Sarah Read online

  But there was nothing before him but the morning air, ruffled by a slight breeze.

  Sarai stayed where she was, as motionless as Abram, watching for a movement, a sound.

  But there was nothing: no noise, no gesture.

  She could feel the breeze on her face. The grass swayed. Tiny yellow and blue butterflies whirled above the grass and the flowers. Birds chattered in the foliage. Some took flight and came to rest on other branches. The sun rose above the horizon and tinged the big puffy clouds with gold. There was nothing to see. Just the ordinary activity of a morning.

  Yet she was sure of it: Abram was meeting his god.

  Abram was listening to the voice of his invisible god.

  How could a god give so little sign of himself? No face, no glow? Sarai could not understand it.

  And if Abram was speaking with his god, she could not hear him.

  All she saw was a man standing in the grass, surrounded by the indifferent birds and insects, his face lifted to the sky as if he had lost his reason.

  It seemed to her that a long time had passed, but perhaps it had not. Then, all at once, Abram raised his arms, and a cry rang out.

  The birds ceased their din.

  But the insects continued to whirl and the grass to sway.

  Abram cried out again.

  Sarai made out two syllables. An unknown word.

  She took fright and ran away, as silently as possible. Her face was on fire, as if she had seen something she should not have seen.

  “THERE was really nothing to see,” Sarai said. “Nothing was moving, I swear it. Abram wasn’t moving, either. If he was speaking, his voice was inaudible. And what he was seeing was invisible to my eyes.”

  Sililli was grinding corn, while Lot listened openmouthed. When Sarai had finished, Sililli shook her head, silent and unconvinced.

  “But Abram spoke the name of his god,” Lot said, enraptured, ready to hear the story again.

  “I didn’t realize it was a name,” Sarai said. “When he cried out, I heard only two sounds. Like the sounds Arpakashad makes with his ram’s horn to gather the herds. It was Abram, later, who said, ‘The One God spoke to me. He told me his name. It’s Yhwh.’”

  “Yhwh!” Lot laughed. “Yhwh! Easy, no chance of forgetting it. And it is like the sound of a horn: Yhwh!”

  “A god who can’t be seen,” Sililli grumbled, “who doesn’t speak, and who only gives his name to one man! And then only when he feels like it. What’s the point of a god like that, I wonder?”

  “To find us a beautiful, fertile country full of water!” Lot replied, peremptorily. “You aren’t listening to what Sarai is saying. Abram’s god didn’t only give his name: He said this land was now ours. The most beautiful land we’ve seen since we left Harran. But you, Sililli, you’re too old to appreciate fields of thick grass. Nobody wants to roll in the grass with you anymore—”

  “Now, now, boy!” Sililli scolded, landing a vigorous blow on Lot’s buttocks with her wooden pestle. “You just hold your tongue, you. I may be too old for what you’re thinking about, but you’re still too wet behind the ears to think about it either!”

  “That’s just what I was saying,” Lot laughed, unconcerned. “Too old to see the beauty of a country and too old to see the beauty of a boy who’s becoming a real man!”

  “Just listen to him!” Sililli guffawed, astounded at Lot’s boldness.

  Lot had taken up a pose before the two women, his hands on his hips, a thin, provocative smile on his lips and in his eyes, playing at being a man. But although Sarai and Sililli concealed their surprise, they both had to admit that he was right. These last few moons, they had paid too little attention to Lot; for them, he was still a boy, energetic, proud, and sensitive. In a short period of time, though, as often happened with adolescents, the boy had become a man. He was a full head taller than either of them. His shoulders were growing broader, more supple, with firmer muscles. There was a silky down on his cheeks and around his mouth, and the gleam in his eye was no longer as innocent as it had once been. The smile he now gave Sarai brought a blush to her cheeks.

  “Seeing my aunt’s beauty every day,” he murmured, in his slightly husky voice, “is enough to make anyone impatient to be a man.”

  Sililli squealed, pretending to be offended, and shooed Lot away. Lot went and sat down some distance from them, muttering under his breath. It was only when he turned his back on them that Sarai and Sililli exchanged an amused look.

  “He isn’t the only one to think that way,” Sililli said in a low voice. “Your beauty is starting to excite all these idle young rams. It’s time Abram decided to make a real halt and build our city. Then these youngsters would finally have something to spend their energy on.”

  Sarai remained silent for a moment. She threw grain into the mortar, watched as Sililli’s pestle crushed it. “What if we’ve already reached the end of our journey? Abram is sure that his god has given us this land. To all of us, now and in the future, even to those who are not yet born.”

  Sililli shook her head, skeptically. But as Sarai fell silent again, she looked up. There was no need of words: They were both thinking the same thing.

  “Who knows?” Sililli said, tenderly. “Perhaps he’s right.”

  “Abram was trembling with joy when he came back to the tent. He threw himself on me and covered me with kisses. He kissed my belly and repeated the words of his God: ‘I give this land to your seed!’ When I reminded him that the hills and valleys of my country were not very fertile, he almost lost his temper. ‘You don’t understand! If Yhwh says that, it means He’s thinking of you, my wife! Be patient, the One God will soon show you how powerful He is.’”

  Sililli shook her flour-whitened fingers. “Hmm. Who knows?” she repeated.

  “But Abram isn’t exactly patient,” Sarai said, amused. “I tell you, there isn’t a single night or morning that he doesn’t make sure his god will be able to make his seed bear fruit!”

  Eyes sparkling, they both burst into a great laugh full of joy and lightness.

  Lot had stood up. “Why are you laughing?” he asked. “Why are you laughing?”

  THE following day, they came to the entrance of a vast valley that stretched beside a chain of mountains. The mingled greens and yellows of the fields of flowers, cereals, and pasture were like a woven cloth. Animals grazed in the pastures, and men were working in the meadows.

  Their awe was marred by frustration. Why had Abram’s god marked out this country for them?

  Sarai turned to Abram and summed up what everyone was thinking. “This land is magnificent, but it doesn’t seem to be clear of people. How can we possibly put up our tents here or build a city?”

  Abram looked for a long time at the landscape before his eyes. Clearly, Yhwh had wanted to show him how beautiful this country was before he entered it. Yes, this land could support them. To the west and the south there was no sign of sheep or cattle.

  “There is enough here for us,” he said.

  “It’s quite possible,” Arpakashad replied, somberly. “But Sarai is right: As soon as our herds drink from the rivers, and our buckets lift water from the wells, there’ll be disputes.”

  Abram smiled, without taking offense. It was a long time since they had seen him look so joyful and so serene. Nothing seemed to mar his good humor. He shook his head.

  “Parts of this country are empty. Look: There’s a city on top of the mountain. Come.”

  He asked for three of the best wagons to be brought forward, drawn by the finest mules, and had their interiors covered with clean sheets.

  “Fill these wagons with all the loaves baked yesterday and this morning,” he declared. “Add all the good food we have: newly killed lambs, fruit picked in the last few days. And let’s go and offer it all to the inhabitants of this city.”

  “You’re stripping us completely bare,” a woman cried out, in a shrill voice. “What will we have left to eat in the next few days?”
/>   “I don’t know,” Abram replied. “We shall see. Perhaps the inhabitants of the city will give us something to eat in return . . .”

  Abram was so sure of himself that as presumptuous as his words seemed, they knew they had no other choice than to follow him in his obstinacy.

  IN the heat of the afternoon, they took the path leading to the city.

  They formed a long procession: more than a thousand men, women, and children, at least double that in small livestock, not counting the wagons carrying the tents and the chests, and the herds of mules and asses. The cloud of dust raised by their sandals and clogs could be seen from a long way away. Then there was the noise of bleating animals, creaking axles, and even the pebbles dislodged by their steps.

  It was no surprise that they had hardly come within sight of the city when trumpets and drums sounded the alarm. His long stick in one hand, the other resting on his mule’s saddle girth, Abram took care to advance slowly. He wanted the people of the city to be able to examine them at leisure from the walls and see that they were approaching peacefully, unarmed and not in any warlike spirit.

  But when they arrived an arrow’s length from the dazzling white walls, the huge blue-painted gate that constituted the only opening remained resolutely shut.

  Above the crenellated walls, helmets and spears could be seen moving, and in the vertical openings of the narrow towers shadowy figures were visible.

  Abram raised his stick, and the column came to a halt. He placed his hands around his mouth.

  “My name is Abram!” he cried. “I come in peace with my people to salute those who have beautified this land and built this city!”

  Abandoning his stick, he held out his right hand and took Sarai’s hand, then with his left took Lot’s. He asked all of them to do the same. Families joined hands, forming clusters, and came together with Abram and Sarai, until all were united in a crescent shape. It was obvious now to those watching them that they were not concealing any weapons.

  They remained like this for a while, in the sun.

  Then suddenly the door creaked, rumbled, half opened, then gaped wide open.

  Soldiers appeared. Dressed in harsh-colored tunics, with shields and spears in their hands, they advanced with a firm stride in two parallel columns toward Abram and his people. Some could not help taking a few steps backward in fear. But when they saw that Abram had not moved an inch, they resumed their places.

  When they were some twenty paces away, the warriors came to a halt. Everyone noticed that they were not pointing their spears at the newcomers’ chests but toward the sky, and resting the shafts on the ground. They also noticed that their faces were similar to theirs. Their eyebrows, beards, and hair were jet black. Unlike the warriors of Akkad and Sumer, they wore neither wigs nor helmets, but strange-colored hats. Their eyes, as black as their skin, glittered with kohl.

  A trumpet sounded at the gate of the city. A gentle, solemn sound.

  An excitable, colorfully dressed crowd of people came out. At their head were ten old men with round bellies and long beards, dressed in capes of intense red and blue, their heads wrapped in wide yellow turbans, and necklaces of silver and jasper hanging from their necks. Young boys walked beside them, carrying palms to give them shade. The surprising thing about the old men was that they were smiling a smile they all recognized, and Sarai first of all: It was the same smile her husband had had since morning.

  The wise men of the city came to a halt. Abram let go of Sarai’s and Lot’s hands and took two big loaves from the nearest wagon. He bowed respectfully to the oldest, most richly dressed, and most noble-looking of the men, and offered him the loaves.

  “My name is Abram. I come in peace with my people. They call us the Hebrews, the men from across the river, for we have come a long way. These are the loaves we baked yesterday and today. I am happy to offer them to the inhabitants of this city, although it is a rich city and well able, I’m sure, to bake a hundred times as many.”

  The old man took the loaves between his ringed fingers and passed them to those beside him. Behind them, the soldiers could no longer hold back the crowd, who thronged around the newcomers, curious and excited. Children cried and gesticulated to attract the attention of the travelers’ children.

  The old man Abram had addressed raised his hand. The trumpet rang out, and silence returned.

  “My name is Melchizedek. I am king of the city of Salem, of this people, and of this land, which we call Canaan. From the river in the east to the shores of the sea in the west, other peoples share this land with us.”

  He spoke slowly and calmly, in the Amorite language, though with an accent that Sarai had never heard before.

  “I, Melchizedek, welcome you, Abram, and those who are with you. Salem and Canaan welcome you. We open our arms to you. In the name of God Most High, who created heaven and earth, I bless your coming.”

  A heavy silence fell.

  Abram turned to Sarai, his face jubilant. “Did you hear?” he cried, in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Lord Melchizedek, King of Salem, blesses us in the name of the One God. These people are our brothers.”

  Sarai’s Beauty

  Their happiness lasted ten years.

  That first day, there was a great feast, at which both food from Salem and the newcomers’ food was served. They all became drunk on beer and stories. It was an occasion for mutual admiration and discovery. It was decided that Abram would pay a tithe for each animal from his flocks that grazed on the lands of Canaan. It was also decided that he would not build a city, in order not to compete with the beautiful city of Salem, and that, as their fathers had done in the past, he and his people would put up and take down their tents according to where they found pastures.

  King Melchizedek and his wise men questioned Abram about the land from which he had come and the lands they had crossed in the course of their long march to Salem. They were astonished that Abram’s people had found their way to Canaan across a thousand mountains and valleys, rivers and deserts. They knew nothing of the kingdom of Akkad and Sumer and asked Sarai to show them, on a tablet of fresh clay, the writing that was used there. They found it remarkable that things, animals, men, colors, and even feelings could be depicted by signs.

  Finally, they asked Abram what he knew of the One God. They themselves venerated Him: He was the God of their fathers, and He had always assured them peace and prosperity on their land. However, the invisible God had never yet spoken to them. He had not told His name to any of them.

  Yhwh.

  King Melchizedek declared that Abram, although he looked like a shepherd leading an ill-assorted group of people, some not even related to him, was undoubtedly a king as noble as himself. He announced, in his youthful voice, that he would bow to him, despite the difference in age, and with all the respect he would have granted an equal.

  Following his words, all the wise men and all the inhabitants of Salem did the same. Then Melchizedek turned to Sarai, who had been standing there in silence.

  “Abram,” he said, “allow me also to bow to your wife, Sarai. Perhaps her beauty seems quite normal to all of you, and she doesn’t sear your eyes with rapture. But she is the most beautiful woman the One God has ever set across my path. And I have no doubt that he placed her by your side as a sign of all the beautiful things he intends to offer your nation.”

  And Melchizedek bowed to Sarai, seized a tail of her tunic, and brought it to his lips. When he stood up again, his mouth was quivering.

  “I am old,” he whispered so that only she could hear, “but that’s fortunate, because if I were young and knew you existed but could never be mine, I wouldn’t be able to go on living.”

  SARAI had hoped that once they had reached the land promised by his god, Abram would order a city to be built. A real city, with brick houses, alleyways, courtyards, doors, and cool roofs. Yes, all the grandeur of a city. The truth was, she was missing the beauty of Ur. She was missing the solid, immutable splendor of
the ziggurat. And the shade of her bedchamber in Ichbi Sum-Usur’s house, the scents of the garden, the noise of the goatskins being filled, the murmur of water in the basins at night.

  She was not the only one who was weary of putting up and taking down the tents and following where the animals’ hunger led them. But it did not take many moons for everyone to see how miraculous a country Canaan was.

  It was possible to stay on the same piece of land for two or three seasons. Milk and honey seemed to ooze from the hills and valleys. Rain alternated with dryness and coolness with heat without one ever exceeding the other. Abundance made both the herds and the children fat. Sons grew taller than their fathers. As the days went by, they all forgot their dream of a city, even Sarai.

  The tents grew bigger, until they consisted of several rooms divided by curtains. Abram had a huge tent made, with black and white stripes, as a meeting place for the heads of the different families. The women of Salem taught the newcomers to dye wool and linen in bright, cheerful colors, and showed them new patterns into which they could be woven. They put away their old white-and-gray tunics and began to dress in reds, ochers, blues, and yellows.

  Within two years, word of the peace and prosperity of Canaan and Abram’s and Melchizedek’s wisdom had spread far and wide, carried by shepherds and caravans of merchants.

  Strangers began to arrive from the north and the east with their meager herds—only a few at first, then in greater numbers. They would bow to Abram with the same words and the same expectations.

  “We have heard about you, Abram, and your invisible god who protects you and leads you. Where we come from, there is only poverty, dust, and war. If you accept us among you, we shall obey you and follow you in all things. We shall serve your god, and make offerings to Him as you instruct us. You will be our father and we will be your sons.”