In spite of her own barrenness, Hannah was happy for her.
“God smiles upon you, Marah. He has given you a child quickly to please your husband and make your way easier.”
Marah sighed. At least the pain of that first week with Zibeon was behind her, and being practical in nature, she had accepted her lot in life. Sometimes, though, when she thought of that first night with Zibeon, she shuddered. The smell of the wine, his eager hands, and the pain within her that rolled and ebbed, the cries in the darkness that seemed to come from beyond herself. Mercifully she had fainted. She had awakened in the wee hours of the morning, her mouth dry. Zibeon was asleep beside her, snoring noisily. Slowly, biting her lip at the jabs of pain, she had made her way to the corner of the room where a large jar of water had been placed. She drank greedily from the dipper, looking back toward Zibeon lest she make a noise that would awaken him. In the dimness of the room, she glanced down and saw shadows on her shift. As she touched one, she stifled a cry. It was dried blood. She dipped water into a small clay basin and washed herself as well as she could. Standing quietly in the darkness, she bowed her head. She was a wife now and there were duties she must bear. No one had told her what to expect. Reba would not, and Hannah must have thought Reba had borne the task, for she had not brought up the subject. Was it this way with all women, Marah wondered. Had it been this way for her own mother? Suddenly, without warning, a longing for her mother swept over her. Tears stung her eyes, but she straightened herself, willing the tears back to the depths from which they came. Her mother was gone and she herself was no longer a child. She was now Zibeon’s wife and she must work hard to please him. Quietly she crept back to the bed and lay down beside Zibeon. She was so weary. Zibeon still slept soundly, and in spite of her fear, she fell asleep again.
When Marah awoke, it was with a start. Zibeon was gone. Why had he not awakened her? Her mother-in-law must think her a lazy wife not to be up before her husband and about her tasks. Feeling stronger, she got up, and looked toward the water jar. The basin of water in which she had washed herself had been emptied. For a moment she felt a rush of gratefulness toward Athaliah. Perhaps she was not all she seemed. Marah washed her face quickly in fresh water and dropped a clean garment over her head, winding the woven belt around her waist.
As Marah entered the main room of the house, she found Athaliah busily sweeping.
“Mother-in-law, forgive me. I did not mean to oversleep. What can I do to help?”
The old woman looked at her a moment with her bright eyes. “Zibeon has had his breakfast and gone to the shop. You will do the washing and see that the water jars are kept full. I will see what other tasks you are capable of. I trust Reba trained you well in the matters of a household.”
“Yes,” Marah answered quietly. What good would it do to tell Athaliah that she had been doing most of the tasks of their household since she was ten.
The day passed quickly with Athaliah assigning many jobs. She followed Marah around and watched everything she did.
“Have you checked each garment carefully that it is clean?” Athaliah asked needlessly. “You must hang the garments so . . .”
Each task was carefully scrutinized. It would be hard to please Athaliah. Marah bore the comments in silence. Perhaps it was difficult to have another woman come into a household. Even though Athaliah wanted a wife for Zibeon, she had cared for him for so long it was probably hard to yield to another woman. I must let her see that I know my place, thought Marah. Surely in time I will gain respect in the eyes of my mother-in-law.
Now the morning sun rose higher and already she felt the warmth on her back. The chickens scratched about the yard and the goat was loudly proclaiming her need to be milked, for they had sold the kid. Dibri, the young son of a neighbor, had come and collected the sheep to take to the shepherd. Marah looked around her. She had a home, a husband, a family, and soon, a babe of her own. Her life could be worse, she reasoned to herself. Tomorrow would be the Sabbath, and Zibeon would go with the other men to the temple to pray. Since no work could be done, she would have a day to herself.
It was getting more difficult to kneel down at the stream and wash the clothes. The day before, as she worked on the cloth, Marah looked up and smiled as she saw Hannah put her basket down.
“You are well? The child grows.”
“I am well, Hannah, but I feel like a great cow!”
Hannah laughed and set about her own washing. “Your friend Atarah marries soon. It may be a race to see which comes sooner, the babe or the wedding.”
Marah laughed aloud with an exaggerated shrug.
“Zibeon is treating you well?” Hannah did not look up, but though the question was casual, Marah heard her concern.
“He is pleased about the child. He does not seem like such an angry man.” Marah paused, reflecting. “I was so afraid of him, Hannah. And those first few weeks I did not know how to behave. He was so unpredictable. Yet now,” she murmured thoughtfully, “he does not seem like such a bad man. Perhaps it is as you said that day on the way back from Jacob’s well. Perhaps he needed a wife to make his life easier.”
Hannah nodded. The two women talked as they worked, sharing the latest gossip, and finally parted to their respective homes. As Marah carried the basket of clothes, she noted that the afternoon shadows were beginning to stretch over the yard. Zibeon would be returning from the shop soon. She remembered that first day when she had braced herself to face Zibeon’s return. When he came, he strode boldly into the house and sat down by the small fire. Marah and Athaliah moved swiftly to set his dinner in front of him. He did not greet his mother or Marah but lustily consumed his food. From time to time he watched her. It was as if he were waiting for something.
At last Marah had taken a deep breath and blurted, “Your day went well, Husband?”
Zibeon paused and appeared to be surprised. Then he let out a great bellow of laughter.
“That is good, Wife. Yes, I had a fine day.” His eyes narrowed and he looked at Athaliah. “She is adequate in her duties?”
Athaliah had been hovering over him. “She will learn.”
“Mmmmm,” Zibeon murmured. Then he looked at Athaliah again. “Shimei has not returned?” he growled.
“No, my son,” she answered quickly. “It could be that the skins you sent him for took longer—”
“You make excuses for him?” Zibeon bellowed and both women trembled.
Zibeon leaned back on his elbow and belched. “Eat, old woman. I have had my fill.” As Marah hesitated, he indicated her with a wave of his hand. “You also, Wife. You will need your strength,” and he grinned. He unplugged the wineskin and took a great gulp.
“Did Reba leave with the caravan, my son?”
“Yes, Zohar the silversmith saw them leave at first light. Good riddance to that one!”
He spat. For once Marah could agree with him.
She waited, almost holding her breath as she helped Athaliah clean up the remnants of the meal. As Athaliah turned to her pallet at last, Zibeon picked up the small lamp.
“Come, wife,” he ordered.
Marah bowed her head and followed her husband from the room.
9
Marah stretched her shoulders again in the warmth of the morning sun and resumed kneading the bread. She continued to ponder the events of the last few months. When the pain of that first week had passed, she felt she would survive. Athaliah watched her every move. When the time of women came to her that first month, Athaliah had sighed loudly, shaking her head. When the second month passed and Athaliah did not see her washing her women’s rags, she began to watch Marah’s every movement.
One particular night Marah wrestled with the nausea that came and went. Marah turned from Zibeon, feeling she was about to retch. It angered Zibeon, for he had raised his arm as if to strike her.
“I am that repulsive to you?” he roared.
“Forgive me, Husband,” Marah cried in desperation, “I am with child.”
She covered her face with her arms to ward off the blow. She hunched herself on the pallet and made herself small, feeling wretched.
Zibeon’s reaction had been instantaneous. His hand stopped in midair as he stared at her.
“You are ill due to carrying a child? You are sure of this?”
“Yes, my lord. I am sure.” She had passed her second month.
Zibeon stroked his beard, savoring this new thought. Then his chest swelled noticeably.
“So, I am to have a son at last!” He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed, smiling to himself. Then he lay down, crossed his arms over his chest, and went to sleep.
With a small sigh of relief, Marah lay down also. This man she had married was very unpredictable! Zibeon was pleased. She had done what was expected of her, but it was no small comfort.
The next morning Marah was preparing the morning meal when he strode into the room, grabbed Athaliah, and swung her around.
“I am to have a son,” he announced.
The startled old woman barely caught her breath. Her mouth worked but no words came out. As he put her down again, she huffed, “Oh that I should have borne such a man. Did you think I did not know I was to have a grandchild?”
Zibeon grinned as he took some bread and cheese. “I am to have a son,” he almost shouted and strode out the door.
Marah slowly shook her head. Men. How could he be sure it would be a boy?
Marah stared down at the bread she had been kneading as a thought struck her. Zibeon had been almost kind to her these past months, as had Athaliah. Her mother-in-law wanted a grandchild as much as Zibeon wanted a son. Marah prayed fervently that it would be a boy. If she gave Zibeon a son, who knows, life with him might just be bearable.
The babe is sturdy, Marah thought as she felt the child move powerfully within her.
Shimei came quietly through the courtyard and went into the house. Marah had become used to Shimei’s elusive comings and goings. She saw that he feared Zibeon as did Athaliah, but for different reasons. “I wonder why he has never married,” she mused, half aloud. As far as she could recall, Athaliah never mentioned finding a wife for him. Those large, sad eyes watched her from time to time. When Zibeon was at the shop and Athaliah was not around, he made life easier by doing small tasks for her. When his mother and brother were around, he studiously ignored her and faded into the background. A strange man, Shimei, he would often disappear for days at a time. Marah understood that he went to the next village. Yet when she ventured to ask about Shimei, if he had friends he visited there, her mother-in-law had given her a strange look.
“There are some things best left alone,” she rebuked her daughter-in-law sharply. Marah asked no more questions about Shimei.
The chickens squawked, bringing her out of her reverie. Athaliah returned from the marketplace and approached to inspect Marah’s work. Marah put the dough on the paddle and set it to rise by the earthen oven.
“Did you knead it long enough?”
“Yes, Mother-in-law.” It was the same question every day but Marah answered patiently. Athaliah still had a criticism for every task, even after all these months, but Marah brushed them off. In spite of herself she had become fond of the old woman.
Athaliah patted Marah’s belly. “The child grows.”
“Yes, Mother-in-law, he grows.” She knew that to mention any other gender in the house caused severe displeasure.
Observing her strange new family, it was obvious that Zibeon was his mother’s favorite. Athaliah adored him and in spite of his manner toward her, doted on his every wish. As far as Marah could see, he never seemed to return the affection. He treated Athaliah like a servant and seemed to enjoy seeing her hop to do his bidding.
Once Marah had asked about Athaliah’s husband and saw the old woman’s face soften. Zibeon must have been the first child of their marriage.
“So strong was my husband. Zibeon is just like him. He was a beautiful boy and the delight of our hearts. Zibeon worked in the sandal shop with my husband and learned the trade from the time he was a young boy.” Athaliah studied her hands, lost in thought.
“What happened to your husband?” Marah ventured, sensing that Athaliah was in a talkative mood.
“He died of a fever when Zibeon was thirteen. Shimei was six months in my womb. When he died I nearly lost Shimei.” She paused, her face grown hard again. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had.”
“Was he a difficult birth?” Marah prodded, her curiosity aroused.
“Two days the pains lasted and he was jaundiced when he was finally born. He was pale and sickly from the first. His constant crying nearly drove Zibeon and me mad. God willed his birth, but I do not see the purpose of it.”
Marah began to see Zibeon in a different light. A young boy, grieving for his father and forced to take over his father’s business and do a man’s work to support his mother and baby brother. With her husband gone and Shimei fraying her nerves with his crying, Athaliah had turned to Zibeon, focusing all her love and attention on her firstborn. She had spoiled Zibeon outrageously and now paid the penalty for her attention. Yet Athaliah didn’t seem to notice.
In her eyes he could do no wrong. There was much about this family she wanted to know.
When Zibeon returned home that evening, he noticed something in Marah’s demeanor toward him and seemed to watch her curiously. Then he did something out of character.
“Wife, join me at my dinner.”
Marah looked at Athaliah, but Zibeon ignored his mother and patted the cushion next to him. Clearly Athaliah was not included. Marah lowered herself carefully. Zibeon picked up a piece of cheese and ate it slowly, watching her speculatively from hooded eyes.
“So ... my little bird is no longer afraid of the snare?” he asked softly.
Marah’s eyes grew wide. It was true. She did not fear him as before, yet something told her to be cautious. “I seek only to please you, my husband.”
“Please me?” Zibeon growled. “My mother seeks to please me, my brother seeks to please me . . . and my little Marah, what would you know of what pleases me, hmmm?” His face was close to hers and he had taken her arm, gripping it tightly. She did not flinch, but bravely looked back at him. The expression in his eyes was unreadable. After a long moment, he released her arm.
“You have spirit, Wife. I like that.” He brought his face close to hers again. “My little mouse gets bolder.” He chuckled to himself.
Athaliah watched furtively from across the room. She did not hear his last words.
That night, Marah lay awake on their pallet listening to Zibeon’s heavy breathing as he slept. He had turned to her that night, but there was something different about his love-making—he seemed almost gentle. Was it because of the child? He had put his great hand on her belly and felt the child move. It seemed to please him. Marah sighed. A strange man, her husband. Why did he seem pleased that she did not fear him as before? He was a man of many moods and his temper was like a sudden sandstorm in the desert, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, briefly she had seen another side of Zibeon. A side she was sure even his mother did not see.
With the time of birth drawing near, Athaliah took over more of Marah’s household duties. Marah still went for the water up to her last few weeks, for it was the only time that she and Hannah could meet and talk. This past week she had missed Hannah’s company, but Athaliah kept her so busy she had little time to think of her wants. An air of expectation had come over the household and even Shimei appeared to stay closer to home. Marah still puzzled over Shimei and once asked him, “Why do you not work in the sandal shop?”
Shimei had shrugged. “My brother does not wish my assistance in the shop. I procure the leathers for him.” He sighed. “It pleases Zibeon to send me on many errands.”
Marah thought she detected a bitter note, but when she looked at Shimei’s face, it was as bland as usual.
The pains began suddenly one day as she was mending. Dropping the garment,
she clutched her belly. All the stories she had heard of the ordeals of the first birth came to her mind. She didn’t know what to expect and suddenly she was frightened.
Her cry of pain brought Athaliah running. Alarmed, the old woman helped Marah to her pallet, then ran to the doorway. “Shimei, get the midwife, Shelomith, quickly!” Then, for all the neighbors to hear, “My grandson makes his way into the world today!”
But the child was not born that day or the next. Time had no meaning, for day and night were as one. The pains ebbed and flowed. Cool cloths were placed on her head. With eyes glazed with pain, she saw Shelomith take Athaliah aside and caught snatches of their low conversation.
“Her passageway will not give for that great babe she carries.”
“You must save my grandchild!” Athaliah had hissed. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I can give her something to ease her pain, but the babe struggles to be born. It is with God.”
The midwife took out a small mortar and pestle and mixed water with some herbs that she carried in packets in her goatskin bag. Athaliah lifted Marah’s head and they put the strange mixture to her lips.
“Drink this, it will ease your pain, Daughter-in-law.”
Marah’s screams tore the silence, and once or twice she heard Hannah’s voice, speaking low with comforting words in her ear. As she bore down, they held her over the birthing stool, for she could not stand on her own. Her legs would not hold her up, and she felt her bones wrench as this great thing that was lodged within her body struggled to be free of her. Her body was drenched in perspiration as the wrenching pains came and went. From time to time they would lay her down again on her pallet to rest. She heard Hannah’s voice again.
“It goes badly for her. Will she be able to bear the child?”
“She has lost much blood. If she does not have the child soon, we may lose both of them. Perhaps God will be merciful, but she cannot take much more.” The midwife sighed.
“I have done my best,” she said softly. “It is in the hands of God.”
Journey to the Well: A Novel Page 6
