The Gate of Heaven

by Gilbert, Morris

  Esau was riding a camel beside his steward. “Are they, Moriel? What do you think?”

  Moriel was a tall, well-built man, younger than Esau but a man well tried. He had sharp, dark eyes and wore a sword at his side. “I think you will kill him as the rascal deserves!”

  Esau laughed. “You’re a bloodthirsty fellow indeed.”

  “Well, everyone knows what a rascal Jacob is.”

  “How do they know that? It all happened a long time ago. You were just a boy.”

  “I’m not deaf, though. It is no secret how your brother cheated you out of everything.”

  Esau turned to smile at his steward. His red hair had dulled somewhat with age, but he still had a strong, athletic figure. The rich robes he wore proclaimed his wealth, as did the body of men that rode behind him.

  There were twenty of them, all well armed and well dressed and riding fine animals. Esau did not speak for a moment, and then he said, “So you think I will kill my brother?”

  “Yes, and I think you should. Just give me the word, and I’ll take care of that chore. I’ll cut the head off of that deceiver!”

  For a moment Esau’s smile disappeared, and a look of sadness came over him. “That’s exactly what I would have done a few years ago. I was fully as bloodthirsty as you are, my son.”

  Moriel knew his master well. He knew him to be a fair man and a just man, capable of anger, but he could not understand this softness in him now. “Well, it’s been a while since he cheated you, but the offense is still there.”

  “But I will not kill him.”

  “You should!”

  “I’m glad I didn’t catch up to my brother when I was a younger man,” Esau said quietly. “I have a little more wisdom now.”

  “The men are betting that you’ll kill him. I’ve got a bet on you myself.”

  “Then you’ll lose your money—for I will not.”

  Moriel struggled with this concept. “But he wronged you! He deserves death.”

  “You do not know everything, Moriel. Jacob did a wrong thing—but so did I.”

  “He was the one who stole your blessing.”

  “But I was the one, Moriel, who sold my birthright simply for a pot of stew.” Bitterness twisted Esau’s lips as the memory came back. “I can’t believe I was so stupid as to do a thing like that! But I was a heedless young fellow. I cared only for hunting and for having a good time. I despised my birthright, and though Jacob was wrong, I think now that I was more wrong than he.”

  Moriel was quiet for a time, but he was a talkative man and one who had to understand things. “The way I heard it, your own mother conspired with Jacob to steal what was rightly yours.”

  “Yes, she did, but it wasn’t altogether her fault.”

  “I don’t see why not! And your own mother!”

  “My mother had received a word from God before the two of us were born, Jacob and I. God told her that the elder would serve the younger. When she saw that I was about to receive the blessing, she took matters into her own hands so that the prophecy would come true.”

  “Do you believe all that, sire?”

  “Yes, I do. My mother’s a good woman. She was wrong, perhaps, in her methods, but she was concerned that the word of the Lord would not be done. And if I had received the birthright, Jacob would have served me.”

  “Well, I don’t understand it. Your mother and your brother cheat you, and you don’t do a thing about it. I don’t see how you could forgive that scoundrel!”

  “Jacob did wrong, and that’s his sin. Perhaps God will punish him—but I will not. Moriel,” Esau turned and shook his head, “God has blessed me so greatly. How can I kill my own brother?”

  “Well, he deserves it,” Moriel said, shrugging.

  “But what about all the gifts he has sent to us?” Esau asked. “Surely his heart has changed.”

  Moriel thought of the sheep and the cattle and the goats that Jacob’s servant had brought. “He must be a rich man himself. At least,” he grumbled, “you’ll make a profit out of all this.” He suddenly straightened up and said, “Look, there’s the camp ahead. That must be your brother’s family and his herdsmen.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I hope you give him a good thrashing. If you’re determined not to kill him, he deserves at least that.”

  Esau did not answer. He had been speaking the truth when he had told Moriel that he would have killed Jacob years ago if he could have gotten his hands on him. But the years had mellowed him, and he had gained a respect for God, whom he had not known as a young man. His mother had been mostly responsible for this. For years she had told him of how God had spoken to her and begged him to forgive his brother. The change had been slow, but he had finally come to believe his mother’s words. “You be respectful to my brother, Moriel.”

  “I’d like to chop his head right off.”

  “Mind what I say!” Esau said sharply.

  “Very well. I will obey, but I think it’s a shame that that rascal gets by with what he did.”

  “We all get by with wrongdoing for a time. But I suspect that we all reap a harvest in the end. Show some respect.”

  “As you say,” Moriel grumbled.

  Jacob watched as the men drew up and dismounted. He picked Esau out at once, and for just one brief moment his heart failed him. But then he remembered the meeting with the Lord, as he had come to think of it, and he went forward and fell down. He bowed down seven times as his brother approached, and every member of Jacob’s family and every servant practically held their breath as Esau came forward. He was a tall, strong, broad-shouldered man, and the weapons of his followers glittered in the sun.

  Rachel whispered, “He could kill him right where he kneels.”

  But then everyone saw Esau reach down and take Jacob by the arms. He pulled him to his feet and was shaking his head. They were too far away to hear what was said, but suddenly Esau embraced Jacob and kissed him. He held on to the smaller man, and relief manifested itself by a great sigh and murmur that went up from Jacob’s family and his servants. The two men then came forward, Jacob leaning heavily on his staff and limping.

  Rachel could not believe her eyes. Was this the bloodthirsty man Jacob had so feared? How could this possibly be, for Esau’s face was wet with tears? Rachel whispered to Joseph, “You need not be afraid, son. Your uncle is a good man.”

  As for Jacob, he could hardly speak. He believed that God had spoken to him. Still, old times die hard, and it was only when he saw the tears running down Esau’s cheeks that he dared hope his brother had changed.

  Jacob led Esau to where his family stood and introduced them. “This is Reuben, my firstborn, the son of Leah, and these are Leah’s children. This is Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun.” He introduced the other boys, and then said, “This is Joseph, the son of my Rachel.”

  Esau smiled and said, “He is a fine boy indeed.” He came over and put his hand on Joseph’s head. “You look very much like your father—only better looking.”

  Joseph flushed. “No, I couldn’t be better looking than my father!”

  Esau laughed. “You’re a polite young man.” Then to Jacob he said, “You have a fine family.”

  Jacob said, “Come. We must sit down and eat. Leah, is the food ready?”

  “There is plenty,” Leah said, bowing before Esau.

  “Come, then. We will eat.”

  Jacob and Esau stayed close together, and the meal was set out. Jacob asked eagerly about his parents and listened as Esau told him that they were well. He asked many more questions, and finally Esau laughed and said, “You will see for yourself, my brother.”

  Jacob finally said what was on his heart. He reached out and laid his hand on Esau’s forearm. “You have changed, my brother.”

  “I hope I have.”

  “I have changed also.” Jacob then spoke the words easily but with great feeling. “I wronged you greatly, and I ask your forgiveness.”

  Esau’s e
yes warmed. “Of course I forgive you! We are brothers, are we not?”

  Jacob knew then that God had done a work, and his heart was lightened. He could not take his eyes off Esau and knew that God had done a series of miracles, not only in his own life but in the life of Esau. This was not the impulsive, violent young man he remembered, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God.

  Esau and his retainers had left, and Jacob sent for his wives, maidservants, and children. As they gathered around him, a good feeling came to him. It was obvious in the warmth of his eyes and also in the excitement of his voice. “God has spared us all,” he said, “and I must tell you that God has given me a second chance. Let us all honor the true God, the only God. The God of Noah and Seth. The God of Abraham and Isaac. Let us honor Him and serve Him.” He hesitated, then said, “I have a new name.” He saw the surprise on their faces and heard the questioning murmur of their voices. “God has taken away the name of Jacob and has named me Israel.”

  “A prince with God,” Rachel whispered. She came to stand before him, and Joseph was with her.

  Jacob put his arm around Rachel and his hand on Joseph’s shoulder and looked out over his family. “It’s been a long, hard journey since the time I left my home. I left there a deceiver and a wicked man, with only my staff, but now the good Lord has given me great possessions and more than that—he has given me a fine family. Let’s thank Him for it.” He bowed his head and began to praise the Lord. The sound of his voice filled the clearing, and as Rachel felt his arm around her, she too gave thanks, for she knew that this was in some way a new husband, a Jacob she had not known, and she was happy.

  Chapter 25

  As Demetrius strolled along the paved courtyard, he lifted his eyes to the palace towering over him. The many-tiered stone-block structure seemed almost airy as it rose from the very rocks of the earth. Actually, the palace covered only five acres on the north central coast of Crete, and the colonnaded wings softened the outline of the block construction. Much of the palace was a delicate pink color, the color of some of the island’s wild flowers, but the rounded and graceful colonnades, which held up the various tiered roofs, were a rose color that made the massive structure seem almost delicate. Trees added their green foliage—some sharp-pointed, some rounded, and all carefully tended—and flowers were everywhere, adding their yellows, blues, and brilliant oranges like paint splashed on a canvas.

  Demetrius could not go more than a few steps without greeting those who spoke his name, for everyone knew him. He towered above most of those who were celebrating the festival, and his tall figure was draped with an intricately patterned kilt that hung low in the front. He was bare from the chest up, and the muscles of his fair skin made a pleasing symmetry that caught the attention of many. In fact, most of the Minoans (as the dwellers of Crete were called) had a horror of flabbiness. Men kept trim through gymnastics and other vigorous exercise, and most of them exaggerated their leanness with tight-fitting belts. Almost all of them were beardless and wore their hair long.

  The women that crowded the courtyard were more elaborately dressed. They also worked hard to achieve their slim figures, and almost all wore narrow-waisted skirts flounced in gaily-colored tiers from hip to ankle. Above the waist they wore tight-fitting jackets that left their bosoms bare. Most of them piled their dark hair high on top of their heads in coiffures that sometimes included delicate ringlets that curled over their foreheads and cheeks. The use of cosmetics was not spared either, for lips were redder than nature had intended. Their eyebrows were shaped, and eye powders enhanced their large dark eyes.

  Music filled the air, and Demetrius stopped to watch a group of musicians. Their instruments included a string cithara, a rattle called a sistrum, and pipes that shrilled their music high in the air. A sacred dance was under way, and a circle of three women with arms outstretched were dancing around a fourth woman. The maidens wore long, light robes, and the men who joined them in the dance wore tunics of fine-spun cloth. All had anointed their skin with olive oil, and the sharp, acrid odor of incense hung on the air. The girls wore garlands on their heads, and the young men carried golden knives that hung from sword belts of silver.

  More and more of the younger citizens joined the dancers and formed rows, which moved in a structured pattern for a time. Around the dancers stood a great multitude, pressed together, watching as acrobats joined in doing backflips and twisting and turning in the air.

  “Come, Demetrius, we must join them.”

  Demetrius turned to face a young woman who was dressed in the height of fashion. Her tiered skirt was dyed all the colors of the rainbow, and a silver belt nipped her waist in, emphasizing the fullness of her upper figure. She wore a garland of fresh green leaves on her head, and her black hair hung down behind in carefully tended tresses. Her lips were full and rich with promise, as were her dark eyes that danced as she took Demetrius by the arm.

  “I’m sorry, Adara. I’m on my way home.”

  Adara laughed. “Come now, you can’t refuse to worship the Mother Goddess. That would bring bad luck indeed!”

  Demetrius smiled. He had a strongly masculine face. His teeth were whiter than most, and his skin was fair—in contrast to most Minoans’ naturally olive skin. His eyebrows were black as a crow’s wing and so was his hair, which hung down his back in long locks. His jawline was firm, and his ears lay flat against his head. There was something intensely alert and masculine about his features, but when he smiled at the woman, there was an ease that was pleasing. “Ordinarily I would, but I’ve got to see my parents.”

  “Oh, you can see your parents anytime.” Adara moved herself closer and pressed against him. He was aware of the delicate perfume she used and of the smoothness of her skin. Memories of his nights with her rushed through him, and he was tempted but shook his head. “I’ve got to leave before dawn.”

  “Where are you going this time?” Adara sighed, but she did not loosen her hold.

  “Taking a ship full of olive oil and wine to Syria.” He smiled and ran his hand down her smooth cheek. “I’ll bring you back something very nice.”

  Adara was pleased but still clung to him. “You don’t have to leave until dawn? Then we have plenty of time. Come with me.”

  “I can’t do it, Adara, much as I’d like to. I’ve got to go to my parents’ house, and after that I have to be at the ship to be sure everything is set. My men are a little careless sometimes.”

  “You’re so restless, Demetrius,” Adara said with asperity. She shook her head, her lips pressed together with displeasure. “Always sailing far away to strange places.”

  Demetrius laughed. “That’s what sailors do, didn’t you know?”

  “I know what sailors do! I’ll bet you have a woman in every port.”

  Demetrius laughed. “No, you’re the only woman I care about.”

  “Oh? I’ve heard that before. Calandra told me you said the same thing to her.”

  “Oh, well, that was a long time ago.”

  “What about Ennea? You told her the same thing and that was just last month.” Suddenly Adara laughed. “You’re a faithless man like all the rest, but somehow I forgive you. I always do.”

  Demetrius put his arm around her and kissed her lightly. “I’ll be back, and I’ll bring you material that you’ve never seen before for a gown. I saw it the last time I was in Syria. I should have gotten it then. It’s all the colors you can imagine and as delicate as this beautiful skin of yours.”

  Adara leaned against him. “Don’t be long,” she whispered. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Demetrius kissed her again, then turned and walked swiftly away. He liked Adara, but then he liked other women as well. He filed away his promise in the back of his mind. I’ll have to bring that cloth back with me or she’ll never forgive me.

  “He should have been here by this time.” Metus was pacing the floor nervously. He was a handsome man with his dark hair just beginning to go gray at the temples, a
nd he was still trim. There was authority in his features, and his dress and the ring and bracelets he wore proclaimed that he was not a poor man. Indeed, he was the king’s counselor and one of the richest men in Minoa. He turned now and went over to the woman who was looking out the window. “Theodora, are you sure he said he’d come by?”

  “Yes.” The woman was small and dressed rather simply. There was a dignity about her, and her early beauty still revealed itself in her well-shaped eyes and lips. She put her hand out and said, “Husband, you know that Demetrius always does exactly what he says. He promised he’d be here to take dinner with us, and he will.”

  Metus stood there looking dissatisfied. He chewed on his lower lip briefly and then threw his hands out in an expression of helplessness. “I can command the whole kingdom, but I can’t command one wayward son.”

  “Don’t be foolish! Demetrius isn’t wayward.”

  “How can you say that? He spends too much time with silly women!”

  “You know that’s not true. You’re just upset.”

  “Well, he does!”

  “So did you when you were his age.”

  Metus stared at his wife, his eyes wide. Then suddenly he laughed, came over, and put his arm around her. “You know me too well,” he said fondly. He kissed her cheek, then released her. “I suppose he’ll be here, but I can’t see why he has to go on these voyages.”

  “He’s restless, Metus. He’s young, and he hasn’t figured out his role in life yet.”

  “Well, it’s high time he did. How old is he now? Twenty-five? Why, we were married and I was well on my way up into the king’s council when I was his age.”

  Theodora was accustomed to her husband’s impatience, especially with their son. She spoke soothingly. “He loves the sea, but he’ll tire of it one day and settle down. And as for his antics, women chase after him.”

  “They certainly do,” Metus growled. “Why can’t he settle on one of them and marry and give us grandchildren?”

  “He hasn’t fallen in love yet.”

  “Love! I’d like to marry him off to the daughter of Haemon.”