~~/*\~~ Cory ~~/*\~~
Cory was under orders from his doctor to rest his back as much as possible. He had to call in sick to work. Aside from the fear of being fired if he didn’t get back fast, it wasn’t bad. A long sleep in. A comfortable bed. The break was as much mental as physical.
Except that he was still in pain. Any time he tried to shift in his bed, fire lanced through his spine, and he seized, hissing at himself. It was impossible to properly relax. He dosed himself on painkillers, and tried to nap.
On day two, his brother came over to drop off groceries. He parked himself next to Cory’s bed, and they watched movies for half the day.
At the end of the second movie, Cory’s phone rang.
“Unbelievable.” Dwight rolled his eyes. He didn’t even have to ask who it was. As if by magic, their parents always knew when they were watching TV for too long.
Cory sighed, and answered the phone. “Hi, mom.”
“I wanted to check and see what kind of groceries Dwight brought you. I gave him a list, but you know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know how he is.” Cory sighed, making a face at Dwight.
“Do you think it would make any difference if she knew I was here?” Dwight quipped quietly.
“Are you still contagious, or can I come over?” His mother called through the phone.
“Contagious?” Cory repeated, surprised, not seeing his brother’s warning wave until it was too late. “I don’t have the flu, mom. I threw my back out.”
“You what?” His mother’s voice went flat.
Dwight rolled his eyes, and stood to go. “I tried. I tried to save you.” He sighed, pitying. “See you next week.”
~~/*\~~
“My brother bolted, just in time.” Cory drawled to Marco a few days later. “Mom appeared at my door within the hour, and spent the rest of the day reminding me that if I’d just become a doctor like I was supposed to, I wouldn’t have thrown my back out, because working at the gallery included physical labor, and ‘what did I think would happen?’ and ‘Didn’t I ever consider the future when I did this?’”
Marco scoffed. “And then what? If you became a doctor, and stepped wrong off a curb, or tripped on the stairs, your back still goes out. Play football in college and one bad tackle means you walk with a cane by thirty, or live in a wheelchair.”
“Exactly.” Cory agreed emphatically. “But somehow, following a career path they didn’t choose for me is the source of all my problems.” He lowered his voice. “The ones that they didn’t cause themselves, of course. My dad loves blaming me, because that absolves him for everything he put me and my brother through.”
“I’m sure your father could say the same about his parents.”
“I never even met them.” Cory conceded. “But I know there was something that caused a rift back there…”
He trailed off and Marco didn’t press. After studying together for a while, they’d become something like friends, but Cory knew religion was a barrier between them. One that the studies were putting into sharp clarity, right from the start. Since they were coworkers, they saw each other all the time. They usually met for studies during their lunch break, having a conference at a cafe, or in the office. Today was the first time Marco had come over to his home. Reclining as far as he could on his chair, Cory felt like a poor host, but Cory had insisted he stay still and rest his back. Cory had been waiting for Marco to suggest a study, but Marco hadn’t said anything about it yet. It had been a friendly visit, letting Cory vent about his problems to a friend.
Cory spoke again finally. “The worst part is: Part of me fears they might be right. I’ve never made a huge success out of anything I’ve tried. Right now, I’m just trying to hang on.”
“So are most people.” Marco reminded him. “And we talked about why there was illness and suffering in the world.” He was already reaching for his device.
Cory waved him down. “I know. This isn’t a question, exactly. I’m just… ticked off. My parents never miss an opportunity to remind me that if only I had just listened to them, I’d be the happiest, most successful man in the world by now.”
Marco scoffed. “Yeah.”
Cory glanced over at Marco’s device, the screen already showing the bible text. “And I never really believed the whole ‘God’s Plan’ thing. Someone figures a plane crash is meant to be because God says it’s for the best? Doesn’t really track. We’re insignificant compared to the world, let alone God. He’s not going to take a personal interest in me stubbing a toe, or which job I pick, or throwing my back out.”
“God takes an interest in you. Look at Psalm 145:18.” Marco countered. “Jehovah is near to all those calling on him, to all who call on him in truth.”
“That’s the Bible’s viewpoint.” Cory nodded. “The view of religions are varied and infinite; and odds are there’s at least one verse that says the opposite.” He held up a hand. “But before you say it, I’m willing to accept that you know scriptures better than I do.”
“The Bible’s viewpoint.” Marco repeated. “Not yours?”
“It’s just hard to imagine why God would care either way.” Cory shrugged. “You said it yourself, the reason for the state of the world is because humanity rejected God, and He let us rule ourselves.”
“That doesn’t mean He’s abandoned us.” Marco reminded him. “That’s rather the whole point of the Bible, to explain God’s dealings with humans, and His way of bringing the two back together.”
“Again, I understand that’s what the Bible says-”
“But you don’t believe it?” Marco asked, and he sounded genuinely curious to hear the answer. When Cory said nothing, Marco pressed the point a little. “Y’know, God created us. There was no need for Him to do that at all. He doesn’t need anything from us, or anything else in the Cosmos. He created us because He is creative, loving, generous… Do you think He could discard us so easily? If we meant so little, He didn’t need to go to the effort of making the world at all.” He tapped at his phone. “Here it is. ‘Can a woman forget her nursing child? Or have no compassion for the son of her womb? Even if these women forget, I would never forget you’.”
Cory was about to fire back, but knew there was no point. This was an area where the two men were on opposite sides, because they had opposite viewpoints. Instead, he tried to think of something non-committal, when his phone started ringing. It was Bud. “I have to take this. It’s… personal.”
Marco waved for him to stay where he was and stood up. “You’re still hurting. Easier for me to move out of earshot.” He jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. “You want some coffee, or something?”
“Thanks.” Cory nodded gratefully, and waited until he left the room as he answered. “Bud?”
“Hey.” Bud’s voice was rough. “Uh, I know you’re laid up, but I could really use a meeting. How about you?”
Cory was about to beg off, when something made him hesitate. There was a hitch in Bud’s breathing. Something raw in his voice… “Sure.” He said, feeling a spike of fire race down his spine. “But you’re gonna have to drive.”
~~/*\~~
Cory went with him. He wasn’t really in the mood, but Bud needed a meeting, and he wanted to show support to his friend. That was how the Twelve Step programs worked. Sponsors leaned on each other.
Cory didn’t say anything when Bud turned in his ‘One Year Clean’ token and took a ‘One Day’ token in return. There was nothing to be said. One thing Cory had learned from his parents’ example, there was nothing to be gained by heaping guilt and shame on someone who already hated their weaknesses.
At the meeting, everyone took turns sharing their stories, their worries. Once Bud had spoken, Cory found himself standing up to do the same. And unlike with Marco, he was able to say everything he really thought. Everyone in the room had been through worse. “I’ve… been having a Bible Study with a coworker lately. The studies are all personal. I mean, there’s Question and Answer about teachings and stuff, but a lot of it is focused on how you feel about it. My coworker says that faith is about finding a way between your heart and God, and then exercising it like a muscle.”
Those assembled nodded. Turning to a ‘higher power’ for strength was common in this kind of crowd.
“The study I can handle. What a religion actually believes is interesting to learn about.” Cory took a slow breath in. “I remember, when I was a kid, I was hanging out with some of the ‘bad kids’ at school. They were pulling pranks. Cherry bombs in the bathrooms, TP-ing the Principal’s office. Literally, the stuff you see in movies. I think that’s where they got their ‘inspiration’. None of it was my idea, but I was eleven years old, and wanted to hang out with the older kids. Also, that was when my dad was drinkin’, and I didn’t want to go home.” He let out a hard sigh. “The cops brought me home after I was caught throwing rocks through windows. Abandoned property. Nobody owned it anymore, nobody cared about the windows. But my folks let me have it.” He scrubbed his eyes with his hands. “When they stopped yelling long enough for me to say something, I apologized and said ‘I love you’, the way kids do when they wanna be forgiven. My father said ‘Well I don’t love you right now. Not one bit’.”
There was a murmur of understanding from those listening. They’d all heard something similar.
“I learned early on that love was always conditional. When you screw up, or say the wrong thing, then it stops, until you do something good enough to earn it back.” Cory explained. “So when my friend at work shows me a verse about how ‘Your father in heaven loves you unconditionally’, I have to stop myself from laughing in his face. After all, none of us are here because we’ve felt an abundance of love from ‘father’, right? This is the real world. We get approval from God the exact same way we get it from everyone else: When we do what He tells us to, and not before, and it stops the second we disappoint Him.”
~~/*\~~ Mahala ~~/*\~~
Mahala woke from a doze, and discovered she had fallen asleep on the side of the road. There was a small jug of water, and a sack with some bread, clearly left for her. She ate, confused. Her grief had left her exhausted, and someone had left her provisions while she slept. She wondered how many people in town actually despised her tiny family now, and how many just didn’t want to be seen trying to help.
Sitting on the road, she looked both ways. Going back the way she came would lead her back to her husband’s land. Just them, alone in an empty house, with the ashes of their children and the piece of broken pottery that he used to scratch himself. To say nothing of facing her husband again, so soon after their fight.
If she went back to town, she’d have to face the townspeople. Ragged and raw as she felt, she was seriously considering staying where she was, sitting on the grass at the side of the road for the rest of her life, just to avoid seeing people.
But as the sun started to set, she gave up and went back to the road.
Mahala was lost in her thoughts, rehearsing what she would say when she saw her husband again. Nothing seemed right. She was distracted enough that she didn’t notice the camels coming up behind her, also heading for Job’s home.
“Good evening, my lady.” Salim called from the back of the lead camel.
Mahala felt her shoulders slump a little lower. She didn’t want to talk to the acolyte, but in truth there wasn’t really anyone she did want to talk to. At least, nobody among the living. “Hello, Salim.”
The acolyte took her in with one glance. He could have asked why she was wandering the roads alone, but he didn’t. He could have asked what was happening at her home, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at her sympathetically, and held out a hand.
Without thinking about it, she took his hand, and he pulled her up on the camel ahead of him. She barely noticed as they started moving.
~~/*\~~
She had no memory of the journey. She was gone, to some distant place in her mind. She wouldn’t remember what she thought about, if anything, but when she next noticed the world around her, she was at Salim’s shrine to Baal.
Salim slid down and helped her do the same. Once she was on her feet, he handed the reins of the camel off to his attendant.
Having run out to attend to his new employer, Koreoh saw Mahala and reacted, though he said nothing. His connection to Job’s family wasn’t well known at the Shrine.
~~/*\~~
The Shrine had been a residence before Salim took it over. Mahala had known the family that built it. They had a fair amount of wealth, and had spent it building an opulent home, only to run out of money before the work was finished.
Salim and his attendants had converted the large rooms into Shrines to Baal, and some of the smaller rooms into residences for the followers of Baal. She barely noticed any of the icons set up in the main rooms as he took her to a bedroom. It was little more than a table with water to wash, and a bed. But it was clean, tasteful, and the sight of the bed made Mahala want to cry. She’d spent most of the day dozing, but was still exhausted by grief.
Salim turned down the bed for her himself, and set up an oil lamp on the table for later. “Sleep as long as you need to.” He said gently. “My attendants will bring you food when you wake up. Then we’ll talk about you.”
~~/*\~~
Mahala was asleep the second her head hit the pillow. It was light again when she finally sat up. New clothes had been left for her. Having slept the whole night in the clothes she was wearing, she changed gratefully. After washing her face and hands, she felt half human.
She thought of her husband, and the guilt spiked her through the gut. But guilt was at war with the grief of a mother, and she willed both away as she went in search of breakfast.
Koreoh was in the kitchen, along with three or four others in Acolyte robes. He saw her and immediately jumped up to grab a bowl. “Good morning, my lady. I can bring you-”
“No. I’m not the lady of this house.” Mahala said immediately. “I’m a guest. In truth, I have less right to be in this kitchen than any of you.”
“Salim ordered that we do everything we could to make you comfortable.” Koreoh waved that off. “I can bring you anything you wish to eat…”
“I’d like to eat here, if I may.” Mahala said, almost shy. She’d been eating alone since Job’s health had turned. She wanted the company of the healthy. She was old enough to be a mother to any of them, but they welcomed her warmly.
One of the initiates was just starting his breakfast too. She wondered idly what duties he had that kept him away from the kitchen while everyone else was eating. She was about to ask, when the initiate bowed over his bowl and asked Baal’s blessing on his food.
Mahala froze, not interrupting him. She started to eat without a word.
~~/*\~~
After eating, Mahala helped tidy up the kitchen, though it was hard to tell who felt more awkward about her presence there, herself, or Koreoh. She left them, and heard a voice from the main room. She followed it, and found Salim, bowing before a larger statue of Baal, taking part in morning rituals.
Mahala shuddered. She had barely been conscious of her surroundings the night before, but she’d spent the night in a shrine to Baal.
Salim rose and saw her, smiling warmly. “Good morning.” He greeted her. “I hope you slept alright.”
“Better than I have all week.” She admitted. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Of course.” Salim waved that off. “With all the attention on Job, I fear you may have been neglected. No judgments, given everything else he’s going through, but you’ve lost as much as he has. And he’s certainly in no position to take care of you.”
“Taking care of him is my job too. And I failed.” She sighed hard.
Salim glanced back at the idol, and took her hand. “Let’s talk.”
~~/*\~~
He took her into another room. No icons, no images. Just a table where people could sit and talk. They sat together, and he spoke, gentle, certain, and persuasive. “I know the rooms aren’t what you’re used to. But the kind of comfort you’ve surely been accustomed to is… gone.”
“I know.” She nodded. “And I’d trade every last coin we ever had to get even one of my babies back, let alone all ten. Wealth means nothing to me anymore.”
Salim took her hands in his. “Instead of obsessing over what you’ve lost, let’s talk about what's available to you. I’m offering you a home here, the room you stayed in last night will be yours to keep, and furnish however you wish. You’d have a staff, attendants, and a cook. Enough to start again with some security.”
Mahala’s eyes focused sharply. “Salim, you’re half my age.”
Salim actually laughed. “I’m not proposing marriage, my lady. I’m offering you a job. I’m still fairly new in town, and this Shrine is just the start. Baal-Uz needs a Priestess. Someone who can talk to others in the community. Someone who knows their needs, their ways, and their histories.”
“You want me to become a worshiper of Baal. My husband would lose his mind.” Mahala scorned.
“And why does that frighten you any longer?” Salim reasoned. “How long has Job got left? You’ll be a free woman, once he dies. And we both know that’s coming, because there’s nothing else left, except for his life, and yours.”
Mahala didn’t answer that, though she’d been having the exact same thoughts running through her head non-stop for days. She even screamed the same words at Job the day before. “Everyone in the City seems to think we’re cursed. As a servant of Baal, trying to establish a temple, you must surely be wary of people’s superstitions.”
“My lady, if I ever wondered if you were cursed like Job, I know better now.” Salim made a gesture that took her all in at once. “Look at you. You aren’t sick. No boils. No sores.” He actually smiled. The first time anyone had really smiled at her since that awful day. “You aren’t cursed. Your husband is. You’re just paying the price for whatever he did. I’m offering you a chance to end your part in his terrible story by your own choice.”
She blinked. “I’m not sure I understand what that means.”
“Whoever ends your suffering holds the truth in their hand.” Salim explained. “The wisest men in the City are descended from Abraham. They all say the same thing: Job is being punished by Jehovah. And because you are his wife, you have to suffer. Let Baal restore you to security and comfort. Let all the land of Uz know that the great and generous god of the Harvest and Life takes in the broken and defeated.”
She stared at him. “Y-you’ll give me a place to go, an income, and a staff…”
“And in return, you’ll tell the city that Baal saved you, as he saved me.” The Acolyte nodded. “As he will save all those who come to his Temple.”
“Shrine.” She corrected.
“Shrine for now, but as Baal-Uz grows in influence, we’ll soon have a temple.” Salim nodded. “And as a Priestess, respected and influential in the City, your own standings will only increase in wealth and prosperity. You won’t be in a bare room for long, my lady.”
Mahala stared at him. “I-I am a follower of Jehovah?” It came out as a question, but she didn’t mean it to.
“And what has Jehovah done for you? Hasn’t He taken enough?” Salim tempted.
And just for a second, she found herself agreeing. He was offering her a life. An actual life, eating more than scraps, and doing more than sitting by her husband, waiting for him to die.
(Author’s Note: All of this is my own invention. Job’s wife is mentioned very little, since Job was the target of this whole ‘debate’. In the scripture, we don’t even know her name. Her breaking point was Job’s illness; but the point of this series is to tell the story ‘Between the Verses’, so I am focusing on Mahala more closely. Salim is also my own invention.)
“Look, this isn’t an idle commitment, I know.” Salim stepped back, suddenly letting the whole matter drop. “You’re still upset.”
“If you think that’ll change by dinner, I can assure you, it will take longer.” She drawled.
“I have no doubt of that, but you can at least take a few days without having to play the long suffering wife. You can rest here. Sleep. Wash. Wear some clean, new clothes that you don’t have to tear in rituals of suffering. You can eat food without having to fight for scraps, or having to prepare it yourself.” He smiled comfortingly at her. “The attendants and other initiates will take good care of you, my lady. And who knows? In time, you may find the strength to take in and show some care for others. Job isn’t the only one going through a time of trial, after all.” He held out his hands, and she took them automatically. “Stay here. Sleep comfortably. Put all thoughts of Job and Jehovah out of your mind for a night and just… rest easy.”
Mahala nodded, tearing up at the prospect of being left alone with her grief for a while, having no further burdens of responsibilities. “Thank you. Thank you, Salim.”
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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