by Mesu Andrews
“Mistress, Aban is a soldier who follows the commands of his master, just as any servant must. However, he has told me he regrets the suffering Master Job and Mistress Sitis are enduring, and he is trying to find a way to help.”
Dinah rolled her eyes, safe in her snide reaction since Nogahla followed behind and couldn’t see. “Aban lives in Sayyid’s household, Nogahla, and is probably just as deceitful as his master. Come to think of it, you’ve barely spoken to Aban. He stands with the four guards at the wall of Job’s kitchen courtyard. How can you care about him, Nogahla? This is ridiculous.” Stepping onto level ground, Dinah hurried her pace, and Nogahla rushed behind.
“My heart doesn’t care about his household, mistress. It cares about the man.” Dinah heard Nogahla’s footsteps lag. “I see the way he gently leads Mistress Sitis to the top of the ash pile to visit Master Job. And have you watched him protect Master Job when the bandits try to throw ashes and dung on him?”
Dinah stopped in mid-stride and felt Nogahla’s nose bump her shoulder blade. She must have been daydreaming again. The girl’s giggle echoed against the red siq walls around them. Turning, Dinah fell silent and studied her friend’s innocence in the dim glow of dawn. How can you see others so clearly when I barely even see myself? she thought.
“I’m sorry, Nogahla,” Dinah said. “Forgiveness seems to be a lesson I must learn again and again.” Reaching out to brush the girl’s cheek, she said, “I still don’t trust this Aban, but I must admit he has treated Job and Sitis with kindness—under the circumstances.”
The two began their trek to the ash pile again, Nogahla’s brow knit together in thought. “Forgiveness is like an olive tree, mistress. Once it takes root, it will grow, and it’s hard to kill. You have learned to forgive once, and you will forgive Aban someday.”
Her friend’s words always seemed to blossom at just the right moment. Today they had revealed bitterness taking root in Dinah’s heart, but oftentimes her wit and wisdom were the soothing balm Job needed as Dinah’s herb supplies dwindled.
“I will try to see Sayyid’s captain through your eyes, my friend.” Reaching for the girl’s hand, Dinah added, “In fact, I’ll try to see the whole world through your eyes.” They walked side by side, emerging from the narrow siq into dawn’s light.
Nogahla gazed longingly at the spring-fed central fountain and cascading waterfall in Uz’s lavish second sector. “Mistress, perhaps forgiveness is more like taking a bath. We must be washed by it over and over.” Bouncing her eyebrows, she tilted her head toward the inviting pool.
Dinah chuckled at the sly plea. “Perhaps on the way back we can wash ourselves.” She too longed to feel clean again—inside and out. Both women were wearing the only robes they owned, having used every stitch of cloth and clothing for Job’s bandages. And it had been over a year since their inner cleansing of the morning sacrifice on Job’s mountaintop altar. Your tears are your sacrifice, she’d told Job. God knows your heart. But did the same apply to her? Did El Shaddai know her heart longed to be forgiven and to forgive, that she would offer a thousand lambs if she had them?
Servants walked quickly past the beautiful gardens and courtyards of the merchants’ homes, scurrying about their morning chores. Dinah averted her gaze from the rubble of Ennon’s home. The smell of decay had finally faded, but the wreckage was a reminder of Sayyid’s unrelenting wickedness. He had convinced the elders to leave the ruins untouched for fear of retribution from the gods, but Dinah was convinced he simply wanted to punish Job.
His relationship with Sitis still puzzled her. When Sitis had introduced them that day in the courtyard, Dinah thought she’d noted Sayyid’s deep affection for Job’s wife. But a man in love did not make his beloved a slave in another man’s home.
Dinah and Nogahla rounded the jagged corner of the private canyon, where Job’s and Sayyid’s homes were carved into opposing cliffs like soldiers arrayed for battle. “Mistress,” Nogahla whispered, “when will Elihu return with Master Job’s relatives? He’s getting sicker every day, and I’m not sure how much longer Mistress Sitis can work as a servant. She wasn’t born to it like we—I mean, like I was.”
Dinah smiled down at the girl. “Mistress Sitis has done remarkably well for a woman born to privilege, but you’re right, Nogahla.” Dinah placed a comforting arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I hope Elihu comes soon.”
At the sight of black-cloaked guards surrounding Sayyid’s home, Dinah remembered her relief a few days after Elihu’s departure, when she’d overheard a guard’s reported failure to capture the young man. “El Elyon is faithful!” she had told Job excitedly. “We must tell Sitis that Elihu escaped safely and that he will surely return soon with your relatives.” Job had tried to nod his head, tried to smile. But both elicited his now familiar face of pain—a quick breath, gritting teeth, and welling tears. She couldn’t remember him smiling since.
“Dinah!” A shrill voice echoed against the canyon walls, and both women turned to find Sitis running behind them. “Wait, I want to talk to you before you see Job.” The mistress arrived huffing and trembling, her eyes sunken and shadowed.
Dinah reached out to steady her. “Mistress Sitis, you are not well. Sit down.” Guiding her to a low-lying rock, Dinah wished she had some cool water to offer the woman. “Your face is pale and clammy. When was the last time you ate?” The woman had lost so much weight that her robe folded almost twice around her.
Sitis glanced at Nogahla, seemingly uncomfortable at the maid’s presence. Dinah winked at the girl, and the little Cushite smiled knowingly. “I believe I’ll go back to the waterfall for a quick bath.”
Relief washed over Sitis’s face when Nogahla walked away, but she seemed self-conscious, picking at a callus on one of her trembling hands. “I haven’t eaten a full meal since I began working for Bela.”
“What?” Dinah laid a steadying hand on Sitis’s shoulder and tried to peer into her lowered gaze. “Mistress Sitis, doesn’t he feed his servants?”
Tears sprang up immediately. “Please don’t call me mistress, and yes, of course he feeds his servants. He just doesn’t feed me.” She wiped her eyes before they overflowed. “He gives me only one piece of bread and a bowl of gruel each day. When I asked him why the other servants ate two meals a day, he said he was following Sayyid’s strict orders, and if I had any complaints, I should take them to Sayyid.”
Sitis pulled away and stared into the distance, her posture as straight as an arrow in a warrior’s quiver. Dinah wondered if this woman would open her heart to anyone ever again.
“Sitis, I want to be your friend.” Dinah understood the need to keep people at a distance. Sitis had lost her children, home, and social standing, and then Sayyid took Nada from her. “Tell me how I can help you.”
Sitis’s lips trembled as she spoke, every fiber of her being seemingly focused on maintaining the little dignity she had left. “I’ve been eating my portion of gruel, but I pilfer my piece of bread for Job.”
Dinah started to question, to ask why she must steal her own bread. But before the words were formed, Sitis suddenly fell into her arms, heaving giant sobs, bathing Dinah’s shoulder with her tears. Restraint was finally gone, the walls tumbling down. Dinah was so shocked, she said nothing for a long while, simply letting the woman release her seemingly endless sorrow.
When Sitis’s crying slowed, she sat back, and this time reached out for Dinah’s hands. “Sayyid has ordered the guards to give Job only broth because I’ve refused his repeated marriage proposals.” Sitis glanced over Dinah’s shoulder, whispering because of the echo in the canyon. Desperation set in. “Bela discovered I’ve been bringing my bread to Job, and now he’s cut my ration to only gruel. It probably won’t matter anyway. Job hasn’t been eating the bread.” She slammed her fist on her leg. “He can’t chew, Dinah. His gums are swollen, and he’s in so much pain. I don’t know what else to do!”
Dinah hugged her fiercely and whispered in her ear, “Job needs to
eat, but so do you. Widow Orma has been very generous to Nogahla and me. Yahweh provided the widow with a servant’s position, and she shares her two meals with us. Nogahla and I can bring part of our portions to Job.”
“No!” Sitis pulled away, her voice echoing against the canyon walls.
“Shh,” Dinah cautioned. “Why not?”
“If you’re caught, Sayyid will harm the widow or you or Nogahla, or . . .” Sitis’s crying made the rest of her reasoning unintelligible, but Dinah understood. Sayyid’s power seemed absolute in Uz. He’d blocked any opportunity for Dinah to use her midwife skills. He’d also hired the Nameless Ones to restore Job’s home, paying the bandits with the wealth he confiscated from Job’s Hebron caravan and what little he could scavenge from the shell of Job’s palace. The Nameless Ones had lingered for over a year, their only progress being the height of the ash pile that added to Job’s torment and soaked up the seeping of his sores.
Where are You, El Shaddai? Dinah prayed. The only sign of God’s intervention was Job’s grueling survival amid unspeakable suffering. But Yahweh must have some great plan for Job if He has sustained him this long.
Dinah held Sitis until the sun peeked over the eastern cliffs. The woman cried so many tears, she could have filled the central fountain three times over, but Dinah felt honored to be the pool that caught them. “Sitis, I will pray for your wisdom,” she said finally. “I believe El Shaddai will direct you in the days to come, and surely Elihu will return soon with your brother and Job’s uncle.”
Sitis’s features grew hard, her chin suddenly set in a defiant tilt. “Bildad and Eliphaz are powerful men, but they live their own lives. Bildad never had time for me as a child. I don’t expect his comfort as an adult. And as for your El Shaddai—He would never direct me after I’ve committed such blasphemy against Him.” Shrugging her shoulders, she added, “Besides, I’ve given up on all the gods. What good have they ever done me?” She stood and wiped her face, erasing all evidence of emotion. Dinah recognized the familiar mask of indifference she had once worn, now fixed firmly on Sitis’s face.
Oh, El Shaddai, please give me wisdom to show her Your love and forgiveness as Job showed it to me. Dinah didn’t correct or reprove. Sitis simply needed to be loved.
When the woman turned to walk out of the canyon, Dinah’s heart plummeted. “Aren’t you going to see Job?”
“Please tell my husband I hope to visit him later today.” Sitis looked toward Sayyid’s home and then set out toward the siq. “I may have found a way to make the elders listen to my demands.”
Job watched Sitis walk out of the canyon, away from Dinah, and disappointment stabbed him. He watched Nogahla pass his wife and crane her neck, probably wondering, like him, why she was leaving so soon. Walking toward his dung heap, Dinah looked worried and drawn. El Shaddai, if Your plan was to humble me, You’ve done it. He’d brought this beautiful young woman to Uz to redeem her future, to give her a life after she’d experienced nothing but death and tragedy. Instead, she had saved both him and Sitis, offering friendship and a keen knowledge of herbal medicine after Sayyid had banned everyone in the city from helping them.
“Good morning!” Dinah called from beyond Sayyid’s guards, four men posted at the perimeter of Job’s canopied courtyard. She nodded curtly in their direction but walked past them as if she wore Philistine armor.
How I wish I could shout back my answer, Job thought, his throat raw with sores. He studied her features, the painted-on smile, the sad eyes, the quaking cheeks. She’d been crying. What had she and Sitis discussed?
“How are you this morning? Any change?” Dinah slipped off her sandals at the edge of the ash heap and climbed to the peak where Job was seated. He noticed Aban approach quickly and little Nogahla offer a tentative smile. Dinah must have noticed as well, and she stood like a sentinel between them until Nogahla’s sandals were removed and the girl was halfway up the ash heap.
Job silently applauded Dinah’s maternal protection. Aban seemed too good to be true, apparently a compassionate mountain of a man, yet subservient to Sayyid’s wickedness. The captain slowed at Dinah’s challenge, pretending some issue with one of his guards but maintaining his boyish gander at Nogahla.
“No change,” Job croaked to Dinah, his voice rougher than usual with its first use of the day. The women sat on his right and left, no sign of disgust on their features, no revulsion or recoiling, though the worms in Job’s wounds still nauseated him.
“The worms aren’t all bad,” Dinah had said after using the last of the frankincense and myrrh several moons ago. “The worms will eat away the infection.” But Job appreciated their unplanned benefit. Before the grotesque infestation, Sayyid’s children by his concubines often crossed the canyon and braved the ash piles to throw dust or spit on him. Though not Sayyid’s legal heirs, they had certainly inherited his wicked character. The worms may not have eaten away all the infection, but they certainly scared away the heartless little children and even gave the taunting Nameless Ones pause.
“Good morning, Master Job.” Nogahla’s brilliant smile lifted his heart. He winked at her, their secret greeting.
“All right,” Dinah said, reaching for the bandage on his left hand. “It’s time for you to tell me about Bildad and Eliphaz while Nogahla and I change your bandages.”
“It hurts to speak,” he croaked, hoping the excuse would save him the emotional pain.
“I know, and I’m sorry we didn’t bring the mint tea to soothe your throat.” Dinah’s voice was weary with sadness. “But Sitis is hurting too, Job, and I need to know her history in order to help.”
Job nodded. Perhaps talking would distract him from the pain of the bandaging process, but where did one begin a life story?
While Dinah tenderly untied the first knot, he realized he should start with their connection to her abba. “Both Bildad and Eliphaz were disciples with your abba Jacob in the House of Shem. All three were my teachers.” He winced as Dinah pulled away the bandage, expecting overwhelming pain but relieved when it was manageable.
“Oh, Job,” Dinah said, gasping. Tears welled in her eyes. Nogahla staggered back.
Job looked at his hand and found the tips of his fingers gone. His fingernails had fallen away last week, and he’d felt no pain in his fingertips since then. Now he knew why. “Perhaps we’ll leave the bandages off my hands and feet,” he said, awed at the surreal sight. “That way I can at least say good-bye to them when they leave.”
Dinah wasn’t easily shaken, but she seemed unable to speak. Nodding her head, she continued to unbind his wounds, and Job was suddenly struck with an unusual wave of thanksgiving. For weeks he’d fought bitterness and despair as effectively as eating soup with two fingers. Now he prayed aloud, hoping to spill encouragement to his caregivers. “El Shaddai, thank You for my pain. At least my flesh is alive when I feel the pain.”
Tears threatened, and in an effort to keep the fiery drops from his fleshy cheeks, he continued with his story. “As I was saying, Uncle Eliphaz, Bildad, and Jacob taught both Zophar and me at the House of Shem. Uncle Eliphaz is Great-Abba Esau’s firstborn son, and Zophar is Uncle Eliphaz’s thirdborn son.”
Nogahla grinned, wiping a tear and unwrapping the large bandage from Job’s torso. “You’re making my head hurt, Master Job—thirdborn, firstborn, abba, uncle.”
Job tried to smile but simply managed to clench his teeth and draw in a quick breath against the pain. “Just remember this,” he said, when he could speak again. “Uncle Eliphaz was like a father to me when Great-Abba Esau killed my father.”
“What?” Dinah straightened, hands on hips, a single tear still lingering on one cheek.
Job gazed at the woman whose sapphire blue eyes could rain compassion one moment and cast daggers the next. “Uncle Eliphaz was to lead my abba and several others to kill your abba Jacob after he stole Esau’s covenant blessing. When Eliphaz spared Jacob’s life, my abba told Esau the news. The Edomites say Esau simply shoved Abba, who
then struck his head on a rock—but we all know it isn’t true.”
Her hands fell limp, resting at her sides, eyes soft and compassionate again. “I have seen you with Esau, Job. How do you show him love and respect after such a wrong?”
“Because El Shaddai forgives me for the wrongs I commit, Dinah, I can then forgive others.” Job watched his words settle into her heart, her features change from granite to workable clay.
“Master Job takes lots of baths.” Nogahla exchanged a knowing grin with Dinah.
“Baths?” Job glanced at the women, waiting with anticipation for another of Nogahla’s simple treasures of wisdom.
“Ugh!” Dinah expressed her good-natured frustration. “I have found it difficult to forgive someone.” She cast a sidelong glance at Sayyid’s big captain still hovering at the base of the pile. “Nogahla explained to me this morning that forgiveness is like taking a bath. We do it over and over to stay clean.”
Again Job winked at the wise young girl and offered an approving nod to Dinah. Jacob’s daughter had proven fertile soil, a soul hungry for Yahweh.
“All right,” she said in feigned reproach, “continue with your story.”
“After my abba died, Uncle Eliphaz raised me as his own son, continually teaching me the ways of El Shaddai. That’s why his son Zophar and I are like brothers.”
He noticed Dinah’s discomfort at Zophar’s name. “So tell me about Bildad,” she said, searching through her basket, not so subtly changing the subject.
Job’s heart squeezed a little. How much should he say about Sitis’s older brother? He respected the man without question, but Bildad had hurt Sitis deeply and repeatedly, and she still carried the scars. “Bildad is the son of Shuah, but neither are truly Ishmaelites.”
Dinah set down her basket and herb pots, staring at Job in disbelief. “What do you mean? I’ve never heard this. Shuah is a great prince of Ishmael, and Bildad, a prince after him.”
