Abraham and Sarah (38 page)

He paced the floor and finally, when he went to bed, slept fitfully until he dreamed.

The dream was so real and so threatening that in the early morning when he woke, Abimelech called together all of the palace officials. “I’ve had a dream,” he said. “If it’s true, I’m in great danger.”

“Tell us the dream,” one of the wise men urged, “and we’ll determine whether it’s true or not.”

“As I slept, during the fourth watch of the night, the great Creator God came to me and said these words, ‘You are a dead man, for that woman you took is married.’”

“Which woman?” his chief counselor asked.

“The woman said to be the sister of my friend Abraham,” he responded.

All the counselors and wise men began to talk among themselves, expressing amazement at this revelation. “Tell us everything,” one of the wise men said finally. “Leave out nothing, for this is indeed a strange matter.”

The king walked back and forth across the room in a highly agitated state. He stopped and fingered his beard as his eyes narrowed. “I explained to the God that if indeed she is his wife, both the woman and her husband had misled me. He told me that she was his sister, and she also said that he was her brother.”

Again there were expressions of astonishment and disbelief, each person asking questions but not waiting for an answer. One old man raised his hand and insisted they be quiet so they could hear what happened next.

Slowly the king lifted his head and looked around at them as though trying to read their reaction before he told them more. Satisfied that they were sympathetic, he continued, “Then the Lord said to me, ‘That is why I held you back from sinning against me and didn’t let you touch her. Now go and give her back to her husband, and he will pray for you and you will live. He is a prophet.’”

The king paused. He seemed too overcome with emotion to go on. Again the counselors and wise men whispered and discussed the problem. Finally one of them spoke. “And,” he said, “if you don’t give her back, what will happen?”

“He said that if I don’t give her back, I’m doomed to death along with all my household.”

Immediately there was a great uproar. No one could hear himself, let alone anyone else. Each man had an opinion of what the king should do. Some were ready to see Abraham punished; others wanted Sarah humiliated and driven from the court. One man gained the floor and in a loud voice demanded silence. “It’s obvious,” he said, “that this Abraham and his wife are somehow favored and protected by the gods. Whatever is done, these two must not be harmed.”

With this wise advice ringing in his ears, the king called Abraham to the palace to demand an explanation.

“Why have you done this vile thing to me? What have I done to deserve this? How could you even have thought of such a thing?” the king demanded.

Abraham was embarrassed and ashamed. “Well,” he stammered, “I assumed I was in a godless place. I thought you might be like those strong men who will kill a man if they want his wife. Sarah is my half sister, and we’ve agreed to call each other brother and sister lest we run into some trouble in foreign countries.”

Abimelech for the first time saw his friend as a man without a country. He saw that he had great wealth and knowledge but no strong protection other than this God he worshiped. This God was different from most gods. He was evidently ready to go to a great deal of trouble to help Abraham. He determined to ask Abraham more about his God.

He called his chief steward, “Bring my friend sheep and oxen and add servants, both men and women. When that is done, go to the court of the women and bring his wife and give her to him.”

When Sarah was brought into the long hall, she was apprehensive. She had been told only that the king had called for her. When she saw Abraham before the king’s throne, she expected the worst. With a great effort she stifled the impulse to run to Abraham. To her surprise she heard the king say to Abraham, “Look over my kingdom and choose any place you want to live.”

Then he motioned for her to come forward. “See, I’m giving your brother a thousand silver pieces to compensate for any damage or embarrassment. I want this matter settled between us.”

Though Sarah didn’t understand what was happening, she knew enough to realize that her ordeal in the king’s harem was over, and she could go home
with Abraham. She bowed down to the ground. The king came and raised her to her feet and handed her to Abraham. “Now,” he said, “justice has been done.”

Abraham thanked him and offered to pray that the king’s household would be cured of the curse of barrenness that had come upon them. The king promptly ordered his family and the whole court present to kneel, and then he knelt before Abraham. In the custom of the country, Abraham loosened his girdle, lifted the short kirtle or ephod he wore over his robe, and placed it over the head of the king. Then with one hand on the king’s head and the other raised, he prayed a simple prayer asking that the king and his people be cured.

News of Sarah’s miraculous release reached the house of Abraham long before he returned home. The wife and children of Eliazer led the servants and slaves with their children in a rousing welcome. Drums, reed pipes, and joyous yodels echoed up and down the street, spilled over the wall around the house and off the roof. When Sarah arrived, the women led her into the receiving room, all the time begging her to tell them everything about the king’s palace. Sarah was tired and exhausted. “Where are Ishmael and Hagar?” she asked, looking around the room.

“They are back in their tent beside the brook of Besor,” one of them said.

The thought flashed through Sarah’s mind that Abraham had put them there on purpose. He didn’t want the king to see Hagar, lest he take her too. Thinking of his concern for her handmaiden bothered her.

Later when she was alone with Abraham she begged him to take her back to their tent in the desert. “I’ve had enough of city life and palaces,” she said.

When they arrived back at their tent, a surprise was waiting for them. Hagar came out to meet them with news of Lot. “He’s come back with his daughters,” she said.

“He’s alive?” Abraham was overjoyed and ready to welcome him immediately.

“There’s something different about him,” she said.

“How different? What do you mean?” Abraham searched her face, trying to catch some hint of meaning.

Hagar shrugged and looked down as the toe of her doeskin sandal nervously dug in the sand. “Lot has grown old and his daughters are quarrelsome and jealous. They’re both pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Abraham was surprised. “They must have gotten married after all.”

“No, my lord,” Hagar said as she hesitated and then turned away, giving the impression that she didn’t want to answer more questions. Abraham noticed. He decided that whatever was embarrassing about their situation he would hear later. For now he intended to rejoice in Sarah’s return.

W
ith the weight of fear for Sarah’s safety lifted, Abraham was jubilant. Sarah noticed the lilt in his voice and the sparkle in his eye, and she was satisfied that Hagar had not taken her place after all. Perhaps tonight, she thought, if I’m favored by the Elohim, Laughter will be conceived. She loved calling him Laughter. To already have a name made it seem much more likely that a child would be born.

With her rescue from the court of Abimelech still fresh in her mind and the news that the Elohim had stricken the court with barrenness, her faith in the impossible had grown. Had there not been men who turned out to be angels and had she not been told, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”

She dismissed her maids and set a pot of incense burning. She pulled back the tent flaps, letting the full moon cast a soft radiance over the jars, chests, and cushions. She reached up and took down the brass mirror from the tent pole. “I don’t feel old,” she thought, “and I don’t really look old by moonlight.”

Like a young bride, she held her robe over the spiraling smoke from the incense. When it was permeated, she bent over the pot, holding fistfuls of her hair to catch the heady fragrance.

She could hear Abraham talking to his men on the other side of the tent. He spoke with such authority and dignity that men, important men, looked up to him and respected him and kings vied for his attention. She was amused and impressed by his serious demeanor, sharp wit, and austere bearing when he was with them. “But with me he is gentle and loving,” she whispered in secret delight.

She leaned back on her heels and let her hair fall loose around her shoulders. At least until Hagar came he had loved only her. Now she had the recurring fear that Hagar might hold some special place in his heart. Hagar had given him a son and that made all the difference. “Dear God,” she prayed, “let this be the night I finally conceive.”

Abraham was able to forget Lot for a night, but the next day he was confronted by the problem. “Lot is too embarrassed to come to you,” one of the servants reported.

“Is he well? Where’s he been? I must see him immediately,” Abraham spoke in clipped phrases, showing his frustration.

“My lord,” the man said, growing fearful, “he’s outside the camp with his daughters.”

“Where are his servants, his tents, and his flocks?”

“My lord,” the servant grew nervous, “he seems to have lost everything. Even his clothes are worn and ragged.”

Abraham could not imagine Lot in such a state. Lot, the man who had always been so proud and even arrogant. The man who dressed in the finest linen, had his beard trimmed, tinted, and perfumed every day, and boasted of his adherence to fine manners. “Show me where he is. It’s enough that he’s alive. I feared that I would never see him again.”

Abraham followed the servant through the camp, out to the tents of the shepherds. There, sitting outside one of the tents, was a man who looked faintly familiar. Abraham stopped and stared. It was indeed Lot. He was sitting hunched in an attitude of dejection. His clothes were threadbare, his feet shod with a country man’s sandals made of woven reeds. His hair was long and matted.

Abraham hesitated. He didn’t want to shame Lot in any way. It was obvious that Lot had been left with nothing. “Lot,” Abraham said as he came forward.

Lot looked up, startled. He squinted into the sun. His mouth fell open. Instead of getting to his feet and swaggering forward to embrace his uncle as he would have done in the past, he fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “My uncle,” he said, “for my daughters’ sakes, have mercy.”

Abraham reached down and lifted him to his feet. “Thanks to our God, you are safe. I was afraid I would never see you again.”

“How can you say, ‘Thanks to our God’? Your God brought about all this destruction. It’s mere chance that I escaped.”

“Not chance, Lot. All Sodom would have been spared if there had been ten righteous people in the city.”

“How do you know this? Who told you this?”

“The Elohim, he told me. He said, ‘Shall I not tell my friend Abraham this thing that I do?’”

“So then it was set. Fate decreed it; it was hopeless from the beginning.”

Abraham sadly shook his head. “No, Lot, not hopeless. I bargained with him. He agreed to spare Sodom if he could find even ten righteous people. In the end your family was the only one rescued.”

Lot was speechless. He studied his uncle, looking for some wavering in his conviction. When he found none, he began to sputter. “It would have been better for me had I died in Sodom,” he blubbered. “I have nothing. I’ve lost everything.”

“No, no,” Abraham protested. “It’s easy to replace things but impossible to replace family. Come, have something to eat. Let us get some clothes for you, and then I’ll hear your story.”

It was late in the day before Abraham was finally free to hear Lot’s story. Lot asked to bring his daughters and speak with his uncle alone. Though he was now well dressed and had been fed, he had not lost his demeanor of defeat. He sank down on the cushion opposite his uncle and motioned for his daughters to sit off to one side. “My uncle,” he said, “I’m grateful for your kindness. You may regret it when you’ve heard my story.”

“I know much of your story already. It’s tragic.”