No Woman So Fair (11 page)

He finally ended by saying, “A man needs to keep on good terms with the gods, son.”

Abram saw that it was useless to argue with Terah. His father's thoughts were as shallow as those of most other people in Ur, and Abram wondered sadly if anybody except himself would ever believe in the true God. He listened as his father continued to urge him, and finally he put up his hand wearily. “All right. It means nothing to me. I'll take an offering by tomorrow.”

“That's a good son!” Terah exclaimed with delight. He clapped Abram on the shoulder and heaved a sigh of relief. “That takes a load off my mind.”

****

Abram kept his promise to Terah and made a token visit to the temple. The high priest beamed to see him, exclaiming, “Well, I'm so happy to see you, my son!”

“I brought an extra offering since I've missed a few,” Abram said. He saw a light in the eyes of the priest, eyes that were almost encased in fat.

“I'm sure Ishtar will bless you,” Rahaz said, his words as oily as his skin.

Abram went through the charade of worship, then turned to leave, glad that it was over. When he reached his father's house, it was late afternoon, and he sat outside watching the sun go down. The outer court was quiet now, and the servants were busy inside preparing the evening meal. He could hear their voices faintly. He took his seat on a bench, leaned his head back against the wall, and for a time simply meditated on his life. It was a habit he had of letting all else fade away, and eventually he had discovered he could become completely unconscious of his material surroundings. He found himself praying silently,
Help me, O God that I do not know. I do not know your name, but I know that everything I see around me did not make itself. Nor did blocks of stone make anything. I believe that you made it all. Please hear my prayer and show yourself to me
.

Suddenly a shadow fell across his face, and Abram opened his eyes, startled to see an old man standing in front of him. He jumped to his feet and bowed, for the man appeared to be very old and rather weak. “Can I help you, sir?” Abram asked gently.

The old man had been tall once, as tall as Abram himself. Now time and difficulties had brought a stoop to his frame. Age lines crisscrossed his face, and he had few teeth, but his dark eyes were bright and alert. He leaned on his staff and coughed several times with a deep racking sound that alarmed Abram.

“Come in and let me give you something to eat,” Abram offered, “and perhaps you need a place to stay tonight.”

The old man straightened up, controlled his coughing, and stared at Abram. “What's your name?” the old man demanded. His voice was shocking, for it had the strength of a much younger man.

“Why, my name is Abram. This is my father's house. His name is Terah.” The old man smiled slightly, and Abram could not fathom what it was about the ancient fellow that troubled him. “Come in,” he repeated. “We're always glad to welcome a traveler.”

The old man did not move, however, but stood silently for so long that Abram began to wonder if he was in his proper mind. He seemed to be alert, but he also appeared to be listening to something Abram himself could not hear.

“You don't remember me, do you?” the old man finally said.

“No, sir, I don't think I do. Have we met?”

The smile grew more pronounced. “Yes, we have met many times. The last time I saw you, you were very young, and I took you fishing down at the river. You caught a turtle and it frightened you. But we ate him for supper that night.”

A faint memory began to stir in Abram, and then suddenly he straightened up and gasped with surprise. “Grandfather?”

“Yes, I'm your grandfather. Old Nahor come home to die.”

Abram could not believe his ears, but he had to believe his eyes. The memories were faint, and the family had long ago decided that Nahor had died on one of his journeys. But as Abram stood before him, something in the wise old eyes convinced him, and he stepped forward and put his arms around the old man. “I remember you well!” he cried. “You used to tell me wonderful stories!”

****

When Abram went to fetch his father, Terah did not want to believe that Nahor was out in the courtyard, and he was reluctant to follow Abram. But follow he did, and when Terah saw Nahor for himself, he was stupefied. He spoke to the old man cautiously, trying to convince himself that this was an impostor.

The old man's mind, however, was sharp, and he saw Terah's plight at once. “You think I've come home to take over as head of the family, don't you?” Nahor said.

This was exactly what Terah had been thinking, but he blustered, “Why, certainly not, Father!”

Abram was standing beside his grandfather. He almost laughed when he saw how easily the old man read his son.

Terah's face could conceal nothing, and now he stammered unconvincingly, “Why…why, I'm happy to see you!”

“Well, you needn't worry that I'll usurp your place,” Nahor assured him. “I've just come home to die.”

Terah blinked with shock. “Why, that's no way to talk!”

Nahor smiled and shook his head slightly. “All I need is a bed to lie on and some bread once in a while.”

“We can do better than that, Father,” Terah said. “Come inside. I'll send for my sons. We'll have a celebration.”

Terah scurried off, and Nahor turned to his grandson. “He hasn't changed much.”

“Really?”

“No, he's as easy to read as a child.” Nahor stepped closer and peered into Abram's face. “You're not like him. You're more like me.”

Abram grinned broadly. “That's what everyone says.”

“Do they, now?” Nahor's dark eyes danced with amusement. “We'll have to have some talks, you and I.”

“I'll look forward to that, Grandfather.”

****

Nahor's return to Ur made little change in the household. He received the greetings of the family as if he had been only gone a week. For the most part he resisted the urge to tell about his travels, and for several days did little but sleep and eat. Sarai saw to it that he received nourishing food. She was fascinated by the old man and made sure that he got the best of care.

Terah still remained unconvinced that his father had no intentions of taking back his place as the head of the house.

“You haven't been listening to him, Father,” Abram told him.

“What do you mean, son?”

“He's not interested in this world.”

Terah stared at Abram. “Which world, then?”

“The one that exists beyond death.”

Terah shook his head doubtfully. “He's not still looking for that one God, is he?”

For a moment Abram did not answer. Then he said so softly that Terah almost missed it, “I believe he's found Him.”

****

“The river hasn't changed,” Nahor said. He was sitting down with his feet in the waters that swept by, and Abram sat cross-legged beside him. The two had formed the habit of coming down to the river in the cool of the evening after the sun had set. At first, Nahor had waited for Abram to pepper him with questions but soon discovered that the young man knew how to be silent. It was a quality Nahor admired, and he found a great deal of pleasure in simply sitting beside this tall young grandson of his.

The western horizon still glowed red, but the desert air was cooling quickly now. From time to time Nahor reached down, cupped his hand, captured the water, and poured it over his head, washing the sandy grit from his hair. Finally he turned to Abram and said, “Well, the others think the crazy man has returned. What do
you
think?”

Abram had discovered that Nahor had a quick sense of humor, and he answered lightly, “I think I'm as crazy as you, Grandfather.”

Nahor laughed with delight. “You're like me, all right. I can see it in you.”

“Are we both crazy, then?” Abram asked, more serious now.

Nahor gazed deeply into the younger man's eyes. “Any man who gives up this world to find God will be called crazy.”

A chill ran down Abram's back as he digested this thought.

Nahor watched Abram's serious countenance, pleased that the young man did not dismiss his words.
He's a thinker. He doesn't talk a great deal, but he doesn't forget much either. He's like me, all right
.

Finally Abram said, “My family has told me that you left us to find God. Did you find Him, Grandfather?”

Nahor stared down at the waters at his feet, then lifted his eyes to the broad stream that flowed eastward, carrying the rich silt down to the big sea. Then he began to speak as he had not done since his return. He spoke of his journeys to impossible places, and his voice grew tense as he told of the sufferings that he'd endured on his travels.

“I almost gave up more than once, grandson,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “In every town I came to I went to the temples, and I prayed to whatever god was there. You wouldn't believe, grandson, how many crazy idols I've prayed to—and all of them were worthless.”

Abram was absolutely silent, straining his ears to hear every word. He was fascinated by this old man, blood of his blood and bone of his bone, and he knew that there was a mystic bond between the two of them, such as he had never felt with any other human being.

Finally the old man fell silent, staring up at the rising moon. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Abram and said, “And then—I found Him! I was in the desert, at the end of my rope, tired of searching. I had found out that there were almost as many gods as there are men, Abram. For years I had sought for truth among these gods, but I found nothing. I was so tired, I was sick of myself.” He suddenly lifted his hands and, with exultation in his voice, exclaimed, “But there in the desert the one who whispered to me so many years ago came to me!”

“You saw Him?” Abram whispered urgently. “Did He tell you His name?”

“He has many names, and yes, He spoke to me, grandson. He actually
spoke
to me! I heard His voice. It wasn't just something in my head or in my heart. I think if you had been there, you would have heard it too. I saw a light that glowed like nothing on this earth, and then He spoke to me. He said, ‘Nahor, you have sought me faithfully, and I desire to be your friend.'”

“Did He tell you His name?” Abram repeated breathlessly. “I long to know His name, Grandfather.”

“I asked the same question…and He told me to call Him the Eternal One.”

Abram gripped his grandfather's arm and demanded, “What did He look like?”

Nahor shook his head and answered sternly, “He is not a
man
, Abram! He doesn't look like anything. God is not a man like us. He made us.”

The old man talked until his voice grew weary, and finally Abram said, “I want to hear Him too.”

“I see that you have a great hunger to know Him, my son, but only those who seek Him with all their heart will find Him.”

“Then I will seek Him with all my heart,” Abram said solemnly. “I will seek Him if it takes my entire life.”

Nahor smiled with pleasure. He reached out to take the young man's hand and felt the strength of it. Then he said, “And you
will
find Him, Abram. It may cost you everything—but it will be worth it!”

Abram was spending more and more time with his grandfather. The two had become inseparable, and it disturbed Terah so much he finally complained to Haran one day as they watched Abram and Nahor from the portico across the courtyard.

“Those two bother me,” Terah muttered.

“Why is that, Father?”

“You know very well why. You've heard me tell often enough how my father lost his mind over religion.”

Haran looked out to where Abram and his grandfather were sitting in the shade of a potted palm in the late afternoon. The old man was moving his arms about in expansive gestures as Abram listened.

“I don't think there's any danger of that,” Haran said. “Abram has settled down now that he's married. He's got more sense than to go off and lose his mind over religion. As a matter of fact, you had to force him to make an offering to Ishtar, didn't you?”

“Yes, but my father's always had this wild idea that there's only
one
God. I'm afraid Abram is being taken in by such dangerous thoughts.”

Haran's eyes opened wide. “
One
God? I can't believe it. Why, everybody knows there are thousands of gods.”

“Everybody except my own father,” Terah grumbled bitterly. “Look at them. I wish he hadn't come home.”

Haran stared at his father and shook his head. “I think it'll be all right. Abram's a little strange, but he's got a good head on his shoulders.”

“He's got a head that's being packed full of all kinds of nonsense! I wish I could do something about it, but he won't listen to me. Why don't you try to talk to him, Haran?”

“I will if you want me to, but I doubt it will do any good.”

From the courtyard, Nahor was aware that he and Abram were being watched. He smiled and said to Abram, “Your father is worried about you. He thinks I'm going to poison you with my ideas.” The thought amused him, and he laughed deep in his chest. “He was always a worrier—always worrying about the wrong things!”

Nahor nodded across the courtyard at Terah and Haran, and the two men, embarrassed at having been spotted, turned quickly to go back inside. Abram watched his father and brother leave, then turned his eyes back to Nahor and said, “Tell me about our family, Grandfather. I know practically nothing.”

“Our family? Well, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Terah doesn't seem to take much pride in the family, but I do.” He settled himself on the stone bench and locked his fingers together, his eyes growing dreamy, it seemed to Abram. “My own father's name was Serug. I left his home many years ago, when I was young and impetuous—and not interested in learning the wisdom he had to pass on. I will tell you more of him—when the time is right—but you should know of those who came before. My grandfather's name was Reu, and Reu's father was Peleg. Peleg's father was Eber. His father was Shelah, and Shelah's father was Arphaxad. I could tell you stories about all of these men, and I will if I live long enough, but Arphaxad's father was a very unusual man. His name was Shem.”