by Mesu Andrews
Hosea fell silent, allowing the terrible possibilities of Gomer’s past to unfold. “I don’t even know her anymore. The anger in her eyes was startling. And did you see the bells around her waist, on her hands and feet? Where did she get all those gold bangles and the ring in her nose and—”
“It seems to me,” Jonah interrupted, “you did a lot of inspecting for a man who wasn’t interested in that particular prostitute.”
Hosea stood abruptly. From this angle, his mentor looked frail on the blanket they often shared—but he still held the power to unmask Hosea’s soul. “What if she won’t have me? What if she refuses to marry me?”
Jonah stood to face him. “We’ve been over that.” He searched the windows of Hosea’s soul, speaking more gently. “If she refuses you, then you’ll experience Yahweh’s broken heart for harlot Israel. But you’ll pursue Gomer again—until she comes to you willingly.” He wrapped the remaining bread and cheese in a small cloth and stuffed it into his shoulder bag. “That’s what faithful prophets do. We keep obeying, and Yahweh works out the details.” He patted Hosea’s shoulder and then picked up his walking sticks. “We need to find your Gomer, signal Isaiah at the tombs, and get out of Samaria before they close the city gates for the night.”
Hosea had nearly forgotten about Isaiah. “What if someone has found Isaiah and stolen all of our provisions? Shouldn’t we make sure he’s safe before we promise a price for Gomer that we can’t pay?” His heart began racing with his thoughts. “And where do we even begin to look for Gomer? We don’t even know—”
“The Lord has led us this far, my son. Do you think He’ll abandon us now?” Jonah hoisted his bag over his shoulder and started up the hill. “We’ll find her and signal Isaiah to bring our silver and grain. We’ll pay for Gomer if need be, and then we’ll leave Samaria. Now come.”
They joined the steady stream of travelers, walking the winding path toward Samaria’s gates for the second time that day. Fifty cubits from the city entrance, musicians and dancers spilled into the streets. Hosea found himself staring at every scantily clad woman they passed. None of them were as beautiful as Gomer.
“Perhaps we should go to Asherah’s grove,” he said, uncertain if Jonah could hear over the laughter and noise.
“She was not dressed as a temple priestess, Hosea.” The old prophet kept walking, turning right on the city’s main street, the opposite direction of the temple. Hosea had worried that those walking sticks would tangle in the crowd and Jonah would go tumbling down the eastern slope of Samaria’s main street, but he weaved and bobbed between revelers. Hosea barely kept up.
“Wait! How do you know we’re headed in the right direction?” he shouted from behind the old prophet, who had seemingly been strengthened by the meal.
Jonah’s answer came when he stopped a little girl on the street. Her robe was worn and tattered, but it was her face that distinguished her as a brothel servant. A bronze chain connected a small ring in her nose to an earring.
“Here, little one,” he said, retrieving the hard cheese and bread from his shoulder bag.
She looked up with the eyes of a frightened bird caught in a fowler’s snare. “What must I do to earn it, my lord?”
Hosea thought his heart would break in two.
“You must tell me the truth.” Jonah’s voice was stern, but the girl seemed no more fearful than before. “First, I must know your name.”
She glanced right and left and then squared her shoulders. “First, I must have a bite of bread.”
Hosea hid a smile and watched Jonah buy his first portion of truth.
“My name is Jarah,” she whispered, “and I’ll tell the full truth if you give me the full portion of bread and cheese.”
Jonah rubbed his milky-white chin as if deep in thought, and Hosea marveled that a frightened girl could be so resourceful. A worthy haggler, this one could be trusted.
“All right, Jarah, I’ve seen a certain harlot, and I wish to find her.”
The girl giggled. “My lord, there are plenty of harlots all around you. Choose one.”
Jonah’s stern gaze sobered her into silence. “I want the harlot with copper-colored hair. She has a beauty mark on her left cheek and is known by the name Gomer.”
Jarah’s smile fell and took Hosea’s hopes with it. She pushed away the bread and cheese Jonah had offered. “The woman you seek won’t be seeing customers for a very long time—if ever. She belongs to my brothel, and Mistress Tamir has sent me to fetch the physician. If he can restore Gomer, my mistress will pay for her remedies. If not . . .” She shrugged her shoulder as if Gomer’s life was as regretful as the lost bread and cheese.
5
• HOSEA 8:5–6 •
Get rid of your calf-shaped idol. . . . Samaria’s calf-shaped idol was made in Israel. . . . It is not a god. It will be smashed to pieces.
Take us to her!” Hosea shoved Jonah aside and shook Jarah’s shoulders. “What happened to Gomer? Why does she need a physician?”
Jonah stepped between them and shielded the girl, who looked almost as pale as the old prophet.
“I can’t return to the brothel without the physician or I’ll be beaten. I’ve already wasted too much time and will probably feel Tamir’s strap.” With a final longing look at the bread and cheese, she slipped past them into the bustling crowd.
Hosea reached out to stop her, but Jonah swatted him. “Move your feet and not your mouth,” he whispered, already falling into step behind the girl. “We’ll watch her until she returns to the brothel with the physician. Then we’ll go in and talk with the owner. It’s this Tamir that holds Gomer’s future in her hands, not Jarah.”
Keeping pace with the serving maid wasn’t an easy task. Several times they lost sight of her in the crowded streets. Hosea skirted around corners, running ahead of Jonah to find her. Finally, they spotted Jarah hurrying back down the hill, accompanied by a stooped old man carrying a shoulder bag. Yahweh, give him wisdom, Hosea prayed, assuming the man must be the physician. He and Jonah slowed, observing from the shadows as the girl led the man through a brothel gate.
Jonah stopped, his breathing erratic and panting. “Wait, my son.” He leaned over, bracing himself with the walking sticks.
“Are you all right?” Hosea steadied him and felt the old man’s sweaty tunic.
Nodding, Jonah stood and leaned back against the wall. “I just need to catch my breath and be sure you are listening to Yahweh and not to your heart alone.” He reached up and placed a firm hand on Hosea’s beating chest. “Consider God’s purpose in all that is happening before you react out of fear or anger, or both. Remember you are in Samaria to marry a prostitute. We came prepared to buy a woman’s freedom from her owner, but if Gomer has been injured beyond usefulness, this Tamir may give her to you, and then we can use the funds to stay in Samaria until Gomer is well enough to travel. Either way, you will need a clear head to negotiate and hear Yahweh’s instruction.”
Hosea tried to steady himself with a deep breath. Jonah was right. He would have marched through the brothel gates and done anything, said anything, paid anything to get Gomer away from this place. But then what?
Yahweh, if Gomer is the prostitute You would have me marry, let her heart be softened enough that she’ll become my wife willingly. He glanced at Jonah and found his mentor’s eyes just opening. It seemed their prayers had ascended as one to God’s throne.
“At least now I’m certain I want to marry Gomer.” Hosea offered a rueful smile, and Jonah nodded his approval.
“Hail the gatekeeper, and let’s negotiate for your bride.”
“Shalom this house!” Hosea shouted and peered through the gate, its cedar planks reinforced by iron plates and a single barred window at eye level. Hosea peeked inside and found the inner courtyard deserted and disheveled. Contents of water jars and food baskets had been toppled over and spilled out. He pounded harder. “I’ve come to inquire after one of your harlots!”
The brothel was
a two-story dwelling with several hallways converging on the open courtyard. Hosea thought he sensed someone stirring in one of the darkened walkways. “You! Whoever you are. Go tell your mistress that I come to bargain for Gomer. I might help pay for her care.” At this, he saw the swish of a robe and heard footsteps running away.
“Well done.” Jonah squeezed his shoulder, and they waited in silence.
But not for long.
A middle-aged woman emerged from a shadowy hallway, her head covered with a purple scarf and a circle of black braids extending from an intricately woven headpiece. She walked with quick, choppy steps, carrying a mug of something steaming—as if Hosea had interrupted her leisurely afternoon with a friend.
“What is this about someone paying for Gomer’s care?” she asked. A hulking male servant accompanied her and opened the gate. Hosea stepped forward, leaving Jonah hidden behind the stone wall. The woman examined the young prophet from head to toe and lifted one corner of her red lips. “I am the owner, Tamir, and you must be one of Gomer’s regulars to be so generous. Perhaps you would be willing to enjoy one of my other girls while Gomer is recovering from today’s mishap.”
The offering of women as though they were trinkets made Hosea’s blood boil. A coarser man would have slapped the painted smile from her face. Instead, he said with strict control, “I will know every detail of today’s events before you see one shekel of my silver.”
Tamir leveled her gaze, meeting the challenge. “I will tell you what pertains to Gomer and nothing more.” She stepped back and extended her hand in welcome, laughing without humor. “But as usual, what pertains to Gomer is more than enough to make a compelling story.”
Hosea motioned to Jonah, and he slipped through the gate, unnoticed by the brothel owner. The servant locked the gate, and Tamir led her guests across the courtyard.
“I want the details now, before I see her,” Hosea said, stopping short of the hallway.
“I’ll assume you were at the temple sacrifice this morning,” she said, turning casually.
Then she saw Jonah.
“You!” she said to the pale-white prophet as her mug slipped from her hand and shattered into pieces. “Get out! Both of you! If the high priest or king discovers you’ve been here, they’ll shut me down.”
The servant reached for the old prophet’s arm, but Hosea shoved him away and glared at Tamir. “Give us Gomer and we’ll leave. From what we hear, she’s of no use to you anymore.”
She signaled her servant to stand down and pinned Hosea with a stare. “From what you hear? Well, let me tell you the facts about your pretty little harlot, Prophet. After you and your ghostly friend here were dragged from the temple, I saw my midwife fight to save an infant that meant nothing to anyone. And because Gomer cared too much for that midwife, she foolishly disrupted Jeroboam’s first real sacrifice to the gods. So General Menahem’s captain had to teach Gomer a lesson.”
She shoved Hosea’s shoulder, moving him back toward the gate. “Now for all our sakes, get out of my house, and get out of Samaria. If you involve yourself with Gomer, you interfere with the royal house and its officials. And if you continue to spout ridiculous predictions of Israel’s demise, you’ll bring down Mot’s fury on everyone you hold dear.” She nodded toward her gatekeeper, and the hulking servant seized the back of Hosea’s neck.
Nearly immobilized, Hosea turned where he was aimed and walked where he was pushed. His last attempt was a single shout. “She is worthless to you if she dies, and I have come from the company of Judah’s prophets with enough wealth to buy a bride.” He heard no response, but the servant stopped pushing, so he added another plea. “She’ll drain your resources if you have to pay a physician. Why not give her to me and get her out of your house?”
Still in the giant’s grasp and facing the gate, Hosea heard Tamir’s voice like a trumpet at daybreak. “Because if I give her to you, I’ll be on the wrong side of this quarrel between you and the high priest. I’ve built my business on a relationship with Amaziah. Temple priestesses, street harlots, and now male babies for sacrifice.” Suddenly freed from the hand on his neck, Hosea turned and found Tamir waiting at the hallway entry. “Why would I destroy my golden calf?”
A quick glance at Jonah confirmed that the old prophet had caught the irony of her question. Yahweh had foretold that He would someday destroy Samaria’s idols: the corrupt national leaders, the spiritually unfaithful Israelites, and the literal golden calf images in the temples of Bethel and Dan.
Yahweh, did You just use a brothel owner to assure me of Your presence in this moment? Hosea breathed out his wonder.
He took one step toward Tamir, speaking with renewed confidence—extending his hand, coaxing. “Let us accompany you to talk with the physician. If he says Gomer will recover, we’ll leave, but if she’s of no further use as a harlot, then allow me to pay you a bride-price.”
The woman stared at him for an interminable moment—and turned abruptly, walking down the dark hallway from which she’d come. He cast a victorious glance at both Jonah and the hulking servant and prayed a new prayer, following the mistress through winding hallways.
Yahweh, let Gomer’s injuries be severe enough to save her life.
Gomer sensed movement around her. She heard voices, hushed. Men and one woman. Then pain—but only her head. Oh, but her head felt as if it would shatter into a thousand pieces. She tried to adjust her position.
Nothing moved. Her arms and legs felt like giant boulders attached to her lifeless body.
Panic seeped in as memories of being beaten assaulted her. Eitan. His enormous fists. His repeated kicks when she curled into a ball. Trying now to focus her eyes, she saw four blurred figures standing near her sleeping mat. She peered through one slit, identifying Tamir—but who were the others?
“I won’t know how severe her injuries are until she wakes up,” an old man was saying. “The blood from her ears is a bad sign. The extensive bruising on her neck and back could also mean permanent damage.”
“What . . .” Gomer’s voice sounded like a croak, but it was enough to bring all four blurry figures to her side. Tamir knelt at her right, and Gomer now recognized the old man kneeling on her left as Samaria’s physician. Her breath caught when she saw Hosea and that fish prophet, Jonah, positioned just beyond the others. Panting, gasping, she tried to move away, but all she could do was cry out, “No! No!” Surely they’d come to pronounce judgment on her just like they’d condemned Israel’s king and priests.
Hosea shoved Tamir aside and cradled Gomer, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Shh, little one. I know you’re frightened, but Yahweh has sent us here to rescue you.” He’d spoken in a whisper, but now he raised his voice to the others. “What must we do to determine the extent of her injuries?” She felt his warm breath on her face but had no sensation of his arms around her.
Gomer watched Tamir standing over Hosea’s shoulder. She looked angry. Gomer turned to see what the physician was doing. He was kneeling beside her . . .
“By the gods, get him away from me!” she screamed.
All eyes focused on the doctor crouched at Gomer’s side, cradling her arm, where he’d made a single, long cut with his dagger. Blood was flowing onto her sleeping mat, but she felt nothing. Her momentary panic was replaced with a sort of morbid fascination. “How can I not feel that?” she whispered.
“That’s enough!” Hosea snatched the dagger from the physician’s hand and threw it across the small room.
The physician, too, seemed eerily intrigued. “I’ve never seen anyone survive a beating this severe. I can’t imagine any hope of this girl regaining the use of her arms or legs, but I’ll need to continue regular visits in order to keep record of her progress.”
The room spun, and Gomer felt as if she might lose what little breakfast she’d eaten. The edges of her vision grew dark, and a loud roar consumed her. Perhaps she would die after all.
“I wish to have her as my bride.”
&nb
sp; Hosea’s words were like a cold splash of water, reviving her to the dark present.
“How much are you willing to pay for such a beauty?” Tamir loomed over his shoulder, tension stretching her lips into a forced smile.
“Wait,” Gomer whispered, but everyone heard.
Again Hosea pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have waited too long as it is. I wanted to arrange our betrothal before I left Bethel, Gomer, but your abba wouldn’t allow it. Now I wish to make you my wife.”
Her head spun. The lamplight faded. Surely she was dreaming. Would Hosea be gone again when she woke?
6
• HOSEA 5:4 •
The wicked things that the people have done keep them from returning to their Elohim. They have a spirit of prostitution, and they don’t know Yahweh.
Gomer’s head lolled back, eyes closed, and Hosea’s heart stopped beating. “Gomer?” He drew her to his chest and rocked her. “You can’t die! I’ve just found you again.” Violent sobs shook him as he buried his face in her blood-caked curls. A low moan escaped her lips, and he gasped.
“Lay her back on the mat.” The physician reached out to help but recoiled at Hosea’s threatening stare.
Hosea sat with his legs outstretched and cradled her in his lap. “Gomer?”
She moaned again, her swollen eyes fluttering. Her right eye too bruised to open, she peered through the narrow slit of her left eye. “Am I dreaming?” she whispered, a single tear rolling into her copper hair.
He choked on his answer, part sob, part chuckle. “Well, that depends. Did you dream that I asked you to be my wife?” He brushed her tear away, but instead of the welcome he’d hoped for, she turned her face from him.
“Leave, Hosea. Forget you saw me, and pretend I’m still the innocent girl you once knew.” She lay in his arms because she couldn’t push him away.
