He gathered Sarah in his arms.
She wanted to be happy for him. She wanted to be happy for herself. But instead, all she felt was a great wracking misery, and she sank to the carpet and wept.
“I understand,” said Abraham. “It’s too wonderful to bear, isn’t it?”
Wonderful? thought Sarah bitterly. How many times have I heard such promises before? Oh, now it was more specific. Now at least she’d have a date to mark the bitterness of disappointment. Abram, she wanted to say—no, Abraham—Abraham, your love for me has misled you. You think this will make me glad. But it only wounds me anew.
She said nothing of her real feelings to Abraham, however. She let him hold her there on the floor of his tent. Then he arose. “I won’t let the sun set without making sure that every man in my household takes on him the mark of the covenant.”
“A mark?” she asked.
“A cut in the flesh,” he said, “where it won’t grow back, marking us all as fathers of children consecrated to the worship of God. Today every man of us will bear that cut, and every new manchild born to my house will receive the mark of the covenant when he reaches his eighth day, so that his whole life he will see in his own flesh that he belongs to God, and so will all who come after him.”
By sunset, every man in the camp had received the cut. Sarah stood with the other women, watching from a distance as the men came, their faces full of misgivings as they arrived, their walk speaking of considerable discomfort as they went away. At first some of the women had been terrified—they had seen the castration of too many rams and bulls not to fear what was being done to their husbands or sons. But Abraham reassured them that after the pain subsided, their manly functions would not be impaired. “The Lord means to make a great nation of us,” said Abraham. “He wouldn’t require us to do anything that interfered with conceiving children.”
To Sarah’s relief, he said nothing to the others about the promise God had made concerning her. The last thing she needed was to have everyone else watching as, once again, the promised day passed by. She knew that like all God’s promises, this one depended on her worthiness before the Lord. And since she didn’t know what had made her unworthy during all the years when she might have borne children, it was hard to imagine that she’d be able to repent of it now. This promise, like all the others pertaining to her, would be rescinded. Only this time, because she never believed it, she wouldn’t be half so disappointed.
Most of the men who had been circumcised were miserable all night, and few of them were worth much at their tasks the next day. Abraham, though, insisted on traveling to the other camps to cut the mark into the men there. He was in as much pain as anyone, so if he insisted on going, Eliezer had to get a party of men together to give him safe escort. At least Abraham didn’t insist on walking. They mounted donkeys for this journey—no one wanted to be astride a horse if it should break into a trot.
Days later, it was finished, and life was back to normal. The women, of course, were full of talk, as the mothers talked about what the cutting had done to their sons, and then the wives began discussing, with some crude humor, how it affected their husbands.
Only Hagar and Sarah remained aloof from these discussions, Sarah because it would be undignified to speak of the master of the house in such a way, Hagar because there was no man’s mark that she would see. She had no husband, and Ishmael, at thirteen, was much too old ever to allow his mother to see how he had been injured. She had too much pride to make a point of looking at one of the little children, though she was bound to see eventually. Once again it struck Sarah how much Hagar had lost by accepting Abraham’s son within her body. She couldn’t marry someone else, and therefore could have no more children. Ishmael was everything to her. But now that he was old enough to learn a man’s duties, he was more and more often away from her tent for days on end. Hagar had a son, yes, but he was no longer a baby. For the first time Sarah realized that despite the great joy that child-bearing could bring a woman, it was a great disappointment, too. For the years when a boychild was close to his mother were not that many, and then he became a man among men, and the mother was alone again.
I’m sorry for all this has cost you, Hagar. But surely it’s better than it would have been if you had stayed in Egypt. You can’t hate me for this.
If Hagar felt any pain, she never mentioned it to Sarah—nor to anyone else, as far as Sarah knew. Hagar could laugh and jest as well as anyone, but what went on inside her heart no one knew or ever had known.
Chapter 20
Abraham had never stopped lying with Sarah in her tent from time to time—but the times had become rarer over the years, and more often than not they would lie together and talk until one of them fell asleep. Now that he had the Lord’s promise to inspire him, though, Abraham became, if not youthful, then at least persistent in his efforts.
But he was too old. The time for this had passed. “A younger woman would waken your desire,” said Sarah.
“A younger woman has no promise of a son to be named Isaac,” said Abraham impatiently.
“Abraham, if the Lord wants you to have a son, then he’ll simply have to do something about this.”
“None of the other men has had any problems like this after receiving the mark of the covenant,” said Abraham.
“Abraham, you’re not a young man, and my old body shows few signs of the girl that used to waken you,” said Sarah. “It has nothing to do with the knife.”
Abraham muttered and went to sleep, then came back the next night, and the next. He had never spent every night with her even when they were younger, but he made sure not to travel to any of the other camps.
But when three and a half months had passed after the day of the covenant, even Abraham had to admit that it simply wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “How could I have misunderstood the Lord’s promise? It’s not as if I wasn’t listening closely.”
She comforted him for his embarrassment, but because she had not really believed in the promise, her own disappointment wasn’t all that grave.
He slept beside her that night, enfolding her in his arms the way he did as a young husband, and she found that she enjoyed his company more now that he had given up on conceiving the promised child. “Love outlasts desire, I’m glad to say,” she said. “It’s just as well, you know. Can you imagine me chasing after a toddler at my age? Or getting milk to flow from these old breasts?”
“Apparently there are a lot of things that can only be imagined,” said Abraham.
And, just to prove the point, his arm fell asleep and his joints got quite painful and he had to draw away from her after only a few minutes of nestling. “How did this happen to us?” Abraham said. “I never noticed getting old.”
“It’s the only job we’ve ever done so faithfully, never missing a day.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was so effective at it. You’re still beautiful.”
“And now the eyes are going,” said Sarah.
“I think I can see well enough to get back to my tent,” he said.
“Stay,” she said. “Let me at least hear your breathing all night.”
“From what I’ve been told, you can hear it from my tent.”
“Oh, that was snoring?” asked Sarah. “I thought it was a sledge being dragged across stones.”
“Now I have to stay, just to punish you for that remark.”
So he spent the night. She slept well, despite his snoring, which had indeed grown much louder in the past year or so.
They each woke the other several times in the night when they had to take trips outside the tent.
And in the morning, they laughed ruefully over how little they had slept.
“Well, we’re done with that,” said Abraham. “But I liked spending so much time with you. Come to my tent this morning. Read aloud for me while I do my work.”
It was the story of Enoch she read, the great miracles of those days before Zion was
taken up into heaven. While she read, he did calculations in a box of sand, growing more and more concerned as he did. Finally he interrupted her. “I’m not wrong,” he said. “I hoped I was.”
“What?’ she asked.
“I saw a new star last night,” said Abraham. “A returning star, I thought. I consulted the records to see if such a star was due to appear. There were two that might be coming at about this time. One wears a great sword, and it seems to mark the coming of wars. But the other is a star that has no sword, only a slight beard. But whenever this star returns, fiery stones fall from heaven and cause terror and destruction. Sometimes it has caused brightness in the heavens all through the night. Sometimes it has made the earth quake, or great fires that sweep away forests or grassland. Well, I did the calculations and it is most likely that this is the bearded star, the one that causes stones to fall from the sky.”
“Are we in danger?” asked Sarah.
“I don’t know. Someone is. The Lord will decide.”
“You really watch the skies for this?” asked Sarah.
“All priests watch the sky. That’s how we keep the calendars, marking which day the shadows are shortest and which day they’re longest, every year. And we watch the sky for signs like these, and keep the record for generations. No one has records older than mine, for I have the book in which Adam wrote, and before him, what man was there to watch the heavens and write down what he saw? Every star and wonder that men have seen, I have in my books.”
“Does anyone else have copies of these books?” asked Sarah.
“Melchizedek does,” said Abraham.
It was as if the mention of the name of the high priest and king of Salem had summoned him. For only moments later, a tumult could be heard outside. Abraham arose and went to the tent door, and he returned with a sense of urgency. “Three visitors have come, common travelers asking for food and drink.”
“Then why are you so worried?”
“Eliezer says he’s sure one of them is Melchizedek.”
“Dressed as a common traveler?”
“Maybe he’s in disguise so that he doesn’t have to bring soldiers with him to ward off robbers.”
“But we’re not ready to entertain a king!”
“We’re always ready,” said Abraham. “Take three measures of the fine flour and with your own hands make cakes on the hearth. I’ll have the men butcher a calf.”
They hurried about their business. As she and the bakerwomen kneaded the dough, she could see Abraham select a calf and set the butchers to work. Then he fairly ran to meet Melchizedek and his companions and escorted them to his tent. They went inside. Sarah fretted at having to make bread instead of being part of the conversation. But Abraham had been very clear—he wanted her to be doing the baking herself, which meant that she was not to be part of this conversation. This was not uncommon with distinguished visitors—most would be insulted to have Abraham expect them to converse in the presence of a woman. But surely Melchizedek was not such a man as that. Still, it was Abraham’s decision to make. So Sarah formed the cakes and watched as one of the women braved the oven’s heat and slid the cakes onto the hot tiles with her paddle.
It didn’t take long for the cakes to be ready. At least Abraham had not expected her to make bread and wait for it to rise! The first strips of tender veal were carved from the spit at the same time, and Sarah insisted on carrying the cakes and veal to Abraham’s tent herself.
She stopped outside the tent, taking care not to stand close enough to eavesdrop, and laid out the basket of cakes, the pot of butter, a jar of milk, and the bowl of veal. Then she clapped her hands to announce that the food was ready.
Abraham emerged almost at once, followed by Melchizedek and his companions. Sarah immediately backed away as Abraham sat by the food and offered the cakes and butter and milk to his visitors. He gave her a smile of thanks, and then turned back to the guests in order to pray over the food. Sarah quickly returned to her tent.
What could this mean, this visit from Melchizedek just as the bearded star returned? Sarah could not concentrate on anything. She finally set down the distaff after making a tangle of the yarn and simply sat by the door of the tent. She could hear their voices and now and then catch a phrase or two. They were talking of numbers and years, comparing calculations and arguing, though only mildly, and with rueful laughter now and then as someone’s calculations were found wanting.
Then, to her surprise, Melchizedek spoke more loudly and said, “Where is Sarah, your wife?”
What does he want with me? thought Sarah. Or is he only making sure that I’m not listening? Well . . . I am listening! Have I been caught?
“In her tent,” said Abraham.
“Abraham,” said Melchizedek, “the way of a man with a woman is not finished for you. It will return to you despite your age, and Sarah your wife will have a son.”
Oh, no, not again, thought Sarah. Just when we finally come to our senses, we have to have another go at it because Melchizedek is too young to understand what happens to old men and old women? Even if Abraham’s natural force returns to him, what good is that? My womb couldn’t do the job even when we were both young.
“Why is Sarah laughing?” said Melchizedek.
At once Sarah grew frightened. Had she actually laughed aloud? She didn’t think so—but apparently she had embarrassed herself and shamed her husband by being caught eavesdropping.
“I didn’t hear her laugh,” said Abraham.
“She was saying in her heart, ‘Oh really, will I bear a child, as old as I am?’”
She was relieved to know that if he was reading her mind, at least he wasn’t getting it word for word.
She got up and emerged from the tent to find Melchizedek and Abraham and the others all looking at her. To Abraham’s credit, he was the only one not smiling smugly.
“Is anything too hard for the Lord?” asked Melchizedek. “At the time appointed the Lord will make you as if you were young again, and Sarah will have a son.”
“I didn’t laugh,” said Sarah.
“No, you laughed,” said Melchizedek. “Maybe not with your voice, but the Lord can hear your heart.” Then he smiled, so she knew he was not angry with her for listening.
One of the other men said, “Shall I hide from Abraham the thing that I’m doing?”
“Not from Abraham,” said the other stranger. “Not from the man who will found nations. Not from the man of the covenant, whose children’s children’s children will still bear the mark of the covenant a hundred and fifty generations from now.”
So the first man spoke again, and now Melchizedek and Abraham listened with equal intensity. Melchizedek did not know what was coming, either. “Because the complaint against Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and because their sin is terrible, I will go down now and see whether they are as wicked as I’ve heard.”
At those words, Melchizedek and the other man arose at once, but not the man who had spoken them. Abraham arose to embrace Melchizedek and the other man, urging the last of the cakes on them to eat along the way. Soon they were walking down the hill, heading southeast, their faces set toward Sodom.
But the one traveler remained with Abraham, and because he didn’t send Sarah away, she waited to hear what he would say.
It was Abraham who spoke first. “Will the Lord destroy the righteous along with the wicked?” he asked.
So that’s why they were talking about Sodom. Apparently some of the conversation Sarah had overheard but had not quite understood was about some danger to Sodom. She could only assume that it meant the fiery stones that came with the bearded star would strike the city, and that it had something to do with the wickedness of the place.
To her shame, her first thought was, It’s about time he did something about that cesspool, after the way it ruined Qira as a human being.
Only then did she realize that when Abraham asked about destroying the righteous with the wicked, he was talking about Lot and Qira, wh
o lived in the city. Abraham was thinking about the danger to them, while all Sarah could do was condemn the city. What kind of sister am I?
Why, the kind who’s going to have a baby.
She almost laughed aloud again.
“What if there are fifty righteous people in the city?” said Abraham. “Will the Lord not spare the place for the sake of the fifty righteous? That’s not the way of the Lord, is it, to destroy the righteous with the wicked?”
“If I find fifty righteous souls in Sodom, I’ll spare the whole place for their sakes.”
Sarah had visited Sodom often enough and stayed with Qira long enough to have her doubts about whether there were fifty righteous people there. It’s not as if she could count her own sister among that number.
Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) Page 27
