by Mesu Andrews
Elihu glanced at his abba and noted beads of sweat gathering below his patchy mustache. Why was he nervous? Then Elihu looked at Eliphaz, a chief elder among the Edomite clan, fidgeting with his sash, eyes shifting from Esau to Job and back to the approaching procession. Why were these men—great in Elihu’s view—so anxious about meeting their abba and great-abba? He had often heard Job recount stories of his childhood, when Esau had taken him on hunting expeditions, training Job personally with spear and bow to be the best hunter/warrior of the Edomite clan. Elihu recalled the wash of sadness on Abba Job’s face after he’d told Esau of his decision to devote his life to the teachings of the Most High. Job’s heart seemed to break each time he spoke of his great-abba’s indifference toward El Shaddai.
The shofars sounded once more, and Elihu returned his attention to the oncoming parade. Astonished, he heard himself gasp. The camel to Esau’s right plodded under Bela’s wide girth. Triumph mixed with rain on the Edomite’s face, and his rounded red cheeks were as bright as the sun. Since Job’s recovery and Eliphaz’s renewed support of his favorite nephew, Bela had been conspicuously quiet. His sudden appearance at Esau’s side settled like a dull blade in Elihu’s stomach.
“Perhaps I should find a chamber pot.” Abba Job leaned close to Elihu, the weary tilt of his brow betraying the fear beneath his humor.
Attendants on camels flanked Bela and Esau, each carrying red linen standards bearing the image of a god with a mountain in his hand. A great army followed them, and Elihu’s joyous expectation wilted into muddy dread.
A distant rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet, and the heavenly patter of rain dwindled to a fine mist. A nervous buzz settled over the Edomites in Aban’s courtyard. Elihu glanced at the line of his friends, Aban on the end, Eliphaz, and then Abba Job at his side. Each of them was as wide-eyed and confused as the rest. Suddenly a clap of thunder and bolt of lightning split the skies and raised the hair on Elihu’s arms.
“Take cover! We are doomed!” Shrieks of terror rose as the gathered crowd scattered. The thunder, like a living thing, reverberated through the earth beneath their feet. And then, as if someone had poured the last drop from a heavenly bucket, the wondrous summer rain ceased. All of Uz stilled, devoid of the miraculous for the first time in seven weeks.
Esau’s procession, so brash and arrogant moments ago, now halted in eerie silence just a few paces from where Elihu and the others stood. Not even a camel dared spit and break the suspense.
“Kaus lives!” Esau’s voice echoed against the red canyon. “The mountain god remains!” he said, pointing to the cliffs.
Job gulped for air. Elihu placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and watched Eliphaz drop his head, rubbing a furrowed brow. In that moment, Elihu realized that of the four men standing in a row, only Eliphaz’s abba was alive; however, Esau’s blasphemy seemed to grieve his son as deeply as mourning his death would.
An uneasy flutter spread through the waiting crowd as servants helped Esau and Bela dismount their camels. “Job, you look like death!” Esau’s resonant voice filled the canyon. His massive build caused Elihu to cower. Matching Aban’s colossal build, the Great Red Mountain was larger than life itself, a legend, a ruler.
Bela remained at Esau’s right hand. Gloating, to be sure, but they had yet to discover why.
“My life is being restored, Great-Abba,” Job replied, emotion strangling his voice, “by the one true God, El Shaddai.”
Elihu stood taller, proud of his abba’s brave response.
Esau’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “El Shaddai has rejected the Edomites, Job, and He has given my conniving brother, Jacob, the land of Canaan.” Raising his voice and arms to the crowd, Esau’s voice echoed against the canyon walls. “Therefore, the Edomites have established the Seir Mountains as our home and embraced Kaus as our god.” He pointed to the red flags affixed to the attendants’ camels. “As you can see by the disappearing rain, Yahweh is unreliable. He comes and goes at His whim, but Kaus, the god of these mountains, endures forever!” Like trained monkeys in an Egyptian market, the people of Uz burst into praise.
Job and Eliphaz exchanged a disillusioned glance while Esau and Bela lapped up the applause. After sufficient pandemonium, Esau raised his hands to quiet them. “Listen, my children. I have come to Uz to declare my successor and Edom’s first king. He has lived among you, holding my principles and beliefs as law. He is an Edomite first, above all else.”
Esau focused on Job, but his arm embraced Bela. Every muscle and tendon in Elihu’s body was stretched taut, ready to step forward, to support any of his friends at the first sign of resistance.
“I give you Bela, your king!” Esau slapped Bela’s shoulder, and the army initiated a cheer that rippled through the crowd.
Elihu leaned close to Abba Job and noted Eliphaz’s and Aban’s questioning glances. “What should we do?” Elihu asked.
Job’s features were a scrap of gray parchment, his body as rigid as the cliffs around them. “We allow Yahweh to do His work.” The gathering pools in Abba Job’s eyes revealed the agonizing wound of yet another betrayal.
Job left Great-Abba Esau in Aban’s banquet hall and hurried to the kitchen courtyard to find Dinah. The earth had shifted beneath his feet with Esau’s public declaration of idolatry, and he needed to tell Dinah before anyone else blurted the news. As Job squeezed past busy kitchen maids, his canes made clunking noises on the tiled floor, and Nada offered a kind nod.
When Job reached the doorway leading to the courtyard, the sight of Dinah in the afternoon sun jarred him to a halt. Her cheeks were flushed, and tears stained her saffron robe. Long, wheat-colored curls cascaded over her shoulders beneath a sheer white linen head covering. Was she a vision, or was she real? Could anyone be so lovely, so vulnerable?
Dinah looked up. “Oh, Job,” she said, wiping tears. The mere sight of her sent a rush of warmth through his veins that he thought lost to adolescence. He was mesmerized, seeing only her pink lips, rounded when she said his name, perfect for a waiting kiss. How was it possible to love anyone but Sitis? El Shaddai, do I dishonor my wife by loving another so soon?
“Are you all right?” he asked, his feet and canes crunching on the red gravel courtyard path. She avoided his gaze again, examining her sandals. Why won’t you look at me anymore? He couldn’t take his eyes from her. The possibility that his appearance disgusted her had crossed his mind. He had noted his deeply pocked face and patchy beard in Aban’s bronze mirror, but surely he was less repulsive without the worm infestation. He simply didn’t understand her changes.
He stood over her, casting a long afternoon shadow. Dinah wiped her cheeks again but continued inspecting her feet. “I heard Esau’s allegiance to Kaus echo in the canyon, and then the rain stopped.” Finally, she looked up. “Has Yahweh abandoned us?”
“No, Dinah. No.” Job eased down beside her on the bench, allowing his canes to rest against his leg. “El Shaddai doesn’t do things the way we expect. Who could have imagined a shimmering presence or a miraculous summer rain?”
Dinah looked up briefly, her smile stiff and contrived. He used her attempt at decorum to stoke his courage.
“I never expected the caravans to shower me with silver kesitahs, gold rings, grain, and livestock.” He paused, watching her pick at a piece of lint on her robe. “And I never expected Great-Abba Esau to declare Bela his successor and first king of the Edomites.”
Silence reigned for two heartbeats. He had expected her to gasp, to rage, to show some sort of indignation at the obvious folly of Esau’s choice. But when she spoke, her tone registered only sadness. “I’m sorry, Job. Bela is an evil man, and Yahweh will not bless the Edomites under his leadership.” The quiver in her voice told him there was something she wasn’t saying . . . but he had yet to reveal the full truth as well.
“Dinah, Great-Abba Esau has also proclaimed Uz the new capital of Edom and changed its name. He will honor the woman whose healing herbs sustained me
.”
Dinah sat like a stone, her expression as unreadable as granite. “What is the new name?”
Job reached into Dinah’s basket of freshly ground grain and spelled out the letters of their new city. “D-i-n-h-a-b-a-h. Uz is now Dinhabah, and the capital city of Edom,” he said apologetically.
A slow, wry grin lifted one side of her lips, and she looked at Job with a measure of mirth. “Grandfather Isaac taught me to read my name during the years I took care of him, but it appears your great-abba Esau is no better at spelling than choosing his gods.” Both of them made weak attempts at a chuckle, but the air between them was tense and awkward. Dinah’s eyes filled with fresh tears, and her voice betrayed long-held anger. “If Uncle Esau wishes to humiliate me, he’ll have to be more creative than affixing my name to his new pagan city.”
Tears escaped over her lashes, and without thinking, Job reached up and brushed them away with his three fingers.
She gasped and withdrew, turning her face away.
Job couldn’t breathe. What had he done? “Dinah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Job, I must go.” Her voice was so small, he barely heard the words, which made them more frightening than if she had screamed them.
“No, I’ll leave. I’ll just go back to the banquet hall.” He tried to gather his canes, but he was trembling. Why had he touched her with his hideous hand?
“I mean, I must go back to Abba Jacob’s camp.”
The words stabbed him in the deepest place of his being. A sound escaped his lips—not a word, not a cry, not a breath. The sound of death. A puff. A moan. A wearied gasp. When his wealth and children were destroyed, when his body was stricken, even when his precious Sitis died—all had left him breathless. But this . . .
“No.” He couldn’t say more for fear he’d lose his mind. “No.”
“I must, Job. Esau’s messenger said that Abba Jacob is sick and needs my help.”
He tried to hide his face behind emasculated hands. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. “How can you even consider returning to Jacob’s tents after the way he’s treated you, Dinah?” The words were an accusation, a venomous hiss at the victim as if she were to blame for her pain.
“He’s dying, Job. He needs my care.”
Her compassion stoked his anger. “Is there no nursemaid with herbs in Canaan? Must he demand his daughter’s return so he can mistreat her again before he dies?”
Dinah’s eyes mirrored the dagger in Job’s soul. He’d hurled his pain at her and hit his mark. Why did hurt people, hurt people?
“Dinah, I’m sorry,” he said. Watching tears cascade down her cheeks, he longed to draw her into his arms. But how could half a man comfort such a woman?
“You speak the truth, Job. My abba is selfish, and because of it, no physician will endure his moods. But just as you love Esau and tolerate his ways, I love my abba and withstand his shortcomings to serve him.” She smiled and tilted her head as if explaining to a child. “Besides, Esau made it easier to leave. I cannot live in a city that bears my name and is ruled by an idolatrous king.”
“Please, Dinah. Please stay and fulfill God’s purpose for your life.” He had no idea what he was saying, just that he needed her as a fish needs water or a flower needs sun.
“I have no purpose to fulfill, Job.” She placed her hand on his cheek, the sensation sending an exquisite fire through his body. “Grandfather Isaac commanded I marry an Edomite. Esau made it clear no Edomite would have me until you offered your son. Isaac’s command was my purpose, and it died with Ennon.”
“But I need you.” The words escaped Job’s lips like a wild donkey without bit or bridle.
Dinah’s features lost all life, and the mask she’d worn at Grandfather Isaac’s camp returned, brittle and immovable. “Why do you need me, Job?”
Finally she held his gaze, but now he wished she’d turn away. He felt vulnerable before her, every pockmark, every scar, exposed. How could such a repugnant man dare to love a beauty like Dinah?
“I need you to take care of me,” he whispered. It was the only reason he could imagine she would stay. Compassion had always moved her.
Her lips trembled. The mask was crumbling, but instead of compassion came fury. “Are there no nursemaids with herbs in Dinhabah to care for you?” She hurled his words back at him, the betrayal in her voice landing in his stomach like a dull sword.
She stood, and he tried to capture her but drew back his hand before it touched her perfect arm. “Dinah, wait!” But she was gone, the sound of her weeping whispering through the juniper trees.
Dinah ran no farther than the sweltering kitchen. “Why the tears, my girl?” Nada bustled to Dinah’s side, crushing her in a motherly embrace. “Tell me how you could be upset on a day when the whole town celebrates your name?”
“Ahh!” Dinah uttered her frustration, and Nada released her like a hot coal. “Renaming Uz Dinhabah was simply a sting to ensure I leave here, Nada. Uncle Esau is a wicked, conniving brute, but he’s my only transportation back to Abba Jacob’s tents in Hebron.”
The busy kitchen, humming with preparations for the evening meal, suddenly grew as quiet as a tomb.
“Who needs transportation to Jacob’s tents in Hebron?” The old woman’s eyes narrowed, daring Dinah to repeat herself.
“We cannot go!” Nogahla threw her bread dough on the stone table, crushing the heel of her hand into its center. Dinah thought the kindhearted Cushite might be imagining her face in the lump of dough. “We have a good home here with Master Job and Aban and Elihu and Nada. And your father is mean!”
“Nogahla!” Nada’s chastising came at the same moment Nogahla’s own conscience struck her.
“Oh, mistress!” Nogahla gasped, clapping her flour-covered hands over her mouth, leaving traces of white powder all over her dark brown face. “I should not have spoken of your father so disrespectfully.” She lowered her hands and raised her chin. “But we still cannot leave our home.”
Dinah couldn’t keep from grinning. Oh, how I will miss you, precious one. “We will not leave here, Nogahla,” Dinah said, tears beginning to betray her. “I will leave, and you will stay, my friend.”
Every serving maid stilled her busy hands, eyes fastened on Nogahla.
“All right,” Nada said, breaking the uneasy silence, “we’ll finish meal preparations in the courtyard. Everyone out!” She gathered the girls like a mother hen with her chicks, and too quickly Dinah was left to face the shocked and betrayed expression of her best friend.
“Mistress, how could you even consider leaving me?” Her chin quivered and unshed tears threatened to overflow.
“Because I leave you with the man El Shaddai has chosen for your husband.” It was a fact they both knew but had never spoken. Though Dinah claimed no legal rights over the girl, nor did the women share a familial bond, it was understood that Aban would someday ask Dinah’s permission to marry Nogahla. Permission would be granted and a wedding celebrated—but without Dinah’s presence.
Heavy footsteps and a booming voice interrupted the tense moment. “What’s all the commotion?” Aban playfully yanked back the tapestry separating the banquet hall from the kitchen, but his smile quickly disappeared. Stepping into the kitchen, he allowed the tapestry to fall behind him and walked directly to Nogahla’s side. Taking both her hands in one large paw, he lifted her chin with the other. “Tell me why these beautiful eyes are weeping.”
She pulled away and turned her back on him, and Dinah watched the big man’s heart break. He looked to Dinah for answers. “I’m returning to my abba’s camp,” she said without adornment, “and I’d like Nogahla to remain in your household—because I believe you care for her, Aban.”
The big man sighed deeply and squeezed the back of his neck, as if doing so might release some deeply rooted wisdom to untangle the knotted emotions before him. “Dinah, I should have spoken to you before, but I am trained to lead men, not women.” Another sigh. He glanced
at Nogahla and let one hand fall gently down her arm as he spoke. “I love Nogahla, but I wanted to wait until I was worthy before making her my wife.”
At this, Nogahla turned a questioning gaze on the mighty man. He smiled down at her. “I have my father’s wealth, but I want the wealth of God’s wisdom. I want to lead my family as Job led his—as a priest of the Most High.” Turning back to Dinah, he bowed slightly. “That’s why I’ve waited until now to offer Nogahla’s bride-price and ask your permission to take her as my wife.”
Dinah’s heart was so full, it nearly burst. She grinned, cried, nodded, and drew a breath to give her hearty approval, but Nogahla shouted, “No!”
Both Aban’s and Dinah’s celebrations came to an immediate halt. “What do you mean, ‘No’? You love Aban!” Dinah closed the gap between them, watching Aban’s features harden against the rejection he now feared.
Nogahla turned pleading eyes toward Aban. “I do love you, but I don’t want to choose between you and my friend.” She reached up to cup his face in her hands. “I know I have no right to ask it of you, but may I return with Mistress Dinah to her father’s camp and then come back to you, Aban, after her father leaves this world?”
Dinah interrupted. “Nogahla, we have no way of knowing how long my father will linger. I promise I’ll return to Uz for a visit someday.”
“No! No one ever comes back.” Nogahla’s temper flared, and she beat her fists on the table. “My mother promised she would find me, but she never did. You will wave good-bye, and I’ll never see you again!”
Aban gathered Nogahla in his arms, lifting her like a babe, cradling her against his well-muscled chest. “All right, my love, it’s all right,” he whispered.
Dinah’s heart was torn in two. She grieved for the pain she caused her friend, but she mourned for herself too. Oh, how she longed for a man’s tender touch. She curled to the floor, weeping for a husband she once knew, for a betrothed who had died before they met, and for the love of a man who saw her only as a nursemaid.
