by Mesu Andrews
“Shalom, Miriam. It’s good to see you.” He took two long strides and held her hand, warmth radiating from his light-brown eyes.
She stood speechless, mesmerized by a man she hadn’t seen in over twenty years. A man once married to her friend Shiphrah. A man who had once captured Miriam’s affections—although no one had known.
“Do I have frog entrails on my beard?” He chuckled and released her hand, swiping the long gray hair that reached from his chin to his waist.
“No. No! I’m sorry. I just…when Ramesses sent you to Pithom twenty years ago, after Nefertiry found a cobra in her bed, I thought I’d never see you again.”
He waved away the memory. “That was an unfortunate event. I’m good at my job, but a snake-and-rat man can’t guarantee he’s cleared all vermin from a palace the size of Ramesses’s.” He shrugged. “But a Pharaoh doesn’t listen to reason when his queen screams, ‘Cobra!’ in the middle of the night.”
Miriam giggled like a maiden and thought how ridiculous she sounded. She cleared her throat and regained composure. “So what brings you back to Rameses?” She felt her cheeks warm. Why was she acting so silly?
“Pharaoh sent a cart for me in the middle of the night. It seems when the frogs died, rats and snakes emerged from every nook and cranny to find alternate food sources.” Miriam shuddered involuntarily, and Hur chuckled again. “That’s the reaction of most people to my job, but I’ve been teasing cobras and killing rats for as long as you’ve been alive. I’m fairly good at it by now.”
His eyes sparkled with the same life and joy Miriam remembered. “I’m glad you’re back. Have you seen your son Uri?”
The sparkle dimmed. “Not yet. Aaron said Uri and my grandson, Bezalel, work with Nadab and Abihu in the metal shop. These plagues have put them behind on a big project, so I’ll try not to bother them…” His words trailed off as his eyes scanned the disarray in Miriam’s main room. “Are you moving to another long house?”
“No. Haven’t you heard? Ramesses released the Israelites to worship in the wilderness.” She saw his expression falter but continued her explanation. “Moses returned from exile as Yahweh’s prophet—Yahweh is El Shaddai’s new name—and the recent plagues have convinced Ramesses to let Israel travel into the wilderness to worship…” Miriam stopped when Hur began shaking his head.
“It isn’t happening, Miriam. I’ve been crawling around the palace halls since dawn. Pharaoh nearly bit off Prince Ram’s head when he asked how to ensure the Hebrews would return from the wilderness.”
“I don’t understand. Why would the king be angry about ensuring our return?”
“Pharaoh called Prince Ram an imbecile for believing he’d ever let the Israelites leave Egypt.” Hur’s countenance softened. “I’m sorry, Miriam.”
She didn’t know what to say or even how to feel. Would Moses be devastated? Or had he expected Ramesses to default on his promise? That day by the palm tree, he’d told her Yahweh promised Pharaoh would drive them out of Egypt. Ramesses certainly hadn’t come to that point.
“I should go,” Hur said. “I’ve upset you.”
“No!” Miriam reached for his arm as he turned to leave. “Please don’t go.” She felt her cheeks grow warm again. He must think her terribly forward. “Unless you need to get back to the palace.”
“Actually, no. Snakes rest during the heat of the day. I’ll return to work at the palace tonight.”
Her heart fluttered erratically, and she reached for her walking stick to steady herself. “Would you eat the midday meal with us?”
Taliah ducked under the doorframe with a full water jar on her head. When she looked up, she was face to face with Hur and nearly dropped the jar.
“Taliah, this is my old friend Hur.” He bowed slightly and helped her lower the jar, while Miriam’s nervous chatter continued. “His wife, Shiphrah, was a dear friend who taught me midwifery and herbal skills many years ago. And Hur, this is Taliah.” She pointed at her stiffly as if describing a bowl on a shelf. “She’s Jered’s granddaughter. You remember Jered—Mered’s firstborn son?”
“Oh, you sweet girl.” Hur grabbed Taliah’s hands and kissed them. “Mered and Bithiah were special friends indeed, and your Saba Jered was like a big brother to my son Uri.”
Taken off guard, Taliah chuckled and patted his blue-veined hands. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Hur. I’m anxious to hear more about your friendship with Miriam.” She turned to Miriam with wide eyes and a knowing grin.
“I hope to soon have more stories to tell about Miriam.” Hur’s eyes lingered too long on Miriam, causing heat to rise from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
Taliah stood behind him, pointing furiously and mouthing, “He likes you.”
Flustered, Miriam rattled off the first thing that entered her mind. “So you’ll stay for the meal then?”
Moses walked through the door and heard the invitation. Brow furrowed, he inspected the stranger, but his countenance brightened the moment he recognized his long-ago servant. “Hur, you old snake charmer, it’s good to see you.”
Hur bowed at the waist. “Welcome home, Master Mehy. I heard you had returned.”
Moses’s delight dimmed but only slightly. “My name is Moses, my friend, and I’m a simple shepherd from Midian. I would be honored to take a meal with you and get to know more about the man who used to taunt cobras in my villa and kill rats in my granaries.”
Hur smiled at Miriam over his shoulder as Moses led him through the dividing curtain into the other room. Sattar followed the men, leaving the women to prepare the meal. Hur was as kind as she remembered, and he’d retained the mischief that made him so endearing. The fact that he and Moses had fond memories of each other sent warmth coursing through her.
Taliah brought the large water jug closer and started teasing. “I’ve never seen you blush, Miriam. Hur must be very special indeed.”
Miriam ignored the comment, busying herself instead with clearing a spot on the floor for their small dinner mat. She was thankful the girl hadn’t made the connection between Hur and Miriam’s confession of girlhood affection a few weeks ago. It would never do for Hur to discover she’d once loved him. The thought of it made her cheeks flame again. She reached for their wooden plates. They’d use Eleazar’s plate for Hur.
Taliah began grinding grain with the hand mill. She looked up from her task, brows knit. “Where has Hur been all these years, and what brought him back to Goshen?”
“Ramesses sent Hur to Pithom as punishment after finding a cobra in Nefertiry’s bed. Hur’s wife, Shiphrah, died here in Goshen shortly after he left.”
“How sad.” Taliah was silent for several heartbeats, grinding the barley, then suddenly gasped, eyes as round as the wooden plates on the mat. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
“It’s who, dear?” Miriam knew what she meant but needed time to form a vague reply.
“He’s the one you told me about—the one you loved when you were a girl, but your friend married him, and they were happy, and then no one else could ever meet your needs like El Shaddai.” She pointed at the dividing curtain. “It’s Hur!”
“Shh!” Miriam was near panic. “Keep your voice down. Yes, but that was a long time ago.”
“Well it’s obvious he came back to Goshen to marry you.”
“No, dear. Hur is the best ratter and snake killer in Egypt, and Ramesses brought him back from Pithom to clear the palace. That’s why he’s in Goshen.”
Taliah stopped grinding grain, her expression void of silly teasing. “What if your God brought him back to you?”
Miriam waved away the comment. “Shaddai is not in the habit of matchmaking, dear. Hur and I are longtime friends. We have a shared past, and old people like to talk about old things. That’s all.”
Taliah shrugged and emptied the fresh-ground barley flour into a bowl. “Shaddai may not be a matchmaker, but Yahweh might just surprise you.”
Miriam grabbed a cucumber to chop and c
hose to ignore the girl’s comment, but she couldn’t ignore the flutter in her belly.
She’d just heard that Pharaoh reneged on his promise to release Israel, and all she could think about was an old friend who had returned from Pithom. It was ridiculous…but true.
Yahweh, what’s happening to me? Am I going mad? Surely, it was the grief of losing Abba and Ima. The tremendous strain of Moses’s return and the plagues. The uncertainty of God’s silence. Whatever was troubling her, she was tired of it. She needed to refocus her priorities.
“Taliah, I’ve heard on good authority that Pharaoh changed his mind and won’t let us leave Egypt.”
Disappointment shadowed the girl’s face, but she didn’t seem overly surprised. “Eleazar told me last night that I shouldn’t bother packing our things.” She added water to the barley flour, mixed it into a ball, and started kneading. “I think if your God delivers us, we’ll know when it’s time to pack.”
30
Then the LORD said to Moses, “Tell Aaron, ‘Stretch out your staff and strike the dust of the ground,’ and throughout the land of Egypt the dust will become gnats.”
—EXODUS 8:16
Eleazar stood under the penetrating stare of Egypt’s king, using every shred of restraint not to scratch the burning, itching bites that covered his body. Pharaoh used no such restraint. He sat on his throne scratching his arms and legs and neck and abdomen as he questioned Eleazar. “Do you know these Hebrews, Moses and Aaron?”
“Yes, my king.” Eleazar’s voice echoed loud in the empty throne hall. He prayed they wouldn’t press him further.
“Are they responsible for this infestation of biting midges?” Prince Kopshef shouted the question in Eleazar’s right ear.
Eleazar paused, forming his answer carefully. “I saw Aaron strike the dust of the ground with Moses’s staff, and the dust became biting gnats.”
“There, that’s how you do it.” Pharaoh extended his flail toward Kopshef. “Take one of your magic rods and strike the dust.”
“I’ve tried that, Father.” Kopshef looked to the other magicians for support, but they merely bowed their heads, defeated.
Pharaoh’s fury turned to quiet rage—a condition far more lethal. “Are you telling me that none of Egypt’s gods can overpower this Yahweh?”
Kopshef’s typical arrogance was suddenly replaced with trembling lips and hands extended like a beggar’s. “Jannes and Jambres have tried every spell and chant. I, too, have called on every god and dark spirit, but our magic can’t duplicate this plague.” He left Eleazar’s side, ascended the steps of the dais, and bowed at his father’s feet. “This plague is the finger of the Hebrew god. Please, mighty Pharaoh, Keeper of Harmony and Balance, what harm would come of letting the Hebrews go worship this Yahweh of theirs?”
“No!” Pharaoh shouted, slamming his flail on the armrest again. “Am I the only one strong enough to stand against a god of slaves? Must my sons and officials whine like old women every time they endure hardship? Get out of my sight, all of you!”
Eleazar joined Prince Ram as they exited the throne hall. The prince leaned close and whispered, “If you know these Hebrews, then go back to Goshen and beg them to lift this plague. My wife and children are suffering, Eleazar.” The ebony doors closed behind them, and Ram grabbed Eleazar’s breast piece, jerking him to a halt, eyes pleading. “Make this stop, please.”
“I will try, my prince.”
Ram hurried away, rattled. He’d never spoken to Eleazar about his wife and children before. They talked only of weapons and battles and war. And when had Pharaoh’s second firstborn ever begged help from a Hebrew slave? He hadn’t even gloated over Kopshef’s failure to duplicate the miracle.
Eleazar felt a peculiar peace amid the turmoil. Not because he or his family had been spared the suffering. No. Doda, Taliah, and the others were as miserable as the Egyptians, but the fact that the Hebrew God had proven His power superior to other gods had given Eleazar a sense of inevitability. Not today, and perhaps not tomorrow, but someday and somehow Pharaoh would indeed let Israel leave Egypt. Though Yahweh had done nothing for Eleazar personally—He might even punish Eleazar for years of rebellion—this Hebrew God was powerful enough to make Prince Ram beg. And that fact alone lightened Eleazar’s step.
His journey to Goshen seemed shorter today. Perhaps it was because the mud pits and fields were deserted. It was the last month of Akhet, and the waters had reached their height. Whatever canals needed digging had been dug. The fields were too wet to plant. It was the perfect time for a plague.
Eleazar chuckled and let himself scratch his arms, moaning aloud at the fiery pleasure. He passed piles of frogs along the way and marveled at the amount of decay in only a week’s time. They’d shrunk to half their original height, and the stench had become so familiar he now ceased to notice it. As he approached Doda’s village, Eleazar saw a discarded robe in the tall grass. The robe groaned, and he hurried over to see an elderly man shivering and curled into a ball. Eleazar lifted him into his arms and carried him to Doda Miriam’s.
“I need help!” he shouted as he shoved aside the curtain. Doda was applying some sort of balm to Moses’s arms. “Hurry. I found him on the roadside.”
Sattar greeted him with the familiar growl, and Doda grabbed her walking stick to push herself to her feet. When she saw the man, she gasped. “Oh no, it’s Hur.”
Eleazar looked at the man again and remembered the friend of their family who’d been unjustly exiled to Pithom when Eleazar was a young soldier. Every exposed surface of Hur’s skin was covered in tiny red dots. The man’s delirium was a blessing in disguise. Were he conscious, with so many bites he’d be more miserable than the rest. Eleazar laid Hur on Doda’s sleeping mat with extra care. She appeared with a wet cloth, a bowl of water, and aloe. Moses followed with a basket of rolled bandages.
Taliah stood an arm’s length from Eleazar. He felt her cold stare. “He’s a friend of Miriam’s from long ago. He’s been visiting nearly every day. We were worried because we didn’t see him yesterday or this morning.” She stepped closer and dug her fingers into his arm. “You’d know all this if you were here more often.”
Eleazar pulled his arm from her grasp but remained silent. She wouldn’t understand a soldier’s duty to his master. They’d been married less than two weeks, and already she was nagging. Granted, he had slept at the barracks a few nights, but he’d been home more nights than not. Didn’t she see he was trying?
“Where did you find him, Eleazar?” Doda Miriam glanced over her shoulder, eyes glistening.
“He was lying in the grass between the city and Goshen.”
“Miriam?” Hur whispered the name, and every eye turned to Doda.
She knelt beside him and dabbed his forehead with the wet cloth. “I’m here,” she said. “What are you doing taking a nap in the tall grass, my friend?”
“I don’t want…be a burden…Uri and Bezalel.” Hur turned toward the soothing cloth, his face covered with the fiery red midge bites.
“Do you suppose he’s been sleeping outside all this time?” Doda spoke, it seemed, to no one in particular. “He’s over ninety inundations old. He can’t sleep outside in the night air—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with the cloth she’d used to tend Hur.
Eleazar couldn’t bear to see Doda upset, not after she’d just lost Saba and Savta. “Why can’t Hur sleep here, with Moses in Saba and Savta’s chamber?”
“Of course,” Moses said.
“No, he shouldn’t. What will people say?” Her cheeks flushed instantly pink.
Since when had Doda Miriam cared what gossips said? Eleazar noted the grin exchanged between Taliah and Moses and realized he’d missed more than a few of Hur’s visits while tending Prince Ram at the palace.
Hur lifted his hand to Miriam, and she cradled it in her own. “I don’t want…to be a…burden.” He closed his eyes.
Doda swiped at her cheeks and took a deep breath. “Eleazar, get
a cup of water. Taliah, start some barley porridge. He needs hydration and nourishment.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Moses, get your room tidied up. You’ve got a new roommate.”
Each one snapped to the assigned duty, while Miriam tended her patient with extra care. Eleazar delivered the water, bent to kiss the top of her head, then proceeded to find Moses in the adjoining chamber.
He was unrolling Saba’s old sleeping mat for Hur and pointed to a basket of linen. “You’ll find a wool blanket in that basket. Hur might need it as the nights get cooler.”
Eleazar followed instruction without comment, considering how he might present Ram’s request to his uncle. He found the blanket and began unfolding it on the mat as he unveiled the prince’s request.
“Ram sent me here to ask mercy for his wife and children.”
Moses stopped tidying and gave Eleazar his attention. “Has Prince Ram convinced Pharaoh to let our people go?”
Eleazar saw something of the war-hardened general in his uncle and didn’t appreciate it. They were just having a friendly conversation. “No.”
“Then Yahweh will extend no mercy.” Moses resumed his preparations for Hur, cutting a new lamb’s wool headpiece, rearranging the sleeping mats.
“But the women and children are suffering terribly. There’s no need—”
“No need?” Moses stood suddenly, issuing the challenge in Eleazar’s face. “Hebrew women and children have been needlessly suffering for four hundred years. I don’t think a few midge bites on Egyptian royals are so ghastly. Do you?”
Fire raced into Eleazar’s veins. He would have struck any other man. Through clenched teeth, he spit barely controlled venom. “It’s always ghastly when it’s your family.”
The reply seemed to dowse the fire in his uncle. Moses rubbed both hands down the length of his face and groaned. “And there’s the heart of the matter, Eleazar, the very reason I want to rail at the God who has promised to deliver us.” The surprise on Eleazar’s face must have provoked Moses to continue. “Why does Yahweh attack His own family?” Moses held out his arm and pointed to the fiery red dots that no doubt burned and itched as much as those on an Egyptian. “Why must God’s people suffer along with those He’s punishing? I don’t understand it.”
