And Aaron hurled the trunk into the salt stream,
Unbelieving. ‘Now,’ said Moses, ‘let them drink.
Let them at least taste it.’ Some tasted,
With sour faces of unbelief, then, believing, drank,
The wonder of thirst satisfied occluding
Simple wonder. Joshua, Caleb, others policed
The thirsty, screeching their joy, while Aaron said:
‘How much longer will they have to be given miracles?
They cry like babies, expecting the breast
Always ready to be bared to them.’ But Moses:
‘They must be led easily. Easily.
They have to be weaned into freedom.’ And the water
Bubbled in preternatural clarity and sweetness,
In potability, never-ending, and Dathan grinned,
Sleek with water, in forgiveness. ‘Weaned, weaned.’
So the weeks passed, the days notched by Moses,
And the Sabbath observed, though not clearly understood,
With the cries of water water renewed, the journey
Upwards, over rocky land, the old and sick faltering,
The young learning to help the old and sick,
And Moses as weary as any, showing his age,
Till at last they reached a summit of rock and looked down,
And Joshua opened his mouth in joy and a cry:
‘Elim?’ They looked. Mountain beyond, but below
Springs, tamarind, palm, green grass like a
Torrent of emeralds. ‘This,’ said Aaron, ‘this
Is the true miracle.’ So they descended and encamped,
Some thinking that this was already the promised land,
The sheep and cattle going hungrily to grass,
The young bathing, playing in the springs,
The hungry eating dates from the date-palms,
Sheltering under the palms. ‘The promised land?’
But Moses smiled and shook his head. At night,
Under the incredible heaven, the flute sounded,
The drum, the harp, there was song and dance,
And Moses, walking, came across love in the shadows,
A couple starting guiltily as the shadow
Of Moses came upon them, Moses saying,
Gently, always gently: ‘You, my brother,
I do not know. The woman I think I know. Sister,
Are you not the wife of Eliphaz?’ She nodded,
Dumbly, and the man was ready to speak, truculent.
‘Eliphaz’, said Moses, ‘is old, near-blind.
He is content to play with his children, yours.
Youth is drawn to youth and to the
Lusty pleasures of the bed. I know, I know.
But it is a sinful bed.’ The man replied,
Truculent: ‘There is no sin in pleasure.’
‘Nor’, said Moses, ‘should there be pleasure in sin.
For good or ill, a family should not be broken.
Your husband, sister, if he knew, could
Rightly put you away. And the children would grieve,
Lacking their mother. It is a bad business.’
The woman spoke. ‘He knows nothing. We have been careful.’ –
‘Not careful enough’, said Moses, ‘to prevent my knowing.
If I know, others know. He will know. Soon, if not yet.
We face the hard task of building a nation.
The bricks of that edifice are the families.
If the families crack the whole structure totters.’
The man said: ‘We are a very small crack. In a
Very small brick.’ But Moses: ‘Never think of yourself
As an exception that makes no difference to the whole.
For why should not everyone, if he so desires,
Be an exception? Only God is above the law.
But God works through the law. You, my children,
Are breaking the law.’ The woman said: ‘What will you do?’
And Moses: ‘I have done all that I wish to do.
For the moment. But remember – in your bed
Another lies, a third. He parted the waters.
He killed the masters who enslaved you. And already
You destroy what he bids you build.’ And so he left them.
The woman said to the man: ‘Does he have a wife?’ –
‘He’s old’, said the man. ‘He’s beyond passion. Love.’
And so they fell once more to their embrace,
But she started, uneasy, thinking she heard
One of the children crying, and though he tried
To imprison her once more in his embrace,
She resisted, rose and left him. In an embrace
Wholly sanctified, Aaron and Eliseba,
She of the smooth brow and sweet tongue, lay,
Quiet after love, the children sleeping,
Fruit in a bowl, water in a pitcher near by,
And Eliseba said: ‘Why then not here? Here
Is everything.’ But Aaron said: ‘Because the promise
Is to be fulfilled elsewhere, not here. Simple,
Simple as that.’ But she: ‘Will we live to see it?’ –
‘If by we’, said Aaron, ‘you mean our people –
Yes, I believe so. If by we you mean yourself,
Myself – I am not sure. But I believe our children
Will see it.’ She said: ‘We could settle here
Very comfortably. Fine pastures. Much water.
The whole place laughs and rings with water.’ He:
‘No. We have to have more than a mere oasis.
We have to build a city, build a temple.’ – ‘Have to?’ –
‘Have to, yes. Call it the fate of a nation.’
She mocked gently, smiling: ‘Those big words.’
Aaron said: ‘I do not, I think, believe
There is anything after this life. We die alone
And go alone into the dark. Us – you, me,
Each and all of the others. But all of us
Made into a nation – that is different. Here is a
Man called Aaron and a woman called Eliseba.
There is a new kind of human being we call Israel.’ –
‘And where’ she asked, ‘is this new kind of human being?’
‘Trudging through the desert,’ Aaron answered,
‘Seeking the appointed place. And still being made.
It is a formless lump so far – it has to be moulded,
Kneaded, like bread. But when it is made,
This new being, when it lives and breathes and follows
The laws that sustain it, there will be no end to it.’
She thought and said: ‘There have been others, nations.
They died. You told me once that Egypt is dying.’
Aaron said: ‘We are different. We cannot die,
Because, for the first time, the nation will not be
Greater than the smallest within it. It will live for ever
While men and women will dies, but it will not live
By eating the flesh of those within it. Not like Egypt.
Do you understand?’ She grimaced, saying: ‘No.
We had better sleep. Did he tell you all this?’ –
‘Some of it,’ Aaron said. ‘Some of it
I worked out for myself.’ She said: ‘Poor Moses.
Alone. No wife. No children. Does he even know
If they are still alive?’ Aaron said: ‘He does not doubt it.
Nor do I doubt it. They will be there, waiting,
Under Mount Horeb. That,’ he smiled, ‘is one reason
Why we hurry. Why we leave early tomorrow.’
But so many left with regret, some weeping,
Some loud in anger at once more engaging the desert,
When here were date-palms and springs and rest and pasture.
Soon hunger and thirst, under that metal sky,
&n
bsp; Sand and sand and sand beneath, raised voices:
Good fish and meat and bread, onions, garlic,
In Egypt, Egypt. Why did you take us from Egypt?
We were happy there. And some spoke of the oasis
As a home they were wrenched from, till Moses rose and cried:
‘Will you never cease to complain? Why God chose you
From all the peoples of the earth I do not know,
Will never understand. Did you not have your chance
To fill your store-bags in the oasis of Elim?
You were careless, wasteful, improvident. Ill-disciplined,
Selfish, totally ungrateful. You say you lack bread.
You say you lack meat. Well, believe me –
You shall have flesh to eat this evening and
In the morning bread to the full. You have the
Lord’s promise, through me, that this will be so.
And now you smile, changing the set of the face
Like a child that howls to be picked up and then sees
Its mother come running. Ah, I am sick of you’,
Seeing the petulant, scolded children’s faces,
Adding: ‘But, God help me, you are all I have.’
But there was no petulance, only relief and wonder
When, at nightfall, a monstrous cloud of quails
Was thrown out of the sky. Joshua, Caleb,
The provident young, schooled by foreknowing Moses,
Were ready with the nets they had improvised,
And they caught the quails, and the quails were spitted
And roasted and eaten – another miracle,
And they were ready, picking the bones, to grow used to miracles.
Miriam said to Moses: ‘You take credit for
A miracle when there is none. You told me
About the migration of quails when we were in Pithom
And I was scrubbing the dirt off you.’ Moses smiled.
‘I never take credit for miracles. Yes, the quails.
They rest at night in the scrublands. They are easily caught.
A miracle, I suppose, is the thing we need
Happening when we need it. I suppose now
They would like bread to sop up the drippings.’ –
‘Will they get their bread?’ she asked, and Moses said:
‘I said in the morning. I did not say which morning.
Have you heard of manna?’ – ‘Bread’, she said, ‘from heaven.’ –
‘True, it comes from heaven, even when it is the
Resin that falls from the tamarisk tree. I have tasted it.
It is blown by strong wind, lying like a gift on the ground.
A fine flakelike thing, fine as hoarfrost,
White as coriander weed, and the taste of it
Is the taste of wafers made with honey.’ She smiled.
‘A poem?’ – ‘A song’, he said, ‘sung by Jethro.
He taught me the song and I sang it to Zipporah.
I sang it about the body of Zipporah.’ –
‘How soon’ she asked, ‘shall I meet her? And see Ghersom?’
‘Oh,’ he answered, ‘there will be more days of grumbling
And days of short-lasting joy. And, God help us,
There will be a time of bloodshed.’ He brooded, but she
Asked no question. He, brooding, looking into the fire,
Saw enough blood in it. But one thing at a time,
For soon the tamarisk resin came blowing in, another miracle,
So many miracles, bread from heaven: they crammed their mouths,
Their baskets. There seemed no end to it, soon
No urgency in the gathering: it was always there.
But one day a family was manna-gathering blithely
And Caleb came to them, stern, to say: ‘Come.
You must come with me. And bring your baskets.’
‘What is this?’ said the father. ‘Why? Who are you?’ –
‘My name is Caleb, not that it matters. You,
Do you know the law of the Sabbath?’ – ‘What law? What Sabbath?’
The elders, sitting in judgment, were patient enough.
‘The law’, said the presiding magistrate,
‘Has been clearly laid down. The Sabbath is for rest,
For thinking of the Lord’s justice and goodness.
No journeying – so it is enjoined. No work.’ But the father,
Spluttering, indignant, said: ‘But we were hungry.
We were not working. We were gathering food.’ –
‘You must have your food ready on the eve of the Sabbath.
We make no distinction between kinds of work.
Shear the sheep, mend a tent, gather food –
It is all work, and it all fills time that should be filled
With the contemplation of the Lord. Work must not defile
The Sabbath of the Lord.’ – ‘Mad, it’s madness!’ –
‘Oh, can you not see’, the chief elder said, ‘can you not – ’
But Aaron, silently arriving, completed the sentence
And added more: ‘Can you not see, you fool,
That if God rested from his work on the seventh day
Then man, made in God’s image, must rest too?
That only to slaves is every day the same –
Toil, toil and again toil? That man, God’s image,
Is not just toiling flesh but contemplative mind,
And for contemplation there must be leisure?
That leisure must not come capriciously,
Irregular, but in a known rhythm?
That leisure must be total?’ And the elder added:
‘Thus saith the Lord. Have you, friend,
Anything now to say?’ And the man mumbled that he was
Sorry. ‘This is a first offence? Very well, then:
Discharged with a solemn warning. And, ah yes –
Go hungry till tomorrow.’ The father, mother,
Children looked glum at that. But Aaron smiled,
Saying: ‘Tomorrow begins at sunset today.’
So they smiled and got them gone. The rule was mild
In those early days of the journey, the children of Israel
Truly children in the knowledge of the blessing of freedom,
The harshness of freedom. The blessing would be long delayed
In the eyes of the many, but the harshness they had known
Was nothing to what was to come: it was coming.
9
THE MOUNTAIN
They struggled through the wilderness of Rephidim,
Where there was no bounty of quails or manna,
And soon, with their bags and water-flasks long empty,
They yet found strength to stone Moses, stone him,
For there was no shortage of rock. Aaron, Joshua, Caleb,
Even Miriam were swift to protect him,
The whole tribe of Levi, stronger-hearted than the rest,
Was a jagged fortress about him, but even there
Despair rose and the old cry of water water.
He could only raise his face to the burning sky
And cry: ‘What shall I do with this people?
Tell me, what shall I do?’ The answering voice,
His own voice, was angry and strident, saying:
‘Stride forth to the rocks. Strike the rocks
With your rod. They shall have their fill of water,
My thirsty people.’ So he struck and struck,
Rock after rock after rock, and it gushed out,
Silver water, and bellies and vessels were filled with it.
There was little gratitude: miracles were their due.
And Dathan was even ready to doubt the miracle,
Saying to his cronies: ‘See. Anyone can do it.’
He smote the rock with his cudgel, saying: ‘See.’
And water trickled forth. ‘Porous, you see.
Th
is rock holds rain like a sponge. You hit it,
No more. The Lord God, indeed.
Cunning, cleverness. Anyone could have thought of it.’
So they went about, hitting out trickles. The Lord, indeed.
It seemed certain to many that the Lord was not with them,
Never more so than when, one night among rocks,
The night fires burning out, on the verge of the encampment
Rods struck, knives struck, rocks rained,
And where there had been night quiet was shrieking,
Cursing, bellowing, bleating, and the
Laugh of triumph in a strange tongue. A raid,
With the carrying off of cattle and women,
Men lying brained in the sick dawn. Moses saw
And said: ‘The Amelekites. This is their territory.’
Joshua cursed: ‘We are weak. We have no weapons,
None except these wretched arrows and bows.
I always said we should be ready for this.’
A tremulous elder kept saying: ‘It is the Sabbath.
By my computation it is the Sabbath.
We need a ruling. Do we fight on the Sabbath?’
And Moses: ‘Oh, yes. We fight on the Sabbath.’
Aaron looked on the crude weapons
Joshua had made, Joshua and some of the other,
And said: ‘When did you make these?’ Joshua answered:
‘In my leisure hours, such as they are, and, of course, on the Sabbath.
There was nothing else to do except contemplate God,
And this, surely, does not count as work?’ There was silence,
A rather embarrassed silence. A young man named Koreh
Broke it by saying: ‘I have no experience of war,
Nor have any of us. Slaves are not warriors.
But I think I could suggest a simple strategy.’
Moses said: ‘We are listening.’ So they listened.
When the next night raid came they were ready with
Lambs laid out as decoys, temptingly bleating,
And, when the Amalekites appeared, Joshua and his
Warriors rushed out of the rocks with rocks and arrows
And killed and put to flight, killing with daggers
Dropped by the put to flight. ‘Next time,’ Koreh said,
‘It will not be a little matter of a night raid.’
Nor was it. When, in strengthening light,
The Israelites, with goods and flocks and cattle,
Were ready at the mountain foot for the march,
Hidden among boulders on a high slope Moses stood,
With Aaron and Koreh, watching. He watched and saw,
In dust, the entire tribe of the Amalekites
Approaching in the distance. He raised his staff.
Collected Poems Page 18
