“He was tending the animals a few minutes ago, when Haman left.”
“He is nowhere to be found.” Elon sighed and went back outside.
Marah looked toward the courtyard gate in exasperation. Where could Caleb have gone now? It seemed that every time Haman left, Caleb disappeared. He wouldn’t be with Haman, who’d made it clear he didn’t want the boy along when he did business. They avoided each other. A thought came to her and she brushed it away. The thought persisted. Could Caleb be following Haman? If so, why? She shook her head. This was foolish. There was no reason for Caleb to do that. She shook her head again. She was letting her imagination go too far. Still, she looked toward the street and wondered.
A figure suddenly appeared at the gate. To her surprise it was the caravan master Ahmal. Elon rose and went to greet him.
“Peace be with you, my lord, welcome to our humble home.”
“And peace to this household.”
“May I offer you some refreshment?” Elon indicated the house with his hand.
Ahmal appeared a bit agitated, but smiled. “It would be my pleasure.” As he entered the house, he nodded to Marah who lowered her eyes respectfully. The two men seated themselves and she brought them wine and fruit.
“You have been well, my friend?” Ahmal turned to Elon.
“Quite well, my lord, and your caravans, they are doing well?”
“My caravans do well. I have good men who work on my caravans.”
Marah didn’t miss the hesitation. She listened as she went about her duties.
“Your grandson, Caleb, is not here?”
“He’s not here. He’ll be sorry to have missed you, my lord.”
“Ah . . . a fine boy. You must be proud of him.”
Elon nodded and then eyed Ahmal speculatively. “He is indeed that . . . but I believe you did not come to inquire of my grandson. What can we do for you?”
Ahmal let his breath out and smiled ruefully. “Of a truth, I came seeking your nephew, Haman.”
“Haman? Is he not at the caravansary?”
“We seem to . . . miss each other . . .” Ahmal’s eyes rested on the beautiful vase. He glanced around casually and Marah saw that he was noting some of the things Haman had brought home.
“It appears your husband has learned to appreciate beautiful things, as I myself do.” He appeared embarrassed. He finished his cup of wine and stood up. Elon rose also.
“I will tell my husband you were here, my lord.”
“Thank you. I’m sure I will meet with him soon.”
“He is probably preparing for the caravan that is coming in soon.”
“Another caravan?”
“Do you not have a caravan coming in shortly?” Elon looked puzzled.
Marah stood quietly and waited for the answer.
“He is my factor, and he has much business with the merchants, but my caravan came in last week. I do not leave again for a while. I have matters needing my attention . . . here.” Ahmal stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“Perhaps we misunderstood,” Elon murmured.
“Do not trouble yourself. I am sure that is what happened. I will speak to Haman tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality, I must be on my way. Peace be on this household.”
Elon saw him to the gate as Marah considered Ahmal’s words. Why would Haman speak of a caravan coming in when the caravan master’s caravan had already come in a week before? Did he also work for another caravan master? He had never mentioned it. This was all so puzzling. She felt a sense of uneasiness. Elon was thoughtful when he returned to the house. He looked at Marah for a moment but said nothing.
Haman returned late but sought her comfort. She wanted to ask him about Ahmal’s visit, but he wound his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him. It was not a time for questions.
The next morning Marah awoke to find Haman watching her. He appeared to be deep in thought.
“You are awake early, Haman, is there something that troubles you?”
He traced a finger down her cheek and did not answer for a moment. “You are happy with me, Marah?” he asked casually.
“You are a good husband, my lord.”
“That is not what I asked you. Are you happy with me?”
She thought quickly. Without Jesse, the joy of life was gone, but she knew how hard Haman tried. And how could she explain the unease she felt. “I am happy, my lord,” she said softly.
Haman stroked his beard. “I am glad to hear that. Sometimes I think you are distracted.”
“Distracted?”
“You seem to have other things on your mind. You seem far away.”
“I am sorry.” She sought for the right words. “It is just that sometimes I think . . .”
“Of Jesse?”
“I do not mean to,” she blurted, and realized her mistake.
Haman reached out and took her chin in his hand. There was an edge to his voice.
“Jesse is dead, Marah. He can never be your husband again. I thought you were ready for this marriage, but I do not wish to hold only the shell of a woman in my arms while she thinks of another.”
She nodded dumbly, and he released her chin. “My love must be enough. Do you understand me?” His voice was dangerously soft. “I want all of you, Marah, all of you. I do not want to compete with a ghost.”
She nodded again, her head down.
He did not move for a long moment and then rose suddenly and left the room.
She listened for a moment and then went to the door of the main room of the house and looked for him. Haman was gone. Elon was snoring softly on his pallet. She looked at Caleb’s pallet. He was gone also.
It made Haman angry to ask about his business. She was afraid to ask him about Ahmal’s visit. Probably he was speaking with Ahmal even now. Perhaps she was worrying over nothing.
Caleb returned later that morning and fed the chickens and then hurried to school at the synagogue. He ran in and out so fast she barely had time to give him his lunch, wrapped in a cloth.
Haman was gone for two days. His manner when he returned discouraged questions from Marah or Elon, but the older man persisted.
“Things go well at the caravansary, Nephew?”
“Yes, fine.”
“The caravan master was here. You had missed each other. He found you?”
“Yes, Uncle, he found me.”
Elon tried to start a conversation several times but finally finished his meal in silence, eyeing his nephew from time to time thoughtfully. Marah knew there was something wrong, but she knew Haman would only speak of it when he was ready. She would wait.
33
As the months passed, Haman became angry and occasionally abusive. He spent more time in the city, and she never knew when he would return home. She heard he was seen with one of the city’s prostitutes and drank a great deal. Each time he returned, it was an ordeal for the family.
As Marah cleaned the chicken pen, she found herself glancing at the gate from time to time, starting at any sound. This time her fears were realized as Haman strode into the courtyard. He was drunk. He grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the gate. The grip of his hand bruised the skin on her wrists.
“Haman, you are hurting me!”
“Who is the other man? Tell me!” He struck her across the face.
“Haman, there is no one. You know there is no one.”
“You lie to me? I will have his name. There are ways to make sure you confess!” He began to drag her toward the gate of the courtyard.
Elon had risen as quickly as he could and tried to stop Haman. “She is a good daughter, Haman, there is no truth to this. Let her go.” He put a restraining hand on Haman’s arm and was pushed away roughly.
“Elon! Father. Haman, you have hurt him. He is an old man. Please, do not do this.”
She glanced back to see Elon leaning on his cane. “I am all right, Daughter,” he called after them. “I am all right.”
Marah’s face was h
ot with shame as Haman ruthlessly dragged her through the streets toward the Bit Allah. He was taking her to the synagogue? God be praised, Caleb would not be there but would be in Shiva’s shop at this time. What was Haman going to do? She struggled to walk as fast as Haman so she would not fall. Then she realized. He was taking her to the high priest! Surely he would believe that she was innocent. He knew what was going on in Shechem. Wouldn’t he know of Haman? Keeping her eyes down on the street, she could not look up and see the neighbors watching. All the commotion had caused heads to turn their way.
Haman entered the synagogue, and when a servant of the high priest came to inquire what they wanted, Haman flung Marah to the ground in front of him. “She is defiled. She has lain with another man and will not confess her crime,” he spat angrily, his words slurring.
The servant looked at Marah with contempt. “I will call the high priest at once.” He hurried away.
Marah wept with anguish. “Haman, how could you do this to me? You know there has been no one else. Please, take me home.”
“Beg, yes, beg me. You care not for me . . . and there is another man. He is dead, yet you cling to him still. You give me nothing, do you hear? Nothing!” He swayed slightly and glared at her.
The high priest appeared and stood before them. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed Marah. She had been working in the chicken pen for some time when Haman had come upon her suddenly and there was a smudge of dirt on her face. Her hands were dirty and she wore only the tunic she worked in. She hung her head. She was as a street woman in his eyes.
“You have brought the offering?”
Haman reached into his girdle and produced a small bag of barley meal which he handed to the priest. The servant took the offering and handed the priest a pitcher of holy water. He also handed the priest a small bowl of dust from the floor of the synagogue. The high priest mixed the dust with the holy water. Then he reached out and pulled her mantle back from her head. Marah trembled with fear.
“Hold out your hands,” he commanded her. She trembled as she held them out. He put the barley meal offering in her hands.
“If no man has lain with you, and if you have not gone aside to uncleanness with another instead of your husband, be you free from this bitter water that causes the curse: But if you have gone aside to another instead of your husband, and if you are defiled, and some man has lain with you beside your husband; then the LORD make you a curse and an oath among your people, when the LORD makes your thigh to rot and your belly to swell; and this water that causes the curse shall go into your bowels and make your belly to swell and your thigh to rot. You are to say amen.”
“Amen . . . ,” Marah whispered, her face burning with shame.
The servant brought out a book and the priest wrote down the curses and sprinkled the holy water mixed with the dust. Then he put the cup to Marah’s lips. “Drink,” he commanded, and trembling still, she obeyed. Haman looked on smugly, keeping his role of righteous indignation.
The priest took the barley meal out of Marah’s hands and poured it upon the altar where it burned. He turned back to them. “It is done. God will judge according to her sin or,” and he looked Marah over again, “her innocence.”
Haman did not need to drag her anymore. When the high priest and the servant had gone, he pushed her aside and swaggered out of the courtyard of the temple as though she did not exist. Marah stood bewildered for a moment looking after him. Anger began to burn in her breast. How dare he do this to me, she fumed. He punishes me for loving Jesse? She understood the curse. She was innocent. Slowly she walked out of the courtyard. She would show him she was innocent. The God Who Sees knew. She would not fear the curse of the bitter water. When nothing happened to her, all would know she had done nothing wrong. She covered her head with her mantle and walked with her head high.
Hannah listened in unbelief, her eyes wide with astonishment. Then astonishment turned to fury. “He did this to you? Knowing you are innocent? May God strike him down for the terrible thing he has done.”
“He was drunk, Hannah. I cannot be to him what he wants.” Marah put her face in her hands. “I still love Jesse. Oh Hannah, I will love him always.”
“‘Vengeance is mine, says the LORD, I will repay.’ Haman will pay for his actions, Marah, God will see to that.” She gave Marah a bowl of water to wash her face and embraced her gently.
“I must go, Hannah. Elon may have been hurt. I . . . I just needed to come here first.”
“I know. Go now, see to Elon.”
Marah hurried through the streets to her home. She knew Hannah would vindicate her if the women began to speak against her. The neighborhood was quiet. There was no one about. For once she was grateful for the heat of the day and the time of rest when shops were closed.
Elon sat quietly in the shade, leaning against the house. His countenance lifted at the sight of her. “You are not hurt, Daughter?”
“No. And you . . . are you all right?”
“I only feel badly that I was no help to you.” He looked down at the ground. “I am a useless old man, Daughter, of no help to anyone.”
Marah knelt by his side and put her arms around his thin shoulders. “You are worth everything to me, Father Elon. You cheer me when the evenings are long. Your company means much to me in these times. Caleb and I love you dearly.”
He patted her arm, somewhat mollified. “What is to become of this household, Daughter. Why would Haman do such a thing? Where did he take you?”
Marah hung her head and quietly told her father-in-law of the incident in the synagogue.
Elon was enraged. “He did that to you, child? My nephew has behaved badly.” He patted her arm again. “You shall not fear the curse, Daughter.”
“I don’t. The God Who Sees knows that I am innocent.” She looked toward the gate. “I fear Haman more. I do not know what he will do next. I fear for all of us.” She shook her head as she thought of Caleb when he found out what Haman had done.
34
Marah stood in the courtyard facing the two men who had appeared suddenly at her door. “We seek the home of Haman, factor for the caravans of Ahmal. Are you his wife?” Their manner was brusque.
“I am his wife. Why do you seek him?”
“He is here? We would speak with him.”
“He is not here, he has gone with a caravan. I do not know when he will return.” Marah felt apprehensive. What did they want with Haman?
One man stepped menacingly toward her. “She would protect him!”
The second man gave a warning look at his companion and spoke more kindly. “I am Manahath and this is my friend Zadok. We seek your husband on a matter concerning the death of my friend’s brother. Your husband fled to this city. We had to return home to bury our dead according to our customs. Now we have come to Shechem to have him account for himself and this deed.”
Marah stared at them with alarm. Haman involved in a man’s death? He fled to Shechem . . . a city of refuge? Why had he left with a caravan, or for that matter, why had he risked going outside of the city to help Jesse cut a tree? This didn’t make sense. She faced the men and drew herself up.
“I know nothing of this matter. My husband has not told us of these circumstances. None of his family know of this. He told me he had to leave with a short caravan on a matter for Ahmal. He left at dawn this morning.”
Manahath studied her face and appeared to believe she was telling the truth. “And can you tell me which direction the caravan was headed?”
She frowned. “Possibly Jezreel.” Until she knew the truth of this matter, she could not knowingly send them after Haman.
The man Zadok scowled at her but said no more.
“We will trouble you no longer. Thank you for speaking with us.” Manahath turned to his companion and motioned for them to leave.
As Marah stood looking after them, wondering what all this meant, Elon called to her from inside the house.
“Daughter, what did those men want?
Did you not offer them our hospitality?”
“They did not appear to wish to stay, Father Elon. They only wanted information.”
Elon leaned on his staff. “What sort of information?”
“About Haman. They believe he had something to do with the death of one man’s brother and they seek him. Father Elon, I believe they think Haman murdered the man and came to Shechem for refuge. I know he says he is the son of your brother Jemuel, but do we really know he is?” Marah spoke bitterly.
“The son of Jemuel a murderer? No . . . no!” Elon clutched his chest and swayed.
Marah caught him quickly. He was having one of his spells. His heart was weak. Why had she spoken so rashly? Now she eased him down to the ground and quickly handed him the dipper of water. He drank slowly and leaned against the house. His face was ashen, but slowly the color began to return.
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you. We do not know if any of these men’s accusations are true. I spoke foolishly.” She laid a cool cloth on his forehead.
He smiled wanly at her. “You didn’t mean it, Daughter.” He sighed deeply. “Is there anything we can be sure of these days?”
“I am sure Haman will explain all this when he returns. Perhaps they have the wrong man.”
“Yes, they must have the wrong man. I am sure it is all a mistake.” Elon stared off into the distance and nodded his head firmly.
Just then Caleb returned from Shiva’s shop. He helped his grandfather into the house and they washed their hands in the small basin. He sat down by his grandfather as Marah put their simple meal on the low table.
Haman had convinced Elon that he could handle the money from the sale of Jesse’s shop better by investing it for them. They had not seen much of it since. With Haman gone they had little for buying extra food items. Marah had flour to bake the bread but little else. Hannah always had extra vegetables to share with them when she came by. It took all Marah’s skill to prepare enough food to sustain an ailing father-in-law and a growing boy. She looked around at the gifts Haman had brought her over the past months. They would bring some money in the marketplace, yet she dared not risk Haman’s anger if they were missing.
Journey to the Well: A Novel Page 18
