3
Keeping Watch

Caleb sat up, stretching his arms over his head. He gestured for the water pouch, and Othniel jumped up to grab it. Caleb took several long drinks. His throat was dry from so much talking.

“I will continue in a while,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I have not had my morning meal.”

“I will go get it for you,” Othniel said. “But first . . . I did not know that you are not . . .”

“Not what? Speak up.”

“You say you were from Kenaz.”

“Yes.”

“Which of the tribes . . . ?”

“It is obvious, is it not? Just say it.”

Othniel hesitated. “You are . . . not a Hebrew.”

“I was not born of the tribal bloodlines. But I am a Hebrew.”

“But how is that possible?”

Caleb smiled. “How I became a Hebrew is part of my story. Do you wish to hear it or not?”

“Of course, Uncle. But you have not even mentioned my father yet.”

“Your father will come into the story. Be patient.”

Caleb waited for what he knew was the next question. The young man’s eyes squinted, then cleared.

“If you are not a Hebrew by birth, and my father was your brother—”

Caleb interrupted him. “A man’s bloodline does not matter. Only his heart. Yahweh gives his own bloodline to those who worship him.”

Othniel nodded. But he was stunned.

Caleb chuckled. “Do not worry about solving it now. Just go find my food.”

Othniel walked out of the tent. Caleb could hear him calling out to the cooks.

“Cooks,” Caleb grunted to himself. “No cooks in the army in those days. A man made his own meal in the field.”

He was thinking about complaining some more when he remembered he was talking only to himself. The rain fell steadily on, and he grew steadily colder. The other old generals had young women lie in their blankets to warm them. Nothing offensive to Yahweh happened between them, but a woman in your bed was a woman in your bed. Always a good thing. He nodded to himself. That was surely one benefit of old age.

He listened to the rain for a while. Steady and heavy. Crops would come from it. Cisterns would fill. Ever since his days in the desert, he never took the rain for granted.

He could not help himself and stood up, making his way to the flap. Stepping outside, Caleb rejoiced in the cold splatters on his face, the streams flowing into his beard. Cold, merciless, beautiful rain.

He walked through the camp, keeping his cloak pulled low over his face to disguise himself from the men. He moved past cook fires, past mud-covered troops, past the food stores and to the perimeter.

It loomed in the distance. Hidden in the storm, but it was there. The walls of Hebron. The last holdout of the Anakim, the remnant of giants that had terrorized his people for a generation.

“Your enemies reside there, God of Moses,” Caleb said. “I will kill them tomorrow.”

As if in answer, lightning flared. Caleb saw the walls and the watchtower, the huddled figures of the sentries as they paced the wall. He smiled. Their commander had them out on a morning like this? Good. That means they fear us.

He glanced around and saw the boughs of a sycamore nearby. Sitting underneath it, he settled in and watched the gray light slowly enter the sky. Othniel would be looking for him. Some might worry that he was missing. But others would know where to find him. Nearest the enemy.

The sun was there, somewhere behind the clouds in the east. In this country he rarely saw it anymore. Winter hid its light.

But not in Egypt. There was no winter in Egypt. Only eternal summer.

He had not thought of Egypt in many years. Too much to concentrate on, too many challenges in building their home out of this land. The decades had buried it.

But now he was there again. The cool ripples of the Nile at his feet as he stood on a muddy bank. The stiff reeds as they bent in the breeze, their tips scratching against the stone pillars of Pharaoh’s palace. The street vendors with roasted cobra on spits and luscious fruits grown from seeds gathered at the ends of the earth. The smell of perfume on the women, lavender and rose.

Caleb shuddered in the cold and wrapped his cloak tighter, stared at the gray sky and walls of the enemy, and thought of Egypt.

It was not long before Othniel found him curled up under the tree. He knew to search for him on the perimeter whenever he was missing, and this was the place that most afforded views of their target. It was simply a matter of trying to spot the huddled figure under a drab cloak, a cloak much cheaper than the one that such a great man could have afforded if he wished.

He saw the old man slouched forward with his chin on his chest, snoring so loudly that he could hear him even through the slashing rain and wind. He grinned to himself.