The Deliverer (7 page)
I stood beside Moses, scrunched my eyes shut, and pretended I had no supernatural powers, could not fly, and was made of flesh and blood. Then I opened my eyes and beheld Karnak, the city of the pharaohs. I have to tell you it was impressive. Although it was built entirely by humans, the temples, the architecture, the sheer grandeur of it all almost overwhelmed me, and I had the perspective of paradise to compare it with.
Then I looked at Moses. Five feet eight inches tall—five-nine tops—one hundred sixty pounds more or less, weathered skin of a shepherd, and long gray beard and hair of one who has fought the desert all his life. Not all that impressive. Certainly he didn’t look like a man in search of a midlife career change. I wondered if he felt as small as he looked.
He stood there a long time staring at the city. At a minimum he must have been reevaluating the whole idea. I wondered if he was thinking how this would be a good time to turn back before anybody realized he was back in town. God had appeared in the earth realm as a burning bush and declared him to be the deliverer of Israel. So, what of it? No one else saw it, and no one else would ever have to know, save those few elders he talked with, and who really cared what they thought about anything?
Moses continued staring at Karnak, and I continued staring at Moses. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would Moses at eighty years old, a person who had escaped death and slavery and had ended up in a desert oasis with a pretty good life, care anything at all about what happened to the humans who remained in bondage in Egypt? I don’t get that about you people. Why do you humans care about the sufferings of other humans? More than that, what motivates you to try to do something about it?
Here’s how I would have handled the whole situation. If I’d been Moses and God showed up to tell me how the sufferings of the slaves were of concern to Him, I would have suggested to God—very respectfully, you understand—that He go get them Himself or at least send a SWAT team of angels to do it. I would have pointed out the logistical nightmare of what He was proposing. Here’s what I would’ve said:
“So, sovereign Lord, let me see if I heard You right. You want me to lead two million Hebrews into the desert to have a party and worship You, and Pharaoh is going to go right along with the whole idea. I can see how You are about worship and all that, but say, did You have some sort of follow-up plans for after the prayer meeting? Or were You thinking all the AWOL slaves and I would just wing it after that? Where did You say this Promised Land is, and how many demonized tribes are already living there? Of course, You’re probably planning to have them surrender to us when we get to the border, right?
“That’s only fair if Your idea is to send me into the middle of them with just the slaves, who, I might point out, make a lousy conquering army. Why don’t we just sleep on this tonight and see how we feel about it tomorrow?”
Yes, that’s what I would have said. I looked to see if Moses might be thinking the same thing, but he was gone.
He was halfway to the city gate by the time I caught up with him again. I thought about going back to Satan’s lair right then to let him know where we were in the process, but then I had a reality check. When Moses got to the gate, how was he going to get in? I know what I said about him being raised as Ramses’ brother, but that was a long time ago. These guards wouldn’t remember him; they were too young. They wouldn’t know or care who he was. They were highly unlikely to let a wandering goatherd enter the gates without any prior authorization. Maybe it wasn’t worth getting Satan riled up just yet. I decided to follow Moses and see what would happen.
When we got to the gate, it was just as I thought. The Egyptian guards were posted on top of the wall over the massive doors. Beside each one of them was one of Satan’s henchmen to make sure the guards did not let Moses through in case he ever showed up again. As Bezel tried to remind Satan, the demons had been stationed there since Moses fled forty years earlier just in case he ever tried to come back. Moses banged on the gate with the staff the Lord had given him. I must say it did make quite a loud noise for a piece of wood. I thought I’d better wave a wing at the demons on the wall to let them know I was with Moses in case they were planning some sort of attack. They had a habit of overlooking me, and I didn’t want to end up as barbecue if there was a fight. I took a step forward to get in a better position, but when I looked back up to the place on the wall where they had been, they were gone. The human guards were still there, but every last one of the demonic horde was gone. Now, that was odd.
I stayed behind Moses, simultaneously wondering where our side went and not believing it when the gates began to open. You know how you get that funny feeling down your scales—or in your case, down your spine—when you realize you’re not alone? I was getting that feeling when all at once I heard a snort and felt hot breath right down the back of my neck. I turned around and was face-to-nostril with the biggest white horse I’d ever seen. In fact, there were six of them. I had to step back to see how grand they really were. When I did, I saw on their backs the elite guard of the heavenly host.
No wonder the demon guards had fled. Moses couldn’t see them and had no idea the angels were even there, much less that they had arrived to ensure he got into the city. He looked first at his staff and then at the opening gates in pure amazement, having no idea that the cavalry of heaven stood round about him. The great stallion stomped his glistening hoof and snorted at me. Time to go.
I tried to flee, but I’m not at my best under stress. Those snorting horses made me so nervous I couldn’t get my hooves and wings going in the same direction. I hopped around trying to get liftoff, but my tail acted like a sack of rocks. The lead horse was now bearing down on top of me with those flaring nostrils right in my contorted face. I just knew he was going to step on me.
I decided to play dead. I whimpered and rolled up in a ball under his massive chest. I figured out right away this was not a great idea, but as I said, I’m not good under pressure. The horse sniffed at me and then tossed his head, turned, kicked with those powerful legs, and sent me flying into the vast expanse. When I stopped spinning, I began flapping for all I was worth as I beat a quick path back to the second heaven.
But I wasn’t as fast as the demon guards who had already made it back to Satan’s court. He was furious when he learned they had left their posts. They stood cowering before him as he blasted them for abandoning their assignment. I tried not to show it, but I enjoyed seeing someone besides me on the receiving end of his thrashing. He glanced my way, seeming surprised to see me.
“Why are you here?”
“I live here, Your Majesty.” Never try to be flip with Satan.
I ducked whatever it was he threw at me and went on. “What I mean is that I’m back to report. Moses got into the city.” I was going to tell him about the horses and the elite guard, but he cut me off.
“How many of you imbeciles do I need to tell me Moses got into the city? I got it, all right? And here you all are comfy at home while Moses wanders around Egypt completely unopposed.” His eyes seared each of us. I knew not to say anything right then, but one of the others did not.
“What did you expect us to do when the heavenly host showed up?” he blurted out. “You were certainly no match for them when we were in heaven. Don’t blame us for getting out before they saw us and turned the wrath of you-know-who on us again.”
Oh, my. Bad, bad answer. No one was ever allowed to remind Satan of how Michael had thrown us out of heaven after the rebellion.
Over the centuries, I’d seen Satan throw just about every kind of fit you might imagine. I’d seen rage that melted demons’ wings and violence against his own kind that in any other created species would be unimaginable. But I had never seen Satan do what he did that day to the demon who dared to say what all of us were thinking. I dare not say what happened, but suffice it to know our former comrade was no more.
“Any other comments?” he snarled to the rest of us as he wiped away the demon ooze that dribbled out of his mouth. Disgusting, I know, but it gives you a hint. Of course, not a word was spoken. No one even thought out loud. Everyone fled for his post. I was glad to be going back to my perch to resume my duties of watching the Hebrews when Satan stopped me in my attempted exit.
“Does Moses have any weapons to use against Ramses?”
“Not to speak of, sir. He has his shepherd’s staff, but that’s about it. Nothing to worry about, although it does have one pretty impressive add-on feature.” I was remembering what I had seen in the desert. “He can turn his staff into a snake. I saw him do it back there at the bush.”
For a moment, Satan didn’t seem to know what to do with this information. God hadn’t been all that favorably disposed toward using snakes for anything since that episode in the garden. Satan summoned one of the demon princes who specialized in magic and told him to position himself with the court magicians.
“Whatever Moses does with his staff, make sure they can duplicate it,” he hissed to the prince, who did not speak but just nodded and whisked away toward Ramses’ palace.
“You.” Satan was speaking to me again. “Dog his steps. Watch every move. If he hears from God, I want to know about it. Do not allow Moses to leave Egypt with the Hebrews.”
I took to flight in search of Moses without asking any questions, but I kept thinking about that last statement. Surely Satan was not suggesting that I might be able to keep Moses from doing anything, much less liberating the slaves. Since we were not allowed to ask follow-up questions, it was a constant battle to guess what Satan meant by what he said.
A
T FIRST THEY
just stared at one another as if each had seen a ghost. Moses, weathered and leathered, a man who had battled the desert and survived, seemed out of place but oddly at ease in the opulence surrounding him. Aaron stood by his side, uncomfortable and unsure of where he was supposed to look, so he stared at the floor. Ramses sat on his throne in splendor, dressed in his royal robes, with a look of confusion and disbelief all over his face. Moses had no trouble getting in to see the pharaoh because as soon as Ramses heard that someone claiming to be his long-lost brother had arrived, he canceled the business at hand and had Moses ushered into the throne room.
Ramses spoke first. “You’ve returned from the grave, my brother. Have you come back to us to take your place in the royal service?”
“No, Ramses,” Moses said. “We both know I have no claim to the royal lineage. I am the son of Hebrew slaves.”
“Nonsense,” Ramses replied. “We played together as children. We were as brothers. You’re welcome here, and you will be safe. After all, those who wanted your life are now dead.” He rose from his throne and walked around Moses as if seeing him from every side might reveal some hidden thing.
Ramses must be psychic,
I thought to myself.
That is exactly what God said to Moses in the desert. Why else would Ramses think to say it?
Moses turned around to face his brother. “Pharaoh knows that I am a Hebrew, a brother of the slaves you hold in bondage. Their cries have gone up to the God of heaven, who has sent me for them.”
I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees as Ramses’ eyes iced over at the words of Moses. If you ask me, God skipped an important step in the “get ready” phase when He failed to insist that Moses brush up on his diplomatic skills before encountering the ruler of Egypt. Moses had spent too many years talking to goats. God should have provided him with a life coach for a couple of weeks. Someone to help him learn the social graces he’d long forgotten, such as how monarchs like a little polite chitchat to break the ice before jumping right down to the nonnegotiables. At least a few opening words like this, maybe:
“Hi, how are you doing, brother? What’s new with the family? The castle looks great; I like what you’ve done with the place. Sorry I haven’t written. By the way, I just dropped by to walk out with your entire labor force. Nice seeing you.”
No, Moses didn’t give Ramses a chance to warm up to the idea at all. No sugarcoating whatsoever. All eyes were on Pharaoh. Maybe Ramses thought Moses’s comments were so ridiculous they didn’t merit a response. After an uncomfortable silence, it was Moses who blinked and spoke again.
“This is what the God of Israel says: ‘Let My people go so that they may hold a festival to Me for three days in the desert.’” The snickering in the court came from the palace guards who couldn’t contain their giggles at the absurdity of what Moses had said.
Pharaoh laughed as well. “My brother hasn’t lost his sense of humor. You were always the prankster.”
Moses remained silent.
Ramses stopped smiling and sat down on his throne. “Who is this God that I should obey Him and let the slaves go?”
“He is the God of Israel and the Creator of all that is.”
Moses had summed it up nicely, I thought—briefly but nicely.
“Is he greater than the gods of Egypt?” Ramses shot back.
“He is.”
Again I was concerned Moses wasn’t investing nearly enough words into this conversation. Ramses opened the door to dialogue, but Moses was not walking through it.
“So your God cares about the Hebrews, does He? They’ve been the slaves of Egypt for four hundred years. Where’s He been all this time if He is so concerned?”
“Let them go, Ramses.”
“Here’s what I think of your God.” With that, Ramses turned to the foreman of the slaves.
“Give them no more straw to make bricks. Obviously they have too much time on their hands. Now let them gather the straw themselves, and let the daily quota remain the same.”
Moses didn’t flinch, but Aaron looked like he might run. They should have anticipated that Pharaoh would resist the idea of a total shutdown in the brick-making business. Aaron swallowed hard but didn’t say a word as he waited to see what Moses would do with this unfortunate turn of events.