Chariots to jordan, p.10
Chariots to Jordan, page 10
The three children sat in silence and stared at the door of the house, each desperately wishing their mother would come out and tell them everything would be all right. When she didn’t appear, Caleb whimpered softly and lowered his head to his knees. Hanan stretched his legs out in front of him and absentmindedly fiddled with a small pebble between his fingers. Gili stretched her legs as well but slowly got to her feet and began walking away from the well.
“Where are you going?” Hanan asked with alarm in his voice.
“Away.”
“Away, where?” Caleb asked curiously.
“Just away,” Gili said without stopping.
“Momma told us to wait right here,” Hanan said. “You better come back right now.”
“I will come back, but I need to do something,” Gili said.
Still clutching her tattered blanket, Gili cautiously picked her way up the path that led to a small knoll covered with towering and twisted cedar trees. The path was littered with sharp rocks and thorns that poked her bare feet. Twice she had to stop and reach down to pull the spine of a bush from her foot.
She wound her way through the trees to a grassy spot at the top of the knoll. It was her favorite place. It was quiet here . . . and peaceful. Her brothers preferred to play on the boulders and cliffs, so they never came here. From here she could sit on a small boulder and listen to the wind in the trees and watch her mother wash clothes by the well and her father work in the fields. It was her special place.
But this time little Gili didn’t sit down. Brushing a twig and some small stones out of the way, she carefully laid her tattered sheepskin blanket on the ground, knelt down, and folded her arms across her chest. No tears dripped from her eyes or coursed down her cheeks. In the solitude of the trees, away from the commotion, fear, and unbelief of adults, she summoned the powers of heaven exactly as she had done every morning and night since her mother had taught her to pray.
Her prayer began as they always did. “Friend Jehovah,” she said in a calm voice, “my daddy has been hurt by a mean cow. Mommy, Uzzi, Hanan, Caleb, and I need him to be made better. Please tell me what I can do to help. Amen.”
Gili didn’t immediately get up. Instead, she sat back on her haunches, deep in thought. After several minutes, she rose to her feet, knowing exactly what she needed to do—she went searching for the one person she knew could help.
Chapter Twelve
Gehazi gently put his arm around Miriam’s shoulder. “Come, Miriam,” he said softly. “Nebat has more experience with these things than any of us. Let him see what he can do for Gideon. It would be better if you waited outside.”
Miriam looked at Gehazi through blank eyes. Without protest she let him guide her across the room to the door.
“Bildad,” he said as he ushered Miriam outside, “will you please help Miriam while I assist Nebat?”
Bildad looked at Gehazi and then Miriam, searching their expressions for a clue that would tell him if Gideon was alive or dead. As he wrapped his arm around Miriam’s shoulder, he wondered if he should speak words to console a grieving widow or encourage a struggling wife. Giving a weak smile to Gehazi, he nodded his head toward the water pot on the floor and said, “Take the water with you.”
Picking up the pot, Gehazi walked into the room and stood beside Nebat. “Can you do anything for him?” he asked as he placed the pot of water on the bed frame.
“I’ve never seen wounds this serious,” Nebat replied in complete honesty.
“But can you do anything?” Gehazi repeated somewhat more forcefully.
“Truthfully, no, I can’t.”
“What of Bildad? Does he have any skills?” Gehazi asked.
Nebat shook his head. “For all his strength and bravery, he knows nothing of treating injuries.”
Gehazi’s face mirrored his consternation as he considered Nebat’s words. “So we are to let this man bleed to death without doing anything?”
Nebat looked directly at Gehazi, shrugged his shoulders, and held out his hands in a sign of unwilling defeat. There was no need for him to say anything. They both knew the facts, and there was nothing either of them could do to alter them.
The door opened with such force that it startled both men. Spinning around they watched as Elisha entered the room with Gili trailing in his wake. Three steps from where Gideon lay, Elisha stopped suddenly, his mouth gaping open as he looked at the horrific wounds. Turning around, he dropped to one knee and stretched out his arms, his cloak shielding Gideon’s body from Gili’s innocent eyes. “Gili, it would be best if you waited outside with your mother,” he said firmly. Without waiting for a response, he called over his shoulder, “Gehazi, will you and Nebat please take Gili outside with you. I wish to be alone with Gideon.”
“I want to stay with you, Prophet,” Gili pleaded softly in protest.
Lowering his arms only enough to grasp Gili’s shoulders, Elisha replied kindly, “My little friend, I promise you in the name of Jehovah that your father will be well, but you must leave us for a few moments.”
Gili looked at him and seemed to be formulating a reply. Before she could say anything, Elisha added, “Do you trust me, Gili?”
“Yes!”
“Do you believe Jehovah can make your father whole and well?”
“If you say he can, then I believe it will be.”
Elisha smiled warmly and drew Gili close in a hug. “Your faith is strong, little lamb. But you must leave me now.”
Elisha rose to his feet, still using his body as a shield. Turning Gili toward the door, he beckoned to Gehazi. Placing Gili’s hand in Gehazi’s, Elisha gently herded the two men and the child out the door.
Miriam sat on the rock wall with her face in her hands. Tears dripped from her chin and landed on her robe, mingling freely with the blood that had already been absorbed by the robe’s deep brown fibers. Clinging tightly to her were Hanan, Caleb, and Gili. Only Gili was not crying.
“You don’t need to cry, Momma,” Gili said as she moved a dirty strand of black hair out of her mother’s face. “Prophet will heal Daddy.”
Miriam pulled her hands from her face and sat upright. Looking at Gili through watery eyes, she smiled weakly and clutched her daughter close. She said nothing as she softly stroked her daughter’s head, repeatedly running her fingers through the tangled hair in a vain attempt to straighten it. On the other side stood Hanan and Caleb. Despite constantly wiping his nose on his forearm, softhearted Hanan was unable to keep up with the continual flow of clear liquid dripping from his nose. Like his mother’s, his eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. He wore no tunic—he never did—and his dirty bare chest was streaked where little rivers of tears had cascaded toward the belt around his waist.
Lines of fear and confusion were etched into Caleb’s face as he looked at his mother, brother, and sister. Leaning his head against Miriam’s arm, he closed his eyes and tried to stifle the sobs that shook his little body. After a moment, he opened his eyes, wiped tears from his cheek, and asked, “Where’s Uzzi?”
Miriam suddenly stopped stroking Gili’s hair and looked around. Panic gripped her, and she jumped to her feet, calling out as loudly as she could, “Uzzi!”
Turning in a circle, she scanned every direction, hoping to see the boy sitting on a rock or standing nearby.
“Has anyone seen Uzzi?” Miriam asked with clear panic in her voice.
Bildad, Nebat, and Gehazi all exchanged blank looks then quickly joined Miriam and the children at the well.
“I haven’t seen him since we were down at the enclosure with the cows,” said Nebat.
“Nor have I,” injected Gehazi.
“He can’t be far,” Bildad said. “Miriam, you and the children wait here while we search for him.” Turning to the other men, he said, “I’ll check below at the cattle enclosure; you men should check the fields and hills.” Without waiting for a response, Bildad turned and started jogging down the path toward the cattle enclosure.
The loose rocks on the sloping path made Bildad skid as he rounded the sharp corner. His sandaled foot slammed into a gnarled tree root with enough force that he lost his balance and tumbled down in a heap. Cursing, he dusted the grit from his scraped hands and knees and rose to his feet. An instant throb shot from two of his toes, and he crumpled back to the ground in pain. Reaching down he gently touched the two middle toes on his right foot and winced again in pain. “Broken or just sprained?” he muttered as he clenched his teeth.
Pushing himself to his feet, he hobbled the remaining distance down the path. For the second time that day, his jaw dropped open when he saw what awaited him inside the manure-covered enclosure.
Chapter Thirteen
As young Uzzi watched Bildad hoist his mangled father over the brush-and-pole fence to the arms of Nebat and Gehazi, he swore an oath to himself. Nothing, human or animal, would ever hurt anyone in his family without paying for it. As the men struggled up the hill with his father’s limp body, Uzzi decided the cow would pay with its life for hurting and probably killing his father. He pushed the guilt from his mind—it was his own recklessness that had caused the cow to gore his father—and focused on what must be done. Vengeance would be sweet; the cow would die, and he knew exactly how he would do it.
Uzzi slipped behind a slender tree and watched the small group of people rush toward the house. Once they rounded the slight bend and were out of sight, he ran to the small shed in which grain and a few supplies were stored. Bursting through the door, he picked up a wobbly stool and set it on the ground directly beneath the doorway. Climbing on the stool, he reached high above the door and removed a powerful steel bow from the pegs on which it rested. Standing on the tips of his toes, he reached higher, grabbed the quiver of arrows, and stepped from the stool.
Leaning the quiver against the doorframe, he carefully examined the bow’s graceful frame. Raising it in his left hand, he notched an imaginary arrow, took aim at the cow, and let the arrow fly. It was then he realized he had a problem: the bow was unstrung. One end of the catgut bowstring was attached to the upper tip of the bow, and the other end dangled in the air several inches from the other tip. After each use his father always unstrung the bow to preserve its spring, and now Uzzi would have to figure out a way to string it. His father could do it easily, but Uzzi lacked his massive arms and muscles; for him it would be a challenge.
Holding the bow and string as he had seen his father do on many occasions, Uzzi attempted the impossible and failed miserably. He tried again and again, but he lacked the strength to bend the bow far enough to loop the string over the tip. In disgust, he tossed the bow to the ground and dejectedly plopped down on the stool. It was all his fault—everything. If only he had listened to his father, none of this would have happened. And as he sat there crushed with remorse, his mind replayed the events.
On hearing his mother’s call to wake up, he had raced outside, drawn water from the well, and splashed it on his face. Running his wet hands through his hair to dry them, Uzzi had looked up just in time to see his father leading three men down to the cattle enclosure. He immediately recognized Gehazi’s slender frame, but he didn’t know the other two. Fellow travelers with Gehazi, he thought, or perhaps they were here to buy grain.
With bare feet toughened from constant walking without sandals, he dashed down the path after the group, knowing they were going to check if the big red cow had calved. Uzzi ran up behind the men just as they came to a stop at the gate. Pushing against his father’s leg, he peered through the slats to catch a glimpse of the cow.
She was by far the largest of their three cows, a monster by normal standards, and Gideon was always anxious to show her off to passing travelers. First, people’s mouths gaped open, and then they would shake their heads in disbelief. She stood almost six feet tall at the shoulder, and Uzzi had listened to the men in the village estimate her weight at nearly one ton. Her broad head was topped with long horns, and when she shook them, which she did as a way of signaling her anger, the horns knifed wickedly through the air. She had a mean disposition in direct proportion to her size, and his father kept her for only two reasons: she produced very large calves, which he sold at a handsome profit, and she produced tremendous quantities of milk.
Uzzi looked at the cow then up at his father. “I can’t see a calf. Has she had it yet?”
“Just barely,” Gideon said, pointing to the newly born calf lying in the dirt in a corner of the enclosure.
Uzzi tried peeking over the top of the gate, but it was too tall. “I can’t see the calf; is it a bull or a heifer?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Gideon answered. “We’ll check it later.”
“Later?” Uzzi replied. “But I want to know now. You told me if it was a heifer, I could have it.”
“You know this old cow, Uzzi. She is too mean and protective of her newborn calves to let us near now. We’ll check it later,” Gideon said with finality.
Turning to the men, Gideon pointed to a small shed behind them. “You came to buy grain, not see cows. Come, the grain is stored in the shed.” He looked at Gehazi. “And while we’re in there, let’s also get some grain for that little donkey of the prophet’s.” Then with the wink of an eye, Gideon added, “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so obstinate if you fed it a little better.”
As Gideon guided the men to the shed, Uzzi pushed against the gate, hoping to create enough of a crack he could peer in at the new calf. “I can’t see in,” he muttered in disgust. Reaching up he unlatched the rope that secured the gate to a post and cautiously pulled the gate toward him. The bright early morning sunlight shone directly in his eyes, and he held his hand to his forehead to shield its glare. To his surprise, the cow had walked away from its calf and stood with its back to him.
Uzzi looked back over his shoulder and watched as the last of the men walked into the shed. Then he slowly opened the gate only wide enough for his slender frame to slip inside. If I’m quiet and fast, he thought, I can sneak in and out without disturbing the mother cow.
Stepping cautiously, Uzzi squeezed through the gate and crept along the edge of the enclosure to the corner where the calf lay. Pausing only long enough to make certain the cow still had her back to him, Uzzi squatted down and moved the calf’s hind leg. At the touch of his hand, the newborn calf instinctively kicked at the unfamiliar sensation and let out a distressed moo. Startled by the calf’s reaction, Uzzi rose up and began backpedaling as fast as he could away from the calf. In his haste, and not looking at the ground behind him, he stumbled over a long stick and lost his balance, falling onto his back midway between the calf and its mother. As he landed, an involuntary yelp escaped his lips, and the giant mother cow whirled to face her calf—and him.
The cow let out a loud bellow and raced toward her calf with head low, her horns only inches above the ground. At the same instant, Uzzi screamed, “Help! Father, help me!”
Gideon raced from the shed with the three men on his heels. In an instant, his mind took in the entire situation, and he pulled himself up and over the gate in a single motion. His entrance made the careening cow slide to a stop, uncertain which person was the greater threat to her calf.
“Uzzi,” Gideon screamed, “run to me as fast as you can.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Uzzi scampered to his feet and ran with all his might toward his father, yelling at the top of his lungs as he went. It was a valiant effort, but it would be too little, and Gideon knew it.
“Run for the gate,” Gideon commanded as he himself charged toward the angry but confused cow. Perhaps if he could divert the animal long enough for Uzzi’s short legs to cover the distance to the gate, he might save his son from injury.
His heart pumping and arms and legs thrashing, Uzzi propelled himself to the gate. With the same intensity, Gideon ran toward the cow waving his arms and screaming madly to intimidate the cow into changing course. It didn’t work. The cow raced forward and lowered its head at the exact instant Gideon slipped on a pile of manure. Gideon let out a bloodcurdling scream as they collided.
The shortest and strongest of the three men watching the scene, Bildad, yanked open the gate with so much force that he nearly knocked Nebat, who was standing beside him, off his feet. Stepping into the enclosure, he grabbed Uzzi around the waist, flung him through the partially open gate in one swift motion, then turned toward the cow.
Miraculously, Uzzi landed on his feet, and with all the energy he could muster, he raced up the trail to the house screaming for help.
Now, less than an hour after it had happen, as he sat slump shouldered on the stool, he again told himself that it really was his fault—all of it—and if his father died, he was to blame. A crushing weight of sadness descended on him, and tears formed in the corners of each of his eyes. The little drops rolled down his cheeks and splattered on the edge of the steel bow that lay at his feet. Grief gave way to anger, and he kicked the bow, sending it clattering against the door. And that’s when the idea came to him.
Rising quickly from the stool, he picked up the bow. Making sure the bowstring was securely on one end, he wedged one tip in the small space between the door and the frame. Using his body weight as leverage, he bent the bow toward him and looped the other end of the bowstring around the opposite tip. Smiling at his success, he took an arrow from the quiver. “Now you will die, cow,” he mumbled to himself as he climbed into the enclosure and walked defiantly toward his intended target. Sidestepping to where he had an easy broadside shot at the cow, he raised the bow and arrow and took aim.
“Uzzi! What are you doing?” Bildad shouted as he limped to a stop outside the gate.
Startled at the sound of his name, Uzzi jerked his head toward the voice and accidently released the arrow, sending it flying harmlessly into the branches of a cedar tree. The bowstring zipped down the inside of Uzzi’s left arm causing such a burning pain that he dropped the bow in a pile of manure.
