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“Hold this, and don’t drop it!” snapped Miryam, thrusting a jar into Aziraphale’s hands. She charged off to where Aharon appeared to be wrestling with a camel.1
“Yes, yes of course,” said Aziraphale, flustered. He hefted the vase in his arms; it was quite heavy.
He wanted to help, but… well, everyone was so busy, and he really wasn’t sure what he could do that wouldn’t just get in someone’s way. Miriam had already made it quite clear that the more he stayed out of her way, the happier she would be.
Moshe and Aharon were much easier to get on with, Aziraphale thought. Of course, Aaron could talk the hind leg off a donkey. By contrast, Moshe was a lot quieter than his siblings, although that wasn’t saying much.
As if summoned by Aziraphale’s thought, Moshe appeared at that moment. He looked harried.
“Ah!” Moshe’ face cleared a little on seeing the angel. “Aziraphale, you have been m-many years in this land, have you not?”
“Well, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “Some few – er – years, yes.”
“Then do you recall where the bones of my great ancestor Yosep, alav ha-shalom, may be found?”
Aziraphale blinked. “Ah… why?”
“It is laid upon his descendants that, upon the great day of our deliverance, we shall raise up his bones and carry them to the p-promised land. And now that day is upon us, and none knows where he lies!”
“Oh, I see,” Aziraphale nodded wisely. “Well now, I find when I lose things that they are usually in the last place I look. Why, when I last misplaced my stylus I went three full days unable to find it, and where do you think it was in the end? Under a rug!” He chuckled at the recollection.
Moshe wore a polite expression which nonetheless suggested that Aziraphale would do well to kindly get to the point… Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Yes, well, perhaps this isn’t the time. Unfortunately, dear boy, I haven’t the least idea where Yosep was buried.”
Moshe’s face fell. “That is s-s-s- unfortunate,” he said, changing the word as he stumbled over it. His hissing sibilants always gave Aziraphale a pang; they reminded him so much of Crowley’s speech patterns.
Not that he missed Crowley. Certainly not. It had been a very pleasant couple of centuries without that demon slithering around.
(And… if he was honest with himself, Aziraphale was so very glad Crowley wasn’t there to hear about the tenth plague. It had been ineffable and necessary, of course, but… Crowley had a nasty way of making Aziraphale think about the human consequences of divine actions.)
Still, the recollection made him feel kindly towards Moshe. “Is there anyone else who might remember?” he asked.
Moshe shrugged disconsolately. “I’ve asked everyone, I think. There’s no-one left of that generation who m-might remember…”
“Nonsense,” came a brisk voice that made both man and angel jump. “Are you forgetting me already, young ones?” It was a woman who had spoken, and who now stood beside Moshe and Aziraphale. She appeared to be of middle-age, although Aziraphale would be the first to confess himself quite bad at judging mortal ages, and she carried a harp in the crook of one arm.
Moshe made a gesture of deep respect to her. “Forgive me, S-S-S-- ” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Honoured S-Savta,” he spat out in a rush. “I m-meant no offense: I had not thought…”
“You children never do think,” the woman sniffed, although she had a crinkled smile that belied her words. “Now! No more ado – what is it you need to know? Where my uncle Yosep’s bones lie, is that so?”
Moshe blinked. “… Yes?”
“His body was placed in in a lead casket and sunk to the bottom of the Nile in order that its waters might be blessed,” she said. “Ask politely, and he may float his coffin to the surface. If he does not, consider the promise negated.”
As Moshe rushed off, the woman turned to Aziraphale. “And why do you stand here, holding a jar like a statue?” she asked tartly. “Give it to me.”
She took the jar one-handed and braced it against her hip, leaving Aziraphale feeling even more useless than he had before.
“Do not look so lost,” she said briskly, although in a gentler tone than before. “It all comes right for you in the end. Meanwhile, there is a task for you; best be off to it.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Aziraphale helplessly.
“There will come a time when you will understand,” said the woman. She somehow made a shooing gesture at him even though both her hands were full, and turned back to the bustling camp. “And that time approaches even now. My advice, if you care for it, would be to leave first and fly briskly.”
“First where?” asked Aziraphale, baffled. “Fly where?”
“Your task, of course. Fret not, your instructions come as soon as I leave,” she said cheerfully as she moved away. “Remember me later.”
“Yes, but – I don’t know your name,” Aziraphale called after her, completely confused.
“Most call me Savta Serach,” she called back over her shoulder. “Serach bat Asher – we will meet again, principality!”
Aziraphale shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t understand at all,” he said to himself, as a heavenly beam of light illuminated him.
And the Lord spake unto Moshe, saying Behold, I send an angel before ye to protect ye along the way, and bring ye to the place I have prepared.
And the angel said unto the Lord: How shall I protect them along the way, don’t You know it’s a desert out there?
And the Lord said: Thou shouldst have thought of that before thou didst misplace thy flaming sword, Aziraphale.
And the angel did not ask again.
(Exodus 23:20a-20d)
1. The camel was ahead by three points.↩