by Caryl McAdoo
The Almighty appeared unto him and promised that He would give the land—every mountain, every valley that Abram’s eyes viewed, every place his foot stepped—to his son and his son’s sons.
Abram’s son of promise.
Chapter Five
Abram journeyed south, though his wife constantly begged him to hurry and get to wherever he was going. Knowing what he knew, he had no intention of rushing. The land before him, his seed would inherit, and he wanted to see it all, know it all. A full moon rose over Shechem as his main caravan neared the ancient city of Bethel.
No thoughts of lingering there—even for replenishing the stores—befell him. A mountain before him beckoned. On its far side, the Bethelites reported the city of Hai, and Abram desired to see it. The view from the mountain…all that his eyes saw... Praise the God of Abram. Worthy to be praised, full of glory and majesty!
The next day, he had Eliezer stop early at the base of the mountain, and Abram climbed it alone, save for the lamb draped round his neck. The most perfect kid he could find, a yearling without blemish or spot, one that would fetch a goodly price were he to sell it.
Only the best for his God who had chosen him and called him for His purpose.
On a shelf near the summit, he tied the lamb’s legs together and gathered stones for an altar. When the rocks piled waist high, he fetched sticks and placed them atop the stones. Next, the yearling that lay quietly on the bed of branches. Abram readied his flint knife. Before any words came out of his mouth, a knowing sprang from his heart.
He whispered the name of the Lord as he slit the offering’s throat. He said it louder as he brought fire to the pile of dry limbs. Then as the savory fragrance of the smoke drifted heavenward, he called his loudest upon the name of his God.
The God of Abram.
Creator of all. Master of all. The one and only true God.
The early stop pleased Sarai, but her husband taking a lamb up the mountain all by himself troubled her. For the last moon or better, he’d been so reserved, and him offering so many of the best of their flocks on the little stone altar he’d built with his own hands was not like the man she’d known the whole of her life.
He had servants.
Normally, he always kept a level head. Oh, yes, he’d sacrificed a kid now and again, but never so many that it took three days to burn their flesh. Had he become bloodthirsty? And why had he been avoiding her? That he purposely did, she had no doubt, but when he finally would come and spend time with her….
When he showered her with his words of love and flatteries…she couldn’t help bemoaning her empty womb…aloud…one more time.
And him saying he’d seen the Lord! Indeed.
Not since Adam and Eve in the Lord’s garden had anyone claimed to have seen the God of the fathers. And if he had grown so intimate with the Almighty, then why wouldn’t he ask the Lord to grant her a son? Her husband needed an heir! Why did He continue to withhold the blessing of fruitfulness?
Sarai loved Abram, but his strange ways troubled her.
Should she insist he take her back to Haran?
That night upon his return from the mountain, he sent the servants away, then led her to the center of the tent. He eased her down on a pile of pillows and joined her on a second stack. “When the Lord appeared to me at Shechem, He told me something.”
Having made a pact with herself not to ask, once he broached the subject, she couldn’t keep her tongue. Without a thought the question on her mind escaped her lips. “What did He look like?”
Her husband smiled. “From nowhere, He appeared. Suddenly standing there before me. The semblance of a man, broad shoulders, arms and legs. But such a glorious brilliance clothed Him, I couldn’t look upon Him. I could only fall on my face and worship.”
Chills washed over her and raised the hairs on her arms and legs, racing straight to her heart. Exactly what she’d imagined God should look like. Father Adam reported he’d been made in His image. “What did He say? And why have you not told me before? You must know I’ve been wondering, wanting to know, yet you’ve been distant.”
“I’ve been savoring it, and hoped He would say more. Upon the mountain today, though He didn’t speak again, a knowing came to my heart.”
She smiled. Perhaps he truly had heard from the Lord. If anyone would, it should be her Abram. “So what did He say—when He actually spoke to you? And what is this knowing you speak of?”
“He said in a quiet, still voice that thrilled my soul, Unto thy seed will I give this land.”
Of their own, her eyes closed and her voice came barely as a whisper. “Unto thy seed?” A dagger spilled her heart’s blood. “If only it could be true.”
He kissed her lips. “It is true already, for He said it. The Almighty will give us a son, and he and his seed after him will inherit this land. The Lord has spoken, and I believe it is so.”
“But…my beloved…my moon cycles wane. Perhaps you…”
“Sarai. No. Hush that talk. We will wait upon the Lord.”
She scooted in closer. “I love you, dearest Abram.”
“I love you, too.”
What a glorious time together! That night with him brought so much promise.
But Sarai hadn’t heard the voice of God or seen His semblance. The hope her husband gave her remained through a missed moon cycle, then twenty-eight days later, died with the onset of another. She was barren. The next phase of her womanhood started exactly like her mother had said it would, except her mother wasn’t barren.
The time of change fell upon her like a heavy rain, and dashed her hopes like a flood on a fire’s embers.
A year or two more, and all confidence would be gone. She would die shriveled up and childless.
Cursed beyond measure.
Then, as though her condition wasn’t enough, the skies refused its blessings. She’d never known such heat. Each month, the dearth grew worse, but instead of Abram taking them north he continued south. Ever south. To find even meager amounts of grass and browsings for the beasts forced the herdsmen to leave earlier and stay longer.
Upon returning from trading too many sheep for not enough grain, her husband informed her he’d decided to journey into Egypt. At the news, her spirit revived. She’d always wanted to see all the wonders of the land of the Pharaohs.
The closer the caravan came to the border, the darker a shadow grew over Abram’s heart. The famine drove him to Egypt, but his feet desired only to flee. He continued dismissing the gloom with too many souls to consider, too many animals that needed fodder and grain. No, he would sojourn along the Nile until the famine broke in Canaan.
Sight of the first outpost flew a dart into his heart. Armed men milled about, shirtless officials with partially shaved heads, querying each and every soul lined up seeking passage into Pharaoh’s land. And the line stretched longer than he’d ever expected, but what else was there to do?
He held his right hand up then turned and walked to the fourth camel. He motioned for the handler to bring the beast to his knees.
The canopy’s curtain pulled back, his wife’s gorgeous face appeared, her hair and neck adorned with jewels. “What’s happening? Why did we stop?”
“Beloved, I know you are a fair woman to look upon.” His mouth as dry as the desert sand, the words came hard. “When the Egyptians see you, they will say, ‘This is his wife.’ They will kill me, but will surely save you alive to take as their own.”
“Abram?”
The words stuck in his throat, but the prick in his heart drove him on. “Tell them you’re my sister, that it may be well with me for your sake, and that my soul shall live because of you.”
She nodded, but the pain in her eyes wounded his soul.
He turned away from his wife and walked ahead to join the slow moving column.
Sarai closed her curtain. Shortly the camel stood, but only took a few steps before kneeling again.
“Who’s inside? Open the covering and get out that I
may behold.” The man spoke her tongue, but with a heavy Hamite accent.
She slid out and stood before the shirtless man, looking down and to the side, avoiding his nakedness. Stories of the Egyptians’ strange ways proved true. She never dreamed though, that the men went around half nude with painted eyes.
The man stared. His mouth gaped, then he cleared his throat and found his voice. “You are?”
“Sarai, my master’s sister.”
He stepped closer. His manly stench assaulted her. He smiled then nodded. “I go to commend you to my Pharaoh, the great god sure to reward me.”
She backed up, took one last look at the man then climbed back on her camel and closed the curtain, peeking out as he raced his desert horse over the sands.
Why had Abram’s God brought him here?
Before the sun had fallen a hand’s worth, and they still waited for entry a ways back in the line, more shirtless men came. They claimed to be princes of the great Pharaoh and demanded she dismount and present herself to them. She hated the lust in their eyes and their boisterous remarks in their strange tongue. They, too, mounted and rode away.
The caravan finally came to the front. After passing through the questioning and being allowed to travel on, short of the greater light setting and the lesser rising, a horde of armed men came. Never commanded to look out, she only heard the leader speak to her husband.
“Your sister will come with me now. The Pharaoh wishes to feast his eyes on her beauty.”
Abram’s tone sounded embarrassed and weak. “But she should remain with her people.”
Ignoring his sad objections, shouts preceded her camel’s fast pace. She peeked out. The princes escorted her away. Abram stood out in front of the rest, watching. How could he let the pagans take her away? Bile rose to her throat. Her husband got smaller and smaller in her sight until she closed the curtain.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
The camel stopped at last. How far away was Abram? More shouts. Her beast knelt and someone told her to get out in her own tongue. The men led her up the wide stone stairs into a great building such as she’d never seen before—the Pharaoh’s. Through room after amazing room, they ushered her into the bowels of the pagan’s palace.
They deposited her on a stack of pillows in a lush room guarded by large fat men she suspected to be the rumored eunuchs. Nina had told her stories about the altered men whom kings employed to guard their pagan harems. Her nurse had spoken of them keeping hundreds of wives and concubines.
Her life was over.
And Abram--whom she’d loved since her earliest remembrances—let it happen.
He’d stood there and watched them carry her away. Hardness infected her heart. Not such a holy man after all. How could he subject her to becoming an Egyptian’s concubine? She cared not a gnat that he was Pharaoh, a pagan god or king! She only desired her husband.
Movement startled her. A half-grown girl hurried to ward her. “My lady, greetings. My name is Hagar.” She lowered her eyes. “I am your gift from my master. I’ve drawn your bath. Please come.”
What could she do?
The rigidity in her chest grew proportionately with the anger welling up from her belly. How could he? But what was her place except to obey him and submit to his wishes? She hated the thought of what lay ahead…couldn’t imagine how awful it would be, but….
“I didn’t believe the stories. But they are true. You are the fairest among women, my lady.” The slave giggled. “No wonder Pharaoh rewarded your brother so lavishly! Large herds of sheep, oxen, and asses, bearing more than your weight in gold and silver, and men and maidservants as well!”
What? She wanted to scream. They had bargained over her like a lamb for slaughter?
Slipping into the huge stone tub filled with hot water, perfumed and softened with the finest oils she’d ever felt, Sarai let the muscles across her shoulders relax. She wouldn’t think about what was to come. Instead, she would relish the first decent bath she’d had since leaving her father’s home.
Sinking up to her neck, she fanned the water with both hands. Flower petals floated on the ripples she made. First decent? Perhaps more like the most luxurious bath she’d ever enjoyed in her whole life. She’d give Egypt’s Pharaoh one thing, the pagan certainly knew how to pamper a lady.
With no control over her future, what good would being fearful bring?
But the call she dreaded never came.
Not that first night, nor the following. Her maid remained by her side from morning until night, sleeping on a mat at the foot of her bed. Young Hagar helped her dress in the finest silks and satins, wove flowers into her hair, and told wonderful stories of Egypt and its many gods. When sent for food, she returned with all sorts of strange fruits and sumptuous meats.
Each night, as she reclined on the fine feather mattress, waiting for sleep to overtake her, the tightening in her chest lessened.
One such night, the first new moon’s cycle began since leaving her husband. Her handmaiden slumbered right away, but Sarai tossed on her bed until sometime after moonset. A peaceful sleep finally found her. She stilled, closed her eyes, and surrendered to it only to be awakened by a scream.
She sat straight up and swung her legs over the side.
What was that?
Who screamed?
Many shouts and footfalls echoed outside her chamber. She hurried to the foot of her bed and shook Hagar awake. “Quick! Go! Find out what is happening!”
Chapter Six
As the moans and screams increased. Sarai wanted to see for herself, but dared not risk the wrath of the eunuchs. The child had warned of their cruelty when provoked.
In hardly any time, Hagar pushed back through the door. Flies swarmed about her face and arms. She swatted and slapped. “Help me! Help me!”
Sarai rushed toward her, swiping at the flying pests. “Stop! Get away!”
As she neared, the little beasts began falling to the floor. Hagar stopped and looked to her hands, turning them, then touched her face. “They’re gone.” She looked to Sarai. “How’d you do that?”
“I…didn’t…do anything.”
The maid crawled upon the bed, lifted her tunic, and stared at her belly. “It’s…stopped hurting. Look, my lady! It’s shrinking away.”
A festering boil indeed healed before her eyes. Sarai reached toward it, but before her finger actually touched the sore, it had vanished, leaving the girl’s skin as smooth as before. The child flew to the floor and knelt, bowing before Sarai. “Are you… are you a god?”
“No, no, Hagar. Get up. Do not bow to me. I am definitely not a god, but my husband is a prophet. And he knows well the One True God.”
“A prophet? What is this?”
“God speaks to him, and Abram tells us what He has said.”
“Which god is One True? I never heard of that one.”
“Dear girl. There’s only One God who created the heaven and the earth and all that is in it. He is the Lord God Almighty, the Creator.”
“Over our gods?”
“Your gods are false gods, not true, made by man’s hands from stone and wood.”
“So your husband… He speaks with this Almighty One?”
“He does.”
“This Abram…he is your husband? Why did you say he was your brother?”
“He’s both. Terah is our father. We have different mothers. We’ve been married for forty-six years.”
Hagar shook her head then rose from the floor. I must tell my mother! She has the ear of Pharaoh’s butler. The flies and boils. They are sent by your One True. He is angered and has sent the plagues.”
“But what of the flies? Wait!” Sarai grabbed one of the sheer fabrics worn the day before and draped it over her maiden’s head and shoulders. “That should help.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The girl ran off without closing the door.
Swarms of the biting insects darkened the hall, but didn’t come into her room. Sarai
went to the entrance.
One of her guards lay on the ground covered in boils, writhing. Flies blanketed him. One hard kick from the other eunuch, then he lay still. His chest didn’t rise and fall. His attacker, or angel, disappeared.
None of the flies neared her. But while she watched, an army of frogs hopped through the palace, darting their tongues right and left into the swarms, but other than filling their bellies it had no effect on the flies.
At the sight, she stepped back into her room and sank to her knees. She pressed her forehead to the cool marble floor and worshiped Abram’s God. He had protected her, kept Pharaoh from calling for her.
Exactly as Hagar said. He’d sent the frogs, flies and boils on the Egyptians. All for her sake, but kept them away from her.
Sleep eluded Abram. On his knees in his tent, he prayed. He’d refused food and water, done nothing but pray for his wife since watching the Egyptians carry her away. Lot had brought him reports of what the Lord had done to the Egyptians, but that first word had been two days ago, and his wife still remained in the midst of the plagues and the pagans.
Could her death or disfigurement be his punishment?
Would he find her cold body covered in bloody boils in one of the stacks of corpses the living carried out of Pharaoh’s palace?
“Uncle. This man says to hurry. That you must come with him.”
Abram pushed himself up then walked out of his tent. A company of armed men waited around two horses harnessed to an iron-wheeled chariot.
A shirtless man with oozing boils the size of saucers over his chest beckoned for Abram to get in the machine of war. Reluctantly, he climbed aboard. The man joined him, and the driver whipped the steeds into action.
Piles of rotting corpses lined the way to the palace, the stench unbearable. Frogs covered the ground like a carpet, and flies filled the air. Both were everywhere, except on Abram. Worse than Lot’s reports.
Dear God. What had he done? Had Sarai survived his deception?
