Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis)
Page 31
Still, Leah’s silence must have contained the message. “For what it’s worth,” said Zilpah, “I might have a reputation for being free with my body. But no man has ever had possession of me, and no man will, until and unless I have a husband.”
“Then we truly are equal,” said Leah. “Until my husband puts me aside. I pray that such shame will never come to you.”
“I doubt it will ever come to you, either,” said Zilpah.
“What else can he do? How can Jacob stay married to a woman he thinks tricked him into lying with her?”
Zilpah actually laughed out loud. “Are you serious? If men refused to stay married to women who tricked them, the human race would die out in a few generations.”
Annoying as Zilpah’s matter-of-fact attitude might be, it had a calming effect—as Zilpah no doubt intended. And since she had already named the worst, it dispelled Leah’s dread of facing the world in her shame.
Or so she thought. She was calm enough walking to her own tent with Zilpah helping to guide her. But once inside, she was soon back to wishing she could die rather than go outside and face others again.
It was a long and terrible morning, but the worst moment was when Bilhah came in, looking for the wedding dress.
“I don’t have it,” said Leah. “I left it in Jacob’s tent.”
“You walked back here naked?” said Bilhah snidely.
“Zilpah brought me this,” said Leah, too miserable even to protest Bilhah’s impudent attitude. Besides, Bilhah was a free woman. She could say whatever she liked.
“I just want you to know,” said Bilhah, “how bitterly Rachel wept all night last night, thinking she had lost Jacob.”
What right did Bilhah have to try to make her feel worse than she already did? Leah couldn’t stop herself from retorting, “How appropriate. She wept bitterly all day yesterday, thinking she might have to marry him.”
“I hope you someday have a night like the one Rachel had last night,” said Bilhah. “A night when you believe that the man you love has tossed you aside in favor of your own sister.”
“What an excellent witch you are,” said Leah. “Your curse will certainly be granted every night for the rest of my life.”
Bilhah might have glared at her, for all Leah could see. All that mattered was that she left.
But soon Leah’s anger at Bilhah faded and was replaced by compassion for Rachel—last night must have been terrible for her.
I didn’t mean it, Rachel. Please, God, let her see that I didn’t mean this to happen.
* * *
Zilpah brought her food and drink, twice. Otherwise, it was late afternoon before Leah talked with anyone else. Father came to the tent and sank wearily and sadly onto the rugs. Then he reached out his arms for Leah. She collapsed into his arms, weeping all over again, as if it had all just happened. She could bear Bilhah’s hostility and Zilpah’s matter-of-factness, but Father’s compassion destroyed her composure completely.
When she was done, or at least quiet enough for him to talk, he began telling her what his day’s work had been.
“First thing you have to know is, Jacob was fair to you. Oh, at first he doubted what you said, but the point is, he told me what you said. And I explained to him that because you could never count on your eyes to tell you who’s who, it wouldn’t have occurred to you that he couldn’t tell one sister from the other just because it was dark. And when he repeated your conversation as best he could remember it, it became plain to all of us that you believed you had told him who you were.”
“Who’s ‘all of us’?” asked Leah. “Please tell me Terah and Nahor weren’t there.”
“Of course they weren’t,” said Laban. “Am I insane? Jacob was there, and Rachel. And me. That’s all.”
“I wish you had included Bilhah,” said Leah. “She thinks I’m evil. She even cursed me.”
“Did she? Then I’ll have her out of this camp in the morning.”
“No, no, Father,” said Leah. “Please don’t. She’s angry because she thinks I betrayed Rachel. She’d be a poor friend to Rachel if she didn’t feel that way.”
“You and Jacob, two of a kind. More worried that no harm comes to the person who injured you—though in his case, you’re only the person he thought injured him. Till I explained.”
“What did you explain?”
“That it was all my idea—which it was. But there was Rachel, and he obviously loves her, and the only way out of this mess was to have her marry him—which you can be sure she thinks is an excellent idea today, the silly selfish child. So I couldn’t very well tell him that all of this was about trying to get his beloved Rachel to overcome her terror and marry him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That it’s our custom to make sure the eldest daughter is married first. That I made you go to him so we wouldn’t be shamed in front of all our neighbors. So Rachel doesn’t have to explain to him why she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with him, and you could.”
“That version intersects with the truth here and there.”
“It isn’t truth I’m after, it’s peace. So here’s how it stands. Next week, he marries Rachel. And serves seven more years because, after all, that’s the established bride-price around here.”
“Seven years! He’ll hate me.”
“No he won’t. How was he going to support even one wife, let alone two? This time, I’ll give him a couple of servants of his own, to tend his own flocks. Which I’ll give him. Nothing big, mind you. Nothing to inspire my ridiculous sons to any acts of violence against the Lord’s anointed. But enough that if he tends his flocks as well as he tends my own, he’ll leave here after seven years with enough to support a family.”
“So you didn’t offer him half the younglings?” asked Leah.
“That was while I was thinking it would be only a year before Rachel married him. Now he’ll be with us seven more years—if I gave him half my younglings each year, and he didn’t give me back half of his, within seven years he’d be the rich lord and I’d be the one with a small fraction of the great man’s herd.”
“That’s why I don’t like numbers,” said Leah. “That doesn’t even make sense. How could he ever have more than half?”
“Never mind,” said Laban. “Just believe me, he would.”
Something dawned on her. “If he’s serving another seven years—two wives—”
“What are you asking?”
“He’s not putting me away?”
“No! Never! What were you thinking? He may not have known what was going on, but you entered his tent as a married woman going to her husband, and if he tried to make a public claim that it was anything else, I couldn’t stop Choraz from killing him. I wouldn’t even try.”
“Oh,” said Leah. “So he’s going to keep me as his wife because otherwise he’d be killed.”
“He’s going to keep you as his wife because he’s a man of honor. And because you, too, were acting in good faith … which he now understands.”
“Or agrees to pretend to believe.”
“You weren’t there, and I was, so my version is the true one.”
“Or the kind one.”
“Leah,” said Laban. “You know I didn’t set out to get you a husband by trickery, though that’s the version everybody’s going to hear. What do I care? In another few years I’ll be dead—”
“What?”
“No, I’m perfectly healthy, but everybody dies, and I’m a lot closer to it than I used to be, that’s all I meant. In a few years I’ll be dead and then I’ll be with God, who knows the truth of what happened, and what do I care what the world says about me then? My point was, I didn’t set out to get you a husband by trickery. Neither did you. Things just happened, step by step. Very unreasonable, unlikely things happened, because they gradually came to seem perfectly logical at the time. Do you know why?”
“We’re really stupid?”
“I see the hand of God in all of
this.”
Leah shook her head. “God can’t be blamed for this mess.”
“If it’s a mess, then you’re right, he can’t be blamed. But what if it isn’t a mess?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if God meant for both you and Rachel to be married to this man?”
“Then why didn’t he give us both dreams of him? For that matter, when Jacob was having his vision of the ladder into heaven, why didn’t God tell him right then, Go to Padan-aram and marry both daughters of Laban? Yes, the blind one too!”
“That’s just the point,” said Father. “God directs what happens, but he also lets us make our own choices. Jacob arrived here as the kind of man who would fall in love with the pretty shepherd girl, but pay little attention to the sister with tender eyes. But after seven years, he knows your true value.”
“He hates me, Father.”
“Well, yes, probably, at the moment. Not hates, probably, but he’s certainly annoyed at the whole business. My point is that God gave us all choices—Rachel didn’t have to work herself into such a lather over her fears, did she?—and we took them, but since he knew the choices we’d make, he was able to set things up exactly the way he wanted.”
“Or else he doesn’t care what we do, and we made this web ourselves and then got stuck on it like a bunch of flies.”
“Usually that would be the likeliest answer. But you forget that Jacob is a prophet, and the keeper of the birthright, and part of the promise to Abraham was that his descendants would be as numerous as the sands of the sea, as the stars in the heavens. So far, how many descendants does he have? But with two wives going at it with Jacob, maybe some of that numerousness can finally get started.”
“With Rachel’s children lording it over mine, because she’s the favorite wife.”
“You have a head start,” said Father. “So with any luck—or with the favor of the Lord—yours will be the firstborn son.”
“And my lastborn, too.”
“I doubt that.”
“I’m not likely to get a second chance to conceive one.”
“Leah, do you think I wasn’t looking out for you? Rachel’s wedding will be a week from now so that you can have your full week with him. And after that, he’s promised me that he’ll do his duty and give you every chance to have more children.”
Leah began to cry again.
“What now?” said Father. “I thought you’d be happy to know he’s promised to treat you as a real wife.”
“I am happy, Father. Thank you.”
“So why the tears?”
“Because last night he lay with me as if he loved me. From now on, he’ll lie with me because it’s his duty. I’ll know the difference. And I’ll know that whenever he’s with Rachel, it will be the other way for her. Always with love.”
“If he ever mistreats you, you just tell me and—”
“No, Father. You don’t understand. He’ll never mistreat me. He just won’t love me.”
Father looked at her in growing comprehension. “Leah. Oh, my poor darling. Oh, Leah.” He held her tightly. “I never realized. Until now. Oh, dear Leah, you’re in love with him, aren’t you? You truly love him.”
“I didn’t deceive him, Papa,” Leah said through her tears. “I loved him, yes, but I never would have tricked him. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I know that,” said Father. “Of course I know. And you know something else? He’ll come to love you. He will.”
“Why should he?” asked Leah. “The Lord may have maneuvered us all so that I’d be one of his wives and bear some of his sons and daughters. But why should God care whether I actually have a husband who loves me? After all, Father, I’m the one the Lord chose to be born half blind. Clearly my happiness isn’t very high on his tally of things to care about.”
“Leah, you poor thing, it hasn’t been an easy life for you. But you are alive, and you have a husband that you love, even if he’s angry at you right now. You’ll have children—you’ll see. The Lord will give you so many blessings … the thing is, right now, it just won’t do you any good to be angry at the Lord. Even if it hurts his feelings, it’s not going to stop him from doing whatever is best for you. So you might as well trust in him that even the things that seem bad are really for the best.”
“I know,” said Leah.
“Of course you know,” said Laban. “You’ve been reading the holy books.”
“He’ll never let me near them again,” said Leah.
“Yes he will.”
“He only let me study them because he had Bilhah doing his copywork.”
“Right,” said Father. “And until you have sons old enough to read and write a good hand, she’ll probably go right on doing it.”
“Bilhah will?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m giving you Zilpah to be your handmaiden to take with you into your marriage. And I’m giving Bilhah to Rachel.”
“You can’t give Bilhah to anybody. She’s a free woman.”
“Right, yes, technically I hired her. But she didn’t make a fuss about it. Where else would she go? Besides, she’s so sure that Rachel has been badly treated—as if Rachel didn’t start the whole mess—anyway, Bilhah is full of compassion for her poor, injured mistress. She would have insisted on staying with her even if I had forbidden it.”
“I’m glad Rachel will have a friend.”
“And so will you.”
Leah laughed at that. “Zilpah? I suppose she’s a friend. But you won’t find her fighting for me the way Bilhah’s standing up for poor Rachel.”
“Won’t I?” said Father. “You should have seen how she went straight to the worst gossips in camp—and you can be sure Zilpah knows who they all are—and laid down the law about what will and won’t be said about you in this camp. I’ve never seen her so … fiery.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” said Father. “Whether you feel you do or not, you have a loyal friend.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess,” said Leah.
“It’s not everything, but yes, it’s something. And a husband is something.”
Leah hugged him tighter. “And a father who loves me, that’s everything.”
“No,” said Father. “That’s just ‘something,’ too. A whole bunch of somethings, that’s what everything is.”
His words were so absurd that Leah couldn’t help laughing, and this time with real mirth.
“I never thought I’d hear that sound again,” said Father. “Leah, laughing as if she were really enjoying herself.”
PART XII
WIVES
CHAPTER 31
There was another wedding in the camp at Padan-aram, only a week after the first. This time the husband placed the veil over the bride’s face himself. There was no doubt about whom he was marrying.
This time the bride did not tremble. She stood boldly to drink from the cup and to say the words she had to say, and when she walked around her husband, she did it, not three times, but seven.
At the feast, Jacob brought his new bride out for the company to cheer her, and they did it heartily. A few attempts at ribald humor were made, but her brother Choraz made it clear that there would be no more of that, and so there wasn’t.
That night, Jacob fetched Rachel from her father’s tent himself, and when they came inside his own tent, he kept a lamp burning. “I know you’re shy,” he said. “But I have to see you.”
“I was afraid before,” Rachel answered. “But then I learned that there was something I feared worse than marrying you.”
“What was that?”
“Not marrying you,” said Rachel.
By morning she had learned what a liar Hassaweh was.
* * *
That night her sister Leah slept very little. But it was not from jealousy. She would never begrudge Rachel the love of Jacob—it was Rachel’s from the moment of that first kiss at the well, and Leah had never aspired to supplant her sister.
She knew that it might be nothing more than the turbulence of her feelings about her husband’s wedding that day—certainly the gossips of the camp would be speculating that Leah had induced the vomiting as an excuse to stay away from Rachel’s wedding. Let them talk. Leah knew better.
She prayed for her nausea to mean what she wanted so desperately for it to mean. Let it be a boychild in her womb that made her feel like this—for she knew some women were sick right from the time when their husband’s seed first took root inside the womb.
“O Lord,” she prayed, “look upon my affliction. Let me bear him a son. Then my husband will love me.”
AFTERWORD
I never intended the story of Rachel and Leah to be broken up among multiple volumes. It happened against my will. I had no problem with keeping Sarah and Rebekah to one book each. But unlike either of those books, the story of Rachel and Leah has four very strong female characters who needed separate development. I had to create a network of attitudes and experiences for each of the six pairings. That takes time—measured both in book pages and writing time.
About halfway through writing this novel, I realized that there was no way to carry the story through to the logical ending place: Rachel’s death after the birth of Benjamin. For a while I tried to bring it to an end at the point where Bilhah and Zilpah are given to Jacob as concubines, but that will now be one of the major events in the next book in the Women of Genesis series, The Wives of Israel. What finally worked for this book was to close the story when all the anticipation of the marriage is brought to its messy and painful fruition on Leah’s wedding night.
Because this book ended up being one of the most difficult writing projects of my career, it didn’t fit into my writing schedule as I had planned. Instead of writing it in the summer of 2003, the bulk of it became a project for the winter of 2004—precisely at the time when I began teaching two writing courses at Southern Virginia University. SVU is located three hours by car from my home in Greensboro. I had planned to commute with the company of books on tape, but I simply couldn’t afford to take that much time away from writing.