Whereupon he did take her by the shoulders. His hands were huge on her, and yet his touch was even gentler than it had seemed upon the sheep.
She remembered again the man in the vision, and the girl of eleven or twelve. She had seemed so big to her then, when she had the vision, but now she was eleven.
“When you came over the hill, did you see me watering the sheep? Or was I kissing her?”
And as he bent toward her, and she realized that he was, in fact, going to kiss her, she remembered the voice that had chanted to her all the way to the well today, urging her on, faster, so she wouldn’t be late. If her vision meant anything at all, it meant this, that she was supposed to be here.
She did not have to let him kiss her. His hold was gentle and she could break away at any time, without effort. And he had not tried to touch her until he was accused falsely. It was so perverse, to be defiant like this and actually do the thing he was accused of. But she understood such impulses; hadn’t she done the same to Leah, acting as she was accused of being, just to show how different things would be if the accusation were true?
And yet it was a dangerous thing for this man to do. There were more witnesses than Old Jaw and the boys. Those other herders, they’d have the story all over the land of Haran within days, and then how could Father keep his honor without hunting down this stranger and killing him? She should not let him kiss her.
All this flashed through her mind in the time that it took him to bend, deliberately, and kiss her, not upon the cheek, but on the lips, a bold, firm-lipped kiss like a father, like a brother.
“You are a dead man!” shouted Old Jaw. “You think because I’m old you can have your way, but her father is a mighty man in this country! You take your life in your hands, sir!”
The stranger pulled away from Rachel, and to her surprise, tears were streaming down his face. Yet they were not tears of grief—his smile was broad and his eyes were kindly as he looked at her. Nothing like the frown she wore on her own face.
“I know that her father is Laban,” said the traveler, his tone amiable enough, “and this is his daughter Rachel. Which makes her my kinswoman, for I’m a son of Laban’s sister, Rebekah. Laban and I are truly brothers, and like a brother I greet his quick-witted daughter with a brother’s kiss. Do you dare to say I have no right?”
And in that moment, everything changed. This was one of the sons of Isaac. A prince, truly, for he was a grandson of Abraham. And as Rebekah’s son, he had claim upon that story, too—the tale of the woman who met a stranger at a well.
Meanwhile, Old Jaw was about to continue his bluster. “Any man can claim to be a kinsman, but how do I know—”
“I know you, sir,” said Rachel. “For Aunt Rebekah has two sons, one who is known to be red and hairy, which is not you, so you must be the other one.”
“Yes,” said the man, laughing. “I am, always and forever, the other one.”
“How can this be true!” demanded Old Jaw. “The camp of Isaac is at Beersheba.”
“And from Beersheba I have come,” said the traveler. “I am Jacob, son of Isaac and Rebekah, grandson of Abraham and Sarah, and I have come to ask the hospitality of my brother Laban.”
“It’s a strange thing, to ask it upon the lips of his favorite daughter!” said Old Jaw angrily.
Favorite daughter. It made Rachel shiver, to hear it said so baldly. Was it true? Father doted on Leah, constantly looked after her, made sure her every whim was catered to. While Rachel was expected to do a full share of work in the camp, learning all the work, and not just the work of women, either. It had always seemed to Rachel that it was Leah who was the most favored. Leah was pretty, wasn’t she? And even though she couldn’t see well, she wasn’t blind. Father loved Leah dearly. Surely more than he loved Rachel, who was always getting into trouble and whom he constantly had to rebuke.
But if this was what everyone believed, then Leah must believe it, too. No wonder she is so angry at me for no reason. She thinks I’m Father’s favorite! Such foolishness.
“My father,” she said coldly to Old Jaw, “has no favorites among his children.”
But it was Jacob who answered. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve had enough of parents who have favorite children.” Then he grinned at Old Jaw—not a friendly grin, a grin full of malice, like a baboon challenging a stranger. “And I’ve had enough of accusations. I am who I say, and my proof is that only a fool would have kissed this young woman if he were not who I say I am.”
His hands were still upon her shoulders, but now they felt heavy to Rachel. Too big. She could be lost in those hands, powerless, swallowed up. This man who could move the wellstone by himself, this man who could turn sheep where he wanted, with his strength and his soft murmuring voice, she could be lost if he held her a moment longer.
She pulled away, and as she had thought at first, he held her so lightly that he barely had to move his hands to let her go.
“I have to go,” she said. Or meant to say. The words came more like a gasp. “I must go. Must run. And tell my father.” Old Jaw and the boys and the dogs could bring in the sheep. She turned her back on Old Jaw and found herself facing Jacob. Her cousin Jacob.
Isaac had been Rebekah’s cousin.
He smiled at her. And laughed.
He had called her quick-witted. Not beautiful. Could a man be more perfect than that?
She turned and ran away from him then, because she had to tell her father that he was coming, and especially to tell him about the kiss before anyone else could, so she could turn away Father’s wrath before Jacob came into the camp. And she also ran away from him because it frightened her to think that perhaps God had brought him to her, and had planned it since she was a little girl, or perhaps had planned it all her life. Perhaps she had always belonged to Jacob, and never knew it.
But could such a man as that ever belong to me? thought Rachel.
There was no voice in her head to answer her question. She didn’t need one.
CHAPTER 4
Rachel told it in the wrong order, though she had thought it out carefully on the way. First tell Father that Rebekah’s son Jacob had come to visit, then tell him about the kiss. She hadn’t anticipated Father’s reaction to the news. You would have thought the king of Byblos was coming to visit, the way he immediately began to run around giving orders. Slaughter this animal and that animal, pitch the best visitors’ tent, clean this up, tidy that, make this place look respectable, don’t you know a prince is coming?
There was not chance to say even so much as, By the way, Father, he kissed me, and then cried. But then, did she really have to? Father knew the important information—the visitor was his nephew, Rebekah’s son. When he heard about the kiss—and he would—he would already know that it was a kinsman’s kiss and nothing more.
The sudden uproar in the camp brought Leah out of her tent, of course, and she was holding lightly to the arm of a new girl that Rachel hadn’t seen before. Had Father bought someone? Not likely. Probably someone’s relative, or an orphan he had taken in. She was a comely girl and didn’t carry herself like a slave, so perhaps she had not been bought.
“What’s going on?” asked Leah. “Is that you, Rachel?”
“You know it is,” said Rachel. She knew perfectly well that Leah could recognize most people from a distance, just by their gait and voice, their posture and general coloring. “Who’s the new girl?”
“Bilhah,” said Leah, just as the girl herself said, “I am Bilhah of Byblos, and I’m a free girl.”
Leah smiled. “She’s Noam’s cousin. He stole her dowry money and ran away, and now she serves in his place.”
Bilhah turned red. “I do not,” she said. “Your father refused me as a servant, and said he was my cousin now.”
“I’m sorry,” said Leah. “How could I forget? That’s very important.”
“I’m a free girl.”
But Rachel could see that Bilhah was sizing her up, and she wanted to scream at h
er, Yes, I’m the pretty one, whatever that’s worth, but if you say it in front of Leah then you’re not a very good person, are you.
Instead Bilhah said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as dirty as you are right now.”
Leah spoke up at once, as if to cover the girl’s excessive directness. “She has city manners.”
Rachel at once answered with the family joke, “Which is even worse than no manners at all!” She and Leah burst into laughter.
Bilhah smiled thinly. Rachel decided she didn’t like the girl. All she seemed to be able to think about was how free she was, as if that made much difference in the life of the camp. Everybody did what Father said, and that was that. The only distinction that mattered was whether you were a member of the household or a guest or an intruder. Either you owed Father service, or he owed you hospitality, or you were driven away. Bilhah was under Laban’s protection, and she obeyed him, and what difference, then, whether you were a daughter or a servant or a free girl from Byblos? As if there were some great honor in being from that filthy city by the sea.
“You still haven’t told me what’s happening,” said Leah. “Is someone invading the camp?”
“Yes,” said Rachel.
Bilhah looked alarmed and Leah must have felt her stiffen, because she said, “That’s just Rachel’s joke, Bilhah. Everything’s a story and full of far too much excitement.”
“So it’s only one man,” said Rachel, “and it’s not exactly an invasion. Everything else is true!”
“But that’s all you said,” answered Bilhah, looking puzzled.
Rachel and Leah laughed again. “That’s the joke,” said Leah.
Bilhah looked at them as if they were possessed by some spirit.
“It’s a visitor,” said Rachel. “I met him at the well, and he kissed me.”
Now it was Leah’s turn to stiffen and look alarmed. “Then Father will have him killed, you know that.”
“No, Father has decided to kill two kids and a calf and set them a-roasting so they’ll be ready for supper at nightfall.”
“He’s giving hospitality to a man who filthied you?” said Leah.
“Well, he doesn’t know about the kiss.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. And besides, the man cried when he did it.”
Leah’s consternation was growing, which was, of course, the goal. “Whatever you’re not telling me that will make it all seem sensible, tell me now!”
“He’s our cousin, that’s why he could kiss me and not be killed. Aunt Rebekah’s boy.”
“Boy? She only has the two sons, and they’re grown men.”
“Well, he certainly wasn’t a man when Rebekah gave birth to him!”
“So which son is he? The hairy one or the sneak?”
“He’s not a sneak,” said Rachel.
It was Leah’s turn to laugh. “Didn’t he grab his brother by the heel as he followed him from the womb? That’s the story they tell. Anyway, you’ve told me which one it was who kissed you, because if it was the hairy one, you wouldn’t have minded my calling the other a sneak.”
“His name is Jacob,” said Rachel.
“The son who will not inherit,” Leah pointed out.
Rachel hadn’t thought of that. “They’re twins, aren’t they?”
“Great houses aren’t divided among the sons, or within three generations they’re not great houses anymore.”
“So Nahor will get everything? Just because he’s oldest?
“Don’t you know anything?” said Leah.
“I never thought Father would choose among our brothers and give it all to one.”
“He doesn’t choose. The birthright goes to the oldest, unless he does something really terrible and gets cut off from the family.”
“What happens to Terah and Choraz? They starve?”
“No, Father gives them something, enough to show they’re worthy men. Then they go into service to a king, or set up a small herd and do their best to make it a great one. That’s why Choraz went off in the service of Kedar ben Ishmael, to see if he could win a place for himself at the table of the prince. Honestly, Rachel, what do you and the shepherds talk about out there in the hills, if you don’t know anything about how your own family inheritances go?”
“Why would we talk about inheritances? They won’t get anything, and neither will I, and besides, it’s awful thinking about what will happen after Father dies, he’s not even old yet, is he?”
“So the man who kissed you, O Lady of the Visions, is just a second son after all.”
“He kissed me as a cousin. If you had been there, he would have kissed you just that way.”
“Oh, yes, men are always kissing me. Father buries them in the garden, to help the crops grow”
“Well, they’re not always kissing me, either.”
“I wonder why Jacob would come here,” said Leah. “Did he bring a great many men with him?”
“Not any, and no animals, either.”
“Alone?”
“With a bundle and the clothes on his back.”
“So he really is poor?” said Leah.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s bringing a message from his mother.”
“Isaac would send gifts,” said Leah.
“Why?”
“You don’t know anything about good manners,” said Leah. “You’ll make someone a perfectly awful wife.”
Leah was always saying things like that, and Rachel couldn’t answer with the obvious retort that at least she could see. It would be wrong to taunt Leah about her frailty. But it was also unfair for Leah to taunt her when she knew Rachel couldn’t answer. “I don’t want to marry anybody,” said Rachel.
“Oh, right,” said Leah, “that’s why you keep them all staring at you like a prize heifer.”
“I don’t do that,” said Rachel angrily. “I can’t help what people look at.”
“But you like it,” said Leah.
“No I don’t,” said Rachel. “You only say that because you want the men to look at you, but I don’t want them to.”
“I don’t want them to, either,” said Leah, “but I think you like it.”
Rachel turned to Bilhah. “She thinks she knows my heart better than I do myself.”
“Yes,” said Leah, “I do. For instance, I know that you let him kiss you because you were hoping that he was your vision coming true. I bet you let him kiss you before you even knew who he was.”
There it was—her secret. The thing she planned to deny if Father asked her. How could Leah guess it?
“I did not,” said Rachel.
“Did you hear that?” said Leah to Bilhah. “That’s how you know when Rachel’s lying. There’s that little pause, and when she tells her lie there’s that little whine in her voice.”
Bilhah clearly did not want to play the Quarreling Sisters game. She looked away, making no response to Leah’s words.
“I’m not lying,” said Rachel.
“There it was again—the pause, the whine.”
“She can mock me like this,” said Rachel to Bilhah, “because she knows that if I ever complain to Father, he’ll tell me that I should just be grateful that I have two good eyes and be patient with Leah.”
But the moment she spoke, she knew that she had done it—used Leah’s tender eyes as a strike against her in a quarrel. Never mind that she was quoting what Father said—in fact, that made it worse.
Leah did not burst into tears the way she used to do when such things were said. She simply turned and walked back to her tent.
“I’m sorry,” said Rachel softly. But she knew Leah could hear her. Leah could hear everything.
Naturally, though, Bilhah would think she was talking to her. “I never had a sister,” said Bilhah, “but I hope if I did we would never have been so hateful to each other.”
“We love each other,” said Rachel. “You don’t know anything.”
“You never saw me before this moment,” said Rachel. “And you’re very rude.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of all that nastiness,” said Bilhah. “If you don’t want other people to judge you, keep your spite to yourself.” She stalked away.
Now, though, Rachel understood what difference it made to be a free girl. No slave who could be whipped would ever have said that to the daughter of Laban. And if Rachel wanted to go to Father and complain about Bilhah being cruel to her and saying ugly things, what would Bilhah think then, as she found herself getting thrown out of camp?
Rachel shook her head to drive out the ugly thought. Would I do that to a girl, just because she spoke boldly? Deprive her of the only home she had?
Besides, Bilhah was about half right. There were still times when Leah and Rachel laughed together at jokes that only they understood—hadn’t they laughed like that only a few minutes ago? But quarrels came up more often now than ever before, and they were uglier and more spiteful. Why had Rachel said that, about Father insisting that Leah be forgiven for everything because of her eyes? That was low of her, and she was ashamed.
She stood there, staring off into the dim distance, thinking only of her shame, when suddenly the vision came to her again. The man at the well, and now it was Jacob. The girl, and now she knew it was herself. And he kissed her. That wasn’t in the first dream she had, was it? She would have remembered. She would have told Father about it. No, this wasn’t the vision returning, this was just her imagining it, only now the way she wanted it to have been. She wanted to have Jacob brought to her by God. Maybe he would marry her and take her away from Leah and her envy—and the constant temptation for Rachel to be meaner than she really was at heart.
“Rachel!” It was Father’s voice, and he didn’t sound happy. “Come here!”
Of course she went to him, but at a walk, not a run. It was hard to run toward peril, and from his voice, she was in danger.
Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) Page 5
