~~/*\~~ Arit ~~/*\~~
Arit had kept his vow to Jehovah. He’d been able to reproduce the patterns of an expensive artisan potter for Vede, and prices increased a little in return. Vede had granted him enough pay to buy a little more food. He could afford meat and fish now, but he kept buying flatbreads and oil; the cheapest foodstuffs he could find in the market.
He still skipped a meal a day, but he was able to take food to Job and Mahala.
Mahala was still trying to gain support and collect on debts. Nobody was willing to do so. Job had supported many of the ranchers and butchers with his livestock. The most she could get in return was sickly animals that would never sell, and a few cuts of meat that were close to spoilage.
She went to the farmers, and the same happened. Wilted vegetables, and fruits on the verge of rot. The stall-keeper told her to take it and go immediately. He seemed more scared than angry.
“My lady.” A voice whispered from behind one of the buildings. She turned and saw Arit beckoning her out of sight from the rest of the populace.
She went to him, feeling numb. “It’s crazy.” She said in disbelief. “The food they’re willing to sell is less than what they give to beggars.”
“They don’t mind if people see them feeding beggars. That’s an act of charity. Helping a ‘cursed’ family? That’s something that could cost them.”
“Cost them?” Mahala snarled with real hatred. “What have they lost? What has the death of my children taken away from them?!”
Arit said nothing to that, but held up a basket. “I purchased some rolls and a little cheese. I was going to take this by the house.”
She took it, hesitated, took a bite of the bread, and put it back. “My husband came to Jehovah long before I did.” Mahala said suddenly, out of nowhere.
Arit said nothing to that. It wasn’t really a conversation.
“Abraham is an ancestor to many. I knew of Jehovah, but my household lived in… Well, we had to make peace with other worshipers.” Mahala was staring into the dirt before her feet, as though she could see the universe within. “As my husband, he led the household in all matters, including service to the gods. I never argued with him. He was a good husband, and Jehovah was a generous God… At least, it seemed that way. So when he said we must accept Jehovah as our sovereign, I agreed.”
“A good wife could do no less, my lady.” Arit offered.
“I never really cared about the household gods my father had. Beyond paying the monthly tithes, and having a few icons, nobody in my family did.” She sniffed. “The icons were pretty; to a young girl who had no jewels or finery.” She finally looked at him. “Jehovah required something else. My husband changed a lot of his life when he learned about Jehovah. It cost us a few friends, but Job was so certain that what we got in return was… beyond all the wealth, all the friendships in the world.”
“I remember.” Arit nodded. “All your staff were honored to work for Job. He was- he is- such an excellent master.”
“I saw what serving Jehovah did for him, not as a landlord, but as a husband. As a father. A man.” Mahala whispered. “It was all for the best. We were blessed with such a wonderful life. Job became the best version of himself. If the children had followed in his footsteps half as well, I would have been joyful.”
“But?”
Mahala gave him a hard look. “My husband expected all his staff to accept the house rules about false worship, Arit. And I know for a fact that you were one of the few who took that seriously in your own life. My husband says a servant of Jehovah cannot just do ‘as expected’, because his faith must be in his heart. The servants all paid proper respect to Job as their lord. But those that survived have left him now. You’re still helping.”
“You want to know why?”
“I want to know if I’m wrong.” Mahala whispered, looking back at the crowd fearfully, hidden from sight with Arit. “I never understood how one god or another could care about us. Gods concern themselves with the world. What are we? We’re nothing. We’re specks of dust on the scales. Not even that.” She looked down at her thin, shrunken hands, caked with dust and ash; the lines drawn across her grieving expression. “What could this be worth, for someone who made the universe? How could God ever love this? Why would any God concern Himself with us?”
“I asked Job that question once.” Arit offered. “Back when he and I were having lessons about such things. He said Jehovah did all things out of Love and Justice.”
Mahala had heavy tears rolling slowly down her cheeks, but her expression was one of bitter rage. “So what do I pray for now? That I be delivered from the merciful justice of a loving god?”
Arit had no answer to that; but he tried anyway. “Job would say that sometimes, the strongest act of faith is just to hold on. Just hold on, and keep holding on, until it gets easier.”
“Easier.” Mahala repeated the key word, as though she didn’t know what it meant. “Even if the whole city came running to our home by sundown, with baskets of gold and silver, eager to rebuild… Even if Job was cured right now… I’m not a mother anymore. When you become a mother, it’s the first thing you are. Sometimes it’s the only thing. When a mother loses everything, she holds on to her kids, because that’s the only thing that really matters. And all my babies are dead. I can’t even hug my own husband anymore. Whatever he’s got, it’s surely catching, and he’s terrified it will spread to me. And there’s nobody else left.”
Arit wanted to hug her so badly his arms were hurting. But the old habit of being one of Job’s servants won out over his compassion. The servants all loved Job, and his family; but they weren’t part of it. Not entirely.
But you aren’t a servant anymore. A cold voice spoke in his head. They can’t pay you. They can’t command you. She has no tasks for you, and no resources for you to carry them out with. Why are you even here, just standing by this broken woman while she stares at nothing?
The answer came immediately. He cared about them. All of them. Even if he didn’t work for them anymore, they still had his loyalty. Enough that he could stand here, even if there was nothing else for him to do.
“When Job became a follower of Jehovah, I asked him about my mother.” Mahala said, voice low. “My mother had died without ever putting her faith in Jah. She followed one of the Babylonian gods, because her husband gained most of his wealth from there. It helped them to know their money and goods were going to someone ‘like them’. I don’t know if she ever actually believed.” She let out a breath. “I asked my husband if Jehovah would punish her soul for following a different god. He told me my mother was gone, and felt no pain, no anything… He said that one day, Jehovah would call all the dead from their graves, to show them all that He had power of life and death; and then they would decide for themselves.”
“Parisha mentioned that to me, my lady. It seemed… a hopeful dream for the future.”
She was silent for a moment, before turning to face him. “Arit.” Mahala croaked. “You were in love with Parisha, weren’t you?”
Arit felt spikes hit his heart again. “It… It would be inappropriate, my lady.”
“I’m not your employer anymore, Arit. And I doubt Parisha will hear us.” The older woman rasped. “Tell me the truth? Please?”
He couldn’t hope to deny her anything. “I was so smitten with her that I couldn't sleep at night.” He confessed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I knew it would never happen, but-”
And Mahala reached out her arms to him. Arit stepped forward and held her tightly, both of them weeping over the loved ones they’d lost. Both of them wondered why. Both of them wondered if it was over, or just beginning. Both of them wondered what they possibly had left to lose; because it would surely get worse. The idea of it getting better barely entered their minds anymore. She was once his superior, now they were the same.
“You lost too.” She whispered. “So, we just… just hold on?”
He hugged her back, neither of them letting go. “We just hold on.”
~~/*\~~ Cory ~~/*\~~
Moving the exhibits around, even behind the scenes, wasn’t officially part of Cory’s job. Unofficially, there had been new hires, each of them much younger than he was. Most of them were looking for somewhere that a study of art could turn into a career. It was almost exactly the path that Cory had taken, ten years before, and he was growing worried that the Managers would notice.
As a result, he helped everyone he could, wherever he could, trying to be indispensable. The crates that held the exhibits were large and heavy, but relatively few. The crates of office supplies were far more common.
Which is why it was particularly galling to throw out his back by bending down to get a drink from a vending machine.
~~/*\~~
“Nothing wrong with your spine alignment.” The doctor told him, looking over the X-Ray. “So it’s muscular. Probably a muscle spasm.”
“How do I fix it?” Cory grunted.
“Best solution is to let it fix itself. Eventually the seized muscles will relax again. Just rest, hot baths or showers.” The doctor was unconcerned. “There’s nothing wrong with your back, Cory.”
Cory winced. “So, is this just… going to keep happening?”
The Doctor smiled a bit. “Fear not. You’ll walk again.” He said dryly. “But, I’m afraid it’s just a matter of aging. Sorry to say, we have yet to find a cure for that one.”
“Ugh.” Cory groaned. He’d reached the age where life was now a series of painful, recurrent medical conditions. He knew it was normal, of course. Natural, even. Certainly it was unavoidable. But at the same time, he was wondering about his job. He’d held onto it this long by being indispensable. By always being quick to volunteer whenever something needed doing. He wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.
It depressed him.
~~/*\~~
Cory had read several self-help books during his life. On some level, they were all about building his confidence, and seeing the best in himself. None of them really worked for long.
When he came back to work the next day, leaning on a cane to take the pressure off his back, he was immediately struck by the number of things he was no longer asked to do. One look at him leaning on the cane meant that he wasn’t asked to help with the new exhibits being delivered. Nor was he asked to cover the Morning Tour.
Ironically, being stuck at his desk meant his work for the day was done faster than usual. His manager had noticed this, and suggested he go home early, to recover from his back pain.
“You have plenty of sick days at your disposal.” He had said. “Take some time off and recover properly. After all, better a few days now than needing surgery or something next year.”
An operation would take me out long enough to cost me my job. Cory thought, and nodded. “Yeah.”
The manager walked him out. As they came through the loading docks, he saw one of the younger employees offering to help carry the crates in, just as Cory used to do when he was new. “That’s Mickey.” The manager had commented, noticing Cory’s attention. “He’s only been here a week, but he seems like a go-getter.” The older man then noticed another familiar face. “Ah! Marco?”
Marco looked up from his clipboard and came over. “Shipment’s all here. And on time, for once.”
“Small miracles never cease to amaze.” The manager put in. “Marco, I hate to drop this on you but we’ve got a donation from a private collector. He insists on making the delivery in person, so he can see ‘all care is taken’. It’s just a matter of hand-holding, but someone from the Gallery side of the building has to be here to accept delivery and properly grovel.”
“And the bad news?” Marco grinned, knowing what was coming.
“He’s only in town for one day.”
“Public holiday?” Marco guessed.
“Thanksgiving.” The manager confirmed. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” Marco waved it off. “I’ll be here.”
“Rock solid, Marco. I’ve always appreciated that about you.”
“Yeah.” Cory agreed, voice thinner, feeling all but forgotten standing between them. “Good to have you on our side, Marco.”
Once he made it outside, Cory took a deep breath of the cooling air, suddenly worried. Their manager was a good boss. A compassionate one, even. He hadn’t been trying to ease Cory out, or give him a warning about his job security. He genuinely wanted Cory to recover and be healthier.
And even if it was a warning, Cory couldn’t be angry at anyone but himself. Marco was one of the most humble, kind-hearted men that Cory knew. But Cory was just… vague, in comparison. Lost in the shuffle between the ‘dependable’ ones like Marco, and the ‘real go-getters’ like Mickey.
It depressed him.
~~/*\~~
Cory hadn’t shaken off the funk a day later. Bud needed a ride to one of his meetings with other recovering addicts. After a lifetime of indulgence in several vices, both legal and less so, Bud was clean again, but some of the damage was done. Some days, his hands shook badly enough that he didn’t trust himself to drive.
Bud was a friend, and Cory was happy to drive him. Usually, they spoke about things on the way, but this time, both of them were feeling low enough to avoid starting a conversation. They let the radio do the talking for them. Until the news came on.
“Our top story today, the cost of living crisis is worse than ever, according to a new report from the federal government. In response, banks are refusing new loans to people who are likely at risk of going bankrupt, rental prices are rising, crime rates can be expected to increase. The police union is using the report as evidence that their demands are reasonable, and the city’s police force will strike in five days. The Mayor’s office insists that using a public crisis to demand higher wages will not be tolerated. In the meantime, consumers are being warned to fill their tanks now, and purchase food stores, before supply issues make the prices go any higher-”
“Turn that off.” Bud drawled. “Please.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Cory agreed, feeling exhausted as he switched off the radio. “Every time I watch the news, I understand why my father drank. I thought it was meant to make you feel good. It’s not. It makes you feel nothing at all.” He gestured at the radio. “Sometimes, that seems the best we can hope for.”
Bud gave the most bitter laugh Cory had ever heard. “Some people say that knowing too much about the universe is certain to drive you mad. Knowing enough about humanity certainly can.”
Cory lowered his voice. “My own life is more than I can stand most days. How do you… How do you handle that sort of thing?”
Bud took the question seriously. “Between the twelve step programs and the three divorces, I’ve got a pretty good idea of my faults, and all the things I can’t be expected to handle. It sounds like surrender, but honestly; it’s just picking my battles. I don’t know how to fix the world. I don’t know anything about the economy, and I can’t even talk about politics without wanting to drink, smoke, or break things. I gotta keep my focus on the man in the mirror.”
“It just doesn’t feel right. There’s so much more going on in the world right now… Our problems seem so small, insignificant.” Cory flashed on his conversation with Marco. We’re so insignificant compared to ourselves, how can we be any more important to God?
“Our problems are our own, and nobody else’s.” Bud returned. “When I was a kid, my father would read some story about kids starving somewhere in some war-torn nation; and then he’d look at me and say-”
Cory had heard it before too, and said it with him. “You think you’ve got problems.”
“I hated it when my dad said that.” Bud admitted. “So other people have it worse. How does that make my own issues easier for me? I’m supposed to be happier because I know that my life isn’t already worse than someone else's?” He gave Cory a hard look before returning his gaze to the road. “We’re supposed to help each other. But it’s okay if you can only save one person, and there’s no reason why the one person shouldn’t be yourself.” The older man looked ancient suddenly. “That’s hard enough, most days.”
Is that really the best I can hope for out of life? Cory wondered. To survive it until I don’t anymore?
It depressed him.
~~/*\~~ Mahala ~~/*\~~
Mahala had returned to the marketplace for the first time in weeks. She was trying to sell her scarf. It was a purple cloth, long and soft; still the most difficult and expensive color to get. She went to one stall, one merchant after another; looking for someone willing to trade a few coins, maybe some soothing ointment for Job; or at the very least a little fresh food.
Most of them were unwilling to talk to her. One of them finally had the decency to say it outright. “Look, we can’t. Okay? We can’t take on anything from a plague house.” Vede said bluntly. “We know you haven’t got it, but either it’s a curse, in which case I can’t help, lest it come into my house too; or it’s sickness, in which case anything Job has touched is… suspect.” Vede spread his hands wide. “I still have children to think of, Mahala. I can’t risk it.”
Close enough to hear the way he put that, Arit hissed in sympathy. And yet, there was nothing he could do. Vede was his employer now. He set the rules for this stall, and all its transactions.
Mahala finally noticed Arit at the stall, and almost spoke to him, before her eyes dimmed further. She knew that acknowledging him or their past connection would only be bad for them both.
~~/*\~~
So, is this it? Mahala asked Jehovah. I escape the plague that’s infested my husband, only to starve because nobody will accept the crumbs of what used to be my life?
“Good day, my lady.” A voice said brightly. It was so cheerful and welcoming that she didn’t realize he was talking to her, after the reception she’d been getting all morning.
But she turned, and saw a Merchant in a fine purple sash. He stood beside a large cart full of goods, pulled by a single horse. The yoke was clearly meant to be pulled by two horses, but there was only one.
The merchant saw her looking at the wagon. “It’s too much for one horse to pull.” He conceded. “Business has been good.” He shook his head. “Crying shame. My other horse was spooked by a snake yesterday. Bucked herself free and ran. Hit a rock the wrong way, and broke a leg.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Mahala sighed, not really interested.
“It was a wrenching loss. I raised both the horses from the day they were born. Tended to them every day. I loved them both like they were part of my family.”
She finally looked at him. “My condolences.” She said finally. “I know that doesn’t really help, but-”
The merchant had tears in his eyes. “I loved that beautiful mare so much. I spent days just… walking with her, brushing her down after every run.” He wiped his eyes. “I had to put her down myself.”
Mahala stared. “Really?”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” The Merchant nodded. “She was suffering. She could never be put right again. Have you ever seen a horse with a broken leg? It’s like they can never be what they were born to be.” He sighed. “I knew it was going to break my heart. But… That beautiful thing was so loved, so worthy… and so broken. So broken there was nothing but more suffering ahead. I couldn’t stand to see her that way. Breaking my own heart was the kinder option.” The Merchant turned to her, looking deep in her eyes. “It’s not so evil, is it? To want the suffering of something you love to stop?” His eyes changed, though she couldn’t really describe how. “Haven’t you ever wanted the suffering of a loved one to end, and just… let them rest?”
Please, God; make him point those eyes somewhere else. “Yes.” She confessed. “I want everyone’s suffering to end.”
The Merchant nodded. “Well, thank you for listening. And I’ve surely taken enough of your valuable time, my lady. Would you be able to tell me where a Merchant might be able to find a strong horse for sale?”
~~/*\~~
Mahala almost tiptoed to Job’s side, as though she was sneaking up on him with a weapon. The thoughts roiling through her left her nauseous to the point of retching. When she came around the side of the house and saw him, she had to sneak back and physically stop herself from vomiting up the meager breakfast that she had forced down in spite of her grief.
She could barely stand to look at the love of her life. What had become of him wasn’t even human anymore. He was nothing but pain and suffering. The stench of him filled the air with something disgusting and despairing.
This is not my husband. The thought came to her from somewhere. Not really.
She pushed that thought away immediately, filled with shame. But the thought had been coming to her more and more, and was getting harder and harder to push away. It was agonizing to see him like this. The loss of their children was a gaping wound, and she couldn’t even turn her attention to that fully, because she was the only one left who was even on her feet anymore.
Job saw her coming, hauled himself upright, trying to roll his body in such a way to avoid the worst of the boils, attempting to limit the pain he inflicted on himself just by sitting up. “How did it go? Do we have any left over?”
“Any cash? More than I thought.” Mahala said thickly. I couldn’t give these coins away, let alone buy anything.
“If there’s enough to buy some quail, or even a lamb-”
“That won’t last us long.” Mahala told him, exhausted. “And to be honest, I couldn’t eat if I wanted to.”
“Not for food.” Job hissed, trying to find a comfortable position. “I want to make some kind of sacrifice to Jehovah. I haven’t missed one in years, and-”
“Are you serious?!” She cut him off, incredulous. “We’re down to almost nothing after the bandits swept our house. I have no idea where our next meal is going to come from, and you want to scrape together enough for… For what?”
“For God.” Job said simply. “I haven’t forgotten Him. If we only make offerings to Him when things are going well, why should we forget Him when things are-”
“Jehovah hasn’t been shy about taking as He pleases. He’s already taken all of our livestock, all of our camels, all of our wealth, and all of our children. You think offering Him a squab or two is going to make Him happy again?” She shook her head hard enough she was dizzy with it. “I just don’t see how things can ever get back to normal.”
“For today, neither can I.” Job murmured. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll find a way. Won’t know until then. Sometimes, all we can do is hope.” Job sounded exhausted. “After all: What’s the alternative?”
This is not my husband. Not anymore. The thought drilled into her brain as heavily as her own voice was screaming at her.
“I could find you a knife.” She heard herself say finally.
“I’ll need one, if we ever find something to sacrifice-”
“I meant for you.” Mahala's voice was flat, almost dead.
“I don’t think lancing them is going to help.” Job rasped, scratching at his boils. “A few of them burst when I was asleep, and-”
“That’s not what I mean.” She said, still flat.
Job had gone still. The fact that he didn’t ask for clarification meant that he’d thought about it. But the look in his eyes meant he wasn’t even considering it.
“You, of all people.” Job rasped, anger making his voice firm. Even his throat had boils, and she could tell it pained him even to speak. “You, my darling wife. The only person in the world who has some notion of what the last week has been like? If we can’t be united in this, of all things-”
“You think I’m saying these things because I want to?!” She fired back, voice raising as emotion took over. Anger felt stronger than despair, and some part of her latched onto the fury like a lifeline. “Look at us!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she suddenly felt herself screaming out all the horror of the week. “LOOK AT US! LOOK AT WHAT’S BECOME OF US! OF YOU!!” The space behind the large dwelling that used to be their family home rang with the sound of her howl. “There’s nothing left! Jehovah left us with nothing!”
“We still have each other!” Job raged back. “Or I thought I did. Now you’d rather I be dead, than take a chance on things getting easier, ever?” His face twisted with rage and pain. “God didn’t put these words in your mouth, woman. You did that! I have no idea why this has happened to us, but-”
“You’re still convinced this is a blessing somehow?” Mahala raged, hot tears spilling down her face. “Why are you still acting like some blameless devotee? Are you trying to play the role of a ‘holy martyr’? So you can tell the world how strong your faith is? Your integrity? Why are you even bothering?”
“Because my integrity is all I have left!” Job yelled back. “At least it is now! I thought I still had a wife that trusted me and cared about whether I lived or died!”
“Trust me, husband. There are worse things than dying.” She snarled, unable to believe the venom coming out of her mouth, but unable to stop herself. “The last week has proven that much to me.”
Job glared at her. “Foolish me!” He said with biting sarcasm. “I thought being my wife meant I had your support when times were difficult, and not just when we got richer and more prosperous.”
“You think this about the money?! Look at you!” She waved at him. “How much more suffering is God going to inflict before He finally takes your life? It’s the only thing left to take! Why am I being yelled at because I want your suffering to cease?”
“Are you serious?!” He gaped at her. “You’ve decided my life isn’t worth living. It’s been a week! How can anyone judge the worth of existence after one bad week?!”
“You really want to see what might be next?” She fired back. “You really want to put us through that?”
“Do you even hear yourself? This is insane! You’re insane! You’re senseless.”
“No, I’m not crazy. I’M EXHAUSTED!” She almost shrieked, arms and legs thrashing with pointless, empty tantrum. “Another week of this, and you’ll be begging God to hurry up and bury you. I certainly am.”
Job hissed in pain as his tears rolled over his sores. “Get out! Go from me!”
She was already moving. She heard him sobbing behind her. By the time she reached the road the sudden strength vanished instantly, and the guilt struck her like the same storm that had buried her family.
“Are we only meant to accept the good things in life, Mahala?!” He shouted after her. “If this was anyone else, you’d know better than that! Life can’t only be blessings and joy, or what is the point of God’s promises of Paradise Restored?!”
She staggered away from their lands and didn’t even look back.
~~/*\~~
At the city gates, Bildad, and Zophar were discussing the day's events. The City had people who needed wisdom and problems adjudicated. Job was once the most sought after man to take those questions. With him in disgrace, his three closest companions were all growing in stature. Nobody was sure which of them would become the most prominent, but they all wanted to be.
Salim, the acolyte to Baal, had returned to the city. He stopped at the gates and glanced around; before making his way over to the older men. “Because Job is not here, can I assume he is still having financial troubles?”
“He’s gone far beyond that.” Zophar sighed. “We have just heard a disturbing report from the healers of what is happening at Job’s homestead. His wealth is now the least of his problems.”
“His health has turned terribly for the worse.” Bildad added, shuddering at the thought. “I was about to go offer him some comfort and support, but I wonder now if I should wait. Being struck by boils, head to toe? He may be ill enough for me to infect my own family.”
Salim let out a low hiss. “Honored sirs, rest assured there’s no chance you could have caught his illness. I haven’t been there, but I feel certain that it’s not a disease, it’s a judgment on Job.”
“The healers agree, that’s what it is.” Zophar nodded.
“Yes, it is!” Another voice called. Eliphaz was hurrying to them, eyes wide, with dark circles underneath them. “Something incredible happened last night.” He told them, settling into his place. His tone was such that he had everyone’s full attention. “Last night, I was trapped in a troubled dream of Job and his trials.” He reported to them. “And when I awoke, I realized I wasn’t alone. Something great and terrible was in the room with me. Within seconds of waking, my hair was standing on end, and my skin prickling like lightning had struck me!”
“You were surely dreaming.” Put in Zophar.
“No. I was awake. I know, because I was out of my bed the second my visitor spoke; and I was wide awake all night afterwards.” Eliphaz was stammering, rushing to get it out. “The form of it was before my eyes, and I could barely identify it as there. I swear before God: There was a spirit sitting at the end of my bed!”
“What did it say?” Salim asked, rapt.
~~/*\~~
“You cheated.” The Boy spat. “Your Master and Mine both agreed to the Rules.”
“And I have kept the arrangement.” The Merchant said with an appropriately demonic grin. “We’ve all stayed away from Job. Nobody said anything about his friends; or his wife.”
The Boy set his jaw. “That’s true.” He admitted, and immediately started moving.
The Merchant watched him go, before heading towards Salim.
~~/*\~~
“You know something? Job always offered sacrifices to Jehovah. More than any man needed to. He offered them up on behalf of his children, over and over again. I asked him once, why he would be so extravagant in making sacrifices. He said he wondered if his children might have committed some sin against Jehovah in their hearts. Something he didn’t know about.” Bildad said, as though imparting a great secret.
“Nobody is that conscientious. Job must have been trying to buy his way back into the Lord’s good graces.” Zophar agreed. “Himself, or his children.”
“Well, it clearly didn’t work. Whatever it is we don’t know about, it must be something extreme.”
“To be sure.” Another voice joined in.
They all turned to see the Merchant striding towards them, settling himself into their circle without being invited. “I’ve been all over the civilized world, and I can tell you, no man is sinless. In fact, it’s fair to say that the very worst sins can be committed by the very best people. After all, people who have the capacity for great goodness have equal capacity for evil. It’s a fact of human nature.”
“He’s right. As my forefathers often said, even the Devil was once a glorious Angelic being in the Garden; full of wisdom and perfect in beauty; adorned with every precious thing.” Bildad added.
The Merchant smothered a grin. “Indeed. I’ve been listening to everyone share their theories, but in all honesty, nobody in town needs to hear the reasoning. The man who really needs to know is Job. If I was as close a friend to him as any of you were, I’d set him straight. For his own good, I’d hold him down and make him listen, if that’s what it takes to get him back to a righteous path.”
(Author’s Note: ‘Satan’ literally translated, means ‘resister’. The term ‘Resister’ is used in the Bible several times before being used as the name of the actual Devil. In those earlier cases, it describes evil spirit creatures, or even humans who opposed each other. We know that Satan originally had an angelic name. What that name was is unrecorded in the Bible. Chronologically, the first time the Devil is referred to by the name ‘Satan’ is in Job Chapter 1, regarding his appearance in heaven when he made his challenge. When followers of Jehovah started using that name is less clear, but it likely would have been in Job’s lifetime.)
The three elders traded a careful look. It was true that they’d been going around in circles on their theories.
~~/*\~~
Mahala walked until she realized she had nowhere else to go, and sank down on the side of the road. She sat in the dust, arms wrapped around her knees, sobbing. She hated herself. She hated Job. She hated God. She hated everything.
“Aren’t you suffering too?” A young voice said suddenly.
She jumped out of her fog with a shout, startled to see she had company. It was the small Boy that had begged her for alms a few days before. “What?”
The Boy sat beside her. “Everyone knows what has befallen Job. What he’s lost. What he’s enduring. Aren’t you enduring it all too? Haven’t you lost as much as he has?”
“I am.” She wept. “I have.”
The Boy went over and gave her a surprisingly strong hug. “There’s no pain greater than a mother who’s lost her child. It’s a grief that your husband can relate to right now.”
“God, the things I said to him…” Mahala wept, wringing her hands in her hair and clothes with grief enough to tear them both. “How could I say that to him, now of all times?”
“If Job had said those words to anyone, now of all times; would you forgive him?” The Boy asked.
Mahala turned into the Boy’s hug, blowing right past the fact that she was having this conversation with a child. She needed to pour it out to someone and all her friends had rejected her. She couldn’t lay her grief on anyone in her family, because Job was the only one left, and the state he was in… “I-I would.” She sobbed. ‘Of course I’d forgive him. The worst part is, he might forgive me. After all of this, after everything, we might just have to start again; with only each other.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“All I can see when I look at him are our sons.” She grieved. “They looked like him, you know. Our daughters took after me, mostly. How can we…”
“Shh.” The Boy soothed. “Remember, God knows this pain too. After all, nobody has lost more beloved children than God has.”
“Doesn’t help me right now.”
“Nothing will. Pain demands to be felt. At the very least, you have to endure it before it can heal.” The Boy promised. “I’m sorry that so many other misfortunes have fallen on your house. But they will pass. Sooner or later, all things do.”
Mahala was about to respond when she saw people walking their way. She was far enough away that they hadn’t seen her yet, more intent on their conversation with each other. She could vaguely make out their clothing, but she recognized them. As some of the most respected men in town, they had been frequent visitors to Job’s home. As his wife, she would be expected to show hospitality to their guests; but she knew that if she put on a pleasant face, and made the appropriate welcoming noises, she’d likely go insane. Mahala turned, ready to run the opposite direction, when she realized she’d have to face Job again after screaming at him. “I- I can’t-”
“This way.” The Boy caught her hand quickly, and led her off the road. There was a little in the way of hills and trees, but he led her behind a small, grassy hill. She recognized the area as part of the grazing land. A little away from the road, she almost fell into the grass. It was cool and soft, and it felt good to just… not be on her feet anymore. The whole mess had been crushing her like a physical weight.
The Boy settled beside her on the grass. Neither of them spoke until the three men passed them by, on their way to Job. She could hear them, debating what they would say, what they would tell him.
Once they were gone, she sniffed, looking up at the Boy. “Job insists that one day God will reunite us with our lost ones.” She shivered.
“As was promised.” The Boy nodded. “What do you believe?”
“I believe they’re gone now.” She hissed, grief making her ready to rage at a moment’s notice. “And yet, somehow, I feel guilty. The way I’m feeling, the way I’m lashing out… Why do I feel guilty?”
“Because you’re human. You cared about them more than you do about yourself, so of course you feel guilty that you survived.” The Boy sighed. “And Jehovah God understands that too. When you sin, how can you hurt Jehovah? If your transgressions become many, how can He suffer for it? The only ones you can hurt with your words right now are here on solid ground, not up high in the heavens. God does not hear an empty cry; but He understands them.”
“I wish I did.” She sniffed. “I don’t understand anything anymore.”
The Boy sighed, leaning to look her in the eyes. “Job has told you the story of how the world began. The story of the First Ones, and the Fall from Eden.” He said seriously. “He doesn’t blame you for anything your ancestors did. And the first thing Jehovah did in response was Promise a way to undo everything. Every moment of suffering, every single loss. This pain you’re feeling? It was never meant to be felt. Not by anyone. You were never meant to suffer at all. Handling it the wrong way for a few minutes? God isn’t going to condemn you for that.”
“What about my neighbors? They seem to have made up their minds.” She sneered. “What about my husband? Is he going to forgive me? What about me? Will I ever stop feeling this way?”
“Yes.” The Boy said simply. “Sometimes the hardest part is waiting for that moment to come. Just hold on, Mahala. Just hold on.”
Grief and guilt was making Mahala hollow and exhausted. The grass was soft enough. She was asleep before she noticed her eyes were closing.
~~/*\~~
“So, have we agreed what we’re going to say to him?” Eliphaz asked as they approached the house.
“We have to set him back on the right path. Remind him of the truth about what’s going on here.” Jophar said.
“But remember, above all else, we’re here to offer comfort to a friend. We don’t start with warnings and condemnations. We have to remind him that this is an act of love on our part.” Bildad put in.
“Agreed. This is an act of love we’re offering here, and… oh.” Eliphaz was suddenly hushed as Job came into view.
Job saw them and tried to smile around his sores, eyes tearing up gratefully at their approach. “My… my friends. You came!”
He tried to stand, to walk towards them, but the three visitors all jumped back, though he was well out of reach. Even so, they saw the light dull in Job’s eyes, as he was reminded again.
Job settled. “You will excuse me if I do not run to embrace you, and show hospitality as I should. The Healers say this may be contagious. I find myself hoping, for my wife’s sake, that I am cursed. Less likely to be catching.”
“Where is your wife?” Eliphaz asked carefully.
Job wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Eliphaz looked at Bildad. Bildad looked at Jophar. Jophar looked back at Eliphaz. They had been planning what to say for the entire trip from the City, and yet, here they were, confronted with this wretched wreck of a man they once knew; and none of them could bring themselves to speak. They had come to set him straight, and to offer assistance during his time of mourning. It was only right and proper to do so.
But none of them knew what to say when actually confronted with the reality of Job’s situation.
The three of them traded looks, trying to stomach their glances towards Job, waiting for someone to speak first.
Finally, Eliphaz sat down on the ground. Still out of reach, close enough for Job to see them. Bildad did the same. After a moment, so did Jophar. After all, they couldn’t return to their families and say they had refused to offer counsel and comfort. It would be a shame upon them.
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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