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224 A Face to Meet the Faces Sarah’s Story Susan Rich I watched their figures moving light as embroidery stitches back-lit against fine cloth; mid-summer, late afternoon baked in a lapis blue inhalation—a day fit for any God—even Him and those good looking angels He brought in, their bold hips swaying as they scrambled the seacolored hills, bright dust lifting small circles above their ankles. My husband napped, undisturbed, snoring louder than our camel consorting at its bit. And so I left Abe’s arms and came to see, examining each figure closely. It was then I sensed a stirring up, a scouring all around my limbs, then deeper, in the interior faultlines of my body—wide awake, at ninety— it made me laugh and the unfamiliar sound rimmed the tent and woke my husband, who recognized them immediately. With nothing on but a thread-bare sheet he bowed and brayed while I left to prepare the food— remaining close enough to listen. People ask if I knew burning light, but I will not reply. What I know I’ll not state in scripted sounds, just imagined speech 225 As It Was Written as if in conversation, passing time with women on the street. What meal to fix for the Lord and his company? Brown bread, some soup, mustard sauce and lamb’s meat? Nothing fancy but they would not leave hungry. Steaming plates I set and served and brought back again three times. The appetite of God! Enough to make a mother wring her hands—bottomless yet full of compliment—always a word of thanks. Raised right I thought, the kind of son I used to want myself— or daughter, or any child at all—I had prayed and raged and cried for. But now at ninety, I knew my womb was useless as a leaking chamber pot, that a child would not bless us. Abraham no longer touched me, though he often bragged that other women looked like monkeys compared to Sarah’s beauty. But this was habit speaking, a slight memory of an oasis misplaced long ago. I suppose I loved him now and again, but our bodies had forgotten how to coax and stroke and howl, decades since I knew his hips against my back, his thighs filling each Friday with desire incomprehensible. And then I returned from reverie to hear Him say Next year when I return your wife will be with child. How could I not laugh at such a declaration? Of course I held it deep inside my body, the laughter that builds and fills itself, soon bridging joy to tears in rocking rhythmic shudders. ...

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