Abraham and Sarah (19 page)

She sat up, pulled the fine linen covering over her shoulders, and looked around. The room was large and ornate. It reminded her of the decorated and
pillared rooms of the villa. The smell of jasmine was in the air, though it wasn’t yet time for flowers to bloom.

A face appeared at a latticed window, smiled, and then disappeared. Within moments Sarai could hear the quick padding of feet along the corridor, a bolt unlatched, and the same smiling eyes peeped around the door. She couldn’t understand what the young woman said, but she handed Sarai a bowl of steaming barley gruel then smiled again and disappeared.

I like this, Sarai thought, and it can’t hurt for Abram to worry about me just a little. We’ll laugh about it later.

She idly sipped the hot gruel and wondered what could make it taste so good. She set the bowl down and shivered as she hugged her knees.

Outside her door were new noises. Slaves shouting to each other. Bare feet hitting firmly on the baked tiles as someone ran by, breathing hard. There was a distant clanging of cymbals and chanting as though some morning ritual were being carried out. A baby cried and some small children stopped quarreling as they heard shouted instructions from the outer courtyard.

Those sounds were normal. It was the other sound that finally got Sarai up from the pallet. She shivered in the clear, cold air and hurried out into the sunshine where it was warm. Her feet moved to a sun-drenched spot where she could feel the warmth of the tiles.

There was the sound again, a clanking sound, a sound of brass on stone. She looked around and saw the reason for the noise. It came from the corner of the courtyard where there appeared to be a crumpled mass of rags. Suddenly the crumpled mass stretched, came alive, and developed large round eyes, a pointed chin, and full, pouting lips; unbelievably dirty hair snaked down over the creature’s eyes. It took a moment for Sarai to realize that she was seeing a very young woman whose feet were chained to the stone wall. She had heard the chains. The young woman was making the noise on purpose just to annoy someone.

Sarai was about to leave when she noticed that the girl’s eyes seemed to be following her. “Who are you?” Sarai called impulsively, moving a bit closer to get a better look.

At first the girl didn’t speak but turned away with a toss of her head. Then as Sarai came closer, she ducked her head and looked out at her from behind the strands of her hair with tormented eyes. She seemed to be studying Sarai.
“You’re not Egyptian,” the creature said finally in a surprisingly mellow voice that belied her appearance.

“No, I’m not Egyptian, but I can tell that you are. What is your name?” Sarai said, coming a bit closer.

“Where are you from?” The girl seemed for the moment to be slightly interested but unwilling to give her name.

Sarai knew that to give your name was to give someone control over you. People could write charms or curse you if they knew your name. “I’m from Ur on the Euphrates River. It’s a long way from here.”

For a momen, there was silence as the two just looked at each other then the girl said, “I wish I could be anyplace but here, even in Ur.”

Sarai sighed. “Oh, my dear, you don’t want to wish for such a thing. Ur has been totally destroyed. I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been so completely destroyed.” Sarai’s bright countenance clouded and tears came to her eyes.

Seeing the tears, the girl melted and relaxed. She brushed her hair back from her eyes and then, holding it with one hand while she got a good look at Sarai, she said, “My name is Hagar. It used to be Hajar Gameela, but now it’s just Hagar.”

Sarai saw that there had been a slight breakthrough. This creature was a young woman who must have been quite pretty before this tragedy struck. She squatted down beside her and spoke softly, “My name is Sarai.”

They studied each other for a long moment. They realized that they were from very different backgrounds, and it was obvious there was a wide age difference. Their accents were foreign and some of the words different, but they could understand each other enough to know that both were in trouble and both had suffered. Sarai was so choked up remembering Ur that she couldn’t say any more, and Hagar had been so isolated that she had almost forgotten how to carry on a conversation. Nothing more was said, but each knew that a bond had been formed and each had a loyal friend in the other.

From that day on, Sarai took every opportunity to talk to Hagar. She even managed to save some of the fruits and rich food to take to her after everyone else was asleep. In the dark of the moon and then again when the courtyard was flooded with light of the full moon, Sarai faithfully made her way out to the far side of the courtyard to check on Hagar. She found her an eager listener and could depend on her to explain the customs of these people whose ways were so alien to her own.

It was Hagar who explained to Sarai the position of honor she had been put in by being chosen for marriage to Pharaoh. She also warned her that to object in any way could mean death for both Sarai and her brother. After Sarai knew Hagar well and saw that she could be trusted, Sarai confided in her that she wasn’t only Abram’s sister but was also his wife, though they had no children. Hagar was shocked and then afraid. Slowly she began to understand and then explained to Sarai the dangerous situation she was in. “They will think you are making light of Pharaoh’s generosity,” she said. “Then when he finds out that you have been married all these years and have borne no child, he will fear you have had an evil spell cast on you. They could kill you as an evil enchantress.”

“I have been promised a child,” Sarai said as she struggled to keep back the tears.

It was evident that the subject was delicate and painful for Sarai. Hagar looked at her in amazement. How could she be so naïve as to think she and her husband could trifle with Pharaoh’s affections and not pay a terrible price? They had stumbled into the deception rather innocently, but certainly they must have known such trifling with a pharaoh’s goodwill would not go unpunished. “What are you going to do?” Hagar asked, her eyes glowing with intensity even in the darkness.

“I don’t know. I keep hoping Abram will think of something. I know he is praying.”

Hagar asked, “To whom does he pray?”

“The living God, Elohim, the Creator God who has made many promises to him.”

“Don’t trust the gods. None of them can be depended on when you’re in trouble. I threw mine away. She didn’t help me.”

“I must admit I don’t depend much on Abram’s God. He’s not done any of the things He promised, but Abram believes.”

“At the most you’ll have only six or seven months until you’re called. I hope your Abram’s prayers work stronger magic than mine.”

Sarai wanted to explain that it wasn’t magic Abram depended on, but she couldn’t think how to explain. She’d never had to depend on it herself. She’d always depended on Abram. Now she realized she was depending on Abram’s wits to rescue her, but if it was as difficult as Hagar seemed to think, then maybe Abram’s God would have to come out of hiding and help.

It was cold. Sarai put her shawl around Hagar and then without a word slipped silent as a shadow along the wall and back to her room. For the first time she was genuinely frightened. She had seen by Hagar’s reaction that her situation was serious and fearful. It hadn’t occurred to her that if Pharaoh found out she was married and childless, he would indeed think she was some evil thing.

A great feeling of bitterness welled up within her. Here it was again—she was to be an outcast because she was childless. It would be as though she were a leper, unclean. A person with the evil eye. Cold, icy fear choked her, and she found herself gasping for breath and sobbing. Lest the old woman who slept at her door wake up, she stuffed part of her carefully pleated skirt into her mouth and bit down hard. She couldn’t imagine how she could spend another day, another hour, in this place knowing what she knew and realizing that if she weren’t rescued soon, the secret could leak out and her fate would be sealed.

In the meantime, Abram was getting more deeply involved with Pharaoh and his court officials. Although the pharaoh was formal and austere during the day, in the evening he dropped the mantle of the god Horus and became a man who could sit with other men and discuss the affairs of the world.

Abram had learned much of Amenemhet’s daily routine. He knew that he rose at dawn, went into his private chapel called the House of the Morning, and bathed. At the same time it was believed the sun god Re was bathing in the ocean of heaven, and together they restored the vital force that flowed out with peace, prosperity, and health upon the two lands.

Then his special priests, wearing masks of Horus and the ibis-headed Thoth, anointed and clothed him, placing around his neck the royal insignia. Thus clothed in the garments of Re and Horus, he went to the temple for a ceremony that would make meaningful all the other ceremonies that would soon be celebrated in other temples throughout the land.

All must be finished at sunrise, for at the same time in the temples up and down the Nile, the same ritual was being carried out. The seals of the holy place were broken, the idol brought out and bathed, anointed, and dressed, ready for the first bright ray of the sun to travel down the dark avenue between the lotus columns to shine for a moment on its face. However, the idol
was nothing without the pharaoh. Pharaoh, now the god Horus, maintained maat, the stability of the world.

The procedures seemed strange to Abram, but he was well aware that during the day, Pharaoh with his crook and flail and the royal garments did indeed seem to be a different man from the one who sat with them in the evening or went in to his wives and concubines like any other man.

Always during these times, Abram struggled to be pleasant and affable, but his heart sank as he began to fully realize the enormity of his offense against this powerful ruler. He did everything possible to please Amenemhet.

He went with him up the Nile to Abydos, Egypt’s most holy place. There he watched the ritual enactment of the death and restoration of the god Osiris. On several occasions he came back to this same place with Nakht, the chief steward, to check the progress of the elaborate cenotaph Pharaoh was having built to honor his ancestors.

One day after visiting in the palace, Abram stopped as usual at the guardhouse. He always found the guards bored and talkative. They told him news and rehearsed interesting stories of life in the villages where they had grown up. On this occasion they were discussing in hushed tones the coming ceremony, when the Nile would be given a bride. When Abram asked its meaning, they looked at each other and changed the subject.

Only after the others left did the captain agree to explain everything to Abram. “You see, it has to do with maat, the order of things. We believe that if maat breaks down in one area, it will affect all others.”

Abram had struggled to understand the Egyptian concept of maat. It was something every Egyptian believed in and would go to any extent to preserve. He saw that it involved harmony or balance and was chiefly the pharaoh’s responsibility. There seemed to be certain things he had to do to make the sun rise, the Nile flood, and the plants grow.

“And maat is endangered?” Abram asked.

The captain was uncomfortable discussing the subject, but after some pressure, he said, “We have had rumors for some time that there have been no children born in the palace. Now we hear there have been no sacred cats born in the temple at Bast and no bulls at Saqqara. We are afraid that the Nile will also fail us. Pharaoh and the priests must stop the destruction of maat. A bride for the Nile is a last resort.”

Abram could get the man to say no more, but he decided to accept the
invitation and see for himself what it took to restore maat. When the day finally arrived, he stood with Pharaoh’s priests on the banks of the Nile and watched in astonishment as they enacted the age-old ceremony that was supposed to make the Nile’s waters rise and flood.

At last he saw the bride of the Nile that he had heard so much about. She was young, beautiful, and supposedly delirious with joy at being chosen. He later wondered if she had not been given the same drug used in Ur for such religious ceremonies. Ergot, they called it.

Accompanied by drummers and dancers, she was led to the river’s edge where she danced in the midst of the chanting priests with a wild, frenzied abandon that ended when the priests raised her above their heads and cast her into the dark water. She could be seen for a moment, her golden headpiece flashing in the sun, her arms upraised, and then she disappeared. “Hapi, great god of the Nile, has accepted her,” the priests shouted and the celebration took on new excitement.

Later Abram was invited to go with Pharaoh’s special advisors as they watched for the dog star, Sirius, to appear on the horizon. It was the signal for the yearly rising of the Nile. It also brought in the time of secret fertility rites and the release of inhibitions as people, led by the priests, worshiped the gods of fecundity. This year they were taken more seriously because the fertility of the whole country seemed to be at stake.