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 hounding them with that record. “What should I say?” she mumbled in the darkness to Akhenaten.
A harmless snake wound its way over the foot of her bed and she shook it off weakly. Akhenaten got up and brushed the snake out of the tent and then sat down on the ground near Beulah.
“Say the truth,” he said, looking like a raven in a nook, watching her.
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