No Woman So Fair Read Online Free PDF Page A

yourself needlessly with these questions about the gods.”
    Abram stared at the priest, his face troubled. “But aren’t we supposed to think about them?”
    â€œLet me do the thinking for you, my son. You go along now. Leave your offering. On your next visit, bring payment for a meeting with one of our temple prostitutes, who can lead you into a closer spiritual encounter with Ishtar. Perhaps then the goddess might be more willing to grant you a fertile wife. For now, say your prayers, and let the other priests and me worry over how best to please the gods.”
    Abram nodded and sighed. “Yes, master, as you say.” But in his heart, Abram knew he would not obey Rahaz’s instruction to meet with a temple prostitute. For reasons he could not fully explain to himself or to anyone else, Abram found this aspect of temple worship most distasteful and would have nothing to do with it. Yet he felt drawn to this sacred place that was set apart for worship. His visits, however, never left him satisfied. Rather, they raised more questions every time he came.
    Rahaz stood aside to allow the tall young man to leave the room, then shook his head, grumbling, “He is indeed a troublemaker, that one. He must think he’s better than other men, but we can change that. I’ll have a talk with his father. Terah needs to sit down hard on Abram, or he’ll turn out just like his grandfather Nahor!”
    ****
    Metura took one look at Terah’s expression and knew at once that her husband was troubled. He had never been skillful at concealing his feelings. She watched as their slave girl set his food before him and then asked with concern, “Is something bothering you, dear?”
    Terah stared at his wife. A small woman in frail health, she had borne him three fine sons and was totally obedient to his will. He had wished at times that he might have married a stronger woman to have more sons, but in most respects he was pleased with her as a wife. “I’m worried about Abram,” he told her.
    â€œWhy, what’s wrong with him?” Metura asked uneasily. Of her three sons, Abram was the most like her. He had her gentleness, an attribute one did not see in Nahor or Haran, and like her, he also enjoyed solitude and was a dreamer of sorts. “What’s wrong with him? He’s not sick, I hope.”
    â€œOnly sick in the head,” Terah snapped. He picked up a portion of meat, ripped it apart with his fingers, and began stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed hurriedly, bolting his food like a hungry animal. “He left the flocks to go to the temple again. That’s all he’s interested in.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad he’s religious.”
    â€œThere’s such a thing as being too religious,” Terah grunted. He picked up a cup, drained the last of the wine, and rapped the table impatiently until the slave girl came and refilled it. He drank again and slammed the cup down with unnecessary force. “He’s got to grow up, Metura.”
    He would have said more, but at that moment Abram entered the room. He had just washed, and his face glowed as he greeted his parents. “Good morning, Father.” He came over and kissed Metura. “Good morning, Mother. You’re looking well today.”
    As Abram took his place and accepted the food that the slave girl brought, Terah studied his son. He could see traces of Metura in Abram’s features—not that he was in the least feminine. Still, there was a tenderness about his eyes and mouth that men should not have. Terah certainly did not have it, nor did Abram’s brothers. He considered tenderness a valuable virtue for women but not worth anything in the character of a man. As Abram ate his meal, Terah thought about his youngest son. He’s got to learn. He can’t go on for the rest of his life praying in temples. A man’s got to be a man . Aloud he said, “I’m