~~/*\~~ Arit ~~/*\~~
After the family had their morning and evening meal, Job would gather the servants who followed Jehovah, as he did. Arit knew that he and his brother weren’t descended from Abraham, but Job insisted that didn’t matter. In truth, Arit could barely remember the gods that his birth parents worshiped. Jabir did, but he knew better than to counter the head of the household that had taken them in as orphan boys.
The staff who were taking part all bowed in prayer as Job lit the fire on his sacrifice to Jehovah. The animal had been young, healthy, and hand fed. One of the more expensive creatures that Job would normally be able to sell for a high price.
After Job had prayed for them, and the sound of crackling died down, the servants moved in to clear the ashes for the next day. Job thanked them for coming, and headed back into the house, as his wife noticed Jabir’s expression. “You have a question, Jabir?”
Jabir shook his head quickly. “Of course not, my lady.”
“Yes, you do. Ask it.” Mahala pushed. “In confidence, if it’s a matter of concern.”
Jabir sighed. “I know why Job offers such fine animals for sacrifice to Jehovah. After the meeting with Salim, I know he cares less for money than most who have this kind of wealth…”
“We are blessed with enough to offer sacrifices to Jehovah, hold a banquet for the family, and still make a tidy profit on the offspring that our livestock birth each season.” Mahala nodded. “Job feels very strongly that generosity is a sign of appreciation for what Jehovah so generously gives us.”
Jabir asked his question. “So why offer sacrifices for the rest of the family? A Priest makes offerings to the gods for his followers. A man makes offerings for his family… But the children, most of them anyway, are grown. Don’t they make their own offerings?”
“They do, but so does their father.” Mahala said firmly. “Job says that forgiveness of sin is the most important thing that Jehovah offers. Because without that, there is no hope of anything else. All the blessings, all the good gifts, up to and including waking up in the morning… Jehovah pardons all sins, and that is why it’s even possible to be a righteous one before Him. Because He wants us to be. Job takes that very seriously. So he is generous in his offerings to Jehovah, because God carries all our hopes for our family, our home, our lives.”
Jabir nodded, understanding.
When Mahala moved off, Arit nudged his brother. “Wow. Brave.”
Jabir flushed. “If she hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“The Acolyte got in your head, didn’t he?”
“Something like that.” Jabir admitted. “Job taught us about Jehovah, and I know you’re too young to remember the rituals, but… Mom and dad would be horrified at us honoring some other god.”
“Do you want to? Go back to… how it used to be?” Arit asked. “I don’t even remember back then.”
“You were pretty young.” Jabir sighed. “The Acolyte was inferring that we were essentially being forced to worship Jehovah, under pain of unemployment, even hunger. Given how young we were at the time, we’re only alive because of Job’s generosity. It’d be hard to say no to that, and after this long…”
Arit considered that. “But… do you wish we still had idols to worship? Because that Acolyte is set up in town, and we’ve both done shopping before…”
“No.” Jabir waved his younger brother off. “It’s not important enough to bother with. We work for the most generous, forgiving master for a hundred miles. We work for a family that has banquets, and shows generosity to visitors. And as servants to that family, we might live on their leftovers, but they’re better leftovers than we’d get anywhere else in the land. Job did that. I’d say he’s done more for us than any god we’ve ever heard of. You think I want to pick a fight with that for the sake of a statue I don’t own yet?”
Arit chuckled, and they both heard someone else laughing along. Arit felt the hairs on his arms stand up when he saw Job had returned, overhearing all of this. “M-My lord, I was-”
“Be at ease.” Job hushed them before they could fall over themselves. “My friends, you’ve both been honest, dutiful workers for me in your lives here. I’ve never once regretted taking you in; or teaching you about Jehovah, as I did with my own children. Spiritual leadership is the responsibility of a father, and you both lost yours while young. If you truly feel that I have taken advantage of your circumstances, then I will not stop you from leaving. You can count on a good reference.”
“We want to stay, of course.” Jabir said swiftly. “This was never really a question, just… something I hadn’t thought about in a long time.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Job nodded. “There are some places where worshiping the local gods is forced, under pain of death. Some Priests even take part in human sacrifice, or so I hear.”
Arit shuddered at the thought.
“I cannot force either of you to believe as I do.” Job said simply. “Nor would I try. Faith can’t be compelled. Obedience can, but that’s not the same thing. My obedience to Jehovah compels me to make sure there is no false worship in my house. If you feel differently, then there’s nothing I can do to force you.”
“Jehovah is the only God I can remember worshiping, my lord. I see no reason to change my life now, given my own circumstances.” Jabir gestured in the direction of the road. “When I am in town, there are always some who ask about your plans, and remark how lucky I am to be in your service.”
“I’m sure.” Job nodded. “But a man’s Faith is always tested, one way or another. There will come a time when you will have to make an account of yourselves to God. When that time comes, don’t be afraid. Be hopeful.”
~~/*\~~
“My Children, I have always revealed to my servants what is needed. That extends to my human servants, as well as you. Know that the cries of them are not unknown to me, nor is the suffering of all the Earth. Everything is still in hand. The sons of Israel, and all my faithful servants refuse to believe the lies of the traitors. I have faith you will all do the same.”
“Faith is easy when You’re getting Your way, High One.”
“You were not invited. Where have you come from?”
“I have been busy, roving about the Earth, listening to Your creations wail at Your absence. For all Your insistence that they matter to You, it’s clear You only care about a special, privileged few.”
“Yes. I know that your followers have taken note of my servant Job.”
“The most privileged of them all. Away from Israel, safe from the lash, and dripping in wealth and prosperity.”
“Job is blessed, for there is nobody like him on the Earth. He is an upright man of integrity, fearing Me and shunning what is bad.”
“Of course he is. Faith and integrity are easy when you have everything a man could want. That’s why You placed the first ones in Paradise. Because they’re nothing but beasts without that comfort. Have you not put up a protective hedge around Job and his house and everything he has? You have blessed the work of his hands, and his livestock has spread out in the land.”
“You think too much of yourself, Deceiver. And too little of them.”
“You think so? For a change, stretch out your hand and strike everything he has, and he will surely curse You to Your very face.”
“I will not inflict deliberate suffering on an innocent man.”
“Coward. You know what I say is true. To all those assembled, I say that the humans are the weakest and most wretched of Creation. Your God has given favor to a pampered beast of the field. Look to the other humans, who struggle, and slave and blaspheme every god they invent to make sense of their nothing lives. You can hear what they say, can’t you? Cursing God when they so much as stub a toe.”
“Then Look! Everything that Job has is in your hand now. Only do not lay your hand on the man himself!”
“...What?”
“I grant you freedom to attack his wealth, his blessings, and his privilege. Before all those assembled, I promise I will not interfere with your actions until Job has been tested fully. I have been asking my servants to have faith in Me. I have faith in Job.”
~~/*\~~
The day started like any other. In the servants quarters, breakfast started early. Flatbreads only, with fruit and eggs. The finer foods were for the family they served. The leavened bread was still baking, after being left to rise overnight.
The servants ate their meal with the dawn. The night guardsmen, and the night shepherds were just coming in after their shift with the animals, eating hungrily. Bak-la managed the staff, and gave instructions for the day. “Ruta-tet, they’re moving the sheep to the western fields to graze. I’ll need you to take the shepherds a message for me, once we’re done here.” He checked his notes. “Jabir, the family is meeting at Barat’s house today. They’ll need one or two fattened calves dressed for their feast. The herds are plowing the Northern fields today, head out and pick the unlucky ones. You know how?”
“Everything except cooking them.” Jabir offered, and everyone chuckled.
There were constant details that needed to be attended to. Fuel for all the kitchens, the disposal of ashes from the last days fires, providing enough water for Job’s extensive herds of camels. They supplied foodstuffs and livestock to several locals; and all of it had to be protected and managed efficiently.
The meal ended, and the kitchen staff started collecting the plates to be cleaned and prepared for their next meal. Job’s family staff was large enough to need a kitchen of their own.
~~/*\~~
Arit went with Jabir, as usual. They shared a horse and went out to the fields together, where the cattle were eating. The time for planting was coming soon, so the ground had to be prepared, and the soil revitalized from the last harvest season. Cattle did both. The larger, sturdier animals were yoked to haul heavy plows, overturning the earth. The rest of the cattle were milling around, unconcerned. The smell was thick, but natural enough. Having done this for most of their lives, everyone involved was long used to it.
Tothi, the herdsman, waved as they approached. “They’re calling for more sacrifices, are they?”
“Not to God, just to their table.” Jabir called back lightly. “You can’t be surprised. It’s a standing tradition.”
(Author’s Note: Job 1:4 says: ‘Each of his sons would hold a banquet at his house on his own set day. They would invite their three sisters to eat and drink with them.’
Some translations of the Bible render this as a birthday celebration. On the subject of ‘Birthday’, the Insight book points out that this opinion is not supported by the Hebrew translation.
Feasting was an established part of celebrations in Bible Times. The reasons for Job’s children hosting these parties has been suggested as a Family Reunion, or a Harvest Feast at various points in the Literature. There is nothing in the Bible to specify, but it’s unlikely to be part of any practice that Jehovah would disapprove of, given the standing of Job.
‘Highlights From the Book of Job’, in the 2006 Watchtower says: ‘The seven sons of Job apparently held a seven-day family gathering once a year. As they made the circuit, each son was the host of the banquet held at his house on “his own day.”’
For my own story, I haven’t specified any particular occasion. There are a few reasons for this, but the main one is that I wanted to specify that this is ‘just a typical day’ for Job, so what came next took him completely by surprise.)
“I know.” Tothi commented. “Sometimes I wonder if they’d even notice if we fattened a calf for our own lunch one day.”
“I don’t disagree, but it’s their money to spend.” Jabir examined the herds. “Any suggestions?”
“Some of the larger ones are over there.” Tothi offered. “One advantage to them doing this regularly, we know it’s going to happen. But if there’s any leftovers this time, kindly send something our way?”
“What? You’d eat in front of the herds?” Jabir returned with a grin, heading over to examine the fattened young animals.
In the climate of Uz, any leftover meat would turn quickly. They’d been doing this long enough that they knew how much the family could eat to be satisfied at a feast. The herders had fattening them up down to an art. Job’s family had many reasons to celebrate their good fortune. Jabir selected two of the cattle, and started tying leads around their necks for the journey to Barat’s house.
“I’ll go with you.” Arit said immediately.
“I can handle it.” Jabir waved him off. “Help out here. I’ll be back as soon as the calves are dressed for Barat. You really want to help with the slaughtering?”
“Why not?” Arit insisted, tying the lead around the first calf. “It’ll still smell better than hanging around here all morning.”
~~/*\~~
They came closer to Barat’s house and led the animals around, out of sight, to the large, solid hanging frame. It was far enough from the house that the smell of blood wouldn’t attract wildlife, close enough to be convenient. Jabir drew his knife, and Arit covered the calves’ eyes so they wouldn’t see it coming. Jabir was quick and merciful. Arit tossed a rope over the frame and hung up the animal to let it bleed. It meant they had to do this earlier in the day, but Job was insistent that blood be no part of the diet. Not for any of his children.
With two of them, it was easier to dress the animals, slicing away the skins and removing the organs. They could hear other horses getting closer, as other supplies came in for the feast. Nobody stayed long, just making deliveries.
“Who are you looking for?” Jabir asked, as his brother craned his neck to see who was arriving. “As if I didn’t know.”
Arit notably evaded the question. “Just being observant. There are rumors of caravans in the area.”
“They aren’t rumors. The nomads pass through here all the time and buy livestock from Job.” Jabir retorted. “Wash your hands. We’re heading up to the house with these soon.”
~~/*\~~
Barat met them at the rear entrance, looking over the main course at his banquet. “Nice. Very nice. Bring them into the kitchen, please?”
The brothers did so, and Arit noticed Parisha was already there, arranging things in the main room for the feast. Arit didn’t even notice he’d stopped moving, looking in at her. Jabir gave him a swift kick, his hands full, and Arit got moving again, embarrassed.
In the kitchens, the two calves were mounted on spits, and put over the cooking fires, already crackling merrily. The cooking would take the rest of the morning. The celebration would last well into the afternoon.
The kitchen staff gave them both drinks, and some fruit to eat on their way back to the herds. Jabir washed his hands carefully, and took a plate of fruit slices out to Parisha who smiled warmly at seeing him. “Arit!” She called. “I thought that was you delivering our lunch. How have you been?”
“I have been well, miss.” Arit bowed. “Are you looking forward to the party?”
“It must seem laughable to you.” Parisha remarked. “Maybe even rude, given that not everyone can afford such luxuries.” Nor is everyone on staff invited.
“I would never say such a thing about you, or your family.” Arit assured her. “I won’t deny I’d rather stay here and feast with you, rather than go back to the herds. But that’s hardly the point. Your family can certainly afford it.” Ask me to stay. The wild thought occurred to him.
“It’s not wastefulness, Arit. It’s celebration. My father is very insistent that we never take our days for granted.” Parisha nodded briskly. “You’re right though. We should do more to thank the people who help make it all possible.”
“Your family has been very generous to us, my lady.” Jabir put in, coming out of the kitchen. “We have it better here than almost any other servant or slave in the City. Job is known as the most generous master in Uz.”
“My father makes sacrifices to Jehovah frequently, crediting Him with all our success.” Barat said grandly as he came in, effectively wrapping up the conversation. “He takes surprisingly little credit himself.”
“And we are proud to be his servants, as well as servants to Jehovah.” Jabir promised. “Come, brother. We have work waiting for us.”
Parisha nodded. “Barat, give them some food to take back to the others?”
~~/*\~~
The two brothers were carrying satchels, filled with food. Jabir said nothing until they had ridden well away from the house.
He was waiting so patiently that Arit couldn’t stand it. “Just say it.”
“Say what? What is there to say?” His big brother said innocently. “You have a crush on Parisha. It’s… cute.”
“It’s not a crush.” Arit insisted. “I’m just being friendly with the Boss’ family. After all, Job won’t be around forever. We’re both young enough to be his kids. What happens when Job gets older? Barat is effectively running his affairs already, but-”
“Oh, I see. You’re hoping Parisha might want to keep you on as her attendant.” Jabir needled.
“Right. That’s all it is. Strictly business. After all, she’s more than ten years older than I am. I’m not rich enough for that to not matter.”
“And neither of us likely will be, ever.” Jabir pointed out. “So if you did have a crush, it could never happen.”
“Exactly.” Arit nodded agreeably. “Never. Ever.”
“Right.” Jabir nodded, still grinning like a lunatic.
Five second silence.
“I’m in love with her.” Arit said finally.
“You have been for a long time.” Jabir barely reacted to the admission. “Speaking as your brother, it’s actually quite entertaining. Speaking as literally anything else, it’s tragic.” He took a deep, noble breath. “Fortunately, I have some sage, brotherly wisdom that might be of assistance.”
“I’d love to hear it.” Arit sighed, miserable.
“Get over it.” His brother said bluntly. “You’re gonna have to see her every day for the rest of your life, and you’re a servant in her father’s house. There’s no chance of anything being remotely possible, and there’s no way you could get a job anywhere else and become a wealthy, powerful husband for her. Job will arrange a marriage for her any day now, and he treats us better than any other master we could have. Right now, you’re in an amazing position to ruin your life for no reason.”
“That’s not helpful advice!” Arit spluttered. “That’s just… reality!”
“I know.” Jabir nodded. “But we don’t get offered anything else.”
~~/*\~~
Arit was stewing about that all the way back to the herds. They delivered some food to the herders, and went about their tasks for the day, shoveling the cattle’s waste, and bringing them fresh cut grass. One or two of the cows were calving, and Arit helped out.
It was hard labor, but everyone here was accustomed to it. More than that, it was honest work. Arit had been around the animals long enough that he could tell them apart now. Knew them by name, even recognized their personalities. Some of the younger cows remembered that Arit had hand fed them once, and came wandering over to sniff at his hands, butt their heads against his stomach.
The herders smiled when they saw that, and Arit knew this was his future. He’d never live in the family houses. Not beyond the servant quarters. He’d grow old here, tending to the herds, and the sheep, helping out around the house, and when Parisha did eventually marry, and have children of her own, he’d probably teach them to ride a horse, or how to get a good deal when selling cattle in town…
And what’s wrong with that? He reminded himself. It’s better than a lot of people would get. You see them looking jealous of you at every stall in the City. They see you walk into the city gates with Job, and they wish they had your life. And if it wasn’t for Parisha, you’d be content.
“Who’s that?” Someone asked, and Arit was shaken from his thoughts.
“I don’t know. Can’t see him from here.” Jabir remarked, not sounding concerned. “He’s clearly lost, whoever he is.”
Arit looked up, following their gaze to the hillside. At the top of the Hill was someone on horseback. He was nowhere near the road, but he wasn’t riding. He wasn’t even moving. Barely visible with the sun at his back, they couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But they made out his movements enough to see when he reached for something lashed to his horse. A moment later, there was the sound of a horn. It blew a short blast, and then another. Over and over.
Jabir counted along. “Eight?” He declared when the sound stopped. “Eight what?”
Arit felt a chill. “Eight of us.” He said finally. “The herders, the attendants, you and me. There are eight of us.”
Jabir frowned. “Wh-why?” He shook his head. “No, nevermind. Let’s get back to the house.”
Arit was about to say something when the sound of hoofbeats suddenly started rumbling through the grass under their feet. Everyone spun, and the cattle began moving away, disturbed. The ranchers reacted automatically, trying to keep the animals calm, but Jabir cast about, looking for the source of the noise. “Oh no.”
Thundering in from the other direction was a band of horsemen, more numerous than Arit had ever seen before. And they were charging, swords and spears already raised.
“Sabeans! We’re being raided” Tothi shouted quickly. “Scatter the herd! Send them in every direction! Stay together! Defend each other!”
Arit was frozen, unable to think, seeing nothing but the sunlight glinting off blades. Jabir grabbed him and pulled him closer to the others, as they hissed, and slapped at the cattle, spooking them into running away in every possible direction. The large herd had broken into half a dozen stampedes.
Some distant corner of Arit’s mind understood the strategy. Cattle thieves would have to move fast, and catch what they could. Cattle were large, and difficult to hide on the road. The raiders were certainly here for the herd. By scattering them, they’d limit the numbers that could be stolen. By keeping the hands together, they’d make themselves a more difficult target.
The herdsmen were carrying tools, but not outright weapons. The pitchforks and grasscutters would be deadly enough, but their attackers were on horseback. Arit felt his brother’s hand at his shoulder, trying to encourage him. The younger brother felt more alert than he’d ever been in his life. His perception had dropped into flashes as his eyes swung about wildly.
He saw the rest of the herders pulling tightly together for protection. He saw the horse he had ridden running away, riderless and wild. He saw the herd of cattle suddenly stop stampeding, and reforming into a full herd at a distance, as if waiting for someone to come after them.
And then the raiders got closer, and all he saw was death.
“Ohgod, they’re coming for us!” Someone shouted in sudden panic, and in the same instant the bandits were on them. The nearest didn’t even slow down, the horse slamming into them head on. Blood and blades flew in all directions, horses and men screaming in pain alike.
The hooves were so close that Arit could feel the thundering through his bones, and suddenly he was facedown in the dirt. He felt something warm and wet on his back.
The ground was jumping with the hammering of hooves. Jabir was up first, and hauled Arit to his feet. Overwhelmed, Arit cast his eyes about again, and found that his brother was hauling him away from the bodies.
Bodies. Arit thought. People have died. Our people.
“Run!” Jabir urged him, pulling a bloodied spear from one of the victims, and putting himself between his brother and the attackers.
“Jabir, don’t even try it! You haven’t got a hope!” Arit hissed in horror, brain whirling faster than his feet, which seemed to be stuck to the ground. Off to the side he could see other survivors of the charge, waving their hands over their heads as they dropped to their knees in surrender. The horsemen rode over and struck them down, uncaring that their victims were begging for mercy until their dying breath.
And then Arit realized. His brother already knew there was no chance of victory, or even survival. He was trying to draw fire away from his younger brother. That thought finally convinced his feet to respond, and he started to run. God! Please, Jehovah God in heaven save us!
Most of the Sabean horsemen were already moving on from the people, and heading towards the herds. A few of the attackers were finishing off the survivors. There weren’t many.
Jabir tracked the horsemen carefully, looking for the most likely target, and he realized that one of the horsemen wasn’t after him. He was running down Arit, before he could escape.
Jabir moved without thinking, running after his brother. “Brother!” He shouted in panicked warning. “Get down!”
The horse was faster, but Jabir was closer. He tackled his brother to the ground just as the horsemen struck them both. Arit cried out as the attacker’s lance hit him, and then his head smacked against the ground and everything went blurry.
The world was a nightmarish jumble for a few minutes. Jabir was on top of him, not even trying to get up, but one of his hands was rubbing something sticky all over Arit’s face. The ground was jumping from the hammering hoofbeats, and the sound of screaming came from somewhere, before Arit finally passed out.
~~/*\~~
Arit woke up when the sun was high overhead, hot and brutal. He was gasping with pain and discomfort, feeling like every inch of him was filled with sharp stones. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he focused on were the ants beside his head. His eyes were having trouble focusing, beyond the few inches in front of him.
The ants were gathered around a small pool of blood.
Memory caught up then, and he tried to sit up. He failed. He tried again, feeling a heavy weight across his middle.
The heavy weight was his brother.
“Jabir!” Arit tried to call, but his voice was far too hoarse. Jabir wasn’t moving, or responding. It was hot under the sun, but his brother felt cold on top of him.
And Arit let out a pained, choked wail as he realized he was alone. I wish mom and dad were here. He thought for the first time in years. He hadn’t thought about them in so long.
Job. Get back to Job and Mahala, and report this! He told himself. They’ll put a team together and drive the Sabean’s into the dust.
Inch by agonizing inch, Arit pulled himself out from under the… the body. Huh. When did my brother become ‘the body’ in my head?
He fought to stand on wobbly legs, his vision blurring again for a moment. “...hel… Help!” He called hoarsely, helpless.
There was no answer. His vision started to clear and he saw bodies. The cattle and the donkeys were all gone, not even one of them killed. The only bodies were the workers. He was the only one left alive.
Why? Why am I alive?
His eyes blurred again, this time with tears. He wiped them away and his hand came away bloody. He checked his face and head, and found no wound…
Of course. Jabir smeared my face with his blood, so that the Sabeans would think that I was killed too. Jabir saved my life. Arit thought bleakly. A moment later, he looked to the sky, betrayed. “At least someone tried to help.” He scowled, half to God, half at himself.
Coward. Weakling. He berated himself. If you were a man you wouldn’t have frozen like that. You’re not a man. Not even a scared boy. A scared little boy would have run away, rather than need his big brother to take the hit for you. You? You just froze. You’re useless.
He shook it off, and turned in the direction of the house. Tell the family what happened.
He could barely walk in a straight line, his limbs throbbing with pain, and his mind reeling from shock, whirling the violence in disbelief around and around.
What do I tell Job? He thought to himself as he walked. I have to be coherent, don’t I? The Sabean’s came, and the ranchers tried to scatter the herd, and keep the people together. He started putting it together in his head. The Sabeans were meant to go for the cattle. This has happened before, to other herds. The cows run, the people are ignored, and they take what they can get. We recapture the herds later, and arrange a militia to chase them down and get justice.
Confused by that, Arit looked back at the bodies, as though something would have changed to make it all suddenly seem logical. What changed? The Sabean bandits charged straight after the people, butchering them all without mercy. Why? So that nobody would report the attack? So that the bandits could take the cattle at their leisure? There was no way to round up that many…
Arit looked down at the ground under his feet. Lots of hoof prints. Cattle, horses, even donkeys. Whole herds had been marched away while he was unconscious.
But they didn’t need to be rounded up, did they? The cattle had barely moved anywhere, almost waiting for the killing to be finished. They hadn’t tried to run away at all.
It doesn’t make sense. Arit thought again, his legs shaking. None of this makes sense.
He had made the ride out to the herd on horseback. He was now limping along by himself. It was going to be a long hike. Too much time to think.
He heard the sounds of wind blowing, harder and louder than he’d heard it before. It would suit his mood perfectly if it started to rain. There was a thunderclap from the other direction, and he winced, waiting for a deluge.
The rain never came. He walked slowly, not really caring. What was distant weather compared to what he’d been through already today? Odd. A distant part of his mind noticed. The wind is blowing towards the thunder and lightning, but there’s nothing going on here between them.
All of which meant nothing to him until later.
~~/*\~~
Job was setting up the firewood for the next sacrifice to Jehovah. Mahala was smiling, a little indulgent with him. “You barely got the ashes out of the way from the last sacrifice. It feels like you’re trying too hard. Is there some secret sin I’m unaware of, husband?”
Job smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in affectionately. “The way I see it: Jehovah does things for us without our even thinking about them. And we probably fall short of His standards in ways we don’t even consider. And so I make it a priority to make offerings to Jehovah. It’s a way to give thanks for all the blessings we don’t even know about, and to make apologies for all the things we don’t notice ourselves doing.”
Mahala couldn’t argue with that, though she didn’t really care to. She kissed his cheek affectionately. “Well, I was thinking of going by Barat’s house, to see if they needed any… Who’s that?”
Job looked over, and saw a figure limping, almost on all fours, dragging himself towards the two of them. Job frowned and went to look closer. “It’s… It’s Arit. One of our attendants!” He saw the blood all over Arit’s clothes and turned back to Mahala. “He’s hurt. Get water and bandages. Hurry!”
Mahala hurried to the house, calling ahead for help. Most of the staff were at Barat’s house, helping to prepare the meal for their extended family. She yelled for the kitchen-hands to bring cloth, and hurried back with a jug of water.
Job was crouched over Arit, who was nearly unconscious on the ground. “He’s alright.” Her husband assured her as she came over. “The blood isn’t his own. If I had to guess, I’d say the trauma is less physical than it looks. I don’t know what he went through, but he’s at the end of his strength.”
“If the blood isn’t his, where did it come from?” Mahala asked fearfully.
Arit woke suddenly, and thrashed at the feeling of hands on his face. Job caught his flailing limbs and shushed him gently. “Easy. Settle, my friend.” He soothed, taking charge. “You’re safe now. Tell me what happened.”
Arit took the offered water from Mahala and drank it down in three large gulps. “They attacked us.” he rasped, getting it out finally. “The Sabeans. The cattle were plowing for the next planting season, and the donkeys were grazing…” He coughed a bit. “The Sabeans brought a war party. Dozens of them, at least. They attacked the ranchers directly. They weren’t trying to drive anyone away from the animals. They just… they killed everyone.”
“Holy god…” Mahala breathed.
Job was quickly at work. “Mahala, take him inside and clean him up. “I’ll get Barat, and we’ll head into town to organize some reinforcements. We’ll find any other survivors that can help identify those Sabeans. Once we track down that war party-”
“There are no other survivors!” Arit rasped as he looked down at himself. “It’s my brother’s blood.” He started shaking violently. “My brother knew it was hopeless and made it look like I was already hit, so that they’d…” He looked up at Job. “I escaped. Alone. I’m the only one left. The last witness to what happened.”
Job sighed hard, and wrapped Arit in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through, dear boy. But we’ll make it right. If nothing else, we will find justice for your brother.”
Before Job was even finished speaking, the sound of hoofbeats came echoing towards them. Flashing on the last time he’d heard someone charging, Arit cried out in alarm, spinning away from Job to look in panic.
But the person charging up on horseback wasn’t Sabean. He wasn’t armed at all. In fact, he looked like Arit felt, with char and soot staining his face and clothes. From the look of him, he’d been burned in a fire.
“Another survivor!” Mahala seemed pleased.
“Koreoh!” Job called, waving the rider down. “You were at the cattle herds? I thought you were grazing the sheep.”
He wasn’t with us. Arit thought, confused.
The horse was reined to a halt, so swift and close that it reared a bit as Koreoh slid down from it’s back. “My lord!” He gasped. “Something terrible has happened. We were grazing the sheep when a storm suddenly formed, and lightning fell on the sheep, and the servants.”
“What?” Job said blankly, looking to the sky. It was a clear day. “You’re mad.”
“No, I swear to you, my lord!” Koreoh held out his arms. They were blackened with burns. “I tried to pull some of the men clear of the flames. They just… It just came out of nowhere and the fire consumed everything. The sheep, the grass, the shepherds… All of them. I’m the only one that escaped. I can’t explain it. I’m the only one who survived to tell you.”
Mahala’s eyes swiveled to look at Arit, who had made a similar statement only seconds before.
“I heard the thunder.” Arit nodded blankly. “I thought it was just in my head, because the sky was clear, and… the wind came up…”
By this time the kitchen staff had brought out the medicines, and Mahala directed them to Koreoh. He was the only one injured after all. “Job, what is happening?” She asked in disbelief.
Job was still with Koreoh. “Lightning.” He repeated. “Formed out of a clear sky and destroyed my servants?”
“As well as everything else.” Koreoh’s eyes were wild. “All the sheep. They weren’t all gathered in one big herd, my lord. But the grazing land was… Nothing escaped. Except me.”
Even as he was speaking, there was the bleating of another animal. This time a camel, coming from the opposite direction. It had a rider, who was leaning far over, almost falling off. There was an arrow sticking out of his back.
“Oh, what now?!” Job asked in disbelief, and snatched the water jug from Mahala, running over to the newcomer.
Arit, still reeling from his own experiences, as well as the reports from the others, looked up at the camel rider. “Filot!” He called in shock, seeing his wounded friend. The two of them had been having breakfast together just a few hours before. He fought to his feet and ran over, helping Job lower him from the camel without jarring the arrow. “What happened?”
Job was examining his injury. “It’s not bad.” He said finally. “The arrow seems snagged on his clothing, more than his flesh. I think the arrowhead was deflected along a rib.”
“A rib, and the man behind me, my lord. Three of us attempted to escape.” Filot groaned. “They fired their arrows after us. I’m the only one that survived to tell you.”
“The Sabeans hit the camels too?” Arit shivered hard, seeing lances and blades flash before his eyes everywhere he turned.
“No. It was the Chaldeans.” Filot reported, hissing as the others began cutting his clothes away to see to his injuries. “They came at us… ugh! They came when the camels were drinking. We tried to form a defensive line, but they were on horseback. We had the camels, but-Agh! But they came at us in waves. Three bands, from different directions… They didn’t even try to take prisoners.”
No. No, it was the Sabeans. He’s talking about the Sabeans… Arit thought, brain still reeling. Then he looked down at the bloody arrow in his hand. The entire arrow shaft was coated in blood. Whoever had been sitting behind Filot on the camel, he’d been run through entirely. “It’s a Chaldean-made arrow…”
“I’m the only one that escaped with my life, lord.” Filot reported, at the end of his strength. “There was nothing I could do, except hurry back to tell you.”
“What is happening!?” Mahala repeated, voice going higher in disbelief. “This can’t be real!” She pointed at the stack of firewood, the altar still unlit. “You said that you were making sacrifices for all the things we might not think of. What did we do wrong?!”
Job, shaken at the losses, moved to calm his wife. “My love, I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out. Whatever’s happening, there must be some reason-”
“My brother is dead.” Arit barked. “Whatever your reasons are, he’s the one that paid with his life!”
“Not just him.” Filot rasped.
Job was normally unflappable, but with so many reports coming so fast, being faced with so much loss, and so many deaths, he was starting to quiver. His face was growing ashen pale, and his breath came in shorter gasps.
“My lord!” A haggard voice called.
Everyone looked, and saw one of Barat’s house servants running towards them. He was unhurt, but covered in dust and sweat.
“No.” Mahala shook her head, covering her ears. “Whatever it is, I reject this!”
She turned and ran to the house. Job didn’t go after her.
“It was the wind…” The last survivor rasped. “It was a windstorm. The wind came up, the house fell on…” He collapsed, at the last of his strength.
“W-wh-” Job gulped hard, going from ashen to a sick green. “Where are my children!?”
Arit was already running. He knew the answer as well as Job. He didn’t want to hear it anymore than Mahala. His lungs burned and his legs felt like water, but somehow he kept moving. Behind him, he heard Job let out a howl of grief and rage and pure agonizing pain.
He knew. But he still had to see it.
~~/*\~~
Barat’s house had collapsed. The debris was strewn everywhere, as though a great hand had reached down, and crushed the house from above, fast enough to explode the sides out in every direction.
Helpless, Arit wobbled his way into the debris, into the wreck of the house, searching for Parisha, but he knew he didn’t want to find her. Not like this. He picked his way in through the kitchen entrance. He had been here only a few hours before, when everything was normal. The kitchen was mostly collapsed, everything shattered.
He smelled smoke, and saw scorch marks. The oil lanterns had been smashed and everything burned. What wasn’t flammable was shattered. He could smell the feast within the dining room, on the other side of the collapsed roof. The meat he and his brother had brought for their meal was scorched by-
That’s not their feast burning. The thought came to him.
Arit fell down hard, his legs giving out from exhaustion. Parisha was dead. They all were.
Jehovah God, he prayed desperately. Why? What did they do wrong? Why am I alive? What did they all do that I haven’t? What did they do that I wasn’t part of? Why was I spared?
Hoofbeats. Coming fast.
As exhausted as he was, Arit heard the sound, felt the ground quiver, and suddenly-
-he was back in the grass, feeling his brother push him down, hearing the ring of metal on bone as the raiders slew him-
Arit came out of the waking nightmare with a shout as the horse came closer. It was Mahala, tears streaming down her panicked face. “Barat! Parisha! Anybody! Answer me! It’s your mother! Come on! PLEASE?!”
She had come to see it for herself, just as he had. He wondered how long it had taken for her to come back and hear the report of the windstorm. Surrounded by the ashes, swept by the wind, still feeling his brother’s blood drying on his torn clothes, Arit collapsed into blissful unconsciousness.
~~/*\~~
Salim was wandering the market in the City, inspecting the idols of various gods. The Baal idols were starting to appear in more markets, alongside those of Egypt. As the nearest, and most dominant power in the region, it was to be expected that Egypt’s gods be known; though their Temples and Priests largely stayed in their borders.
At the City Gates, the Elders sat, while their servants attended to their errands. Various people of the city would approach them to mediate disputes, or seek advice. Salim noticed that Job wasn’t there this time, and decided to attempt a dialogue. “Honored Sirs.” The Acolyte bowed deeply. “I greet you in the name of the great Baal-Uz.”
They bowed back reflexively, returning his respects. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar were established, well-respected men in the city. The Acolyte took out small Baal tokens, and offered them. “Gifts for you, my lords. Small tokens of what I hope to be able to offer in the future. You’ve heard, I’m sure, that I’ve opened a shrine to Baal here; and the grace of our provider is open to all who are in need.”
“No small pledge. There are many in need these days.” Bildad remarked, looking over the small golden statue.
“And sure to be more every day, now that Job has little to spare.” Zophar added, getting swift looks from both men. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
Salim raised an eyebrow. “The honored Job has fallen on hard times?”
“I’m not sure how much honor there is left.” Eliphaz said under his breath, drawing sharp looks from the other two. “I would never say so, except between friends. But he’s lost everything that made him irreplaceable to the people here.”
“Yes, he has.” Bildad returned roughly. “But a run of terrible fortune is not a strike against the man. Certainly not against his character. I am blessed to have never lost any of my sons. I fear that a man who has mourned such losses can never truly be made whole again. And in Job’s case, the wound is fresh as it is deep.”
Salim frowned. “Forgive me. The last time I spoke to Job was only a week ago; and all seemed well and prosperous in his household. What could have happened in such a short time?”
“You haven’t heard?” Jophar spoke up. “It was only a few days ago, but all at once his herds were destroyed by lightning; his children slain in a sudden, inexplicable windstorm; his servants massacred by bandits, and his livestock stolen away… And all of it on the same day.”
Salim felt his jaw drop open. “All at once? Mercy on us all; that’s not a run of bad luck, that’s a straight up punishment from the gods.”
Eliphaz nodded. “We were just discussing that, in fact. There’s talk in the city of what may have moved Jehovah God to punish him in such a way-”
“Are we so sure it was Job’s God that did it?” Salim put in. “I was there last week, and Job refused to make a sale of livestock. I was offering a more than fair price. He even acknowledged the generosity of the offer. But he refused to make a sale because the animals were to be used in sacrifice to Baal.”
“Job always refused other gods. Even more than we do.” Eliphaz responded, looking to the others. “He was very polite about it, but he never accepted invitations to join anyone else in worship.” He held up his hands before the other two could speak. “Which is only correct, I know. I’ve had to sit in with some Egyptian traders while they followed their daily rituals. It was just to keep my own trade options alive, you understand. But Job has always refused even that much.”
“You are also servants of Jehovah?” Salim was surprised.
(Author’s Note: The three false comforters of Job were descended from Abraham, and as such were followers of Jehovah, if not part of Israel. There’s no clear indication of how strong their own devotion was, since the Bible Record is about Job. What is known is that they drew totally wrong conclusions about Jehovah, and about Job’s Trials. I chose to imply that they might be compromising on their faith, to draw a contrast between Job and them; but this is my own invention.)
Salim sighed hard, lowering his eyes. “I warned him. I warned him as much as I dared, that the gods did not take such arrogance lightly. But I had no idea the… the savagery that the gods would smite him with.”
~~/*\~~
Job’s sobbing was audible, even from the road. There was nothing else to drown out the sound. No bustle of servants. No lowing herds of cattle or livestock. Not even a breath of wind. There was nothing but ashes and tears.
At the edge of Job’s property, as far as any of their kind were permitted to reach, The Boy and the Merchant sat, watching it unfold. The distance didn’t dull their hearing of Job’s grief, or that of his wife. The Boy looked around, and noticed there were several other Angelic beings keeping watch from all directions. Many of them were accompanied by the Fallen ones. It was the first time all of them had taken such an interest in the plight of one man.
“You lost.” The Boy said, empathetic tears rolling down his face. “The man doesn’t even know that he’s the personal target of the Evil One himself right now. And in spite of all, he hasn’t broken.”
“It isn’t over.” The Merchant said lightly. “And in the City, people are whispering the name of Jehovah in terror. They know Job’s God didn’t save him from any of this. You think this is a mark in favor of Him? The whole world will point to Job and say: ‘This is what comes from serving Jehovah’.” The Merchant laughed. “We won.”
The Boy said nothing. Please, my Father… Make a liar out of him.
The answer came swiftly. Job will make a liar out of him.
~~/*\~~ Cory ~~/*\~~
Cory never really looked forward to Saturday Night Dinner. When he was hosting it, even less so. But he knew everyone’s favorites, and was able to prepare a proper meal without too much trouble. He’d done it often enough that he didn’t need a recipe anymore. His father allowed no wine for the table, and was strict enough about it that he broke that principle only once or twice a year, but Cory kept nothing alcoholic in the house.
Bud came over to help him prepare his home. “It’s a one bedroom bungalow.” He said, not for the first time. “It’s not hard to clean up.”
“Not to my family’s standards.” Cory returned, also not for the first time. “My mother will search for dust, I assure you.”
~~/*\~~
Bud left before his guests arrived. Dwight was the first one to make it. He made no mention of the last time they’d met, or of the state he’d been in, and Cory didn’t bring it up. It was hardly the first time they’d done so, and they never spoke of it afterwards. The awkwardness would be too much, and Saturday Night Dinner already had enough of that to go around.
Their parents arrived soon after; hours before dinner was actually due to start. Sabrina, their mother, had brought a pot large enough to serve as the entire dinner, ‘just in case’ something had gone wrong in the kitchen.
Cory sighed, not surprised at all. “Well. Since dinner is still four hours away, I haven’t really started it yet, past the prep work-”
“Oh good.” Peyton nodded agreeably. “I told your mother it was poor form for a guest to bring their own dinner, but if you haven’t started yet, then that saves some time.”
Sabrina glanced around the room on her way to the kitchen. “It’ll give you a chance to tidy up a bit.” She said offhandedly.
Dwight and Cory traded a long suffering look. It was just another night with their parents.
~~/*\~~
Because it was so early before dinner, the conversation began right away. It began with their father telling them all the latest gossip on their old family friends, most of whom the two brothers hadn’t seen in years. Sabrina put her head in from the kitchen and asked where Cory kept a few obscure ingredients, only half of which he had.
And then their Father asked them both about work. Dwight and Cory traded a pained look, knowing that this was going to be another brutal dismissal of their prospects, when there was a knock on the door.
Cory, grateful for the interruption, jumped up quickly, and went to the door. He was surprised to find it was Marco, in suit and tie. “Oh, hello.” He blurted, caught off guard. “I didn’t know you had my address.”
“Cory!” Marco greeted in return, seemingly just as surprised. “I didn’t know this was your house.” He made introductions. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife.”
“No, of course.” Marco shook her hand. “I’m afraid it’s not the best time. I have people over.”
“Of course, I’ll be quick.” Marco promised, and Cory suddenly noticed the Bible in his hand. “I don’t know if I ever mentioned it to you, but I’m one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. We’ve been calling on the area for the last few weeks. Obviously, we’ve never found you home during business hours, so we made a special effort to come by.” He opened the Bible. “We’ve been sharing a thought from the Bible-”
Cory was about to speak when his father appeared at his back. “We are not interested.” The older man said firmly. “Please do not return to this address again. I know we’re allowed to request that. Removal from your hitlist?”
“The term is ‘Do Not Call’.” Marco said with dignity.
“Good. This house is ‘Do Not Call’. Emphasis on ‘Not’. Apologies for the wasted time.” Peyton reached out and shut the door between Cory and Marco. “Do you know him?”
His father had the amazing capacity to make everything sound like an accusation. “He and I are coworkers.”
“At the… Art Gallery. I see.” Peyton sighed.
“Whaaat?” Cory sighed, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. “What have I done now?”
“No, nothing.” His father waved it off. “You can’t be expected to avoid your coworkers, of course. Just promise me that you’re not talking about this sort of thing with him. Religion, by its very nature, is… well, parasitical. It drains people, and society in ways that far outweigh any practical benefits.” He gave Cory a hard look. “You know something about that, don’t you?” He challenged. “And about my feelings on the subject.”
Parasitical. Like art. Cory thought. He wanted to fire back so bad he could taste something nasty at the back of his mouth, but he swallowed it, like he always did. “I… should check and see if mother needs any help in the kitchen.”
He threw Dwight an apologetic look for leaving him alone in the living room, and went to join his mother. “You brought dinner?” He scoffed. “You think so little of my cooking?”
With the two of them alone, Sabrina was a totally different person, coming over to give him a hug. “Sorry about that. We were talking about how we preferred to have you boys over at our place, like when you were kids, and it just got… complicated. Somehow, I offered to make him his favorites tomorrow; and somehow he turned that into having it tonight…”
“You could have just canceled. I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Ohno you don’t.” She smirked. “Let me at least pretend I still have sons.”
He hugged her again, and she hugged him back. “I think you’re just chicken.” He accused. “Wanting an excuse to spend the whole night in the kitchen, even though the meal is more or less made.”
“Chicken? Me?” She drawled. “Never.” She lowered her voice. “What happened with Dwight? He can’t look me in the eye.”
Cory sighed. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
His mother gave him a hard look. “You know we count on you to keep him on the straight and narrow. You’re the eldest. You’re responsible for him.”
“Yes ma’am.” Cory sighed.
~~/*\~~
Cory was looking over the Auction House catalogue the next day during his lunch break. There was an office betting pool over which items would sell, and for how much. Such wagers often got as high as half Cory’s weekly salary, and he had enough education and experience to win more often than most.
He felt someone coming over briskly, and looked up to see Marco closing in. It actually made him nervous for half a heartbeat. In his family, an awkward moment was resolved by pretending it hadn’t happened. Apparently, Marco did things differently. “I apologize for how brusque my father was with you yesterday.” Cory said by way of greeting. “I’d say he didn’t mean anything cruel by it, but that would be… untrue.”
Marco chuckled. “Nothing I haven’t heard before. In fact, I’ve heard a lot worse.”
“My father is never obscene in his dismissals. Harsh language is… beneath him; as he would say.” Cory nodded. “He went on at some length afterwards, while we ate dinner.”
“I’m sorry you had to bear the brunt of it.” Marco returned. The whole conversation had been stiff and formal. Cory was embarrassed, and he was covering it with heavy politeness. Marco’s tone became friendlier, trying to draw him out of it. “But you know, I never got to hear your thoughts. If I wanted to know what your father thought, I’d have knocked on his door.”
The idea of Marco knocking on his father’s door and having an actual conversation was so ludicrous that Cory laughed for a moment. “Alright. I have to admit, I wasn’t really interested either. Not because I have anything against you, or against God. I just don’t think God has much interest in us. Without that, Religion is kind of… impractical.” He held up a hand. “And before you say it, let me assure you my father already has: We work in an industry built on something outside ‘practicality’ My father’s opinions on the Art world are equally… disdainful.”
“To your father, I would say: Don’t equate religion with God. Enough people think they’re the same thing, but they really aren’t. Plenty of God’s most celebrated servants in Bible times were shepherds and fishermen. Wealth and power was never what God expected from His followers.”
“I never went to Sunday School, but I remember hearing about Solomon’s Riches and such.” Cory countered.
“Granted, God blessed some of his servants with prosperity. But that was never why they served Him.”
“Then what really is the point?” Cory summed up. “If God cares about us, then why do His servants not live easier for it?” He gestured around the Gallery. “Every day, I work surrounded by things that people found beautiful enough that they wanted to show it to others, trying to capture some measure of it for the world to see later on. The idea of God creating the universe I have no trouble with. I went to college, and I studied engineering and art… I know the world works on rules and contains great wonders. So Creation? I can believe that.”
“You can? Does that mean your mind isn’t made up? Because if not God, then what?” Marco asked reasonably. “What is your view on how life began?”
Cory shrugged. “Never gave it much thought. We’re here. Does it matter if it was a random accident, or an experiment gone wrong?”
“If you want to understand God, or understand what the future will bring, it matters a great deal where it all started.” Marco told him.
Cory couldn’t help the nod. “Fair enough… Look, people smarter than me believe in evolution. I don’t really have a lot of respect for people who think their ignorance is equal to someone else’s knowledge.”
Marco laughed.
“So, evolution? Sure. Why not? Some Churches think that Evolution was directed by God, and I’m not about to say I know better. Like I said, it doesn’t really make a difference. I’m just educated enough to know how complicated the universe is, plus the ecosystem, the human body, a single cell… I’d concede that the universe is too complex to be an accident. But… We’re too small a part of it to be anything of note.” He gestured around, taking in the whole world at once. “And the world clearly doesn’t have a loving God in charge. How can you say that God loves you when terrible things happen to the good and the wicked alike?”
“Life.” Marco said simply. “Being a believer doesn’t protect you from life. Doesn’t even make you lucky. Being a believer in God means you’ve decided to let Him have the last word in how you choose to live. Being religious means you have a support network while doing so.”
Cory thought of Bud and the other regulars at the Al-Anon meetings. “Well, I can understand wanting that, I suppose. Life hits hard enough without having anyone on your side. But if there’s no benefit to serving God, why make the effort?”
“Oh, there are benefits. Good fortune isn’t always one of them. But serving God helps me make good choices, and that’s how I avoid bad fortune… most of the time.” Marco shrugged. “Some things, everyone has to deal with, one way or another.”
~~/*\~~ Arit ~~/*\~~
“Death is something everyone has to deal with, one way or another.” Zophar said somberly. “It is the one fact of life that we never can doubt.”
There had been several funerals, most of them happening all at once. Job had spoken for each of his family members, giving each of his beloved children special consideration. Mahala was nearly hysterical with grief by the time he was done, but Job couldn’t bring himself to gloss over the lives of any of his beloved.
Arit had left the funeral for Job’s children very early. He wanted to attend the funerals for all the family, but as one of the house attendants, his duties required him to be there for the servant’s funerals primarily. There simply wasn’t time for all. Nature was taking hold, and there were too many bodies.
The slaughter had been efficiently done. Arit had barely escaped. Those that had fled the first charge had fled to the stockyards, and the fire had finished them off. The fire had partially cremated the victims. As one of a very few survivors, Arit had to collect the bodies. There was nobody else to do it.
Koreoh stood beside him at the funeral. Like him, he was the sole survivor of one of the great disasters that had befallen the family all at once. He had the same stunned look of numbness that Arit saw every time he passed his own reflection. The calamity had been swift, sudden, and total enough to be supernatural in origin. And yet somehow, for some reason, they were spared.
“Take comfort from each other, for you all have this grief in common.” Zophar said gently.
Arit was barely listening. Filot was there, but he was getting ready to leave Uz entirely. He didn’t know why he had survived, and he didn’t care. He had lost everyone too. His family had been in service to Job, aside from his parents. Barat and Parisha had servants of their own, all dead now. Their families had come to the funeral only when they’d made sure Job would not attend. It was rumored that Job was cursed by one god or another. After what they’d lost already, the families of his fallen servants were avoiding him.
“For those of you who are, like me, descended from Abraham; you can also take comfort from the promises of the future.” Zophar pronounced. “The great God, Jehovah vowed to Abraham that his offspring would become as the stars in the sky. Take solace in the fact that even in your grief, your families will only grow.”
There had been a funeral some years before, for one of Parisha’s attendants. It had been an accident, purely the result of mischance. Job and his entire family had attended, offering gifts of financial support to the family. This time, Job wasn’t able to attend. He had funerals of his own to attend, for his own children.
Staggering losses. Arit thought weakly to himself.
“Jehovah is merciful to all His servants.” Zophar said with certainty. “But mercy must be tempered with justice. Take comfort from knowing that justice is being done, that it will always be done.”
“Amen.” Responded the assembled mourners.
I see nothing merciful or just about this. Arit wanted to shout. And even if Job learned some important lesson; then what about Parisha? What did she learn? She’s dead. They’re all dead.
The thought caught in his throat and Arit burst into tears again. They’re all gone. Forever. And I alone escaped to tell the story. Why me?
~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~
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