Rachel and Leah (Women of Genesis) (9 page)

Maybe Jacob was here for the reason young Choraz served with Prince Kedar—hoping to make a place for himself.

Zilpah caught a couple of glimpses of the man during the afternoon. And then she was assigned to carry in heated water for him to wash himself. This was an opportunity not to be missed—his legs were grimy and he was tired. So she offered to wash his feet for him.

If Reuel the steward had someone else in mind to wash the visitor’s feet, he gave no sign; maybe that was why she had been sent in with the water. Anyway, Jacob said yes, with thanks, and sat back leaning on one elbow as she put one of his feet, then the other, into a basin and scrubbed off the grime of the road.

And as Jacob and the steward talked, she loosened the neck of her garment as far as she dared. Because she was not stupid. She would never be more desirable than she was right now. And it was possible he might covet her, and ask Laban for her. Laban’s daughters were both too young to marry—Laban said so to every would-be suitor who inquired—but Zilpah knew she was
not
too young for concubinage. Jacob seemed a kind man, gentlespoken and polite enough to thank a serving girl for offering to wash his feet. She could do no better than to be taken as the concubine of such a man; and even if he only bought her and used her for pleasure, he did not seem the kind of man who would cast out a fatherless child of his own loins. This was a chance, however slight, of a better future, if he only desired her.

No other man had been able to avoid looking at her with
desire, not once she made the decision to catch his eye. But Jacob was the exception. She might have been a five-year-old or an old crone for all the notice he gave her. She scrubbed hard, too, in the effort to draw his eye, but all he did was wince and say to the steward, “She’s a hard scrubber, isn’t she?”

When Reuel began remonstrating with her, Jacob only laughed. “I don’t mind—I’d rather be clean when I dine with your master than be left dirty because I wasn’t man enough to bear a little scraping from a little girl!”

Little girl indeed! Was he blind?

Or was he some sort of paragon among men, one who was above the power of women? Most men
thought
they were, so tall and strong, so fast at running, so powerful at gripping. How could a woman resist a man? And it was true of bad men, the kind who bullied and forced others to do their will. But most men tried to be civilized, or at least seem civilized in front of others, so they wouldn’t show themselves to be bullies. And over such men, women had enormous power. Zilpah had watched them enough, the wives of the shepherds and weavers and tentmakers, how some of them scolded so their husbands cowered in terror of their tongues; how others never raised their voice, but had trained their men to be alert to every nuance of their mood. Those quiet ones, it was amazing to watch them. It took only a hint of disappointment and their man would be all over himself trying to find out what was wrong, how had he disappointed her.

Even the bullies were often under some woman’s control. Some of them struck their wives and even beat them, as the law allowed, but they had Laban to keep them from going too far, and between beatings, those same women still got their
way about a lot of things. Though Zilpah still had contempt for them—why would they let a man hit them a second time? Didn’t they have any knowledge of the herbs that would put a stop to that at once? She said this to her mother once, and got a slap for her trouble.

“Or will you poison me now because I hit you?” whispered her mother.

“Why did you slap me?” Zilpah asked.

“Because even to think of murder is wicked. An offense to God!”

“If a man beats another man, then it’s honorable for the beaten man to get his friends together and kill the man who humiliated him. But if a man beats a woman, it’s wicked for her to take the vengeance that is within
her
reach?”

“Poison is vile and sneaky, and it’s done cold, not in the heat of anger.”

“Oh, if a man ever beat me like Chadek beats Tamaleh, I’d keep my anger hot enough.”

“And how would you keep from poisoning the whole camp?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Zilpah. “I’d make sure to eat a little of it myself, enough to get very sick.”

Her mother looked at her in horror. “Have you thought so much about it? What kind of monster have I raised?”

“God made women smaller than men, so we can’t fight them as equals. We can’t divorce them and send them away; we can’t even leave them, because where would a runaway woman go, except to be a prostitute or a priestess? But we’re just as much alive as any man. We have our honor, too.”

“The honor of a woman comes from the love and respect of her husband.”

“Exactly,” said Zilpah. “Tamaleh gets
none
from her husband, so he deserves none from her.” She did not add, What love and respect do you get from yours?

Oh, Zilpah was sure she knew all about men, despite her mother’s assurance that she had “no idea of what goes on between a woman and a man, and I mean to
keep
it that way until you’re married.”

Except this Jacob. He did not seem to be a brutal, bragging man, though he was obviously strong and tall. The kind of man who didn’t have to fight because few would dare to fight him; the kind who didn’t love to fight, and so if he was left alone, he left others alone as well. That much could be told from the way he talked to Reuel, a mere steward—so simply and quietly, explaining how he came from his mother’s house after being blessed by his father with the birthright blessing.

“It was bound to provoke Esau,” said Jacob. “Better not to stay where he might look for vengeance.”

“But if you don’t stay there,” said Reuel, “won’t your father’s men follow Esau, taking all your father’s flocks and herds, the moment the great Isaac dies?—may God delay the day.”

“If God wants me to have flocks and herds, and men also,” said Jacob, “then I’ll have them.”

Reuel nodded wisely, but Zilpah knew enough about the man to guess that he was thinking that this Jacob was insane.

“The birthright that I have is the one that matters,” said Jacob. “Tell Laban that I have the holy books.”

Reuel nodded wisely. Clearly he had no idea what Jacob was talking about.

“Tell Laban that I inherit the blessings of Abraham and Isaac.”

Reuel finally had to admit his ignorance. “And which of their blessings might these be?” Zilpah could almost hear what he must be thinking: It’s certain that these “blessings” don’t include flocks, herds, lands, servants, tents, or worldly goods of any kind.

Jacob smiled slightly. “I’m glad that Laban has kept such matters sacred. It means he treasures them as I do.”

Zilpah almost laughed—Jacob understood that Reuel was being haughty with him, even though it was hidden behind a mask of courtesy; and so Jacob answered with a reminder that the things that really matter would be between Jacob and Laban, and need not be justified to a servant, however lofty Reuel’s role in the camp might be.

I
must
make this man notice me, she thought.

Though it had never been part of her plan, she washed higher on Jacob’s leg. At once he turned his body so his legs withdrew from her reach, as he bent to her, smiled kindly, and said, “You’ve done well to wash my feet so thoroughly. I was truly filthy. But another minute and I’ll have no skin left on my bones, and that’s cleaner than I want to be!”

She had gone too far, reached too high, but instead of rebuking her—which, in most camps, would have led to a beating later, at the steward’s order—he merely put an end to her service by thanking her, so now she had to go away. If only I hadn’t overreached!

When she carried the basin out of the tent and poured it out over the beans in the garden, she had several older women following after her. “What did he say?” “What is he like?” “Is he here for one of the daughters?”

“He’s a kind and gracious man,” said Zilpah, “worthy of all honor.”

They groaned at the correctness—and emptiness—of her reply.

Old Hobbler chuckled nastily. “Did you show him your breasts?”

Zilpah smiled faintly. “A man like that doesn’t care about such things.”

One of the others laughed. “He would if they were bigger! Little figs like yours aren’t worth searching out.”

Zilpah smiled and pretended to think this was amusing. Life would become altogether intolerable if these old biddies thought they had cause to dislike her, so she did not answer by comparing their sagging old dugs with her own bosom, which might not be as big, but attracted the gaze of a lot more men.

“Is he here for Rachel or Leah?” asked an old woman.

“He came for me,” said Zilpah saucily, but with a flip of her head that made it clear that she was joking. They laughed, of course. What could be funnier than a fatherless girl thinking she would be courted by the son of Isaac?

But she wasn’t joking. Without consciously deciding it, she knew that she would only consider her life happy if she left Laban’s household when Jacob did, as his wife or concubine, with his child in her belly or her arms. This is the man that Mother has been saving me for, even if she doesn’t know it. Even if she would beat me for daring to suggest it. Why should one of Laban’s miserably selfish arrogant daughters get this man as her own? God brought him here for the woman who needed him to save her from a life of slavery and other degradations.

Her mother would tell her—while thrashing her with a stick—that there was no way that a decent girl could get in the
bed of a man like that, or an indecent girl either, and she was insane to even imagine it.

And then, when the thrashing was over, her mother would tell her she was crazy to
want
to. “He’s not the one with the flocks and herds, the servants and the mighty men of war! He’ll be poor, a man who fled out of fear of his brother’s wrath! He’ll be lucky to afford one wife, he’ll be taking no concubines!” Her mother would not say, though Zilpah would hear, the final condemnation: He’s too poor to take you on as a slave, and too respectable to link himself with someone so lowborn.

But Zilpah was not insane. She knew perfectly well how improbable it would be for her to end up in this man’s tent, and as for his prospects, she knew as she washed his legs that this was not a man who would remain poor. He did not act toward Laban as a supplicant would act. He knew he was a prince, and had a prince’s birthright. How could he fail? Weaker men looked for chances to bow to a man like that—or tried to destroy him. There would be no life of obscurity or poverty for Jacob son of Isaac. He would have great possessions to pass on to his sons. And she would be the mother of at least one of them, or die trying.

Her mother’s only child had no father, but her children would be princes, and there’d be many of them, if she had her way.

S
till, wishes were only dreams if she didn’t think of something to do to catch his eye. The trick with the loosened neck of her gown had done nothing. Nor had her awkward attempt at washing more of his legs than a traveler might decently expect.

What was left? She knew she was pretty, but he hadn’t cared about that so far. What else could she show him? How hard she worked? How graceful she was? How much smarter she was than the stupid ordinary girls of this camp?

How could he ever even hear her speak, unless she also showed herself to be outrageously rude and unmaidenly by speaking to him unbidden?

Well, whatever he ended up noticing about her, it couldn’t happen if she wasn’t in front of his face. So she headed for Reuel, who was making the arrangements for the feast in Jacob’s honor.

“Let me serve at dinner,” she said.

He looked at her coldly; then his expression softened. “It was generous of you to offer what you offered him today in the tent. I know of no other man who would have refused you. Did your mother tell you to honor your master by giving yourself to the greatest guest his tents have ever known?”

Giving herself? Was that what Reuel assumed was going on? She wanted to rebuke him coldly—I’ll be married to the man who has me first. But then she realized that to his eyes, maybe her self-display, her aggressive washing, they might have looked like a more generous offer than she intended. And since he thought it was done as a generous sacrifice for her master’s sake, he might feel that he owed her a favor.

“My mother did not suggest such a thing,” she said quietly. “But I saw how my master wanted to please his guest. My mother would probably beat me if she knew.”

Reuel nodded. “Well, you were wise to make the offer where only he and I could see. Other men in this camp might have thought your offer was more … general. I make no such mistake.”

Which made her see the steward in a new light. He was one of the men who pretended that he didn’t look at her body, and she had put him in his place once with a cold glare. He might have held it against her, might have taunted her. Instead he respected her. Good.

“If I can’t serve my master another way, might I carry in and carry away?”

“Not in that dress, you can’t.”

“I have no better.”

“There are better gowns in camp. Let’s see if we can get you looking more like the kind of girl who serves food than
the kind that washes feet.” He strode away from her. She started to follow him, but in moments he was back with Derkah, the old woman who had once attended to Laban’s wife. “Make her look worthy to serve a prince,” said Reuel. He walked away.