Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis)

by Orson Scott Card

  Jacob couldn’t hurt Rachel, ever. A good man like him, he’d know. Leah and Zilpah were worried about nothing. Or else they were trying to trick Bilhah into doing something outrageous. Was it a joke they were playing on her? Or was the joke on Rachel? Or on Jacob himself?

  Whatever game they were playing, Bilhah wasn’t going to play. There were things that even a slave handmaiden shouldn’t be asked to do, and a free girl certainly didn’t have to do them.

  CHAPTER 22

  The shearing was nearly done when Choraz came home, the little brother who had gone into the service of Prince Kedar. He came covered in glory, leading three armed men on horseback and five camels, four of them loaded with riches, and one of them bearing his wife, an Elamite woman who, he assured them all, was not captured in a raid but married him willingly, “from her father’s house.”

  The woman’s name was Hassaweh, or that’s what Choraz called her, when he was speaking to them in Hebrew; talking between themselves, they spoke her language, which sounded strange, jabbery and whispery, both at once.

  “Hassaweh is the glory of my tent!” cried Choraz for all to hear.

  And so it was that after Choraz had hugged Father, and then helped his lady from her camel, it was Rachel’s duty—because she was there, and Mother was dead, and Leah couldn’t see well enough—to embrace the haughty and beautiful woman and welcome her to the camp of Laban at Padan-aram.

  Without a smile, Hassaweh looked around her and said to Rachel, in heavily accented Hebrew, “I see many tents, but not a hundred, and many animals, but not ten thousand.”

  Rachel was surprised at the woman’s ignorance; if Choraz had told her the size of his father’s camp and herds, then what kind of wife would speak in a way that suggested she doubted his honesty?

  “Perhaps you’re not used to shepherds’ ways,” said Rachel, speaking quietly.

  “Perhaps not,” said Hassaweh, “if one sheep counts as ten, and a single tent as five.”

  This was too much to bear. Rachel didn’t even try to keep the scorn out of her voice. “If the herds and flocks were all here at once, they’d starve in two days. Father keeps them widely scattered through the hills and plains of Syria, and each flock is watched over by men enough to dwell in the tents that you don’t see here.”

  Hassaweh held very still. “This is something that a shepherd’s wife would know without asking,” she said.

  Rachel realized it was a question. “Yes,” she said. “But not a warrior’s wife.”

  For the first time, Hassaweh looked at her, face to face. “You have saved me from embarrassing myself in front of this company.”

  Privately, Rachel thought that a good wife would not have said anything to disparage her husband’s father even if her calculation of their poverty had been correct. But she kept this view to herself. If Hassaweh was humble enough to admit she’d been wrong, and to be grateful that Rachel had corrected her before she blundered in front of the whole company, that spoke well enough of her manners.

  This raised her higher in Rachel’s esteem than Deloch and Asta, the wives of Choraz’s older brothers Nahor and Terah. Rachel could not remember them ever thanking anyone for anything—least of all for sparing them from embarrassment. Of course, that was partly because they seemed to have no concept of what embarrassment was.

  “Welcome to the camp of my father Laban,” said Rachel. “As wife of my brother Choraz, you are my sister.” And then, very softly, leaning in so only Hassaweh could hear, she added, “And I assure you that you have married the best of my brothers.”

  Hassaweh greeted that with a low chuckle. “I have no doubt that I have married the best of men,” she said.

  “There are so many ways to judge a man,” said Rachel. “Perhaps God has blessed both you and me with the man who is best in the ways that matter most to us.”

  “You’re married?” said Hassaweh. “Choraz said that neither of his sisters had a husband.”

  “Soon to be married,” said Rachel.

  “Ah, yes. You’re the daughter who is going to marry the bondservant.”

  Without waiting for a response, Hassaweh walked over to her husband and was presented to her new father-in-law.

  Rachel was annoyed, but also amused. No one could say that Choraz had married a shy woman. Rachel rather envied her boldness, even as she resented her slighting reference to Jacob. But what could she expect? Rachel had no illusions about how her brothers must have depicted Jacob in their messages to Choraz.

  A few moments later, Zilpah led Leah out to greet Choraz and meet his wife. Rachel hung back, to give Leah a chance to form her own impression of Hassaweh. But she was close enough to overhear Hassaweh’s greeting: “Ah, Leah. You’re the beautiful one, I see.”

  That one really stung, despite Rachel’s lifelong confidence that she didn’t care about beauty. It had been easy to believe this, because she was always recognized as the most beautiful of women.

  So … what did Hassaweh mean by this? Did beauty mean something different in her country? Or was Hassaweh trying to be malicious toward Rachel? Did she mean to be overheard? Or was she merely flattering Leah?

  Rachel looked carefully at her older sister and realized that over the years, Leah had grown into a beauty, of a different sort than Rachel, but a beauty all the same. There was a glow to her face—a smile in her eyes even when there was none on her lips.

  Why shouldn’t a stranger come here and see Leah as being more beautiful than me? She’s truly a woman, her mind full of wisdom and her heart full of faith in God. And what am I? A shepherd girl. Mine could easily seem a simple, homespun sort of beauty. In the eyes of a woman like Hassaweh, who has seen so much more of the world, perhaps what I have is a common kind of prettiness, while Leah’s radiant grace is rarer and more highly valued.

  And if that’s so, isn’t it what I’ve wished for so many times? That Leah be the beautiful one so Rachel could be left in peace?

  Then a dark thought: Is this what Jacob sees, too? Over these years, has he come to see Leah as the more beautiful one? Does he regret having bargained for me? He is too honorable ever to say such a thing, not to me, not to anyone—after all, who is his confidante in camp, if not me?

  She instantly answered her own question: Bilhah is with him almost every day, copying the holy books. Leah listens and learns, and Zilpah too is with them much of the time. While I alone remain ignorant of Jacob’s birthright.

  What was I thinking? For nearly seven years I’ve indulged myself, tending the sheep because it pleased me to wander through the hills and take care of these patient animals. Because Jacob spent so much of his time with me there, and talked to me with such respect, it never crossed my mind that I don’t even know what he says to my sister and these two handmaidens, mine and hers. They share something that I’m left out of, and how can I possibly know that what I share with Jacob is more important to him than what he shares with them?

  How beautiful is Leah in his eyes?

  Rachel felt her eyes stinging with tears. How absurd! I don’t know what Hassaweh meant by what she said, and I certainly don’t know that Jacob or anyone else would agree with her even if she meant it. And now I’m on the verge of weeping because someone said my sister was more beautiful than me.

  If I feel this, now, at my age, how did Leah feel when she heard such things over and over again?

  If I can’t stop myself from feeling this way, at my age, how was it for Leah, when we were both little girls?

  That was the thought that made the tears spill out onto her cheeks. Rachel quickly caught them with her sleeve, but when she looked up from wiping her face, she saw Hassaweh looking at her. No expression on her face, but looking quite steadily.

  She meant me to hear, Rachel thought. She meant me to cry.

  I don’t like my brother’s new wife very much.

  And yet … hadn’t Rachel learned something from Hassaweh’s bit of praise for Leah? What was Hassaweh’s intention—to make me cry, or
to teach me something about myself and about my sister?

  Or did she intend nothing at all?

  Rachel couldn’t take her eyes off Hassaweh. She stood so straight; she moved so gracefully. This is a great lady, thought Rachel. Everyone can see now that neither Leah nor I is graceful or even womanly. But how could we be? We had no lady mother to imitate and learn from. The only women in our lives were servants, until Terah and Nahor made their choices among the daughters of greedy or ambitious friends of Father’s, and what would we possibly learn from them? Instead we learned to walk like shepherds.

  Or rather, I did. Leah learned to walk … carefully. Perhaps that was all that Hassaweh meant by what she said. Leah moves like a lady, yes, her feet carefully and lightly stepping along the ground, while I run like a boy as often as not, and when I walk, I shamble and slouch … and now that I think about it, haven’t several of the servants told me to stand up tall, and I just ignored them because … because I was already beautiful, so why did I need to change anything about myself?

  Whether Hassaweh is malicious or merely foreign, I can still learn from her. Try to become more of the sort of wife that a great prince like Jacob can be proud of.

  He is a great prince, even if he has no flocks of his own, or men to serve him.

  He’s a great prince because he has the birthright of Abraham, the holy books, which I have treated as if they were nothing. While I have shown that I value the very sheep that Jacob knows so much about, but owns none of. Is it possible … have I hurt Jacob with my lack of interest in his books? Was that why he never pressed me to come and study with my sister and our handmaidens? Because he thought I despised the treasure he had, and treasured that which he lacked?

  What does he think of me? What does he think I think of him?

  Why do I have to get married when I don’t know anything about my husband and he knows nothing about me?

  Her mind kept spinning the same questions, doubts, worries, and self-condemnations throughout the evening’s feasting. It didn’t help that Hassaweh was openly scornful of the way men and women ate separately. “Ever since I married him, Choraz and I have shared everything,” she said. “Now, because we’re here, he and I have to eat separately?”

  The servants all busied themselves at serving the meal to the men in Father’s dining tent, so they didn’t have to show how shocked they were by Hassaweh’s words. Rachel herself couldn’t think of anything to say. She had thought of herself as a rebellious girl, shepherding with the men and caring little for dressing and acting like a lady. But in all her rebelliousness, it had never occurred to her to sit down and dine with Jacob.

  “It’s our way,” said Leah. “Perhaps we prefer not to let our men see us dribbling muttonfat down our chins.”

  Hassaweh looked at her in momentary shock; then she laughed. “You’re a sharp one, Leah,” she said.

  Leah smiled back at her, but Rachel knew that there was no amusement or friendship in the smile. Good. Leah doesn’t like her.

  Why is that good? Because I don’t like her?

  Don’t I like her?

  When Rachel got a chance, she took Leah aside and tried to find out what she thought of Hassaweh, but it was as if Leah didn’t know the woman existed.

  “I never thought it would be like this,” said Leah, sounding a bit like her old petulant self. “All these years Choraz has been gone, but now that he’s home, we don’t even get to see him. Well, we see him, but that’s all.”

  “I know,” said Rachel. “I missed him so much when he left.”

  “He was so good to us before. And now he doesn’t have time for us.”

  “Because he got married,” said Rachel, trying to get the conversation back to Hassaweh.

  “Well, I suppose we should have known he’d find a wife, though he should have asked Father.”

  “A younger son?” said Rachel. “He was lucky to find a wife who’d take him. He earned the right to have her by …”

  “By what?” asked Leah. “I want to hear stories of his adventures! Is he truly a warrior? Was he in battles? Did he fight off brigands? Was his wealth captured from his enemies? Or a reward from someone he rescued? Or gifts from the man he served?”

  “I imagine he’s telling Father and Jacob and Nahor and Terah right now,” said Rachel.

  “And then we’ll have to listen to the stories the servants tell.”

  “Jacob will tell us, and without exaggerating,” said Rachel.

  Leah chuckled dryly. “He’ll tell you, you mean.”

  “He talks to you every day!”

  “He listens to the reading of scripture,” said Leah. “He talks about the scripture. He would never spend that sacred time talking about the adventures of a desert warrior.”

  Rachel could not figure out how to feel about that. Clearly Leah was saying that Rachel would have the advantage of hearing about Choraz’s stories and Leah wouldn’t; but that was only because what Leah shared with Jacob was so sacred and holy that it couldn’t be profaned with the tales of a mere man of war. That was for the ears of children.

  No, no, don’t be so resentful, don’t … brood about this, Rachel told herself.

  And then realized that this was precisely the way Leah used to work herself into such rages, noticing everything that might possibly put her at a disadvantage and assuming that everybody meant to make her feel bad.

  “What do you think of Hassaweh?” asked Rachel.

  “If she makes Choraz happy, then I’m glad she married him,” said Leah. “Come on, let’s go back inside and find out what the servants are overhearing.” Leah immediately headed back inside the kitchen tent.

  That was the end of Rachel’s chance to gossip about Hassaweh.

  She went to bed that night brooding about all her mistakes, worrying that she had become the kind of woman that Jacob would only marry as a duty, because he had promised to take her before he knew what a miserable, empty-headed, unladylike woman she would grow up to be.

  CHAPTER 23

  In the morning, Rachel’s fears seemed childish to her. Choraz was home and she was glad of it. He had married, and the lady was exotic and beautiful and fascinating—of course Choraz loved her, and of course Rachel would come to love her too. All the rest was the nonsense in the mind of a little girl who was nervous about getting married. She was sure of it.

  Then, as she combed some of the sleep-tousles out of her hair, the flap of her inner chamber opened and Hassaweh stepped in, blinking her eyes in the darkness.

  “Good morning,” said Rachel. If her voice sounded a little cold it was only because … well, because she was put out that someone would come in without being announced or at least coughing.

  “I’m sorry if this isn’t how one enters a tent,” said Hassaweh. “In my father’s house there were doors.”

  “That’s a door you just came through,” said Rachel.

  “But … how do you lock it?”

  “In camp, a closed door is a locked door.”

  “Ah,” said Hassaweh. “Then I have achieved the miraculous power to unlock a door with a touch of my hand.” She smiled, then sat down on the thickest pile of rugs—again, without invitation.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Rachel, determined, now that the surprise of being barged in on was over, to become friends with her favorite brother’s wife.

  “I slept alone,” said Hassaweh.

  “So did I,” said Rachel.

  Hassaweh squinted at her. “Are you mocking me?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Rachel. “I doubt I’m clever enough to mock a lady like you.”

  Hassaweh laughed. “And thus you prove yourself wrong with such clever mockery.”

  Rachel was genuinely flustered. “I didn’t mean to … I don’t know why I said that …”

  Hassaweh shook her head. “No, no, now I see it’s true. As I was told, you really are a little girl still.”

  Rachel didn’t know how to take this. Absolved of mocking her, but
now dismissed as a child?

  “Who told you that? When Choraz was last here, I was a little girl.”

  “And he was a little boy.” Hassaweh laughed. “I wish I could have known him then. Before he had blooded his blade.”

  The words sent a chill down Rachel’s spine. She wasn’t sure if it was thrilling or appalling, how casually Hassaweh spoke of it. “Is Choraz such a killer, then?”

  “A mighty warrior,” said Hassaweh. “But also a little boy. Who’s the strongest? Who can run fastest? Who can cut deepest? So much competition. But his men love him. The ones he brought with him, they came even though he forbade them.”

  “So they love him but don’t obey him.”

  “‘If you need me and I’m far away, how will I be able to serve you?’” Hassaweh quoted. “These are free men that Choraz could have killed or sold into slavery when he captured them. Instead they serve him, because they know quality when they see it.”

  Rachel thought of the first time she saw Jacob. How different he was from all other men. Like a lion among dogs. Did Choraz look that way to Hassaweh?

  There was no way to ask that question, so instead Rachel asked the obvious one. “Why did you visit me so early in the morning?”

  “Because your sister and her handmaiden and your handmaiden are gathered in the dooryard of your husband, reciting from arcane scrolls and scratching papyrus till it bleeds black.”

  Rachel laughed. It was the first time she’d heard anyone be really clever, and it was funny, to think of Bilhah’s writing as if it were an injury to the scroll.

  “And I had no intention of breaking fast with my husband’s brother’s wives. I’m sure they serve the purpose for which they were obtained—your brothers have anthills of children, apparently, swarming madly about the camp.”

  “Most of the children belong to the servants.”

  “Out and about, underfoot?” Hassaweh seemed genuinely surprised. Which made Rachel wonder where servants kept their children in whatever city she came from.