Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (3 page)

“I know all about such ‘liking,’” said Qira. “You’re all set to keep him in your dreams, I know it from the way you talk!”

“The servant of Asherah has only such dreams as the goddess might send.”

“You aren’t bound over to Asherah’s service yet.”

“I’ll help you put on the scarlet dress,” said Sarai.

“You know I’m right. That’s why you change the subject.”

“I know that the uncle is waiting, and Father is impatient to show you off to him.”

“Ten years old, but you have a woman’s heart.”

“It would do me no good to love him,” said Sarai. “You know that if one who is intended for Asherah should turn away and marry a man, the goddess will never give her children as long as she lives.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Qira. “They say such things to keep temple-bound girls from wishing for a wedding. But who knows if it is true?”

“I don’t intend to find out,” said Sarai.

“And yet you
will
dream.” Qira began to hum and sing a wordless melody as she held out the voluminous skirt of the scarlet dress and turned and turned.

Sarai could not help laughing. “You are such a foolish child,” she said.

“The ten-year-old says this to her almost-married sister?”

“
You’re
a dreamer,” said Sarai. “So you think everyone dreams.”

“You’re telling me you don’t? I won’t believe it.”

“I’m a very practical person,” said Sarai. “I keep my hands busy with work. I keep my thoughts on what my hands are doing.”

“And you speak nonsense all day long.”

“Come now,” said Sarai. “Father’s waiting.”

“Down to earth,” said Qira. “Practical. Handy. What a sturdy wife you’d make for a desert man.”

“Don’t say any such thing in front of him,” said Sarai, suddenly angry. “Don’t you dare shame me like a little child who has no feelings!”

“But you
are
a little child,” Qira teased. “And you just said that you had no feelings for this desert uncle.”

The fury in Sarai’s face would have been frightening, if she were not so small. “If you mock me in front of him I will never forgive you!”

“I do what I want,” said Qira, and she flounced on out of the room, Sarai scampering furiously at her heels.

* * *

Sarai knew that Qira would do it, and she also knew that getting mad at Qira would only make it worse, but it’s not like you could stop being angry; it just filled you up and you couldn’t think about anything else until you either used up the anger or something else happened to take your mind off it. And Sarai meant what she had said. It was silly of her to care what this desert man thought of her, but she did care, and even though she knew he was only teasing when he spoke of returning someday to marry her, she could not bear the idea of being made ridiculous in his eyes. For he alone of all adults had treated her, not as some sacred godbound object to be reverenced, and not as some little toy human to be petted and chuckled at and then ignored or sent away, but rather as a person worth talking to.

And if he teased her a little, it was flirtatious and not condescending. He didn’t tell her what she looked like or ask her what her favorite toy or game might be. He didn’t talk about her hair or comment on how adult she sounded when she talked, as if children should talk a separate language. Instead he talked
to her.
And if Qira spoiled that by reducing her to a child in his eyes, then she would see what it was like to lose a sister. There would be nothing between them from then on. They would be like strangers forever. Sarai’s memory was very long.

When they got to the courtyard, however, Father and Abram were not alone. A new visitor had arrived, a man in strange clothing that Sarai recognized as Egyptian—white linens, with more of his body showing than a man would usually let other people see. The Egyptians who visited Ur-of-the-North were like that, flaunting their disdain for local customs. Their clothing was the only true clothing, their language the only true language, their gods the only true gods. Others had to learn their language to do business with them, though in truth Father had told her once that the Egyptians only pretended not to understand the accented Akkadian speech used here, so that others would speak freely in front of them, thinking their secrets would be safe. That was why Father made a habit of speaking the ancient holy language of Sumeria in front of Egyptians, even though few in this city but the priests could speak it fluently.

Who was
this
Egyptian?

“Suwertu, these are my daughters, the princess Qira and the godchosen Sarai.”

Even as she knelt before the visitors, Sarai remembered that Suwertu was the name of the priest of Pharaoh who dwelt here in Ur-of-the-North. He was not actually born Egyptian. He had been a priest of Elkenah until the day he won his appointment as the priest of Pharaoh for this region. Father said he spoke Egyptian with a woeful accent. Officially he merely ministered to the religious needs of Egyptian traders and travelers. In fact, though, he watched over the interests of Pharaoh in the land of the upper Euphrates. These days all the cities of the region had ties to Egypt almost as strong as those of Byblos, which some said was practically an Egyptian city.

“Is he a spy, then?” Sarai once asked Father.

“Something between a spy, a teacher, and an overseer,” Father had answered. “He tells Pharaoh who his friends and enemies are, so that gifts and influence can be used wisely. He encourages the local people to learn Egyptian ways and even give respect to the Egyptian gods. And if there are signs ofUr-of-the-North getting out of line, he will crack the whip.”

“What whip can he crack, so far from Egypt?”

“The Amorites have broken up all the trade routes that used to make this city prosper. You can no longer be sure of carrying goods from here to Ashur or Akkad, to Ur-of-the-South or anywhere beyond the Tarsus. And as for Canaan, the cities of that land are empty, and the people hide in caves for fear of the raids of the Amorites. The only trade that remains strong is between Byblos and Egypt, for that is done by sea, where the Amorites cannot go. So Ur must trade with Byblos if it is to prosper. And if Egypt should tell the king of Byblos that Ur-of-the-North is not a friend to Egypt, will our traders have any part of this trade? That is the whip. It has cracked more than once. There are those who act as if Egypt ruled here. They go to Suwertu to learn the Egyptian language, to worship Egyptian gods, to
become
Egyptians as best they can.” Father said this with disgust, as if becoming Egyptian were as foolish as trying to become a lion or an elephant.

And here was this same Suwertu, in the courtyard of their home. What was his business? And why today, of all days, when Abram had come to deliver the bride-price in preparation for the wedding?

Despite the presence of the Egyptian, Sarai could see that Qira only had eyes for Abram, and Abram frankly stared at Qira in return. Qira was no doubt trying to guess whether Lot was going to be as handsome as Abram—or was she noticing only the dirt of traveling that still clung to him here and there? And Abram was probably judging what kind of wife Qira would make, and whether his father Terah had chosen well.

But Sarai knew that having Suwertu here had to mean something, and it was unlikely to be coincidence that he was here at this exact moment. For some reason Egypt was taking interest in the marriage of a daughter of the ancient house of Ur with the heir to this priestly family from the desert. Which meant that Terah’s claims must have substance—or at least enough substance to kindle Suwertu’s interest.

At first the conversation was mere chat—talking about Qira’s charms as if she didn’t understand plain speech, telling stories about things that went wrong at weddings in the past, commenting on the bride-price and how Father was going to dispose of such flocks when he had no shepherds among his servants.

Finally, though, Sarai’s close attention was rewarded, as she heard Suwertu turn to the subject that must have brought him here. “I wondered, though, that a man of such wisdom as yourself, O King, would give such honor to an obscure family of Amorites, no matter how many cattle they brought to your house.”

Sarai noticed how Abram, rather than growing angry at this insult—a veiled accusation that his father was a liar—merely seemed to relax further onto his bench, paying, if anything,
less
attention to the conversation.

“A king is a priest before he is a king,” said Father, as he had so often said before.

“But not all who call themselves priests have any claim to speak for God,” said Suwertu.

“There are many gods and many priests,” said Father.

“There are many names for gods,” said Suwertu. “But we all know that the great god whom the people of this land call merely
Ba’al,
‘the Lord,’ is the same as Osiris, the god who dies and is brought back to life by his son Horus with the help of the goddess Isis.”

“I know little of Egyptian names for the gods,” said Father. Sarai could see his wariness increase even as he kept his tone of voice mild. “Terah knows the secret name of Ba’al. And his priesthood comes from Utnapishtim, who rode above the flood, upheld by the hand of the Lord.”

“But how can
he
be the rightful possessor of this priesthood, when this can be claimed only by Pharaoh?”

At once the air in the room seemed to crackle as if a thunderstorm were about to strike.

Abram’s eyes were fully closed.

“I have never heard such a claim made by a priest of Pharaoh before,” said Father.

“Who would need to
claim
what everyone knows, until someone is bold enough to deny it? Out of Canaan came the first Pharaoh. Osiris gave the land of Egypt to him, because only Pharaoh had the true priesthood from the lineage of him you call Utnapishtim.”

“Forgive me, Suwertu,” said Father, “but how could the priesthood of Utnapishtim have anything to do with the land of Egypt, or Pharaohs with Canaan?”

It was only then that Abram spoke, though he still did not open his eyes. “Suwertu says many true things. The first Pharaoh
was
a descendent of a son of Utnapishtim. He did indeed come from Canaan, where his claim to the true priesthood was one of the tools he used in taking control of upper Egypt.”

Sarai could see how surprised Suwertu was by this admission. “If you admit this, then how can your father claim that his house has the true power of God?”

Abram sighed. “My father has many mistaken ideas, I’m afraid. For instance, Ba’al is not just another name for the true God. Once upon a time it may have been so, but now Ba’al is the name for statues erected in every city. The people do not sacrifice to God, they sacrifice to the statue. But my father persists in thinking that these idols can somehow be used in worship by servants of the true God.”

“So you admit that your father’s claims are false,” said Father, looking stunned.

“
Which
claims?” asked Abram.

“That he is of the lineage of Utnapishtim, that the true priesthood is his by right.”

“Oh, the priesthood is indeed Father’s birthright. And the birthright of Lot, through my brother Haran. As long as he is worthy. And I can assure you that Lot is as worthy an heir to that birthright as you’re likely to find.”

Suwertu chuckled. “If this man’s father lied about one thing, who is to say he doesn’t lie about—”

Abram sat bold upright and swung around to face Suwertu. “My father lied about nothing. I believe him to be mistaken about the relationship between Ba’al and God. I have tried in vain to persuade him to remove all idols from his house. We
disagree.
But my father is an honest man.”

“And a pious one,” said Suwertu. “While you deny the power of the Ba’al of . . . well, of this city.”

“And every other one,” said Abram.

“If you deny that Ba’al is God, then you deny the power of the king,” said Suwertu.

“When the king commands, the priests and the soldiers obey,” said Abram. “I’d have to be a fool to deny that.”

“You deny the
priestly
power of the king.”

“In every city, the king rules over the priests. Why would I deny that?”

“You deny that the king has
divine
power.”

Abram looked startled. “But . . . are you saying that kings are
gods?
I thought they were
priests.
”

Sarai finally understood the game that Abram was playing. Suwertu thought that he was examining Abram, but it was really the other way around. Abram was giving Suwertu a long string, and Suwertu was tying himself in knots with it. She smiled. Father glanced at her right then, and winked. He, too, understood.

“What is the priesthood,” said Suwertu, “if not the power to do what God does.”

“God does what God does,” said Abram. “The priesthood is the power to do what God
says
for men to do in his name.”