by Tessa Afshar
“Is it not better to commit the error of thinking others better than they are rather than mistakenly consider them worse?”
“You ask me that on this day, with the damage of Teispes round about us, because I thought better of him than I should have?”
What could I say? He considered my explanations feeble excuses. I clenched my teeth. Just as well, I thought. He probably wouldn’t enjoy being married to a former courtesan with a shopkeeper for a potential customer. I drank the rest of my tart juice and shifted my legs, which had begun to fall asleep.
“The queen sent me to fetch you,” he said without preamble.
“What?”
“I came home because Damaspia sent me to fetch you to Ecbatana. She wants you there for the feast of the equinox.”
“I see.” So Damaspia had commanded him to personally escort me to Ecbatana. She, after all, had not forgotten me. The thought of her kindness brought no comfort. That very kindness had landed me in this plight to begin with.
A dark mood descended on me as recent events sank deeper into my consciousness. I had escaped my own demise by the merest wisp of circumstance. Now I held in my arms a beloved animal whose impending death cast its pall on all our hearts. Once again, my husband had rejected me, though with more benevolence this time. The fact that my adversary was finally about to be caught didn’t assuage the larger miseries of my life. With longing, I thought of the peace I had felt when I had prayed with Pari. I felt none now.
Why Lord? I cried out in the privacy of my thoughts. Why have You allowed so much hurt in my life? Why did You take my mother? Why would You not turn my father’s heart toward me? Why did You take away the work of my hands? Why did You marry me to a man who will never care for me? Why did You allow this poor creature to be poisoned? Why?
God, it seemed, had no answers for me. I railed against Him to no avail. I pummeled Him with my demands for an explanation, an excuse, a justification. He only gave me His silence.
I thought of King David and the many disappointments he had suffered. He too had put God to the question. Eli, Eli, lamah azavtani? My God, My God, why have You forsaken me? I hurled David’s question at God, hoping that He would honor His beloved king where He had chosen to ignore me.
And then I went still.
I remembered that in the Hebrew Scriptures you sometimes asked a question not because you expected a literal answer, but because a question was another way to express your feelings. King David had asked God why, but he had never intended to take Him to task with that question. He was not asking the Lord to explain Himself. He was merely pouring his heart out to God. He was telling his Lord that he felt abandoned.
I became mindful of how differently I had addressed the Lord. I had asked my whys of Him for years, expecting an explanation that would satisfy me. I had put Him on trial for what I perceived to be His insufficiency—His failure—and refused to surrender my heart to Him unless He would answer me. Unless He would give me a satisfactory explanation of His ways. How different was my heart from David’s.
It occurred to me that the Lord must have cherished David’s simple lamah. That was the cry of a child, who not understanding, still clung to his father. My why, on the other hand, was an indictment. It was a finger pointing at God. It held no trust.
In those moments of inward examination, with three other people and a sick dog in the same room with me, I felt myself completely alone before God. And I saw the state of my soul for the first time. I saw how arrogant I had been to judge Him. To reject Him.
I was faced in that moment with a decision. Surrounded with reminders of the disappointments of my life—a husband who was only here because of a queen’s command, a dog who lay dying in my lap, a house that was little more than a gilded prison—surrounded by these very sorrows, would I turn to God as a trusting child instead of a demanding judge? Would I lay down my accusations and exchange them for the intimacy of a weeping infant’s arms who clung about her Father’s neck? A child, who, not understanding why her Father took away her favorite prize, still turned to Him for comfort?
Would I exchange my why for David’s why?
It occurred to me that even if God wished to give me an accounting of Himself, His explanation would make as much sense to me as Bardia’s elucidation of pruning would make to the vine. I simply could not comprehend a God who was so far above me.
But, like David, I could have His comfort. I could have His love. I could have His peace. I could have all this without understanding.
This was the choice before me then: an unreasoning surrender that paved the way to love, or a stubborn distance from God until He justified Himself to me. Until He chose to run the world my way.
I was so tired of battling God. It had availed me nothing but bitterness. He had allowed me to wander far, to have my own way, to follow my own will. To taste the sour fruit of running my own life. I had had enough. I wanted David’s heart. I had started that night with sharp accusations against my Lord; I ended it with the desire to love Him. I chose to give my life back to God on His terms, not mine.
Since King David had led me to this new path, it was in his words that I prayed silently:
O Lord, I give my life to you.
I trust in you, my God!
Show me the right path, O Lord;
point out the road for me to follow.
Lead me by your truth and teach me,
for you are the God who saves me.
Do not remember the rebellious sins of my youth.
Remember me in the light of your unfailing love,
For you are merciful, O Lord.
How can I describe what happened to me after offering this simple, earnest prayer to God? I had prayed hundreds, perhaps thousands of prayers before this. I had even meant some of them. There was something different this time, however. Perhaps it was the offering of my whole life. Perhaps it was allowing God to be Lord on His terms. I know not. I only know that some of the walls I had built against my Lord since childhood began to crumble.
As I finished praying, I remembered with sudden clarity the first time I had visited the king’s palace in Ecbatana. For days we had been traveling, until one afternoon we made the final ascent through the mountains along the Khorasan Highway. Without warning we came in sight of a mammoth wall, circular, tall, and gold. The Medes who had built the wall originally had attached thin shields of gold plate to the stone beneath, so that as the sun shone on it, we were blinded.
When we rode through the gates, we came upon a second wall, this one silver, equally massive and overwhelming. On and on we went, circuit after circuit of wall, each taller than the next, each in a different color: red, blue, crimson, black, white. As we went, I was mostly aware of walls, for only the merest glimpse of the palace or the city peeked from behind the seven gleaming concentric circles of colored stone. I knew a magnificent palace was there because others had taken shelter within and had borne testimony of its existence. But the evidence of my senses pointed me to high walls, not the palace beyond.
Until this moment, my life with God had been like the ascent into Ecbatana. I had only seen the walls. I had never entered close enough to take comfort within. I was near, but I was on the outside. Some of these walls had been of my own making: my rebellion; my resistance; my arrogance; my need for control. Some had been built around me by the misfortunes of life: my loneliness; my orphaned heart; my fear of rejection. I had kept God at bay, and cheated myself of the warmth of His mercy.
That night, as I prayed, it was as if some of the walls I had raised up between God and me came down, and I drew near.
An inexplicable peace filled my soul. I held a precious dog in my arms as he struggled for breath. But I was devoid of all bitterness. I had nothing left of what I thought I treasured. But a burgeoning hope strengthened me. I had begun to care for a man who could never regard me with equal tenderness. But I felt that it was well with me.
“What’s wrong?” Darius whispered close to my ear. �
��Are you feeling unwell?”
I realized that tears ran unchecked down my face. I couldn’t even feel self-conscious about it. With a smile I said, “I’ve never felt better.”
He reached over and laid a hand against my forehead. His palm was dry and rough. “You’re not feverish,” he said.
I laughed. “I was only praying. It’s all right. I’m not losing my mind.”
“You sound like my mother.”
He couldn’t have paid me a better compliment and I flushed with pleasure. His expression changed, became shuttered and withdrawn. I realized that he had spoken the words without thinking, and that he did not wish to invite me into a conversation about his private life.
I took the hint and leaned over to check on Caspian. “He seems the same.”
“We should try to get some water into him,” he said. He held his hand out to me as he stood.
“I don’t want to move him,” I said.
“You have sat in the same position for hours. Your muscles will cramp if you don’t move a little. Come. He won’t feel your absence. His sleep is too deep.”
As softly as I could, I shifted Caspian’s head off my lap before reaching out my hand to Darius. He pulled me up with a strong heave. He was right; my legs were unsteady beneath me, and I tumbled against his chest. Long fingers wrapped about my waist, holding me steady. For a moment I rested there, against his hard rock embrace. Then I forced myself to step back. The air around me became thick and awkward.
I tried to act as if I weren’t horribly self-conscious, and said the first thing that came into my head. “I have a confession to make.”
“I’m listening.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I took your wedding gift. Remember the collection of psalms from Nehemiah? You abandoned it at the wedding. I didn’t think you wanted it, but I should have asked.”
“That is your confession? You can keep it. I care not.”
“My thanks. It means more than I can say.”
He shook his head and fetched water and Caspian’s bowl. Together we crouched near the dog’s sleeping form. His heart still beat far too fast from the effects of the poison, and I worried that it might burst itself from working too hard. Darius had me hold Caspian’s head while he poured a thin stream of water into the slack mouth. The dog began to choke and Darius stopped his efforts. It was clear that Caspian could not ingest anything anymore.
Darius sat back on his heels and observed Caspian in silence. Without turning to me he said, “Go to bed.”
“I’ll keep vigil with you.”
“You will not. Perhaps you don’t realize that we must still leave for Ecbatana. I’ll linger as long as we can. But we must leave soon. It will be a fast and hard journey if we are to make Damaspia’s feast as she demands. You’ll need your strength. I won’t have you falling sick on me. I’ll probably be blamed for it.”
I wavered, knowing I should obey him, but wanting to remain with the dog. “What if he should die while I’m asleep?”
“I promise to wake you if there is any change.”
I hesitated too long. He pointed a tapered finger. “Bed.” He didn’t say it, but I knew from the tone of his voice that if I didn’t move fast, he would deposit me there himself. My bed was located in a modest nook, which could be curtained off from the rest of the room. I took off my cloak as I dashed toward it, squirming under the covers while trying not to dislodge Pari in the process. The curtains that separated me from the rest of the chamber were too sheer to make changing an option, so I gathered Damaspia’s lavish silks and spread them about me as best I could to prevent them from wrinkling.
“Don’t forget to wake me.”
“I made a promise, woman. Now, be still.”
I didn’t believe that I would be able to sleep, but no sooner had I closed my eyes than I drifted off. The sound of someone knocking on the door brought me bolt upright. It was Shushan. She had made us breakfast and brought it over herself.
Pari stirred as I rose out of bed. Stifling a yawn she said, “How is Caspian?”
“I’m about to check on him.” The sound of my husband’s voice made me uncomfortably aware of my bed-tousled hair and my rumpled appearance.
“Good morning,” I said as I knelt by Caspian and found him unaltered from the night before. The same unnaturally deep sleep, the same fast heartbeat, the same panting breaths. But he clung to life, so I clung to hope.
It couldn’t have been long past dawn; I hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours then. Bardia was awake too, folding his blanket into neat squares.
Darius turned toward his cook. “Shushan has brought a feast fit for an Egyptian pharaoh. We had better eat.”
“I already fed his lordship’s men. They threatened mutiny if I didn’t. This is their leftover.” Shushan was sporting an eye patch, which made her look more like a highwayman than an aristocrat’s treasured cook. I knew her eye must be irritated, or she would never have resorted to the patch.
I whispered so that only she could hear, “Is the eye causing you much discomfort?”
“It’s bearable.”
I couldn’t help smile at the sight of my friends about me. The extraordinary circumstances had blurred the normal rules of propriety even more than usual. It wasn’t every day that I slept with two men in my room. After washing my hands and face and allowing Pari to brush my hair, I joined Darius at the breakfast table.
As unobtrusively as I could, I thanked God under my breath. It was a ritual I had performed countless times. Today, however, the words seemed full of significance. I blessed God with my whole being, for truly every good thing I had came from Him. And I had many blessings for which to be grateful.
When I lifted my face, once again I found myself the object of Darius’s watchful gaze. I remembered that he had been raised as a Persian prince, taught to honor the Persian god Ahura Mazda and to live by the principles of justice. Yet he was also half Jewish, influenced by a beloved mother who had been devoted to the Lord. My simple acts of worship were bound to call forth memories. I wondered if he felt any conflict in his soul, caught between two worlds as he was. Did he have any hunger to know more about the Lord? And if he did, how could he satisfy such hunger when the pursuit of it would mean the disappointment of a dear father?
I decided that such questions were not my concern. Darius would not thank me for entertaining them. For now, while we were thrown so close together, I’d have to bear the brunt of his curious scrutiny. But that marked the end of my involvement. I lectured myself to keep my own counsel, to hold my tongue, to be discreet. I lectured myself, not sure that I could abide by my own wise advice.
“Any news of Teispes?” I asked, setting my disturbing thoughts aside.
Darius bit into a perfectly baked piece of warm bread filled with sweet cream and quince preserve. “Not yet.” He seemed exhausted to me. I recalled that before staying up the whole night to deal with an unpleasant and stressful situation, he had spent a full day in the saddle.
“My lord, you ought to retire to your apartments. Bathe, rest, change from your travel clothes. We will send for you if there is news. As you pointed out to me, you still face the journey back to Ecbatana.”
He raked long fingers through his hair. “It would be good to wash off this dust.” One long leg stretched before him. “There’s as yet so much to organize. I need to replace the servants Teispes discharged and get rid of the useless ones he hired.”
“I can help you with that, my lord,” Bardia volunteered. “I know how to reach many of our old people. If they are available, they will come back, I’m certain. Tell me the terms and I will see to it that the work is done. Shushan can help me with the indoor staff.”
Shushan nodded. “Easy enough. Just leave us a couple of your men, lord, so that we can send them with messages.”
Darius grinned. “With you two about, maybe I won’t even need a new steward.” He heaved a sigh as he rose. “Nonetheless, I shall have to find one.”
I could have given him three suitable names without even thinking hard. I held my peace, imagining that I’d be the last person he would trust with the welfare of his estate.
“Until we find the right man, I shall leave my personal scribe here with you. He will need your help with the practical side of running a household, but at least he can straighten the accounts and see to the rations for the new servants.” To my surprise, he turned to me. “In the meantime, if I need the services of a scribe, I imagine you can help me?”
“Yes, my lord. Of course.”
“This must be a distressing state of affairs for you. You married yourself to an aristocrat only to find yourself back in a scribe’s chair. Fear not. I will free you from the responsibility soon after we arrive at Ecbatana. The king is bound to have dependable contacts.”
“Nothing about working as a scribe distresses me. I shall be glad to help.”
He raised an eyebrow in that maddening way he had, which seemed to question the world and all that was in it, not to mention everything that came out of my mouth. “Call me with updates. I’ll take your advice and go to my own rooms.”
Bardia and Shushan left to see to the hiring of new staff. Pari remained and helped me tend Caspian. We tried to give him more water without success, and settled for a rubdown instead. I doubt if our attentions made any difference to him, but it made us feel better.
My long night and short hours of sleep were catching up with me, and I gave myself over to Pari’s care as she bathed me and dressed my hair again. My chamber was growing hot and I wished nothing more than to wrap myself in my oldest, most comfortable robe, but Pari admonished that with Lord Darius in residence, I needed to look the part of the lady. So I covered myself in exquisite Egyptian linen and went to take up my vigil by Caspian. It seemed ridiculous to don such finery at the bedside of a sick dog.
Pari left to help Shushan in the kitchen; Shushan, I knew would be happy for the help now that she had a larger household to feed. Alone for the first time in two days, I found my room too quiet. My thoughts wandered and I remembered Darius’s request that I help him with his personal scribal needs while his man remained at the palace. A sudden shaft of excitement pierced my soul. This, I could do. This, I could do well. Perhaps seeing my ability, he would come to hold me in higher regard. He would learn to ascribe value to me. If I worked hard and exceeded his expectations, he might see my worth. I thought perhaps the Lord had opened this door for me. Tenaciously, I held on to that hope.
