Gili slid from her chair and raced toward the small home’s door. Reaching it only a fraction of a second before Miriam, she grasped the leather latch and yanked hard. Stepping into the doorway, Gili collided with Uzzi, who had terror etched on his face.
“Come!” he shouted. “Father’s hurt.” Spinning on his heels, the boy sent dust and stones flying as he raced down the small dirt path toward a large enclosure of thorny brush, sticks, and cedar poles.
Miriam didn’t hesitate. “Stay here, Gili,” she commanded as she bolted through the door after Uzzi, her madly churning legs energized by fear and anxiety. In only a few strides, she passed her young son. Rounding a small bend in the path, she reached the mass of brush and poles that formed the enclosure that held their three cows, and she froze in revulsion. Hanging from the horn of a cow was an unconscious Gideon, his feet suspended six inches off the ground and his head and upper chest lying awkwardly over the cow. His right arm dangled lifeless across the beast’s face, and his left arm hung limply beside its neck. He had been gored. The cow’s long horn had entered Gideon’s lower stomach, and four inches of it now protruded through his lower back.
Inside the fence, Elisha’s servant, Gehazi, and another man stood motionless, as still as stones. Another man stood outside the small wooden gate, his eyes wide in horror. The large red cow stared at the ground directly in front of Gehazi and angrily blew a stream of snot from its nose. On the ground, inches from Gehazi’s feet lay a newborn calf, still covered in mucus and fluids. The jerky flopping of its head and heaving of its sides told everyone, including its mother, that it was alive and needed attention.
It was a standoff. The protective cow wanted her newborn calf, and the people wanted Gideon, but no one, including the cow, was certain what to do next. One wrong move and the already enraged cow would go berserk, probably killing Gideon—if she hadn’t already—and injuring others. The same thought raced through everyone’s mind: how to free Gideon.
The man standing inside the enclosure beside Gehazi was the first to speak. In a calm voice, he said, “Gehazi, you must slowly back away from the calf. Make no sudden movements.”
Gehazi nodded and backed away, first one foot and then the other. He had only taken two small steps backwards when the cow angrily pawed the ground and sent dirt flying. Gehazi froze. “You know, Bildad,” Gehazi said to the other man from his motionless position, “if she charges me, I have no choice but to run for the gate, and you are directly in my path.”
“I know that,” Bildad replied. “But if you back away from her calf, she might calm down enough to lower her head and let Gideon fall to the ground. Then she’ll probably run to her calf. When she does that, you and I can creep around the edge of the enclosure and drag Gideon to safety.”
From outside the crude enclosure, the other man said, “Once she’s near her calf, I don’t believe she’ll charge anyone. All she wants is her calf.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Nebat,” Gehazi said. “You’re not the one standing inside here. Now, open the gate and get ready.”
With his eyes locked on the cow, Nebat slowly began pulling the gate open. Whether it was the squeak of the gate or Nebat’s movement, the cow perceived a new threat and tossed her head savagely in the air, dislodging Gideon from her horn but causing him to land on the ground directly between her and her calf.
Free of her added weight, the cow raised her head high in the air and shook it vigorously, sending thin threads of saliva and snot flying through the air. Letting out a deep bellow, she lowered her head and charged toward Gehazi, mercilessly stomping on Gideon’s stomach and chest as she did so.
Gehazi sprang sideways and lunged toward the gate running into Bildad in the process.
“No, Gehazi,” Bildad shouted, grabbing him by his robes. “Not the gate. We must go for Gideon.”
Gehazi looked at Bildad, the charging cow, the gate, and finally Gideon again. Pulling Bildad’s hands from his robe, he bound for the partially opened gate. He didn’t slow down to try and squeeze through the small opening; instead, he leaped over it as easily as a deer jumping a log.
Bildad spat on the ground. “You coward,” he screamed at the fleeing Gehazi and ran at full speed to the side of the enclosure. Then running along the fence until he was exactly opposite of Gideon’s crumpled body, he turned and raced the half dozen steps to where Gideon lay. Kneeling beside the limp body, he scooped Gideon up in his arms and stared at the cow.
The infuriated cow ran to her calf and stood over it, staring at Bildad and pawing the ground menacingly. It let out a series of throaty snorts and anxiously looked down at her calf and then back at Bildad but didn’t move.
“You weigh more than I thought,” Bildad said to the unconscious Gideon. “But not so much that I can’t carry you.”
Although several inches shorter than Gideon, Bildad was muscular and powerfully built. Holding Gideon in his arms, he slowly began backing away from the cow and away from the gate that was his only exit. It was a risky move. If the cow charged, there would be no escaping. He and Gideon would be pinned against the fence with no hope of getting away. The cow could butt, ram, and gore them repeatedly, and nobody would be able to come to their aid. But Bildad hoped that if he backed away, the cow would turn her attention to her calf and leave the men alone. Once he was as far away from the cow as he could get, his plan was to somehow hand Gideon over the thorny brush to the men on the outside and then climb out himself.
Bildad slowly retreated. With each step he took, the cow paid less attention to him and more attention to her calf. Except for the brief moment when he yelled his plan to Nebat and Gehazi, the cow didn’t even look at him but concentrated on licking her calf and trying to nudge it to its feet.
Reaching the opposite side of the enclosure, Bildad managed to get Gideon’s unconscious and battered body over the fence to Nebat and Gehazi. As Bildad gingerly climbed his way out of the enclosure, the other men carried Gideon to the shade of a tree and gently laid him on the ground.
Miriam ran the length of the enclosure, pushed Gehazi out of her way, and knelt beside her husband. As they all looked down at his body, no one believed he was alive. The front of his tunic was saturated with blood from his naval to his chest.
Cupping his head in her hands, Miriam turned his face towards her. “Don’t you die!” she screamed in a voice that bordered on hysteria. “Do you hear me? You cannot die!” Then she leaned over him until her tear-streaked cheek nearly touched his nose. “He’s still breathing,” she said anxiously. “Carry him to the house.”
Standing at his head and feet, Nebat and Gehazi exchanged questioning looks. The man may be alive, they seemed to say to one another, but he won’t be for long. Why carry him to the house? Why make him suffer more? Let him die here in the shade of this cedar tree.
“Please,” Miriam begged. “Carry him to the house. Now!”
Grabbing Gideon by the knees, Gehazi said to Nebat, “Pick him up under his arms. Hurry!”
Followed by Bildad and walking as fast as they could, the two men carried Gideon up the path to the house, passing Gili, Caleb, and Hanan as they went. Miriam called over her shoulder as she passed, “Hanan, draw a pot of water from the well. Caleb and Gili, sit beside the well and don’t move. Do you hear me? Sit down beside the well and wait.”
Miriam ran into the bedroom and pulled the bed into the middle of room where there was more light. She tossed the mattress aside to expose the flat, wooden surface of the bed frame. As hard and uncomfortable as the surface would be, it would be easier to work on Gideon’s wounds without the mattress. Stepping back from the bed, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and watched as Gehazi and Nebat laid Gideon on the wooden slab.
Without pausing she hurried over to a long white linen robe that hung from a peg, and she raced to the kitchen. Taking a sharp knife from a small cupboard, she cut the robe in long strips as she hurried back into the bedroom. Laying the strips aside, she slit open Gideon’s tunic. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw. The flesh of Gideon’s stomach was torn from his navel to his ribcage. Blood oozed from the wound and dripped onto the wooden boards. Two broken ribs poked through the skin on his right side. Miriam looked at the battered body of her husband and recoiled in shock, dropping the knife. Both hands flew to her gaping mouth, and she let out an involuntary gasp.
* * *
Outside, Gili watched as Hanan tossed the bucket down the shaft of the well and listened for it to splash in the water. Sensing it was full, he grabbed the rope attached to the bucket’s handle and pulled, hand over hand, as fast as he could. Lifting the bucket over the rock wall surrounding the well, he struggled to pour the cool liquid into a clay pot, but his eyes were so filled with tears that most of the water splashed on the dry dirt.
Picking up the half-filled pot, he ran for the door of the house, sloshing water as he went. “I’ll take that,” Bildad said to the boy when he was only halfway there. “Go and sit with your brother and sister by the well.”
Hanan handed the pot to Bildad and watched as the man hurried to the door of the house. Then emerging again, Bildad closed the door and stood silently blocking the doorway.
His route to his father and mother blocked, Hanan looked toward the well but didn’t move. Gili sat with Caleb, their backs against the cold stone surface of the well, their knees drawn up to their chests, and their arms wrapped tightly around their legs. “Hanan,” Gili shouted. “Come here. Momma said we are to sit by the well.” Hanan looked at Gili, then Bildad, and back at Gili. Slowly, he walked to where she was sitting and lowered himself beside her.
The three children sat in silence and stared at the door of the house, each desperately wishing their mother would come out and tell them everything would be all right. When she didn’t appear, Caleb whimpered softly and lowered his head to his knees. Hanan stretched his legs out in front of him and absentmindedly fiddled with a small pebble between his fingers. Gili stretched her legs as well but slowly got to her feet and began walking away from the well.
“Where are you going?” Hanan asked with alarm in his voice.
“Away.”
“Away, where?” Caleb asked curiously.
“Just away,” Gili said without stopping.
“Momma told us to wait right here,” Hanan said. “You better come back right now.”
“I will come back, but I need to do something,” Gili said.
Still clutching her tattered blanket, Gili cautiously picked her way up the path that led to a small knoll covered with towering and twisted cedar trees. The path was littered with sharp rocks and thorns that poked her bare feet. Twice she had to stop and reach down to pull the spine of a bush from her foot.
She wound her way through the trees to a grassy spot at the top of the knoll. It was her favorite place. It was quiet here . . . and peaceful. Her brothers preferred to play on the boulders and cliffs, so they never came here. From here she could sit on a small boulder and listen to the wind in the trees and watch her mother wash clothes by the well and her father work in the fields. It was her special place.
But this time little Gili didn’t sit down. Brushing a twig and some small stones out of the way, she carefully laid her tattered sheepskin blanket on the ground, knelt down, and folded her arms across her chest. No tears dripped from her eyes or coursed down her cheeks. In the solitude of the trees, away from the commotion, fear, and unbelief of adults, she summoned the powers of heaven exactly as she had done every morning and night since her mother had taught her to pray.
Her prayer began as they always did. “Friend Jehovah,” she said in a calm voice, “my daddy has been hurt by a mean cow. Mommy, Uzzi, Hanan, Caleb, and I need him to be made better. Please tell me what I can do to help. Amen.”
Gili didn’t immediately get up. Instead, she sat back on her haunches, deep in thought. After several minutes, she rose to her feet, knowing exactly what she needed to do—she went searching for the one person she knew could help.