LITMIR.BIZ

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said, “We are all proud. At least that’s what I have noticed.”

      “Yes,” Mother said. “And Moses is doing what he is doing because God commanded it. Not because he decided to do it himself. Now I have to go up ahead and help again. You girls watch over each other.”

      “Okay.”

      When she had left, Beulah gently asked Zillah, “Zillah, do you remember Eldad and Medad, some time back? How they came and prophesied in the camp?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, they spoke about love, just as their names mean. ‘El-dad’ means ‘God loves,’ and ‘Me-dad’ means ‘love.’”

      “So?”

      “So I am just saying, we have to remember love. To be charitable. To put the best interpretation on what other people are doing.” Beulah thought about what she had learned of ancient stories. When Noah sinned after the flood, one of his sons went around and talked about it. The others went in and covered it, showing how God’s mercy covers our sin and nakedness. That was love. She knew this, but how could she explain it to Zillah?

      “Sure,” Zillah said uncertainly, as if she yearned for her heart to twist.

      The beats of Beulah’s heart pulsed in a commotion of compassion. She put her hand on her friend’s hand.

      “What do you think of me?” Zillah asked.

      “I think you’re my wonderful sister that God gave me,” Beulah said wistfully. She was still, as still as if somebody had switched something off inside her. Zillah’s stumbling confusion filled her heart like a story told in hieroglyphics written all over a huge wall. Zillah was journeying along merrily with the crowd going to Canaan. But, will I get there, Beulah wondered?

      Zillah twirled the ribbon in her hair and laughed lightly, “And you’re my sister, too.” Then with a final kiss goodbye, with tresses discomposed and glowing cheeks, she scurried off.

      5.

      That evening seemed sharp with waiting, and they paused for the night earlier than usual. Far away the bleating of a great herd of goats sounded restlessly. Beulah watched as her mother quickly put up the tent. Her mother’s gaze was huddled, as if something ominous meddled with her thoughts. Other mothers were putting their tents up nearby. Soon Beulah’s vision was obscured by the soft skin walls of the tent. “Do you want me to drag you outside so you can look around more? It’s a while until bedtime.” Beulah’s mother’s question was tender.

      “Yes, if I could,” Beulah responded, hoping the vision of the vast clear sky would stifle the sad unfoldings wrestling inside her.

      As Beulah lay with her head propped up on pillows she watched some boys playing outside the neighbor’s tent. “I’m going to put your eyes out!” a child cried.

      “Like Moses wants to do!” another replied savagely.

      Beulah looked over at her mother. Her mother’s looks were covered with gray worry. She had heard the boys. They both turned to watch them playing. One boy took a rock and threw it at the other boy. It wasn’t a very big rock, and it missed the boy by quite a bit. Beulah’s mother started toward the boys and then backed up. Then she saw the child who had thrown the rock pick up another one. This rock was much bigger. Beulah’s mother ran toward the child like a gentle minister of chastisement.

      “Put that down.”

      The child had curly brown hair and he turned wildly toward Beulah’s mother, surprised. “Why?” He sneered foully, like a bad inmate.

      “We don’t hurt other people.”

      The boy hesitated, then snarled a mean word at Beulah’s mother. But he put the rock down.

      “Your mother is tough.” Beulah turned quickly. It was Zillah. She had come up while Beulah was watching her mother and the two boys. She had seen the whole altercation.

      “Yes,” Beulah said.

      Zillah raised her eyebrows. “Well, I hope she listens to Korah, not Moses.”

      “Why?” Beulah asked.

      Zillah was silent, because Beulah’s mother was coming near them. She picked up a copper plate and studied her dim reflection in it.

      “Mother,” Beulah called, “Zillah wants you to listen to Korah, not Moses. Why?”

      “Zillah,” Beulah’s mother pleaded. “I am not listening to the voice of man, but the voice of God. Moses is not my leader, God is. God led us through the great and terrifying wilderness, and is still leading us—in this wilderness where there are fiery serpents, and scorpions, and thirsty land, where there is no water. And it is God who brought forth water for us out of a rock of flint.”

      “God will decide these things,” Beulah stated, her voice reaching out like an extended hand toward the turned back of Zillah.

      “That’s right,” Beulah’s mother said, a weary inscription on her brow.

      Zillah picked up Beulah’s doll. Seeing the unthreaded needle, she expertly threaded it and began sewing. “Oh, Beulah, I love this dress you are making for this doll.”

      6.

      “Who’s there?”

      Beulah, who had been huddled under a sheepskin, turned toward the tent flap. Someone was standing there. In the distance she could hear the nighttime singing, like the murmur of yearning. Zillah had left to join it, and Beulah’s mother and father and brothers were doing the night work.

      It was quiet in the tent and Beulah could hear the labored breathing of whoever was standing there. It was too dark to see much more than a tall shape.

      The breathing of the man outside slowed.

      “Who’s there?” Beulah repeated.

      “Akhenaten.” The sound came out as if someone waded in a river of sand.

      “Who are you?” There were so many timid spots in her soul, but for some reason she forgot them all watching the solid silhouette move into the tent and toward her.

      “An Egyptian. I saw your large group moving through the wilderness. I’ve been following you many days.”

      “We’re the Hebrews. We are leaving Egypt.”

      “Leaving Egypt?” The man came and knelt beside Beulah’s bed. Beulah’s little jag of fear faded to nothing. She thought he looked like a good-hearted spy, and yet his eyes were lined with fatigue, as if his sleep was always filled with perturbations.

      “And, child, why aren’t you singing out there with the rest of them?”

      “I’m dying.”

      The shaggy man smelled sweaty and dusty. Beulah inhaled in the deep night and leaned away from his haggard and woebegone figure. The man’s sad smile revealed broken teeth beneath a scraggly beard. Beulah knew that banners flew high above the camp in many cases to indicate what was below them on the ground. The man must have seen the banners from afar off and went toward them to see what they signified.

      “Who told you that you are dying? And how is it that you are dying, and I am not? Every tale condemns me as a renegade. But you, you are innocent.”

      “And yet the doctor affirms that I will die soon. And I just know. I am going from this life to eternity with God.”

      “Why are you on this journey?”

      Beulah laughed starrily. It was like the unclenching of floodgates. She thought about the stately tombs of Egypt, the bustling marketplaces, the leeks and the tasty cucumbers, the garlic and the savory meat. They had all been drawn to the life of Egypt, its beauty and enjoyment. They had been slaves to it all. And yet as they slaved for the idols they had set up in their own hearts, it was as if they were being beaten by taskmaskers demanding good things of them, keeping a record of everything and

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