At this, Jacob shrugged. “They are not here,” he said. “See for yourself.” And with that he turned his back on Laban and walked away, into the woods and out of sight.
Laban began his search. My brothers stood, their arms crossed against their chests, and watched as the old man untied every bundle, unfurled every rolled-up tent, sifted his fingers through every sack of grain, squeezed every wineskin. When he moved toward Jacob’s tent, Simon and Levi tried to block his way, but Reuben motioned them aside. They followed Laban and watched as he rummaged through our father’s blankets and even lifted the floor mat to kick at the earth, in case a hole had been dug.
The day wore on, and still Laban searched. I ran back and forth from where my grandfather hunted to the red tent, reporting what I saw to my mothers. Their faces stayed blank, but I knew they were worried. I had never seen women’s hands working during the new moon, yet here every one of them was busy with her spindle.
After Laban had ransacked my father’s tent, there was nowhere left for him to search except the red tent. His eyes fixed upon the women’s tent on the edge of the camp. It was unthinkable that a healthy man would walk of his own will inside that place during the head of the month. The men and boys stared to see if he would place himself among bleeding women—even worse, his own daughters.
Laban muttered to himself as he approached the women’s tent. At the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. He glared at his sons and grandsons, and then Laban opened the flap and walked in.
Laban’s hoarse breath was the only sound. He glanced around the tent nervously, not meeting any of the women’s eyes. No one moved or spoke. Finally and with great contempt he said, “Bah,” and moved toward a pile of blankets.
Rachel stood up from her place on the straw. She did not drop her eyes as she addressed her father. Indeed, she stared straight into his face, and without anger or fear or any apparent emotion she said, “I took them, Father. I have all of the teraphim. _A11 of your gods. They are here.
“I sit upon them. The teraphim of our family now bathe in my monthly blood, by which your household gods are polluted beyond redemption. You can have them if you wish,” Rachel continued calmly, as though she were speaking of trifling things. “I will dig them out and even wipe them off for you if you like, father. But their magic has been turned against you. You are without their protection from this time forward.”
No one drew breath as Rachel spoke. Laban’s eyes widened, and he began to tremble. He stared at his beautiful daughter, who seemed to glow in the rosy light that filtered through the tent. It was a long and terrible moment that ended when Laban turned and shuffled out of our sight. Outside in the light, he found himself facing Jacob, who had returned.
“You found nothing,” my father said, with supreme confidence. When Laban made no reply, Jacob continued, “There are no thieves in my tents. This will be our last meeting, old man. We are finished.”
Laban said nothing, but opened his palms wide and bowed his head in acquiescence. “Come,” he said. “We will settle our case.” My grandfather motioned for Jacob to follow him up the hill to his camp. My brothers followed to give witness.
Laban and Jacob each selected ten stones and layered them one upon another until they had created a cairn to mark the boundaries between them. Laban poured wine over it. Jacob poured oil upon it. Each man swore peace to the other, touching the other’s thigh. Then Jacob turned and walked down the hill. It was the last time any of us saw Laban, which we counted as a blessing.
Jacob was eager to be gone from the place, so the red tent was dismantled the next morning and we continued our journey toward the land my father called home.
My father was consumed with memories of Esau. Though it had been twenty years, Jacob could still see his brother’s face when Esau finally understood the full meaning of what had befallen him. Not only had Jacob betrayed him by stealing his beloved father’s blessing, it was clear that Rebecca had been behind it—the last of many proofs of her preference for her younger son.
Jacob had watched his brother’s face as Esau pieced together the family treason, and my father was ashamed. Jacob understood the pain in Esau’s belly and knew if he had been in his brother’s place, he, too, would have given chase with a drawn dagger.
Jacob dwelt upon a vision of his terrible avenging brother, describing him daily to his sons, and to Leah, Rachel, and Bilhah during his nights with them, for now he raised his own tent so he could be comforted by a woman until morning. Jacob’s fear was so great that it had erased all memory of his brother’s love, which had always been stronger than his short-lived rages. He forgot the times Esau had fed him and protected him, laughed with him, and praised him.
My father’s fear made Esau into a demon of revenge, whom I imagined red as a fox with arms like tree trunks. This uncle haunted my dreams and turned the journey that I had loved into a forced march toward certain death.
I was not the only one who walked in fear. There was no more singing on the road or in camp after my father began to tell his Esau stories. The journey was quiet in the days after we took final leave of Laban, and even Judah no longer wished to walk alone at the back of the herd.
Soon there was another river to be crossed, and Esau was banished from my thoughts. I rejoiced to see flowing water again and ran up to the riverbank to put my face near the delicious smell and sound.
My father, too, seemed refreshed by the sight of the river and by the task at hand. He declared we would make camp on the far side that night and gathered his oldest sons around him to assign them their duties.
Although the water was nowhere near as wide as it had been at the great river to the north, this river was deeper in the center and much faster. Leaves did not meander downstream, but rushed away as though chasing after swift prey. Our crossing had to be quick, as the sun was already beginning its descent.
Inna and Zilpah poured an offering to the river god as the first of the animals were herded into the water and guided across. The smaller animals had to be taken two by two and by the scruff of the neck, with a man on either side. The dogs worked until they were exhausted. We nearly lost one of them in the current, but Joseph grabbed him and became a momentary hero among his brothers.
All of the men grew weary. Even Judah staggered from the effort of guiding frightened animals while withstanding a current that dragged at him. The river was generous, and no
ne of the animals was lost. By the time the sun was resting on the tops of the trees, only the ox, donkeys, women, and babies remained.
Reuben and Judah struggled with the terrified ox, who bellowed like an animal headed for slaughter. It took a long while for them to drag the beast across, and by then it was dusk. My mother and I were the last to be taken across, my hand in hers this time so that I would not be stolen by the current. When we reached the far shore, it was dark and only my father was left behind.
Jacob called across the water. “Reuben,” he said.
And my brother replied, “I am here.”
“See to the animals,” my father said. “Don’t bother with a tent. The night is warm enough. I will cross with the first light. Be ready to leave.”
My mother was not pleased by Jacob’s plan and told Reuben to call back to our father and offer to cross the river and spend the night with him. He would not permit it. “Tell your mother to sit on her fears. I am neither a child nor a doddering elder. I will sleep by myself under the sky, as I did in my youth when I traveled north. Be ready to leave in the morning,” said Jacob, and spoke no more.
The moon was still new, so the night was dark. The water would have sweetened the air had not the wet coats of the animals muddied its perfume with musk. They bleated in their sleep, unused to being wet in the chill of the night. I tried to stay awake to listen to the music of the rushing water, but this time the splashing lulled me into a deep sleep. Everyone slept heavily. If my father cried out, no one heard him.