The funeral ended. The families broke up to talk to each other, and offer what comfort they could. Arit and Koreoh looked around, but had nobody to talk to. They were the only ones left of their entire social circle.
“There’s nobody left to comfort us.” Filot said grimly. “I’m getting out while I still can.”
“Where are you going to go?” Arit asked.
“Back further to the East, where my family is settled.” Filot sighed. “I stayed here, hoping to make a good life for myself. Whatever Job did, that hope is over now. Nobody’s going to hire us with this… this curse over his name.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Koreoh scoffed. “What Zophar said during his eulogies?”
“He didn’t say anything Job hadn’t said in his own prayers.”
“A little context matters, Filot.” Koreoh returned. “From Job it’s a lesson. During that little speech, it was an empty platitude. Technically correct, but devoid of any real meaning. Certainly devoid of any comfort.”
“I’ll say it was.” Arit groused.
Filot was already walking with purpose, and they followed him, for no real reason other than the fact that they had nowhere else to go at the moment. He was heading for a camel, waiting at the road, laden with baskets and waterskins. “I sold everything I had left to get provisions for the trip.” He said sadly. “One thing that was made clear to me when I went to the marketplace: There’s no future for any of us here.” He looked back at them. “Come with me. My family will take you in. There’d be work for us.”
Arit hesitated. “No. I’m… I’m still needed here.”
Filot nodded, not really in the mood to argue the point, and climbed aboard his camel. “God be with you both, brothers.”
They watched him go. Once he was out of earshot, Koreoh turned to him and asked. “What’s the real reason?”
“I’m not descended from Abraham.” Arit admitted. “At least, I don’t think I am. I’ve been working for Job and his family so long I can barely remember my childhood. The only family I had was Jabir.” He gestured back at the funeral. “The people cremated back there… They raised me as much as anyone did.”
Koreoh sighed hard, and gave his arm a squeeze in solidarity. “It’s like a nightmare. I keep expecting to wake up.”
“Me too.” Arit admitted. “When I was promoted to the ‘main house’, Job began teaching me in the ways of worshiping Jehovah.” He lowered his voice. “I liked what I was learning, but I was never sure how much of it was open to me, given my ancestry. Job insisted that God was fair and welcoming to all.”
“Still think so?” Koreoh retorted bitterly.
“I don’t know.” Arit was exhausted. “If I’m honest, I don’t know anything right now. Nothing makes sense anymore.” He yawned. “But I remember Job telling me that Jehovah had promised a Resurrection of the dead. Something Baal doesn’t offer. Or any other god I’ve heard of, to be honest. What compares to that right now?”
~~/*\~~ Marco ~~/*\~~
Cory didn’t get much opportunity to talk to Marco again for a few days; though he did look through the pamphlet he’d been given. He didn’t have a Bible in his home, but the internet provided dozens of translations.
The next day, he had resolved to talk to Marco about it, and then gasped in agony as soon as he woke up.
Pain had a way of bringing even the most optimistic spirit low. As Cory laid flat on the floor beside his bed, trying madly to stretch his back back into alignment without really moving, the muscles spasming in his lower back seemed to paralyze him with waves of sudden, intense pain that wiped out everything else. “Gawd!” He hissed, riding out the cramp. Stupid! Useless! Weak! He berated himself. No wonder she left you! No wonder she-AGH!
Breathing hard as the cramp settled, he shut his eyes. Ugh. It just keeps getting harder…
~~/*\~~
He couldn’t afford to call in sick to work. He popped painkillers for most of the morning, and his chair wasn’t so bad. Not for his kind of work. He was mostly in administration, after all.
The pain had kept him in the shower much longer, running hot water over his lower back to try and loosen up the muscles. As a result, he hadn’t made lunch; running late. And walking down the street to a vendor just wasn’t going to happen.
If he stayed at his desk, he was almost certain to be roped into giving a tour, or helping move furniture to set up one of the event rooms for a function. So, fighting to walk naturally, keeping his whimpers inside, he limped to the gallery, and sat in the nearest chair, waiting out his lunch hour; wishing he could be at home. Or in the hospital. Or dead.
And then he saw Marco looking at one of the paintings. “Henri Matisse.” He mentioned the name of the artist, by way of starting a conversation.
Marco turned and smiled at him. “New York MoMA once held an exhibition of his later artworks. One of the paintings was hung upside down, and nobody noticed for 47 days.”
Cory snorted back a laugh, wincing at the way his back twinged. “I heard that story. Rich people with more money than understanding.”
Marco’s head tilted, noticing the pain in his face, but he didn’t remark on it. “I like looking at the art when it’s quiet here.” He commented. “The great thing about working here full-time is that we always know when it’s likely to be crowded.”
Cory nodded. “I admit, when I took this job, I thought I’d spend more time looking at the art, than the paperwork. Turned out it was the other way around.” He settled into his chair. Do I want to start this conversation when I’m half crippled? But he said it anyway. “I studied that pamphlet you gave me.”
Marco turned, suddenly giving Cory his full attention. “Oh? Any conclusions?”
“Well, it blows a few religions out of the water.” Cory nodded. “But if I can be totally honest?”
“Live dangerously.” Cory nodded.
“Questions like ‘Why does God cause suffering?’ were never a thing with me. That was my father talking. I’m sorry for that.” Cory confessed apologetically. “I never thought that if there was a God, that He would concern Himself with things like which person gets sick, or which puppy gets hit by a car.”
“So, what is your… thing?” Marco asked gently.
“A few years ago, I went looking through nature shots. Plenty of art is based on the beauty of the natural world. Mountains, jungles… I wound up looking at astronomy pictures. I heard some of the numbers; and they were… beyond comprehension. Humans, Earth…. Our whole galaxy isn’t even a speck, compared to what’s out there. I mean, back in the days when the sky was just a roof on the world, I could see us thinking that we were it. Back then, when the universe was small; and we didn’t know how it all worked? That was the time of myths and legends. But now we understand how… utterly tiny we are. Why would God notice us at all?” He shrugged. “My problem isn’t that our problems prove God isn’t real. It’s that the universe is too big for our problems to matter.”
Marco clearly didn’t agree, but he seemed interested in Cory’s reasoning. “So, you figure the universe is complex and ordered enough to prove an Intelligent Creator is behind it, but our place in the universe is proof that He doesn’t really care what happens to us.”
Cory nodded. “Seems that way to me. Evolution is science, and I don’t understand it, but smart people who do say it’s the more likely option; and considering the size of the universe, it seems obvious.”
“S’funny, because I was just thinking that our place in this building is what convinces me of the opposite.” Marco said lightly, gesturing around at the artworks. “Look at them. We all have different tastes, but there’s something in this building for everyone to love, admire, and find beautiful; don’t you think?”
That caught Cory off guard. For all their jokes about rich people with poor taste, Cory had memorized the way through the gallery that took him past all his favorites. The gift shop had prints on almost every famous painting, and he’d bought several over the years. “Yes.” He admitted sincerely. “Yes, I do.”
“Evolution can’t create artistry. By definition, evolution creates only what is needed to propagate the species.” Marco reasoned.
“Fair enough.” Cory shrugged. “But even assuming that there is a God, I can’t imagine why He cares about us and what we do with our time.”
“To that, I say again, look at this gallery.”
“God didn’t put these artworks here. Investors did that, and we don’t like most of them.” Cory pointed out.
Marco chuckled again as he gestured around the gallery. “If there is a God, then He is the greatest engineer, greatest scientist, and the greatest artist. His Creativity was how all the universe came into being, of which we are only one small part. But I take it as a sign of His generous character that He didn’t keep imagination and creativity all to Himself.”
“I don’t know. Seems a little thin to build a religion on.”
“You think so?” Marco continued. “The Bible says that God made man ‘in his image’. Obviously, God is a spirit, and has no body. There are statues and portraits in the likeness of men in this very gallery. Nobody would believe those statues were the same as us, or possessing a living soul of their own. So God gives humans aspects of Himself.” He gestured around the artworks. “We spent every day surrounded by proof of that. Behind every one of these artworks is a man, who had something to say. Via a brush, a hammer and chisel… God had something to create, and He didn’t stop until there was a whole universe, with intelligent, feeling, sentient creatures who also had things of their own to create.”
Cory didn’t know how to answer that, looking around the Gallery, considering that angle.
“If God was generous enough to put the best parts of Himself into all of us, why would having His attention now be too much to expect?” Marco offered.
“No offense, Marco. I read your thing, and I know what the Bible says about suffering and sin… At least, according to you.” Cory countered. “But even so, I wouldn’t say the Earth is the perfect artwork you seem to think it is.”
“I’ve been a believer, and a follower of God for most of my life.” Marco told him. “And I’ve heard that sentiment before, dozens of times. But nobody who talks about the Earth as a wreck is talking about a forest, or an ocean, or a sunset, or a mountain range. They’re talking about people.” He spread his hands wide. “Just because God is generous with His creations, doesn’t mean that His Creations are generous and loving with each other. Creativity is the freedom to choose, after all.”
Cory’s back twinged painfully again. “I don’t think people have as many choices as you think.” He started to say, when his phone buzzed, and he checked the screen automatically. “I have to take this. It’s the boss.”
Marco nodded. “We’ll talk more later on, if you want.”
~~/*\~~ Arit ~~/*\~~
Mahala had to walk to town. The animals had all been killed, including the horses. She didn’t mind the walk. But whenever she met someone coming the other way, they deliberately moved aside to avoid her.
She forced herself not to react to the snub. It happened again when she reached the city. The men at the gates hesitated to let her pass, even though there was no reason to stop her. I’m coming in. She dared them, anger making her straighten her shoulders. Are you scared I’m going to infect you with bad fortune?
She collected the messages that had arrived in the city. Job’s brothers and sisters had all sent couriers. Mahala couldn’t help but read them. Her shoulders dropped further with each one she read.
~~/*\~~
Arit had been having similar problems of his own. Job’s credit had run out with all the stall keepers. Nobody was providing food or aid. Not for Job or his wife. As he moved through the marketplace, he saw Mahala coming past, lost in her thoughts. He went straight to her. “My lady.”
Mahala jumped, startled out of her thoughts. “Oh. Hello, Arit.” She gestured at her satchel. “Just… collecting messages from Job’s family.”
Arit nodded. “I hope they’re all on their way to offer help and support.”
“Unfortunately, they won’t be coming.” Mahala said with biting frustration. “It’s impressive, actually, the sheer variety of reasons they came up with to reject our calls for help. One is dealing with a sudden illness, another has a vital trade matter to negotiate. His younger siblings have children on the way, or are entertaining guests…”
“How is this happening?!” Arit breathed in disbelief.
“I don’t know.” She sighed hard. “Maybe the rumors are right. Maybe we’re just cursed.” She glanced over at him. “Arit, I hate to tell you this, but with our recent misfortunes, we don’t have… our usual resources.”
Arit deflated, expecting this, but hating it anyway. “I understand.”
“You can count on a good reference, and of course, if things ever improve…” Her voice suddenly went thin. Already, she was starting to wonder if things would ever really get better. “Of course, that’s… that’s assuming a reference from us still means anything anymore.”
Arit winced, knowing exactly what she meant, but not wanting to say it. “I wish I could have attended the funeral.”
“You were needed at the…” Mahala let out a hard sigh. “The other funeral.” She shook her head. “I know you must be angry with me for not attending the memorial for the people we lost, but-”
“Too many, too fast.” Arit understood. “We couldn’t let the funeral arrangements drag out. There were simply too many victims to honor them one at a time. Nature would have taken hold too soon.” He looked at her bleakly. “And of course, between your herders and your children, where else should you have been, my lady?”
Mahala had tears on her face, but she didn’t seem to notice them. “In my… darker moments, I wonder why I’m still alive. We lost everything all at once. Why didn’t I die too? If this is all an elaborate punishment from God against Job, then why was I left to him? No mother should watch their child die. It’s not how it’s meant to be. Least of all, every child she’d ever had, all at once.” Her breath hitched, but she’d had so much grief she had started becoming numb to it. “And if it’s not a punishment for Job, then why would God be so cruel as to make me live, when He’d taken everything else?”
Arit wouldn’t normally speak. He was one of the youngest servants in their employ. He’d always had superiors of his own to pass instructions down to him. “It’s a question I find myself asking, my lady. I was needed at the servant's funeral because there was nobody else left to speak for them.”
Mahala nearly slapped her forehead, realization breaking through her grief. She hadn’t attended the other funeral, because there wasn’t time to do both, but she suddenly realized there wouldn’t have been many there to honor the fallen ones outside her family. After all, most of their household servants had been family units of their own. “Forgive me, Arit. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment. My deepest condolences on your losses as well.” She racked her memory. “I’m given to understand your brother and yourself came into the service of my husband at a young age?”
“Shortly after our parents died, my lady. I don’t remember them very well, to be honest.” Arit nodded. “Jabir told me that we were on our way to Uz to try and find work, and a new place to live. Our caravan was struck by bandits on the road. My brother and I were the only survivors, because we ran while the adults fought. Jabir said we were richly blessed to find your family when we got here. Not many would take on someone my brother’s age as an employee. Especially when he had me along. It’s not like I could stay with others in the family while he found work.”
“Sounds like something Job would do.” She admitted softly.
“Mercy for the poor, my lady?”
Arit and Mahala both turned to find a young Boy in rags. He had a stringed instrument with a few snapped chords. He was holding out a chipped begging bowl.
And despite herself, her first thought was to say no. Money was starting to get tight. Job’s wealth was tied up in his livestock, all of which was gone now. She shook that off immediately. She and her husband had never turned away anyone in need. And the stall keepers in the market were unwilling to do business with her anyway. She immediately gave the Boy some coins. “I hope you have better luck than I do.”
“May Jehovah give blessing to you for your generosity.” The Boy bowed to her gratefully.
Mahala gave the child a second look at the sudden eloquence, but shook it off and moved on, her mind filled with other matters.
After they were gone, the Boy stood straighter. “She asks a valid question.” He murmured. “Why was she left alone?”
“You know the answer to that.” The Merchant commented, suddenly beside him. “Misery loves company. He’s already let her into his heart completely. Who else could break it more efficiently?”
“Who else could heal it more quickly?” The Boy countered.
The Merchant laughed. “You’re asking a lot of her, given what she’s lost.”
~~/*\~~
Mahala sat on the edge of a large stone. It was in the middle of their property, and had been used as a post for shepherds and nightwatchmen for many years. It afforded her a view of the graves they had dug for their children far to the North, and of the scorched, burned land where their herds had been struck with fire to the East. Down below her, in a specific spot at the base of the rock, her husband was digging a hole. “We said we’d keep this in reserve, just in case of disaster.”
“You don’t think this qualifies?” Mahala was stunned at the thought.
“Of course it does.” Job nodded soothingly. “But even if we’ve had a run of misfortune, is this… emergency fund the only way to rebuild? There’s not enough here to restore everything we’ve lost after all. When we buried this money, we were just starting out, with surprisingly little to our name. I had imagined that if we ever dug it up, it would be because we had lost our land and were starting over with nothing.”
“This land is the only thing we have left. If someone wanted to take it from us, there would be nobody to stop them.” Mahala sighed seriously. “I know we can’t replace what we’ve lost, but at the very least, this will tide us over. If you’re right, and it’s ‘just a bad run’, then there’s no reason this reserve alone won’t do the job. If only until at least one of your family members comes through.”
(Author’s Note: There was none of this mentioned in the Bible. I added it, because it would be prudent for a wealthy man to have some ‘savings’ kept aside. There were no banks in those days, after all. A reserve of cash was wherever you hid it yourself.)
Job stopped digging and pulled up a clay pot, sealed with wax. She slid down from the rock to join him as he opened it, and pulled out a parcel wrapped in leathers. She covered his hands with her own. “Not here.” She said swiftly, looking around.
~~/*\~~
Back in their house, Job opened the parcel and shook out stacks of gold and silver coins as well as a few precious stones. Mahala counted the coins and jewels carefully. “It’s all here.” She said in relief.
“In the morning, I will go to the City, and use this to purchase some livestock.” Her husband promised. “I’ll go to Pah-os. I set him up with his best breeding stock. He promised that if we ever needed anything, he’d be there.”
Mahala didn’t say what she was thinking. Lots of people promised to be there for us when we did them a good turn. Where are they now?
~~/*\~~
They kept the money in their kitchen, hidden in a pot; and went to sleep. Mahala was barely sleeping, the still night giving way to nightmares of her children’s final moments.
Job was having the same trouble, and he held his wife tightly, trying to comfort them both. Dreams of fire and swords, and windstorms smashing the whole house haunted them, halfway between asleep and awake.
When there was an actual smashing sound, Job twitched hard enough to wake up, though he was certain he dreamed it. Then his wife woke up next to him, sitting upright. “There’s someone in the house.” She rasped.
~~/*\~~
Job felt like he was still dreaming, praying with his eyes wide open, still blind in the dark. His home was once a place of comfort, safety, security, and family; and just a few days later it was suddenly a pitch-black maze full of enemies. He wanted to call his servants out to search the house for intruders, but he had no servants anymore. He wanted to send someone to call Barat, and have him hurry over to protect the youngest of their children.
But there was nobody left to call. Everyone he might turn to for help in the dark was dead. The sudden reminder sent another spike of grief through him. Anger followed soon after. If his house was being invaded, there would finally be something he could do about one of his woes.
But a search of the house revealed nothing. Whoever had broken in, they had already left. When he called out to her that it was safe, Mahala went straight to the kitchens, and lit a lamp of her own. One look was all she needed. “They took our reserve! All the money we had left in the world, and it’s gone!”
Job staggered back, at the end of his strength, meager as it was from the sleepless night. “Why?” He begged, gazing upward. “Just… why?!”
~~/*\~~
Arit woke up with a shout, clasping at his throat. Nightmares of swords and lances had filled his nights. In the dark, he was suddenly blind, thrashing at things that weren’t there.
His foot hit a shelf, and he heard things rattling.
The door to the shed opened, and Vede was standing over him. It was daytime outside, sending a shaft of morning light over Arit, covered in cold sweat and eyes wide. Vede observed his obvious state of ill, but didn’t remark on it. Arit was grateful for that, embarrassed.
Vede gestured at the shelf that Arit was pressing against with his feet. Various pots and vases were shelved above his bedroll on the floor of the shed. “You knock that over, and I’m going to make you pay for all of it.”
“Yes sir.” Arit coiled back in on himself immediately, heart slowing down at last.
“Get cleaned up. It’s time we opened for business.”
~~/*\~~
Arit had finally given in and looked for work elsewhere. Nobody would do business with Job, or Mahala. There was no way for him to support her, or even himself.
Vede ran a stall in the market during the day, setting some of the best pottery in town. He had accepted Arit as an assistant, mostly out of pity. Arit was paid in food some days; but it was the best he could hope for. A place on the floor beside the kiln was warm and protected enough. When he made a sale, he was allowed to keep a few coins. Now that he wasn’t working for Job, the few others who had worked for Job and lived all sent work and food his way. They had all dealt with the stigma of ‘Job’s curse’.
The market started its business early. Those who grew food, or sold meat had to provide it fresh, and those who bought from them didn’t want to leave it too long to make a purchase.
Pottery had no such limitations, and people had to make their money stretch, so often their own sales were made later in the day. Sometimes, someone would come by in the morning to commission something in particular.
But today, for the first time since Arit started working there, someone came to try and make a sale.
A Bedouin man, clearly from the caravans that always passed through the area, stopped at the stall, and waved Arit over. His face was already wrapped against the sun, though it was too early to be hot enough. His face was thus mostly hidden, as he placed a wrapped parcel on the table. “My family are making the journey towards Egypt. We have fallen on hard times, and need to sell some of our possessions to make the rest of the trip.”
“I’m sorry to hear that the journey is not going well for you.” Arit said courteously, though he didn’t believe it. Adding a sob story to your wares was a time honored way to drive the price up. “Of course, you should know that my master approves all transactions. Let’s see what’s-”
The parcel unwrapped, and Arit felt his voice die in his throat. He knew those bowls. He’d placed them in front of Parisha himself, at over a dozen meals in the main house. “Wh-where did these come from?”
“North, originally, or so I am told. Made by some of the finest craftsmen in our homeland.”
These are Job’s things. Arit was more and more certain of it as he looked. Parisha liked to paint. I remember Job would let her experiment. She might have-
Arit set the bowl down gently. “Try again. Where did this come from?”
“It’s a family heirloom-”
“It’s far too new to have passed through generations.” Arit said with certainty. “I do this for a living. I can see typical wear and tear, and these bowls clearly don’t have enough of it.” It was a lie, but only to cover how he knew the truth.
“Well, we wouldn’t sell our favorite possessions first, obviously. Nor would we want to sell any worn out goods.” The Bedouin was surprised at the sudden attitude, but took it as a bargaining position. “I could accept no less than, say… thirty silver pieces.”
Arit felt his head throb with a sudden blinding pain. I can’t remember what they looked like. The Sabeans. I never saw their faces. This could be him. This could be the man who killed my brother. For sure, this is someone who decided that now was a fine time to steal whatever Job had left. The fear of catching Job’s Curse doesn’t extend to stealing his property?
“Thirty silver pieces is a lot for stolen goods.” Arit said harshly.
“Stolen?” The Bedouin looked shocked, but even Arit could see it was an act. Or am I seeing what I want to see?
“You can offer no evidence of where these goods came from, and your story already has holes. Are you aware of the possible penalties that could be incurred if I was caught trying to sell stolen wares?”
“Well I assure you, nothing of the kind is happening here. But if there is a risk for you, I would be willing to accept twenty silver pieces?”
“You think that’s all it takes? Ten extra coins? I could save myself all thirty by saying no.” Arit returned. You’re a thief. A robber. A criminal. A parasite. I cannot avenge my brother, or Parisha, or anyone else that I have loved and lost. But I can refuse to pay you for the extra pain you have inflicted.
The Bedouin dropped the act. “We both know you want these on sale, and as soon as possible. Fifteen silver pieces.”
“This isn’t a big city like Thebes or Babylon. When the people you’ve stolen from show up, looking for new crockery, and they find these things here? They won’t pay for their own possessions. They’ll go to the city elders and have me arrested, while you’re off counting your silver.”
“That will not happen.”
“Why? Because the owner won’t be back?” Arit challenged. “What did you do to him?”
“Ten silver pieces.”
“Pff. Now I know it’s stolen.” Arit scorned. “The only way you could make a profit is if you got it for free.”
The Bedouin started collecting and wrapping the bowls. “Perhaps I should take my business elsewhere.”
“Perhaps you should. In fact, you might want to hurry.”
The thief collected the stolen wares and turned to hurry away. Arit was looking for Eliphaz, to report the thief in the city, when a voice called him aside.
“Arit.” Vede said quietly. “May I see you in the workshop, please?”
Arit was about to beg off so he could make his report, but Vede wasn’t waiting for him. Arit followed his new master into the workshop. The kiln took up most of the room, and the rest of it was filled with shelves of material, and other bits of crockery, in various stages of drying, baking, and painting.
Vede turned and gestured at the shelves. “You see the way they’re stored, closest to the kiln?” He remarked. “You know why? It’s because the stages of making fine crockery have to be timed carefully to make sure the pottery holds. The tiniest bit of moisture, made too hot, too soon? It will boil off to crack the delicate work. So a skilled potter has to be careful about letting his crafts dry first. The amount of effort is equal to its approximate cost.”
“Yes sir.” Arit said with a nod. He hadn’t been in the service of a Potter for long, but he understood that.
“After the making of a thing, comes the adornment of a thing.” Vede said. “The glaze, the artistic embroidery… these do not add much to the substance, but quite a good deal to the value. It has to be done with a delicate hand. Such effort is rewarded when it comes to a sale.” Vede said sagely.
“Of course, sir.” Arit nodded, not knowing where this was going.
Vede swiftly turned and backhanded the younger man hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. “Then how DARE YOU send that man away? Did you see what he was offering?!”
“He was offering stolen goods! I know it was!” Arit stammered out, one hand to his cheek.
“I don’t care if he stole it straight out of a king’s grave!” Vede snapped. “That finery would have fetched a high price. If he stole it, then he would have sold it for a substantial bargain. The artwork on the side? We could have recreated that a hundred times over! You think your conscience is worth more than that?! You work for me. You don’t decide the moral thing to do with my livelihood, I do that! You’re a servant with no experience, who’s lucky to sleep on my floor!”
“He stole it from Job!” Arit cried out, holding up his hands to ward off the next blow.
Vede froze, hand drawn back for another hit, now suspended in place. “From Job? He told you this?”
“No, my lord.” Arit begged, eyes misting with fear and pain. “M-my brother was killed in the judgments against Job. I went to that house for the funeral. I saw the fine crockery. I know how you feel about what’s happened to that man. I wouldn’t accept anything from the cursed house of Job! Who knows what may befall you, my lord?”
There was a heartbeat of silence as Vede processed this new information. But the moment of violence had passed. Inwardly, Arit screeched at himself. You just blamed Job. You just told your new employer that you believe Job is cursed, and that just touching anything he owned would curse you too. Why would you do that? You told him Jabir worked for Job, and died for it, and kept your own past a secret. Why? Because he was hitting you? Is that all your integrity to Job and your own brother are worth?
Finally, Vede settled. “It’s a shame. That pot, wherever it came from, was doubtlessly very valuable. Still, I think you may have been smart to be so cautious. Things are tight enough without accepting something with a curse upon it. My condolences on the loss of your brother. Job appears to be taking many good men down with him, in his punishment from the gods.”
Arit stayed where he was, unwilling to say more, already ashamed of how far he’d gone.
Vede turned to go. “Get back to work. We’ll speak no more about it. But in the future, if another ‘offer’ like this comes up, ask me first.”
“Of course, my lord.” Arit said, rising to his feet, his face still stinging painfully.
They never spoke of it again. Still, it was a sharp reminder that Vede wasn’t Job. Job would have valued his honesty. Job would have agreed with him, and sent the likely bandit running away, with his stolen goods. The Potter was living far closer to the edge of poverty, and the stolen merchandise was more profitable than anything Arit could do in his service.
Father, he prayed silently as he returned to the stall. I’m sorry for what I just said. It was fast, it was physical, it was scary, and I reacted. I reacted by suggesting my own brother was cursed by working for Job. He would be so ashamed of me. I’m certainly ashamed of myself. I just blamed my brother’s death on Job, and on You. Oh God, I’m sorry…
It wasn’t the first reminder of how things had changed for him. It wouldn’t be the last.
Father, is that why my prayers go unanswered now? Because You knew this evil weakness was in me? Because You know I’m unworthy? What about Job? He’s the worthiest man I’ve ever known. If he can fall from your favor so far, and so quickly, there’s surely no hope for anyone.
By this time, he had returned to his post at the stall. There were a few ants crawling along in a line, searching for food. For some reason, he stared at them. Ants. I saw ants when I woke up after the attack…
The ants were tiny, insignificant things. They could be the very same ants, for all he knew. From his perspective, there was no real difference between one or another. Especially since every ant colony had millions more.
From their view, I’m so big I don’t even exist. Not even as a mountain range. Arit thought. I could squash them now and they’d never understand why or how. If one ant angered me, how would I even know the difference between the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ ones? I see kids stomping ants all the time, just to make them stop moving. Like a game. If God is so much bigger than us…
He shook it off. Such thoughts were not helpful.
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