For the first three days that Abraham was gone, I waited. I had stayed because I knew I had to stay, and I was waiting for whatever it was I was supposed to be staying for. There were two of us here now, in the little shelter in the wilderness, myself and Hagar, my Egyptian maid. Sometimes, turning quickly from some task or another, I caught her watching me with strange eyes, the color of the moon. Even when she saw that I saw her, she did not always turn away. A strange light shone around her, sometimes, in the corner of my vision. She did her work well, but she was not an easy companion. Still, I was glad to have her.

Was I frightened to be alone, or at least, as alone as I was? No, I was not. I have never truly been afraid, in the normal sense of the word, afraid for my life or person. I do not know how to better say it than to say that there is something about being alive which I have never truly been involved with. The sounds of the world are, to me, always an intrusion into something else. But there are certain things I have learned not to speak of.

On the fourth day I awoke to something on the wind, a kind of crystalline sound, as if something had shattered. Hagar snored, still, on the low pallet beside me. I rose, put on my robe, and stepped softly to the entrance of the tent. The dawn chill pebbled my skin.

There is something about my eyes. They are fine for most things, but ever since I was a little girl I have seen things that aren’t there. Sometimes, I see things that are there, that others cannot see, though I never know which is which -- and so I saw the way their strange dark skin, under the dark robes they wore, flowered and gestured at the white air around them. I saw behind them in the air the trace of fluttering wings.

They were dressed like humble shepherds, staffs in their hands, only their hair was silver. Not white like an old man’s, but silver, true silver. And their eyes shone. But they acted like humble shepherds, with no obeisance made to the fact that they clearly had with them no flocks. Ours was a large tent, for my husband had become an important man. There was a chamber set aside for meeting, planning, discussion. I was never barred from these, neither did I have any particular interest. But mindful of my sleeping maidservant, mindful of my duty to my guests, it was here I conducted them.

They told me their names were Gabriel, and Raphael, and my hands trembled. I did my best to smile, I offered them goat’s milk, water to wash their hands, and they gave every sign of gratitude in reply. My relief, at being able to leave the tent even for these errands was barely suppressed. I walked slowly to the pole where we stabled our few goats, desperately trying to still the quivering of my body. The time had come, as I knew it would.

When I was a young girl, a voice had spoken to me, over the empty fields and I had heard with the eyes of a child. Something promised, something taken. I had waited all my life, first for Abraham, and he had taken me away. I was happy to go away, in truth, I did not like the city with its noises and smells, where I had come to be aware was in the fields and forests. This wilderness was a new place but there was something in it that had always made it seem to me more of a return than a journey. But always behind the thin white clouds, always behind the small shrubs and open spaces, lay the voice. Always there was the fact that I knew I had to go anyway, that something was waiting for me here. Now it thundered.

These men, I knew, were here for something, had something to offer me. A choice perhaps, or perhaps not. They had come from the one who sent me here, and who knew what they would ask of me.

The pail was full. I took a deep breath and returned inside.

We sat, and I waited while they drank. They looked at me. They said nothing. The wind rose outside and sighed through the dried riverbeds around our camp, shook our tent walls. I waited for them to speak. The wind filled me with fire, emptied me, took everything that was mine and replaced it with something terrible and glossy and new, something flat and glittery. My heart stopped beating. I closed my eyes, and waited for them to speak.