Love Amid the Ashes

by Mesu Andrews

  Dinah cupped Sitis’s chin. “Nogahla and I will go. What would you like us to do?”

  “Job will need extra care while presenting our case to the relatives.” Sitis began reaching for items to put in a basket. “Take plenty of mint tea for his throat and enough herbs and bandages to keep his pain at tolerable levels.” She reached up to rake a callused thumb across Dinah’s cheek. “Just your presence will mean the most.”

  Orma had moved into the corner and wrapped herself in her blanket again. “What about Nada’s gift?” Her voice was weak but full of mischief.

  “Oh, Sitis! I almost forgot.” Dinah turned in time to see Orma offer up the little pot of gruel.

  Dinah received it and transferred the aromatic mixture to Sitis’s hands, watching the woman inhale with utter delight. “Nada hasn’t made this for me since my children were toddlers!” she squealed. “Orma and I will save some for you to try when you return.” Dinah and Nogahla shared a grateful grin and said their good-byes as Sitis and Orma dipped portions of Nada’s heavenly gift.

  Job watched them assemble like an invading army. Sayyid emerged with Bildad from the cluster of Ishmaelite tents on the western side of the canyon, and Elihu fell in step behind them. Eliphaz and Zophar were waiting by the center path at the edge of the Edomite encampment, ready to confront their wayward relative. He searched for Bela but didn’t see the conniver. At least one of my enemies has decided to stay home.

  Scanning the canyon dotted with visitors’ tents, Job saw no sign of Aban or any of his friends. He would fight this battle alone. Job’s heart slammed against his ribs with such force, he thought his chest would burst. As the men drew nearer, bitterness rose like a flood and threatened to drown him.

  Elihu pressed ahead of the elders, leading the other four men toward Job’s stinking courtyard. Several of Sayyid’s guards had come earlier this morning to spread fresh ashes where the elders’ mats would be placed—a safe distance from Job’s seeping stench. Elihu led the march, as solemn as a burial procession, everyone except the young man wearing a fresh sachet of herbs over his nose and mouth. Job’s student must have remembered Dinah’s remedy for Sitis and suggested it to the elders.

  Before the others reached their mats on the freshly strewn ash, Elihu raced to the pinnacle of Job’s heap. Bowing formally, he made a proper show for those arriving. “Abba, your relatives have hesitated to come earlier because of your great suffering. Eliphaz, Prince Bildad, and Zophar . . . they wanted to wait until—”

  But the dam of Job’s resentment burst. “I curse the day of my birth,” he said, ignoring Elihu’s excuses. “Why didn’t I die as I came from the womb? At least now I would be lying down in peace. God has all but disappeared!”

  A few paces away, the elders had just removed their sandals at the edge of their ash pile and stood wide-eyed at Job’s outburst. They turned toward Sayyid, as if waiting for his direction before being seated.

  As if Job didn’t exist, Sayyid extended his hand toward the top of the ash heap, speaking quietly, distracting them from Job’s cries. “Please, sit down,” he said, playing the gracious host—even on a dung pile.

  Job’s blood boiled, but he held his tongue until all five men sat on his mountain of filth.

  Uncle Eliphaz was the first to venture a word. “If I speak, will you be impatient with me?” He didn’t wait for Job’s answer but plowed ahead like a wild ox tilling soil. “How could I keep from speaking? Think of how many young men you’ve instructed.” He nodded in Elihu’s direction, his voice a muffled singsong under the herb sachet his shmagh held in place. “You’ve supported those who stumbled and strengthened my own son’s faltering faith. Now trouble comes to you, and you’re discouraged and dismayed, but shouldn’t your blameless life be your confidence and hope? Consider carefully, my son, for you are like my own son, you know. What man being truly innocent has ever been destroyed? If you have not hidden away secret sin in your heart, you will not perish.”

  Tears formed on the old man’s lashes, and Job’s heart cracked a little. Eliphaz had always been full of bluster, but Job knew the man loved him. “Listen, Job.” Eliphaz tented his fingers and rested his gray-bearded chin on them. “A word was secretly brought to me last night amid disquieting dreams. Fear and trembling seized me and made my old bones shake. A spirit glided past my face, and the hair on my body stood on end. It stopped, but I could not see its form. It stood before me, and I heard a hushed voice say, ‘Can a man be more righteous than God? Can a man be more pure than his Maker?’”

  Eliphaz peered out from beneath his wiry gray eyebrows, his raisin-brown face a mask of awe for El Shaddai. The firstborn of Esau was the undisputed and impassioned spiritual leader of the Edomite clan and had been known to have these nighttime visitations from the spirit world before.

  “If God charges His angels with error, casting them from His presence, how much more willing is He to crush those who live in houses of clay?” He shook his head, his white beard swishing across his belly like an old woman’s broom on a dusty floor. “You can cry out your innocence to El Shaddai, but it seems you are sitting atop His judgment and your children have been crushed in His court without a defender. Men are born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward. If it were me, I would appeal to God’s mercy. Blessed is the man whom God corrects, so don’t despise His discipline, my son. He wounds, but He also heals.” Nodding to Bildad and Zophar, Eliphaz secured their smug agreement. “We three have examined your plight and find these things to be true. So hear our words and apply them to yourself.”

  Job gasped for air, feeling utterly robbed. Robbed of breath, life, dignity, and his right to be heard. Eliphaz did not intend his questions to be answered or his answers to be questioned. But how could anyone know the immeasurable depths of Job’s suffering? “If only my pain could be weighed on a scale, it would outweigh the sand of the seas, Uncle.” Indignation strengthened Job’s feeble voice. “No wonder my words seem impetuous to you! God’s terror has seized me. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. My only prayer is that God would let me die before I deny the words of the Holy One!”

  The elders seemed unmoved, but Elihu’s face was stricken. “Abba, you don’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it! What hope do I have left? Even if a despairing man forsakes El Shaddai, he should still have the devotion of his friends! But you have all turned out to be as unreliable as a wadi—rushing with water one minute, dry as desert bones the next. You came here to comfort me but then saw something horrifying that frightened you. Look at me. Remember who we are to each other. Have I ever lied to you?”

  They watched the dung beetles crawling on their mats.

  “I said look at me!”

  Reluctantly, their eyes raked over his sores.

  “Have I asked for a scrap of bread or that you replenish my household?” He waited, but they gave no reply. “No! Yet you accept my enemy’s gifts while I am allotted nights of misery and days without hope.”

  Bildad’s handsome features, so similar to his sister’s, remained impenetrable. Zophar shifted his bulk and was distracted by a pesky fly buzzing around his head. Eliphaz, to his credit, was attentive, though continued to offer a sympathetic tilt of the head that Job could tolerate no longer.

  “Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath,” Job cried, voice and hands lifted high. “If I have sinned, what have I done to You, O Watcher of Men? Why have You made me Your target? Why don’t You forgive my sins by sacrifice as You promised?”

  Bildad’s face blazed crimson. “Is that the way you were taught to approach the Most High? To just shout at Him, accuse Him, question Him? How long will you be allowed to speak and act as you wish? Does God pervert justice? Your children sinned against Him, and Yahweh judged them for it. Even Elihu understands this. He told us that you had to make morning sacrifices each time one of their celebrations ran its course.”

  Job stared at Elihu, astonished that the young man he’d trained and loved would betray him.

 
; Elihu shook his head in denial but said nothing, and Bildad bristled at Job’s silent reprimand. “It’s not Elihu’s fault that your children were raised in an indulgent household by an idolatrous mother.”

  Job felt as if he’d been slapped. His breath left him. And something in Bildad’s expression changed. Perhaps even he realized he’d gone too far.

  “Listen, Job,” Bildad said, his voice showing a measure of remorse, “if you will look to the Most High and plead with Him, if you are pure and upright, He will restore you to your rightful place. Eliphaz and I have lived a long time, and the older generations have much to teach you. Tradition is a valuable guide, and we can assure you that God does not reject a blameless man or strengthen the hands of evildoers.”

  Job looked at the line of his once dear friends—Elihu, Zophar, Eliphaz, and Bildad—and then noted the smug grin on Sayyid’s face. Job released a deep sigh. He was spent. Weary and miserable, he longed for death.

  As he glanced beyond the relatives’ tents to the canyon’s entry, the sun’s rays illumined the approach of three silhouettes. The sight of them was like cool water to a thirsty soul. Aban, Nogahla, and . . . yes, even Dinah, were marching toward him. He suddenly recalled Sitis’s promise. “I’ll return tonight,” she had said. He must be able to tell her he fought well.

  Job met Bildad’s commanding stare. “I have witnessed the truth of your statement, ‘God does not reject the blameless or strengthen the hands of evildoers.’ However, what of Eliphaz’s miraculous revelation? How can a man be blameless before God? By that argument, isn’t every man evil?” Job delighted in the consternation on Bildad’s face as he caught the old man in Eliphaz’s web of logic. “You say, ‘Plead with El Shaddai,’ but how can I? He is too powerful, invisible, and has set His purpose that will not be moved. If the Most High granted me a hearing and found all my actions to be right and good, I’m sure my words would condemn me, Bildad. So it seems to me that God toys with us, mocking when tragedy befalls the poor and lowly. If God does not harm the lowly, who does? Is there another force at work in the universe?”

  Job watched Sayyid’s smile widen and the veins in Bildad’s neck bulge. Eliphaz placed a calming hand on Bildad’s leg and cowed him with a subtle nod. No doubt they would let Job condemn himself, but his next line of argument was for Sayyid’s benefit.

  “Of course there are other forces in the universe,” Job continued, answering his own question. “The Ishmaelites in Uz believe in the power of their three goddesses, and many of my own Edomite clan accept the mountain god, Kaus. What about you, Sayyid? Don’t you worship idols?” Sayyid glanced at the hardened expressions on his guests’ faces, and Job felt a moment of triumph. “And yet the idolater Sayyid seems to be quite prosperous. Wouldn’t you say, Uncle Eliphaz?” Job leaned forward and spoke quietly to the most sympathetic of his visitors.

  Turning his face toward heaven, Job cried out again to El Shaddai. “Does it please You to hurt me, while You smile on the schemes of the wicked? Do You have eyes of flesh? Do You see like a mortal man? Do You enjoy probing me for sin—though You know I am not guilty and that no one else can rescue me from Your hand?”

  “Job!” Eliphaz tried to silence him, but Job would not be stilled.

  “Your hands shaped me and made me. You knit me together and gave me life, showed me kindness. Will You now destroy me? I can’t understand it. I’ve tried to smile and pretend that everything will turn out for my good, but I cannot mask my despair any longer. Please, Yahweh, I am just a man! I need an arbitrator. Otherwise, just let me go down to the grave in peace.” At these words, Job fell silent and allowed his tears to flow.

  He felt a gentle hand touch his bandaged shoulder, and when he looked up, Dinah held out a warm cup of mint tea. She and Nogahla had slipped through the charred shell of his home and discreetly ascended his ash heap. With their quiet presence behind him, he felt empowered, warmed by their friendship. Aban stood like a sentry at the front edge of the courtyard wall, a safe distance from both sides of the battle. Job noticed a shared glance between Sayyid and his captain, but Job also received a smile and wink from Aban. Can you be trusted, my young friend?

  Job’s momentary distraction was interrupted by a low, feral growl. Zophar had spotted Dinah.

  Every time Dinah saw him, the hate in Zophar’s eyes startled her. She tried to steady her shaking hand so as not to spill Job’s tea. I stand innocent before El Shaddai. No man can shame me. Innocent before El Shaddai. No shame. She played the words over and over in her mind, trying to knead the truth into her heart like yeast into bread dough. So far it wasn’t working.

  “Are all Job’s words to go unanswered?” Zophar shouted, and Dinah jumped like a spooked donkey, spilling tea on Job’s bandaged hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He indicated with a nod that she should sit behind him, and she gladly tucked herself behind his shoulder.

  “You imply that your beliefs are flawless and you are pure in God’s sight. I wish God would speak against you and disclose the secrets of His wisdom, for true wisdom has two sides. Know this, Job: God has even forgotten some of your sins.”

  Job shook his head and threw his hands in the air. “What does that mean, Zophar? When you don’t know what to say, you spew forth this intellectual gibberish with many words and little meaning.”

  Zophar’s lips pressed tight, his face red and trembling like a rumbling cooking pot ready to explode. “Can you fathom the mysteries of God?” he said. “If God has put you in prison, who can oppose Him? No one! God recognized a deceitful man and acted appropriately. If you put away the sin that you clutch in your hand . . .” Zophar pointed his chubby finger directly at Dinah, and she wished she could dig a hole in the dung pile and crawl into it. “If you put this evil away, then you’ll be able to show your face without shame and stand firm in your rightful place without fear.” He moved his accusing finger to Job. “But the wicked man fails, and escape eludes him. His hope becomes a dying gasp.”

  Dinah peered over Job’s right shoulder and noticed his whole body beginning to tremble. “I’m sure you three are the keepers of all God’s wisdom and perfect understanding will die with you!” Job’s shout resulted in a coughing fit, and the clean cloth Nogahla offered was quickly smeared with blood.

  Job’s pompous relatives stared, horrified.

  “You live in your finery and ease,” he said through coughs, “and you show contempt for my misfortune. It’s easier to convince yourselves it’s my fault than to believe this could happen to you.” Job raised his hand in Sayyid’s direction. “But how do you explain the prosperity of those who provoke God—those who carry their gods in their hands?” Sayyid shifted uneasily on his mat, and Dinah felt an immense sense of pride at the case Job was making.

  The poor man barely paused for breath. “To God belong wisdom and power. Counsel and understanding are His. He makes nations great and destroys them. All the things you have learned, I have also been taught. I am not inferior in knowledge.”

  Job wiped his mouth, his coughing settling some, and he held up his hand when Eliphaz tried to interrupt. “Would it turn out well if God examined you as you are examining me? Would not His splendor terrify you as His arrows have terrified me? All your maxims are ashes and your proverbs shatter like clay. I speak to God plainly as I would speak if He stood here before me. Why? Because though He might slay me, He is still my God, my only hope of deliverance.”

  He wiped his mouth again and handed the dirty rag to Dinah. “Consider this. Would a godless man dare speak so boldly? Would a godless man ask these two things of God—that He would withdraw these frightening terrors and that He would meet me face-to-face? Do these sound like requests from a godless man?”

  Dinah wanted to clap, to rejoice, to cheer for this man who had suffered so violently and yet held so firmly to his faith. But no one cheered. The lengthening silence throbbed with tension until eerie laughter rose from behind the dung heap. Dinah’s eyes darted to the shadowy, burned
-out remains of Job’s home, where she spotted the Nameless One cavorting with some of his men. She glanced at Elihu. He too had noticed the ominous presence. Foreboding crept up her neck, raised the fine hairs on her arms.

  Sayyid cleared his throat, drawing attention to his satisfied smile. “Job appears to need a rest, and all this talk has made me hungry. I’ll instruct my cooks to serve the midday meal, and we can reconvene when the heat of the day has passed.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as if trying to start a fire with two sticks. Standing on Bildad’s left, he was able to appear as though he was speaking to Job, but his eyes shot cunning arrows in Dinah’s direction. “Our dessert will be a special fruit gruel that will be especially pleasing to Job and Bildad.”

  When Sitis’s brother tilted his head in silent question, Sayyid laughed melodiously. “Bildad, do you remember Nada, Sitis’s old nursemaid? She has prepared a honeyed fruit gruel.” He paused and then stared at Dinah. “It was Sitis’s favorite.”

  Dinah thought it strange that Sayyid rehearsed Nada’s menu, and even stranger that he spoke of Sitis as though she had gone away . . .

  The Nameless One released another eerie chuckle that wriggled up her spine, and as she turned to issue a scathing glance, her blood turned to ice in her veins. Standing next to the leader, enjoying his lecherous pawing, was the one-eyed old woman who had delivered Sitis’s fruit gruel to the cave earlier that morning.

  “Nooo!” Dinah was instantly on her feet but was paralyzed with indecision.

  Every upturned face questioned her silently, but it was Job who whispered, “Dinah?”

  “Job, I must go.” She motioned to Nogahla to follow, and the girl obeyed without question.

  “Dinah, won’t you stay and try some of Sitis’s favorite dish?” Sayyid’s singsong voice called after her as she slid down the ash heap toward the courtyard wall, where Aban had been standing. He would know what to do.