Short Story: The I Am

 

I wrote the following short story when I was a teenager. A conversation with my husband and dad reminded me of it and I thought I’d share. Our culture is different now, but we live in a world that needs to cry to the I AM, “I believe!”

 

“Thus you shalt say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent you . . . .” Exodus 3:14

The slapping of Necho’s sandals held a sense of urgency as he bounded up his younger brother’s front steps. With all his being he wished to be at his own home, a bloodied brush in his hands in defense against the danger dangling over their heads. But his family needed to know about this. They must know.

Necho raised his fist and pounded on the heavy wooden door. Only a moment went by before his niece appeared.

“Uncle Necho, please come in!” Young, beautiful Asenath stepped aside to allow her uncle to enter her home. “What special occasion brings you to our house?”

Necho did not return the gracious smile offered him. “I have news . . . from Goshen.”

Asenath’s smile faded. “I’ll go get Father.”

She hurried into the next room and soon returned with her father, mother, and older brother.

“Why, Necho, it is good to see you!” Asenath’s father clasped arms with his brother in greeting.

“And you, dear brother Hophra,” Necho returned. “I’m afraid I bear fearsome news for you.”

“Oh?” Hophra gestured toward the living area where he moved to recline on his favorite fur-covered chaise. He rubbed his shaved head as he watched Necho take a seat.

“I just returned from Goshen on a mission for Pharaoh,” Necho explained. “It seems Moses has gathered the people together to leave Egypt.”

Hophra leaned forward with interest. “Go on.”

“They have put on their traveling clothes and have even gone to their neighbors asking for their treasures. Right now they’re partaking of a feast of roast lamb and unleavened bread.”

Hophra gripped the cushions next to him, his eyes blazing at the thought of the Israelites plundering their homes. “They are but mere slaves!” he hollered. “Are we weaklings that they should—”

While he spoke, his hand searched for a wine cup at his side. When he could not find it, his gaze fell on the empty table by his arm, once holding a gold platter and a collection of wine cups. “Tahpenes! Where are the serving dishes?”

His wife bowed her head. “They took them, Hophra.”

“What!” Hophra’s face turned purple. “How dare you—”

“Hold your peace, Hophra,” Necho admonished. “This is the least of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Moses has said that a Death Angel will pass over the land, killing every first-born person and animal. Only they, who have smeared blood on their door posts, will be spared of the plague.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Look around you, Hophra. Do you see a healthy land?”

Hophra pursed his lips.  He could not deny the appalling havoc that had left its mark on their great nation. Within the last few weeks, Egypt had suffered more than several centuries combined. Through Moses’ command, plagues of all sorts had infested the land, leaving not one aspect of their lives untouched. So many essential resources had been destroyed. And now Egypt was just a skeleton of what it had once been in beauty and wealth. But to Hophra’s chagrin, the land of Goshen had remained peaceful. Nothing had touched the Hebrews, not even the inky darkness.

“I’ll admit, Necho, it was all very impressive,” Hophra said. “But death to the first born? Is Moses that powerful?”

“I don’t believe it is Moses we’re contending with,” Necho replied, frowning. “Their God is fighting for them.”

“Ha! All those horrors went away, didn’t they?”

“Yes, but they did come to pass, just as Moses said.”

“So what are you trying to persuade me to do?”

“Cover your door post in blood.”

“Oh, no,” Hophra said, shaking his plump face in irritation. “I will not disgrace myself by putting some animal’s blood on my door. What would the gods do to me then?”

“Father,” his daughter Asenath spoke softly.  “What about Nitocris? He is your firstborn.”

Hophra gazed at his eldest—his son Nitocris. For a moment he faltered, but then turned away. “No,” he said, his voice tense. “I will not do it.”

“Oh, Hophra—” his wife Tahpenes began to plead.

“I said no, Tahpenes!” Hophra slapped the pillows surrounding him. “Their God is not all-powerful, and that is all I will say on the matter.” He turned to Necho. “It is time we all went to our beds. I bid you goodnight, Necho. I will see you tomorrow.”

Necho stood.  “Perhaps, Hophra.  Perhaps.”

~~~~~~~~

Asenath crept up the staircase leading to their rooftop. A clear, starry sky beamed down on her, yet still, she could not shake the feeling of foreboding.

“Nitocris, are you up here?” she whispered.

“Over here, Asenath.”

She tiptoed across the sun-baked roof and knelt beside her brother, who sat quietly in the corner.

“Can you not sleep?” he asked her.

Asenath shook her head, her raven-black hair gleaming in the moonlight. “I don’t see how anyone can sleep on a night like this.” She paused. “Nitocris, do you believe what Uncle Necho told us?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then how can you be so calm?” she asked, waving her hand in frustration. “It is your life being threatened.”

Nitocris turned to her and she saw the confidence in his wise, twenty-year-old face. “I am not blind about the things that have been occurring, Asenath. Only a fool—do forgive me, sister—would deny a God who has brought so much destruction upon us. I believe in Israel’s God. All other gods are false.”

Asenath shivered at her brother’s strong words.

“This may be my last night in this life,” he continued. “But I know the I Am will not forsake me.”

Asenath leaned against her brother’s shoulder as sobs shook her shoulders. “Oh, Nitocris, I don’t want to lose you.”

Suddenly a ruckus arose from the streets around them. Dogs began howling. Cats shrieked. And in the distance, the horrific sound of wailing split the night.

“It has come,” Nitocris whispered as a huge, black, formless shadow moved silently above the rooftops toward them. All at once the shadow was directly overhead, blotting out the starry sky.

Asenath gripped his arm as she too stared with horror at the overhanging mass. “Nitocris . . . I’m frightened.”

“Go downstairs, Asenath.”

“No, I will not leave you!”

“Asenath . . . I love . . .” Nitocris’ final breath cut short the endearing words as he tried desperately to tell her with his eyes how he cherished her. Slowly his body went limp against the clay wall, and the spark of life was gone from his dark eyes.

Asenath let out a high-pitched scream.

The Death Angel had come.

~~~~~~~~

As the scorching sun rose into the sky the next morning, Hophra’s remaining family stood on the rooftop.  In the distance, a growing cloud of dust moved into the wilderness.  Israel had been set free.

“They are gone,” Tahpenes whispered. “And so is my son.”

Hophra’s gaze dropped to the rooftop. Beneath him lay the body of Nitocris—his firstborn. Oh, if only he had smeared blood on his doorpost as Necho had instructed him! Surely then his son would still be alive, just as Necho and his family were.

“The I Am is with them.” His voice was strained with sorrow as he looked toward the horizon once more.

Tahpenes and Asenath both turned tear-reddened eyes to look at him in wonder.

“He is the only true God.” Hophra raised his hands toward the sky, his voice booming over the rooftops. “You are the great I Am of the Israelites! I believe. I believe!”

 

© 1998 Christa Heider Madrid