A retelling of an old story by Eugene Marckx
These two grew up under a father who carried a promise. For he was the only son of a man who had been promised a great tribe as his progeny. These two knew the promise. They knew who would inherit the blessing. The older brother and the younger brother knew. Yet their mother favored – not the older, who went out hunting for days and loved to eat wild game and sleep under the stars – but the younger, who was charming and funny and handled his sheep so well they all came right to his call. The mother made her plans.
Her husband was old and going blind. Everyone knew the time would soon come for him to pass his blessing – the promise he held – to his older son, but the brother was gone hunting and might be out for days. She gave her younger son a woolly ram skin that was the texture of his brother’s face. The son went into his father’s tent, made himself out to be his older brother, and the blind old man blessed him as the leader whose progeny would fill the earth far and wide. Then the younger brother gathered his servants and flocks and traveled across the plains and mountains – with his blind father’s blessing.
The older brother came back from hunting, entered his father’s tent, and asked for his blessing. But it was already given and couldn’t be gotten back. “I will give you a blessing, my son, but not the promised blessing. Your brother has that.”
The two brothers lived apart for many years. Both found wives and increased their flocks. Then their father died. These two must meet and settle their grievance. They gathered their retinues and traveled day by day toward each other, toward a small stream dividing them. Their lookouts caught sight of the flocks approaching on the separate hillsides. Something was about to happen. It would not be good.
The younger brother kept thinking – pondering – for something to say that might save the encounter from catastrophe. But all his thoughts ended in tangles. His older brother wasn’t going to listen to his fine words. No charm that he could muster would stop his brother from killing him. And where would the blessing go? Any small wind would carry it off.
He left his women and sons and flocks. He wandered in the night, alone in thought. He walked near the small stream. Here came a large shadow, a looming shadow that grew and fell upon him – muscle, bone, arms and torso and legs – in a grappling without a single word. These two wrestled, wrestled beside the stream.
The strong man had the leverage, but the brother turned it to his advantage, then lost it again. Back and forth, these two struggled for the upper hand in darkness under the distant stars. The brother, though wearing down, would not give in, would not let go. The first light of dawn spread over the hillsides. The brother saw the man, looked in his eyes, saw their brilliance, their fierce love.
Then the strong man kicked the brother – sprained his hip. With this, he withdrew and became a shadow fleeing across the pasture, with the dawn light chasing.
The brother lay on the ground a long while. One of his sons found him and helped him to his feet. The brother hobbled into camp, and everyone gathered to cross the stream and meet his brother. He led the way, still hobbling. When his older brother saw him at a distance, he rushed toward him, wide-eyed and gasping.
“I see you, my brother, that you hold the blessing for us all. I see that you fought for it. Not with any ordinary man such as I. No, you fought with an angel. Who among us can wrestle with an angel? But you did! And I see that he left his mark on you, in your telltale limp. Brother, I now see that you carry the promised blessing for us all.”