“They do not need proof to tear me apart with their tongues.” She looked at him sadly. “You believe that Ahmal is dead?”
He gave a snort of derision. “Surely you do not think that he is still alive after all this time?”
“I do not know what to think.” She felt weary.
“Do you wish him to live, Marah?” His words were dangerously soft. “Shall he return to the wife who waits so patiently, so faithfully?” This time his tone was mocking.
The last struck her like a blow and her head came up defiantly, her dark eyes flashing.
Reuben’s voice became soft and soothing. “I find you most interesting when you are angry, my love.” He believed his nearness was having its desired effect. She stood very still against him. She knew better than to fight him . . . even with words.
“We could leave Shechem and no one would know. You would have someone to take care of you,” he said against her cheek. “Do you not want that also?”
Panic filled her. Leave Shechem? What would become of her? She stalled for time.
“I . . . I do not know what to do. I cannot think.” She swayed against him, her mind racing. Gathering her courage, she pulled away, looking earnestly up at his face. She knew he didn’t like her pulling away, for he scowled. How could she make him understand?
“My lord, you have taken me, yet I do not know if I am still a married wife. God will surely punish us.”
He snorted. “Surely God must have more important matters to concern Himself with. All the more reason we should leave Shechem.”
Marah opened her mouth to reply and promptly closed it again. Did he see only what he wanted to see? She had tried to speak to Reuben about Ahmal, to make him understand what was in her heart. He did not want to see what he had done. He had been annoyed, impatient as he was now, that she as a woman would try to speak to him about things of God.
Suddenly a strange thought came to her and she voiced it without thinking. “Reuben, do you think the Messiah will truly come?”
The change of topics caught him by surprise and he stared at her a moment. His eyes narrowed and then he gave another shout of laughter. “You are much more interesting, my love, when you don’t concern yourself with matters best left to men.” His hands tightened painfully on her arms.
She had gone too far. Reuben had an easy manner on the outside but liked having his way. He could be unpleasant when he was angry. She stood silently, submissively, waiting, her emotions conflicting as he turned away from her abruptly.
“Go for your water. I have matters to attend to.”
“Will you be here when I return?” Perhaps he would leave at last.
“You will miss me?” There was a gleam of satisfaction as he turned back to her. He reached out and pulled her close again. “See how your heart flutters. Have I not made you happy?”
“Yes, Reuben,” she whispered against his chest, relieved that the mood had passed. She would tell him what he wished to hear. It served her better. His many moods puzzled her. He changed like the wind from one moment to the next. Cold, cruel, childlike when things did not go his way, he was a man who could be dangerous.
“There is a caravan coming into Sebaste. I heard the news yesterday.”
She stiffened and he murmured softly, “Perhaps the long-lost Ahmal will return?” There was a hint of sarcasm.
She tried to draw away, but his strong hands held her fast, bruising her arms. “My lord, for both of our sakes, we must know.” It was almost a sob.
“Of all the caravans that have passed through Shechem, which one has brought you word that Ahmal lives and sends his love to his dear, faithful wife?”
She closed her eyes against the vehemence of his words as he continued to grip her arms tightly. “He was a good man. He was kind to my family and to me.” How could she wish the death of gentle Ahmal?
“And I am not kind to you, Marah?” There was no mistaking the inference in his tone as he drew her against him again and ran one finger slowly down her cheek. “I can be very kind, my love . . .” He tilted her chin up and kissed her slowly. When he released her, she swayed momentarily, staring up at him.
“You are mine, Marah. If Ahmal were to return, what would the good people of Shechem say to him about his wife and his half brother, hmmm? Even now, the women draw their skirts away from you. Where are the friends who were so anxious to help you? It is only a matter of time. I will take you with me. There are other lands, other towns to live in. You cannot remain in Shechem much longer.” Then, persuasively, “Nothing holds you here . . .”
She looked up at him. Who was he, and what power did he have over her? He remained a stranger in many ways. His garments were the finest quality, but she had yet to learn the source of his recent income. He was well liked as he laughed and moved among the merchants. He had come seeking resources, and yet now he seemed to have money. Where did it come from? She watched him closely in the marketplace, and she pretended indifference, noting that the eyes of the men and women of Shechem watched them both. She had also noticed that the women watched Reuben . . . with open admiration.
“This house is all I have, Reuben, and all that is left of Ahmal’s after the debts were paid. My son would return here. I pray he lives and is safe.” A tiny trace of doubt brushed her thoughts . . . as though on the verge of something she could not explain. She waited for his answer.
“All this concern is foolish. Why do you not face the fact that he is gone? He has a life somewhere else in another city or country. As young as he was when he left, no doubt the slave traders found him.” He shook her. “Or they are dead. Do you not understand? Why do you persist in this tiresome game of waiting?”
A sob escaped her lips at the cruelty of his words. She could not look at him.
“I will sell the house and the last of your belongings. You need little to take with you and the proceeds from my brother’s property will do us nicely.”
“But . . . Ahmal is not—”
“Enough!” he bellowed at her. “What difference can it make to you now? Who is the wiser? No one really knows. We can say we have finally heard news. As his relative, his brother, I can receive his possessions and do with them as I wish. All of his possessions.”
Marah continued to look down at the floor, hiding the turmoil within. Mistaking her silence for submission, he relaxed his grip and stepped back.
“Go for your water. I have other things to do. I will go to speak with the caravan master in Sebaste. Perhaps they bring news. Since it seems to concern you so, if my brother should return, we would do well to leave Shechem. I fear that stones would mar that lovely face, and I do not care for that end for myself.”
Marah gasped. It was the first time her unspoken thoughts about that had been voiced. It was true. She and Reuben were in great danger if Ahmal should return and accuse her of adultery. She tried to picture gentle Ahmal in the role of an outraged husband. He was kind, but yet she had seen him deal with his drivers and the men who worked for him. They respected him. Respect? She could not even claim self-respect since the night that Reuben had come to her room.
Reuben was speaking again, breaking into her thoughts. “. . . will go and see what I can find out.”
“When will you return?” She tried to appear casual. She must have time to think about what to do.
“I do not like to be questioned on what I do. Since you must ask, as soon as I find out what I need to know . . . what we need to know to proceed.”
She caught her breath sharply, her eyes wide.
“I shall return within the week. The thought of you will hasten my return.”
“You will take Tema?” She did not want the man skulking about while Reuben was gone. Reuben knew she disliked his servant.
“I will take Tema. He is useful to me in many ways.”
He adjusted the mantle to protect his head from the sun and gathered up his goatskin bag.
As he opened the door and nodded to Tema who had been lounging by
the gate, Tema hurried away. She knew he had gone to prepare the horses. Before he left, Tema had looked at Marah and smirked. She wanted to throw something at the man.
Reuben thanked her loudly for her hospitality. He wished her good health and added, for the benefit of eavesdropping neighbors, “I will seek further word on your husband and my brother on my journey. Peace be unto you.”
Marah stood in the shadow of the house watching him for a moment. Then she sighed and reached again for the water jar, lifting it to her shoulder as she had done so many times before. When was the first time, she mused, that I went to draw water from the well of Jacob? She thought of the day she and Hannah had walked together. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered that happy walk with Hannah, and then the terrible news Reba had given her when she returned. It all seemed so long ago. She sighed, closed the door, and with her sandals making a soft slapping noise on the quiet, dusty street, began her journey to the well of Jacob.
PART VIII
Jacob’s Well
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The brightness of the sun took her breath away as she walked as quickly as possible toward the well of Jacob. Even the birds were silent as her lone figure passed the date and olive trees and headed for the summit. She did not look up at Gerizim. The holy mountain seemed to loom up against her in judgment. She had not been to the synagogue since Reuben had come. She could not face the questions in the eyes of her neighbors. Hannah had told her of the gossip in the village among the women. She had not asked about the situation with Reuben, yet Marah knew that she knew. Hannah was her friend. She would not ask to bring Marah’s shame into the open.
She had not seen Hannah in two weeks. She wondered what the men were saying to Simon. Had Reuben claimed the wager? Had he been tempted to brag about his conquest? She didn’t know, but this morning she wondered at the sorrow that her life had become. Was there any end to it? One by one, like leaves falling from a tree, the incidents of her life fluttered past. How could she have changed their coming? Reuben raised that small prick of fear. Having lived in Shechem all her life, was she now forced to leave? If she left with Reuben, how long before another woman took his fancy? She knew what he was, a dog that roamed the streets mating with any female in heat. He would go on his way and leave her in some city, alone. What could she do? Could he persuade the elders that he was indeed Ahmal’s brother and therefore had the right to Ahmal’s possessions? He could claim her as a kinsman. Then where would Caleb send word if she were gone? He could return and not know where to find her. Would the elders believe her if she told them Reuben had taken her against her will? How then could she explain these last weeks? With agony, she faced the truth in her heart. Part of her had tried to remain faithful to Ahmal and part of her had responded to Reuben’s touch and caresses.
Yet, how could she live with what she had become? In time, even her faithful friend Hannah must turn away. On and on, the questions probed her being, laying before her the deepest secrets of her heart. And with the revelation came choices.
Marah was so absorbed in her own thoughts that it startled her to see that there was someone else at the well, a man. What was a man doing at the well at this hour? She saw no horse or camel. Had he traveled this far on foot alone? As she drew closer, she saw by his garments that he was a Jew, and not only that, a rabbi. Jews did not journey alone through Samaria. This was strange indeed. He sat quietly on the edge of the well as if he were resting . . . and waiting for someone.
As she drew near, he turned to face her. It was an incredible face. His eyes looked deep into hers. She had the feeling that he knew her . . . that he knew her entire life. He smiled confidently at her, and she paused momentarily, unsure of what to do. Then he reached out his hand, “Will you give me a drink?”
What was familiar about that gesture? She sought in her mind, but it was hidden from her. She looked at him, puzzled.
“How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria? You Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.”
He spoke again and his words were gentle, but carried authority. “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked of Him, and He would have given you living water.”
She looked around the well. Why would he ask her to give him a drink if he had water of his own? Her curiosity gave her boldness. “Sir, you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where then do you have this living water?” Perhaps he was a sorcerer . . . ? “Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank thereof himself and his children and also his cattle?”
He stood and faced her and his words seemed to echo in the stillness of the moment.
“Whosoever drinks of this water,” he said, gesturing toward the well, “shall thirst again. But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.”
She marveled. Water that will last forever? Even if he were a sorcerer, if he was able to give her this water, she would not have to come here again or to the village well for that matter. Encouraged and hopeful, she looked around him to the well. “Sir, give me this water, that I will not thirst nor will I have to come here to draw.”
He smiled again, his eyes sparkling with tiny flecks of light. She felt as though her very being was drawn into their depths.
Then his next words caused her hopes to come crashing down. “Go, call your husband, and return here.”
She hung her head. What could she say? He would do nothing unless she brought her husband. She had none . . . now. He was a rabbi. She may as well tell him the truth. “I have no husband.”
He did not seem surprised, but nodded his head as if the answer was expected and he was pleased with her. “You have said well, for you have had five husbands . . . and this man that you have now is not your husband. In that you have said the truth.”
How could he know these things? She had never seen him in the town of Shechem. A Jewish rabbi alone in Shechem would be noticed! There was only one way he could know these things about her.
“Sir . . . I believe that you are a prophet!” She must turn this conversation or incriminate herself. She looked up at Gerizim. “Our fathers worshiped in this mountain; and you Jews say that Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship.”
He chuckled, as though he knew what she was doing and then his face became earnest.
“Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you shall neither in this mountain, nor even yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.”
She was confused and it must have shown in her face.
“You worship what you do not know,” he said softly. “We worship what we do know, for salvation is of the Jews.”
The rebuke was kind, but he spoke with that same authority. Slowly she sat down on the well to hear the rest of his words.
“The hour has come and now is at hand when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father seeks such as these to worship Him. God is a spirit; and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.”
Suddenly Marah remembered the rabbi whom Reuben had told Simon about when he had first come to Shechem, a man with a ragged following. A man who performed miracles and healed the sick. Was he that man? She looked at him again, not even considering that at the moment she was talking with a strange man alone . . . and a Jew. There was love, not the love of the body, but love of the soul that radiated from his eyes. He seemed to know her very life, and yet she saw no condemnation in his voice or his manner. Who was he? Was he that Jesus of Nazareth? Cautiously she began . . .
“I know that the Messiah comes which is called Christ. When He comes, He will tell us all things.” She held her breath.
The rabbi smiled and there was glory on his face as he spoke softly, “I that speak to you . . . am He.” He reached out his hand to her and there in the stillness came recognition: the face in her dre
am, the stranger who had brought peace to her heart over the years. This was the one that spoke to her in the pain of childbirth and death. His was the voice that had told her she would not die. Joy filled her being as understanding came. She knew who He was. Love poured through her very being. She felt cleansed, and as she slowly looked into His face, the words echoed in her soul, “You are forgiven of your sins.”
At that moment, she heard voices and looked around to see a small group of men approaching. She looked fearfully back at the rabbi, but He seemed to know them. These men were with Him. They must be his disciples. They carried bundles—food, no doubt, purchased in Shechem. Their faces showed concern and puzzlement as they looked from their master to Marah, yet none stepped forward to ask why He was speaking to a Samaritan woman. They did not even question her, yet waited patiently, respectfully.
The rabbi looked at her, and suddenly thoughts filled her mind. She knew what she must do. The water jar was forgotten, and she nodded, as if He had spoken to her aloud. She hesitated a moment, looking at all of them, and then began to run back down the path toward Shechem.
As she entered the gate of the town, she went to the center of the marketplace. The merchants had opened their stalls and people milled about. They turned to look at her. The woman who had avoided all of them for so long stood in the marketplace with tears streaming down her face and joy radiating from her soul.
With her hand, she entreated all of them, “Come! See a man who told me all that I have ever done! I have met Him at the well of Jacob. Could this be the Christ? Come . . . come and see!”
The men began to lay down the things in their hands, and as if moved by a power beyond themselves, they followed her. As she went down the street, she called to them from shop to shop. “Come, see the Messiah. Come and see the Christ. He is at the well of Jacob. He has told me everything I have done in my life. Come!”
As sheep follow the shepherd, they poured out from Shechem and hurried after her as she laughed and gestured with her hand to follow. She could hear the voices murmuring, “Is this the woman we have known all our lives? What change was this? What has happened to her?” With curiosity they resolved to see this man she spoke about.
Journey to the Well: A Novel Page 25
