By Way of the Wilderness

by Gilbert, Morris

  Moses watched the savage figure carefully. “That is true,” he said. “And we will pass through your lands with your permission. We will disturb nothing.”

  “Of course, of course,” Lotan said expansively. “Perhaps we can do some trading.”

  Moses agreed and the trading began at once. The people of Amalek had fresh food, which they traded for some of the treasures brought out of Egypt. This activity gave Lotan and his men a chance to spy out the Hebrew defenses, and they determined that the Hebrews had no army and few weapons. So as soon as the Israelites reached the low-lying hills, he cried to his warriors, “We have them now! We will attack as they go through the passes.”

  “We will have them all!” they rejoined.

  “Kill all the men but save the best of the women,” Lotan ordered. “We will keep their children for slaves!”

  ****

  Moses had not been deceived in the least by Lotan, the Amalekite chief. He called Joshua to his tent, and when the young man stood before him, he said, “You must be the captain of our army, Joshua.”

  Joshua blinked with surprise. “Me? I am but a young man. There are older—”

  “God has told me that you are the man who will lead our men into battle. You have already begun. I have watched you select strong men. I’ve watched you practice with weapons. Take these men and form as good an army as you can to fight the Amalekites. You will be in the lead.”

  Joshua was troubled by this. “But I’m not worthy.”

  “None of us are worthy, Joshua. God will give you the strength you need. Here is the plan. You lead the soldiers as they fight the battle. Tomorrow I will stand on top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand and my hands held high. I will pray, and you will be victorious.”

  “Perhaps God will deliver us miraculously,” Joshua offered. “He is able.”

  “Certainly He is able, but in this case we must prove that we are willing servants.”

  Joshua had no fear now, but he expressed some of his thoughts aloud. “The warriors of Amalek are armed with bows and arrows and spears. They can hide behind rocks and cut us down.”

  “That is true, and because you are thinking this through, it proves that you are a worthy general for the army of God. Here is what we will do. You must divide the army into two parts. Put those who have bows and arrows in the front, but take the rest of the army, the men bearing only swords or knives or clubs, around to the back, along the flanks of Amalek.”

  “And then what, master?”

  “Sooner or later, Amalek will charge at those few men they see. They will come out of the hills and will leave the protection of the rocks. When they do, that will be the signal for you and those who have hidden themselves to hit them hard. They will be caught between two forces, and the Lord will destroy them by our hands.”

  ****

  The battle went exactly as Moses had foretold. Bezalel had been one of those armed only with a sword. He and his friend Oholiab were led by Joshua far off to the flanks. They crept and crawled and kept themselves hidden. As they approached, Oholiab said, “I hear the sound of battle.”

  “Yes, I hear it too,” Bezalel whispered. “Come. Don’t fall behind.”

  “I don’t care for this kind of thing,” Oholiab said. “I’d rather be working, making a fine necklace.”

  “Be quiet, Oholiab! We’ve got to defeat these monsters. If we don’t, they’ll kill us all.”

  The two, along with the other members of Joshua’s force, finally came to the brink of a small bluff. Looking down, they could see the battle plainly. They lay there all afternoon, and Bezalel noticed something on the hill across the valley. “Look, Oholiab, as long as Moses holds his hand and the staff of God high, our forces win. But when his arms grow tired, the men of Amalek win.”

  Finally they saw two men come stand beside Moses. One was Aaron and the other was Hur. They held Moses’ arms up, and even as they did so, Joshua stood to his feet, his eyes flashing. “Look, the men of Amalek are coming out of the hills to attack our forces. Now, you soldiers of the Lord, strike!”

  Bezalel rose and joined the force that swarmed down the bluff. They hit the flank and the rear of the enemy band like a battering ram. Bezalel was no Joshua, but he struck until his arm grew weary.

  The cry of victory sounded, and the Amalekites began to flee.

  “After them!” Joshua shouted. “Let none of them live!”

  Bezalel was one of the best runners among the Israelites, so he was in the band of those who pursued the Amalekites.

  In his battle rage, he spotted a savage-looking Amalekite who was attacking a woman. She was trying to shield a young girl in her arms. Bezalel yelled as he leaped forward, but he was too late. The sword of the warrior descended, and the woman fell dead. The Amalekite raised his sword to strike the young girl too, but Bezalel was there first. He struck a mighty blow that caught the man in the throat. Scarlet blood exploded in a gush, covering the girl, who was huddled on the ground. Bezalel turned to her and said, “Are you all right?”

  The girl could not answer. She was covered with dirt and the Amalekite’s blood was on her face. Bezalel had nothing to clean her with. He looked up and saw that the Amalekites were escaping; then he looked down and saw that the girl was pale and clinging to the dead form of her mother.

  “Is this your mother, child?”

  “Yes. She’s dead, and I have no one now.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “He’s dead too.”

  Even though Bezalel was usually quite selfish, the sight of the girl touched him. “What is your name?” he said.

  “Shani.”

  “Do you have other relatives among the people of Israel?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Which tribe do you belong to?”

  “I … no tribe.”

  By that Bezalel understood that she was one of the mixed multitudes. Her parents had probably been slaves in Egypt who had joined themselves to the Israelites when they had been delivered.

  Bezalel stood for a moment, uncertain what to do, and finally he said, “Come with me.”

  “But my mother,” the girl wailed.

  “I will come back and bury her, but now you must come.”

  The girl looked up with enormous green eyes. Bezalel had never seen eyes of that color in anyone. She was thin—her arms were nothing but sticks—and she was trembling. He pulled off his upper garment and began to wipe the blood off her face. “Here,” he said, “you’ll be all right. I’ll see to it.”

  “I have no one,” Shani whispered.

  Bezalel took her hand and said, “Come along. I’ll take you to my mother, Miriam. She will help you.”

  ****

  “What are you going to do with the girl?” Miriam demanded. “Why did you bring her here?”

  Bezalel was tired of answering Miriam’s questions. He had brought Shani to the tent and had drawn Miriam aside, whispering about the death of the girl’s mother. Now he said, “What was I to do—leave her there?”

  Miriam cast a glance at the girl, who was huddled on the ground, sitting with her head between her knees and her hands covering her head.

  “She’s an unhealthy-looking child.”

  “Yes, she is, but I couldn’t leave her out there, and I’ve got to go back and bury her mother. I promised the girl.”

  “Let me talk to her.”

  Bezalel moved to one side and listened as Miriam went over and spoke to the girl. “What is your name, child?”

  “Shani.”

  “We must find you a place to stay. Your mother must have had friends.”

  “No, no friends.”

  “No relatives, not even an aunt or an uncle or a cousin?”

  “We had no one. Just each other.”

  The plaintive answer touched Miriam, who had a kind heart toward the unfortunate. “Well, let’s get you cleaned up. But I’ll find you something to eat first. Are you hungry?”

  “No. I want my mo
ther.”

  Miriam reached over and put her arms around the girl. She was silent for a moment as she considered the situation. “I will be your mother, child.”

  The girl was silent. When she lifted her tearstained face, she said, “You will?”

  “Yes. And Bezalel here—he’s the one who saved you—he’ll be your father.”

  “He’s too young to be my father.”

  “Well,” Miriam smiled, “he can be your brother, then.”

  Bezalel stepped forward and put his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Shani. I’ll take care of you.”

  “You’ve never taken care of anyone but yourself, Bezalel,” Miriam scoffed.

  “Well, she’ll be no trouble, will you, Shani?”

  “No … no trouble.”

  “After all,” Bezalel said with a careless shrug, “how much trouble can one girl be?”

  Chapter 18

  Shani awoke from a terrible nightmare, screaming and trembling like a leaf in the wind. But suddenly she felt strong arms go around her, and she was being held close to someone.

  “Now, little lamb, don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything harm you.”

  Sobbing and choking, Shani clung to the man who held her, for she recognized his voice. It was the man who had killed the warrior who had cut her mother down. She held to him fiercely, and he gently smoothed her hair.

  “Now then, little one, you’ve had a bad dream, but everything’s all right now.”

  “Mother—!”

  “Just be still, and I’m going to tell you a story.” The voice was soothing and warm, and as Bezalel began to tell her a story about two little rabbits that had lost their way but had each other, Shani began to quiet down. She still clung tightly to Bezalel, and when he had finished his story, she whimpered, “Please … please don’t leave me!”

  “I won’t leave you, little lamb. Don’t worry.”

  ****

  The smell of food cooking touched her senses, and Shani suddenly awoke, realizing she was ravenous. For a moment she lay there confused, fragments of her nightmare continuing to play in her mind. She tried to wake up fully, to quell the horrible images of the battle in which her mother was killed. She then remembered the man who had come to her and held her and told her a story. She looked around for him—but instead of the man, she saw a woman squatting before a small fire just outside the tent.

  Shani sat up and coughed, and the woman turned to her and smiled. “I see you had a good sleep. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you can come and help me make breakfast. Do you know how to make cakes?”

  Shani was struggling with the memories of the battle and the death of her mother, but the woman’s face was kind and she was smiling. “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you remember my name? It’s Miriam. And I know your name. It’s Shani.”

  Shani got off of the sleeping mat and came out to stand before the fire. She took the knife the woman handed her. “Try not to let the cakes burn.”

  “I won’t.” The girl knelt down and watched the cakes intently.

  As Miriam got up and went over to a bag, she shot a glance at the child to estimate her age—eleven, maybe?—then opened the bag and pulled out a garment. “Here,” she said. “You can put this on.”

  Shani turned and stared at the beautiful blue embroidered garment with enormous eyes. “For me?”

  “Yes. It belonged to the daughter of a woman I used to know.” Miriam did not add that the child had died. She thought it might disturb the girl. She watched while Shani dropped the rag of a garment she was wearing and started to pull the new dress over her head. Miriam flinched at how thin and birdlike the girl appeared. She looked half starved.

  When she got the dress on, Miriam smiled. “See? It just fits. Here. I have a bit of leather you can use for a belt. Let me help you with it.” She tied the leather around the girl’s waist and said, “Now, you look so nice. You finish the cakes, and I’ll find that bit of honey I’ve been saving.”

  The cakes were soon done, and Miriam came out with a small jar of honey. She spread the honey on the cakes and watched the girl eat them like a starving wolf cub. Miriam was careful to see that she got the biggest part of the breakfast. As the girl ate, she studied her carefully.

  Shani was young but on the verge of womanhood. Miriam guessed she might be closer to twelve. She still had the body of a child, however, and was gawky and thin and as dirty as a child could be. Her hair was caked with dirt and looked as if it had never been washed. Her face was smudged with dirt, as were her hands, but on her unexposed skin where she had stayed clean, Miriam noticed she had a beautiful complexion of a light almond color. In her present state she was not a pretty child, however. Her eyes seemed too large for her thin face, her cheeks sunken from hunger.

  “How old are you, Shani?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Have you become a woman yet?” When the girl only stared at her without a light of understanding, Miriam asked, “Have you started bleeding every month?”

  “Bleeding? No.”

  “Well, we’ll talk about that later, then. Now, if you’re finished, you can go with me to get water from the stream. While we’re there”—she reached out and touched Shani’s hair—“I’ll give you a bath.” When the girl turned to look at her with surprise, Miriam said, “You’ll feel much better with that dirt washed off of you.” She noted the strange green eyes of the girl and also that, beneath the dirt, the girl’s brown hair had a prominent reddish color that she had rarely seen. She almost asked the girl if her hair and eyes were the color of her mother’s, but it was too soon to speak of her mother, so she simply rose and said, “Come along.”

  Shani stood up and looked around the small tent. “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “The man who brought me here.”

  “Oh, you mean Bezalel. He’s gone to repair a wagon for a man.”

  “Is he your husband?”

  Miriam laughed. “No indeed, child. He’s my son.”

  “Will he be back?”

  “Of course he will.” Miriam saw relief wash through the girl, and for a moment she was troubled. She thought, I’ll have to talk to Bezalel. The poor child has put her trust in him—and he’s never been responsible for anyone. I’ll have to warn him he must be careful with her feelings.

  ****

  The smoke from a small, portable forge rose and blew into Bezalel’s eyes. He could not see, and his eyes burned like fire. He quickly stepped back from the forge, and his heel came down on something soft. He heard a small, muffled cry, and turning, he saw Shani hopping around on one foot while holding the other with a look of anguish.

  “Shani, I didn’t even know you were here,” he said. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry.” Tears came to the girl’s eyes, and her lips trembled.

  Bezalel sighed and put his tools down. He came over and stood over her. “Don’t cry. Let me see your foot.” He picked up her foot to examine it and noted that she was as limber and loose as a piece of rope. She was all legs and arms, and he had never seen such enormous eyes—but now they were filled with tears from the pain he had caused her. “Don’t cry, Shani. It’ll be all right. Does Miriam know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “She’ll be worried about you, Shani. You shouldn’t run off from her.”

  The girl did not answer. She simply stood there staring at him, and Bezalel thought back over the last few weeks. Ever since he had brought Shani home from the battle with the Amalekites, she had been clinging to him. Every night her nightmares returned, and he was the one who went to her to comfort her by telling stories until she went back to sleep.

  She had become quite a pest, for now she followed him everywhere he went. She acted frightened whenever he was out of her sight. Miriam was good to her, and Aaron was also, in his own way, but it was Bezalel whom she sought out and clung to. H
e tried sneaking off at times, but even when he was successful, he would look up from whatever he was doing to find her watching him from far off.

  He remembered as he studied the girl how he had complained to Miriam about Shani’s chasing after him. “I can’t go anywhere without her being right there. When I try to sneak off without her, she finds me. It’s aggravating.”

  Miriam had replied sternly, “You were the one who saved her life, son. She’s transferred her trust to you.”

  “Well, I can’t have a child following me around.”

  Miriam had reached up and grabbed Bezalel’s black glossy hair and shook him, her eyes angry. “When you save someone’s life, son, you have a responsibility.”

  “I thought it was the other way around.”

  “No, it’s not. You’ve always been selfish, Bezalel, but this time I’m going to see to it that you do the right thing. You be good to that child or I’ll make it hard for you.” She saw the hurt in his eyes at her threat, and she said more gently, “I’ve heard you comforting her and telling her stories when she has awful dreams. That’s a very good thing.”

  “Will she always have those dreams?”

  “I hope not, but for now she’s lost everything, and she’s terribly afraid. You’re all she has to cling to. She’s afraid she’ll lose you too. I know it’s troublesome.” She had released his hair, and now she put her hand on his cheek. “I want you to show her extra special attention. Talk to her. Play games with her. Take her with you sometimes when you go to fix something.”

  “All right, Mother,” Bezalel sighed. “I will do as you say.” He grinned crookedly. “But I’m afraid I don’t make a very good father.”

  In the days following his talk with Miriam, Bezalel had done his best to follow her advice. He went to extra trouble to pay more attention to the emaciated little girl. He found time to play games with her and quickly discovered she had a very quick mind. He talked with her and cautiously tried to find out about her life. But she didn’t respond to that. He suspected she had had a very hard life and seemed reluctant to speak of her family. She continued to have bad dreams, although they occurred less often. He still went to her each time it happened, and she would cling to him and whisper, “Please, Bezalel, tell me a story.” During the day, he made it a point to invite her to go with him whenever he went to get water or to repair something that was broken, and when he did this, he saw that she was happy.