that desire toward Benjamin’s wife as yet, at least she was striving to. Ought not Rahab do the same for her father? Ought she not ask God for a change of heart toward him? Now it was Rahab’s turn to stew in silence. It seemed almost too much to ask, such forgiveness.

  That evening, after they had finished supper, Rahab disclosed some of these thoughts to Miriam. The kind of vulnerable openness required for such a conversation represented a new territory for Rahab. The openness and vulnerability in her relationship with Salmone had begun to influence her other relationships as well. Rather than holding her secrets close to her chest for fear of being rebuffed, she shared them candidly. Feeling secure in Miriam’s love, she was able to be honest about her shortcomings. This vulnerability was rewarded with an experience of intimate belonging. She felt truly connected to Miriam. And the more she shared, the less lonely she felt.

  Miriam was thoughtful when Rahab had finished speaking. “I think you are right in believing that you need to forgive him. But it may not come so easily. Has he ever asked your pardon?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps he isn’t even aware that he needs to. It’s possible that he has excused his decision in his own mind. Which means you must learn to forgive an impenitent man. Not the easiest thing to do, Rahab, but the right one.”

  “Ugh. The thought of it gives me indigestion.”

  “Let’s ask God for His help. If this is what He wants, He must impart the strength to you. Here I am struggling with forgiving Benjamin’s blighted wife. I can’t begin to imagine how hard it is for you.”

  After prayer Rahab went outside to wash a few dishes when she noticed a man walking toward their tent. The familiar form, the long-legged graceful gait, and the broad shoulders caused her to gasp. “Salmone!” She dropped the dishes with a clatter, picked up her skirts, and ran to him. He laughed out loud when she pitched herself into his waiting arms.

  “Such a welcome for two days’ absence. What will you do if I’m gone for two weeks?”

  “Don’t make me find out, you wretch.”

  He kissed her soundly. “I thought I must have embellished this in my imagination,” he murmured. “I haven’t.”

  Rahab clung to him, not willing to loosen her hold just yet. “Come and greet Miriam. She’s come back home and will be so happy to see you.”

  He smiled. “I can’t really walk with you hanging on me like this.”

  She slapped his arm. “Of course you can.”

  “You’re right,” he declared and swung her way up into his arms, making her squeal with delight. Miriam squealed with equal delight to see the hearty form of her brother returned safe and sound from his mission.

  Over a supper of smoked fish and raisin cakes, Salmone shared his news. “As I suspected, the men with whom Israel made a peace treaty live very close to here. They came from Gibeon and several other connected towns.”

  “Gibeon? But that’s a major city!” Rahab said with a gasp.

  “One of the royal cities, and quite a bit larger than Ai.” Salmone sighed. “There’s more alarming news. I found evidence that Adoni-Zedek, the king of Jerusalem, is attempting to gather the kings of Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish, and Eglon into one enormous army.”

  “What will you do?”

  “To begin with, Joshua has sent a few leaders back to the Gibeonites to understand the motive behind their charade. In any case, since we gave our word, we can’t turn against them. But Joshua has his own scheme. He intends to make them woodcutters and water carriers for Israel. From now on, they will be reduced to menial labor. That’s their curse for deceiving us.”

  “What about the army Adoni-Zedek is gathering?” Miriam asked Salmone looked down. “Big armies only mean one thing.” No one said the word, but all three knew. War.

  As it turned out, the five Amorite kings devised a trick of their own. Rather than attacking Israel directly, they attacked Gibeon and the other provinces that had entered into peace with Israel. Rahab knew as soon as she heard the news that her husband would go into battle. Israel would not sit back and allow an ally to be destroyed by its neighbors. Salmone’s injuries from the battle of Ai had long since healed and he had regained his vigor. Nothing would keep him home with her.

  Joshua chose to lead out the army late in the evening, marching all night from Gilgal in order to take Adoni-Zedek by surprise. That night, as Rahab sat sleepless on her lonely pallet, knowing Salmone to be marching perhaps to his doom, she battled a terror like none she had ever known. Her heart could not bear the thought of losing her husband. She felt like her skin could not contain her, like she wanted to run out of her body and leave it behind, leave behind the intensity of alarm that clawed at her. Her heart pounded so fast and so hard she thought her chest might burst. She tried, but there was no reasoning with this panic. It did not comprehend comfort. It raged with an illogical fervor that would not end.

  Suddenly, in the midst of this near-unbearable experience, she heard a whisper, one short phrase: My daughter. She recognized that voice, that combination of immense strength and inordinate love. My daughter. The attack of panic came to an abrupt end. She was not alone. One by one, she rehearsed what was true. Israel battled not as other nations. The Lord was her Warrior. He went ahead of His people. He opened miraculous doors to victory. She remembered that God had spoken to Joshua before he left on the long march, saying that Adoni-Zedek’s army would not be able to withstand Israel’s might.

  Most importantly, she recalled that Salmone belonged more to God than to her. The Lord would see to Salmone. And He would see to her. Her fate, her well-being, her future were not in Salmone’s hands. They were in God’s. Whatever became of Salmone during this conflict—and all others to come—Rahab could trust her destiny to the One who had brought her through so much already. She needed to remember that Salmone was not her Lord, only her husband.

  She could not entirely shake the feelings of anxiety for the man she loved. But the fear no longer consumed her. In her inmost being, God had grown greater than fear.

  The next morning Rahab went to visit her family, taking with her some fig cakes, which she had prepared the previous day. Her father loved this particular recipe. She found him in the family tent, working on a malfunctioning lamp. A memory flashed in her mind as she saw him rise up from the lamp and stretch his arms to loosen his knotted muscles. It was the memory of her father picking her up when she was three years old, twirling her around, shouting, My daughter. The very words God had spoken to her in her hours of panic. It occurred to Rahab that the Lord wanted her to understand something. God had covered the gap of her father. He had loved and protected her where her father could not. And He wanted her to remember that, regardless of his grave failure, her father also loved her.

  In that moment the thought of forgiving him, of letting go of the bitterness of his betrayal became not only possible, but also irresistible. She might have other days when she would need to renew the struggle internally, let it go again, and give up the resentment afresh. For now, however, she could take this step with genuine peace. She considered how to convey this tremendous change of heart to her father. If she told him she forgave him, he might take offense rather than be comforted. If, as Miriam suggested, he had justified his actions, Rahab’s forgiveness would only make him defensive. It would smack of an indictment. Every act of for
giveness by its inherent nature hinted at a wrongdoing. Her father might feel judged instead of relieved by her words. And yet Rahab could not leave him without communicating that some impediment between them had been shattered that day.

  With soft steps, she went over to him, proffering the fig cakes in one upturned palm. “For you, Abba.” It had been eleven years since she had called him that.

  His eyes widened, and for an uncertain moment he stood and stared at her. Tears filled his eyes. He ignored the cakes. “What did you call me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

  “Abba.”

  He reached a trembling hand to the top of Rahab’s head and patted it once. “My daughter,” he whispered, his voice breaking. Then he turned and walked outside. Rahab laid the cakes down on a platter and wiped away tears as she straightened.

  That day, an astounding event shook the nation of Israel. The sun stopped right in the middle of the sky. It just hung there at high noon for hours and hours. For an entire day. The people marveled, walking out of their tents again and again as if to verify that they weren’t dreaming or making this up. No one had ever heard of such a thing happening. Ever.

  Finally, when they had all lost track of time, a runner brought news from the army. Joshua had prayed that the sun would stand still over Gibeon so that he could finish the battle and vanquish their enemies. To everyone’s astonishment, the sun obeyed, for God had honored Joshua’s improbable request. Rahab doubted the world would see such a day ever again.

  And yet which was the greater miracle, she wondered. That the sun should delay going down for a day, or that a woman would forgive her father’s gravest sin against her?