Leah

Nod once. Cough twice.
Those were the signs
to make me Jacob’s wife.
Under the canopy,
Rachel coached me from behind,
tug your ear once. Tap your foot twice.

Under the covers that night,
I subdued my delight
into Rachel’s soft, delicate sighs.
In the morning, awoke to
Jacob’s anguished moan of surprise.
Rachel, Rachel, he cried.

He married her that night.
Rachel, radiant under the canopy-
no opaque veil of white this time.

After the wedding, I slept in the guest bed
while Jacob slept with his new wife.

I could hear him from the other room,
whispering, I love you.
I swooned
and cried myself to sleep.

The next day,
we worked out a deal,
Rachel and I.
We split the time.
First half of the month,
Jacob was mine.
Second half, he’d sleep in her bed.

The nights that they were together,
I died.
Cried.
My eyes took on a permanent shine
from the tears,
and although I tried
all the antidotes in the book-
cucumbers, cream, chamomile tea-
nothing worked.

What else could I do?
I gave birth.
One, two, three.
I’m a baby making machine.
Maybe now my husband
will love me.

Not yet.
Four.

Now we’re at war.
Rachel’s maid Bilhah gave birth
to two sons.

No matter.
I've got seven, eight.
Ain’t life great?

A daughter came next.
Dinah.
She looked like her father.

He adored the children,
and I raised them well.
I taught them to read, to count, to spell,
and when Jacob reviewed
with them at night,
they excelled. He smiled at me.
Warmly. Softly. Platonically.

It was time for a change.
I took up exercise.
Lost weight. Went on a shopping spree.
Stopped crying at night.
My swollen eyes healed.
The redness reduced,
I looked fabulous.

Jacob didn’t notice.
What could be worse?

Rachel gave birth.
A son.
The way her eyes shone,
she looked like an angel.
Joseph, Joseph, she cooed.
Jacob’s favorite.

I decided it was time to move,
time to leave home.
Rachel agreed.
She didn’t have a disagreeable
bone in her body.
Jacob told our father,
impressed upon him our need
to go.
Despite Dad’s protests, his requests
to stay, we packed our bags and left.

Dad chased after us.
Someone has stolen my statues,
he claimed.
Ridiculous, preposterous, Jacob said.
Searchmy whole camp- you'll not
find a thing.
What’s more, I declare that whoever
has robbed you
should die an early death!

Of course, nothing was found.
What would any of us do
with father’s statues?

We continued on our way,
one master,
four wives,
eleven sons,
one girl,
servants too many to count,
and sheep, goats, ewes,
not to mention our jewels.
We were pretty well-off.
How could I complain?

Second half of the month.
Rachel became pregnant.

And when she lay on the dirt
on the road to Bethlehem,
screaming her head off,
tears streaming from her
angelic, deep-set eyes,
pushing the child out,
she died.

I went through her things.
Found a silver ring
with an inscription inside,
To Rachel, my darling, beloved wife,
Jacob.

Another surprise: under the saddle
of her horse, I found Dad’s statues.
What do you know?
Perfect Rachel stole, and Jacob killed his darling, beloved wife.

I didn’t tell.

We buried her in a plot,
in a cave where travelers could stop
and pray.
Jacob stood by her grave,
newborn child in hand-
Benjamin- mother’s bane.
And as I stood next to my husband
mourning his dead wife,
I stared at the newly dug hole in the ground
and wished it was mine.