Abraham and Sarah (7 page)

It was impossible for the God Abram trusted to save him. Nanna ruled in Ur, and Nanna was a jealous god who allowed no other gods. If Abram escaped, it would have to be by his own wits. His God didn’t have much power, didn’t control anything of practical, everyday worth. She had tested him. She had asked for a child, and nothing had happened.

From where she stood she could see a stirring by the campfire. Then Lot and his brother Iscah stood up and looked down the road. Sarai strained to see what, if anything, they could be seeing. Gradually two figures, riding hard, emerged out of the mist that hung low over the river. Identifying them was impossible. Sarai clutched the tent pole and bowed her head on her hands. She couldn’t bear to look. They must be messengers with bad news.

Lot began to run as soon as he recognized his uncle as one of the riders. “Abram!” he shouted. Sarai lifted her head and saw that it was indeed Abram. He was barely recognizable. His clothes were torn and bloodstained; his face was dust-blown and streaked. In his belt he carried a sword that was covered with dry, caked blood. Only his eyes were familiar, but they had lost their sparkle and looked out at the world with a new seriousness. Before she could
move he had jumped from his mule and hurried past Lot and Iscah to sweep her up in his arms.

She felt his arms tighten around her, and at the same time she felt a hard, cold object press into her side. Her hand reached for his and she realized he was wearing the ring. Haran’s ring. She buried her head in his shoulder and wept.

Only after Abram was sure Sarai was all right did he agree to answer questions. He explained that the cheese maker had known of a sheep gate where animals were brought for sacrifice, and it led out of the city. They had managed to escape through the gate and found two mules tethered just outside. They had not hesitated to claim the mules, knowing their owners were probably dead.

Reluctantly he told them of his search for Haran. But long before he was able to tell of his death, Milcah began to scream. She tore her hair, scratched her face until it bled, and pleaded over and over to be allowed to go back to Ur. “I won’t leave him to the vultures,” she wailed. “I won’t let the Elamites humiliate my father.”

All the while both Lot and Iscah blamed themselves for not forcing their father to leave the city. “We should have known. It was obvious the Elamites were bent on destroying Ur.”

Everyone was so upset by the news that no one took time to correct the brothers. No one reminded them of how difficult it had been to get them to leave. In the end they realized that no amount of grieving would bring Haran back, and two days later they sadly gathered up their things, ready to move on.

As usual, Sarai challenged Abram with questions. “Why,” she asked, “if your Elohim is so powerful could he not destroy the Elamites and save Haran? That would have convinced everyone that he was the strongest God. Everyone would have believed in Him.” She tossed her head and gave Abram a searching look.

Terah had traveled the trade routes since his youth, so he directed where they were to go now. There was no time to lose, no time for grief. In profound silence they headed up the well-known northbound route.

Within a fortnight they had covered the barren wasteland of Sumer and were edging around the affluent kingdom of Mari. A fortnight later they arrived at the confluence of the Euphrates and the Balikh. There they turned north and after a week had arrived at the city of Haran.

Terah was not well. At Haran the family determined that he was too tired and feeble to go on. They left their animals with caretakers in the grazing lands outside the city, then hurriedly crowded into whatever lodging was available. Abram and his family moved into an old stone fortress abandoned by a brigand who had become wealthy robbing caravans.

Bit by bit news of the destruction of Ur reached them. The Elamites had taken the king, Ibbi-Suen, into captivity, destroyed the lovely fountains and the intricate irrigation system, burned the almond trees, decimated the places of learning, and thrown out the clay tablets that recorded Ur’s splendid history. Gradually they accepted that Ur, the only city they had called home, was gone. With that realization, as well as grief for his son Haran and worry over what was to happen to his family, Terah became seriously ill. In a short time he died, and with his death new and fearful decisions had to be made.

“I hear Abram’s planning on leaving Haran,” Urim’s wife, Safra, said as her husband came into the courtyard with his cart and unsold cheeses. “He must be going back to Ur.”

Urim was immediately interested. “He can’t go back to Ur. They say the Elamites have totally destroyed it.”

“Then where’s he going?”

“They say he’s breaking up the family. Nahor is terribly upset about it. He also accuses Abram of not honoring the old family gods.”

Safra looked doubtful, “I know Terah made a show of worshiping Nanna. Even brought some fancy idols with him from Ur.”

“You’re right, but Abram’s against those gods … even the family gods.”

Safra was squatting in the middle of the courtyard, plucking the feathers from several pigeons they would eat that evening. She squinted into the bright sunlight as she glanced up. “It’s strange,” she said, “very strange. And hard to believe.” Her words hung between them like vultures while she studied his face.

“Strange? What do you mean? What have you heard?”

“Lot’s wife says Abram’s been told to leave Haran and he’s been promised land and blessings.”

Urim shrugged. “Fortune-tellers say such things.”

“It wasn’t a fortune-teller.” She looked up and saw that her little serving girl was listening. She motioned for Urim to bend down so she could whisper, “It’s his God, the Elohim he worships. He’s the one they say told him.”

Urim drew back and stared at his wife in disbelief. “That’s just women’s talk. That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” she said. “He’s to have descendants as the stars.” She looked up in time to see the amused expression on Urim’s face. She shrugged and went back to plucking one of the birds. “Well,” she added, “that’s what they say.”

Urim strutted around the courtyard, his eyes half closed in thought. After walking back and forth several times, he came over to his wife and demanded, “To be given land and descendants? What kind of foolishness is this? Where would he go? His family is here. No one gives anybody land, and as for descendants … he doesn’t even have one child.”

“I know. That’s what we all thought. That’s what’s so strange.”

Urim stood in the middle of the courtyard, feet wide apart, mind calculating as he rubbed his chin. “Well, I’ll tell you what I think. I think all this trouble has left him a bit addled. At least we must admit he’s gone to dreaming.” With that pronouncement, Urim started toward the door leading out of the courtyard, then turned back. “And Abram’s wife … what does that fancy wife of his think?”

“She’s spunky.” Safra held the pigeon suspended in midair as she carefully examined it. “She says she’s not going.”

Urim laughed as he snatched up the water jug, drank from the spout, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “That should be interesting. I’ve heard she always gets her way.”

Safra dropped the pigeon in the stone pot and looked up. “We’re all waiting to see what happens.”

Urim watched her pick up the second pigeon and begin to idly pluck the feathers. “And Nahor, his brother Nahor, is he going too?”

“No, Nahor thinks he’s making a big mistake.”

“Who told you all this?”

Safra hesitated as though not wanting to trust him with the information. Then thinking better of it, she said, “Nahor’s wife, Milcah. She’s never gotten over her father’s death.”

Urim again picked up the jug and tipped it ready to drink. “So Nahor’s not going. That’s serious. Abram’s breaking up the family.”

Safra seemed not to hear him. “I wish I were going someplace,” she said wistfully.

Urim set the jug down so hard that it almost cracked. “That’s the trouble with men like Abram. They make people discontent with where they are and what they’re doing.” Then he muttered, “Myself included.”

At that very moment Lot was making his way with his uncle Nahor to the house of Abram. Lot knew that Nahor was alarmed. He had been upset for a long time, but now everything was coming to a head.

As the older brother, for Abram to leave and split up the family was unthinkable. As a little boy, Lot had often heard Terah say, “Families have to stick together to succeed.” Everyone seemed to know that.

Another steadfast rule was to never leave the graves of your people. Terah had died and was buried here in Haran, and that meant the family should stay in this place. Lot could see that the confrontation would be bitter. He viewed it as ominous but exciting. He didn’t know which side he would take. To stay with Nahor in Haran was safe, but with Abram, life would always be an adventure.

Although Lot admired and respected Abram, Nahor fascinated him. He could see in the pursing of the lips and slight squinting of the eyes just a hint of the crafty, sly nature Nahor was reputed to have. Nahor was unequaled at making a bargain, but openly admitted being void of the integrity and rectitude of Abram. He counted it an advantage that some of their customers tended to steer clear of him and asked to deal with Abram instead. “As a family we complement each other,” he would say with a smirk and slight nod of the head.

Lot suspected that the furor over Sarai’s rescue and then the destruction of the idols, rather than his uncle Haran’s death or the invasion by the Elamites, hastened Terah’s death. It was whispered among those who knew the family well that after these scandals, Terah never regained his strength. In time, Abram no longer mentioned the unfortunate confrontations, and everyone in the family agreed that the episodes should be forgotten as soon as possible.

There had been a time when Abram talked as though they would continue in the trading business. “We’ll stay here in Haran until Terah recovers,” he said. “It’s the junction of a rich caravan route between Nineveh and Carchemish. It may prove better for trade than Ur.”

From that and other statements, Lot assumed that when the time of mourning for Terah was over, they would resume the trading business, and things would get better. Though Nahor raised sheep and owned land, it was the trading business that really interested him. But could the younger brother manage without Abram?

The two men found Abram on the roof of his rambling stone fortress. It was strong and practical but lacking in the niceties that had characterized the house in Ur. Abram rose and embraced his brother and then Lot. He greeted them heartily and urged them to relax among the cushions under the palm leaf shelter. “As you can see,” he said, “I’m getting supplies ready for our journey.” He motioned to the piles of grain, dried figs, jars of oil, and skins bursting with ripe dates.

“Then you are serious?” Nahor said, looking around in astonishment.

“Yes, of course. I never intended to stay here.”

Nahor’s expression showed obvious displeasure. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Trading will go better here than in Ur. There are routes to Mari, Nineveh, Damascus, and even Egypt.”

“It’s not that I don’t see the opportunity. We could do well here. I’m just not interested anymore,” Abram replied.

Nahor stroked his chin; his eyes narrowed as he studied his brother for a moment. “It’s that same old thing. The idols—you don’t want to make and sell idols.”

Abram grew serious. There had been too many discussions with his father and brothers about the idols. He didn’t want to repeat any of that now. “It’s more than that. Of course, it started with the idols, but now it is more—much more.”

Nahor was leaning forward. “You’re not still thinking about the old religion and the God Elohim, as you call him? You’re too practical, too smart, to get carried away by that sort of thing.”

Abram didn’t answer right away but sat fingering the fringe on his cloak as he looked out at the stars through the dried fronds of palm that formed the roof of the pavilion. “Don’t you ever wonder where all this came from? Aren’t you curious? There are fixed stars that never move, and there are others that parade in an orderly fashion across the sky.”

Lot could see that Nahor didn’t want to discuss the stars. Nahor’s opinion all along had been that most of their problems started when Abram had taken
an interest in the stars and commenced sitting with some of the old astronomers in Ur.

Lot looked at Abram with concern. The face was strong and handsome, the nose large and the mouth generous, but it was his eyes that made the difference. His eyes were wide and questioning. Intelligent eyes that seemed to see more than others and yet sparkled with enjoyment at a well-turned joke.

There was an eagerness about him, an inquisitiveness that made him stop and ask questions about what seemed to be simple matters. He was always seeing things from a different angle or perspective. Lot suddenly realized that for all of his admiration of his uncle Abram, he himself was more practical like Nahor.

“I am not here to argue about what happened to Sarai or to bother you about the idols,” Nahor said. “I’m here to remind you that we are family, and family ties can’t be broken.”