Uncle made it his mission to keep me away from the gladiator’s end of the compound for the next few days. I didn’t hold any want to be around there anyway. The constant clanging of metal on stone set my backbone to quivering.
Uncle Zebulun and I had worked for Silvus for the past three years. The Roman occupation drew out Jewish pride in my father and brothers. They joined the Zealots and began training in the caves, “Like David” they said. David’s God didn’t fight their battles. Actually it was just a skirmish. Father was killed and my brothers wounded and dragged off into slavery.
Mom just quit wanting to live. She was a Naomi without a Boaz. She died a few months later shrunken and looking many years older than she was. I almost followed her. Uncle Zebulun grabbed me by the soul and wouldn’t let me turn my back on life. Neither of us could pay the debts, so we bonded out and became slaves to the largest landowner in Bethel. He wanted me for more than I could give. One evening his evil eyes roved all over me with every bite of his evening meal. As I was clearing his food, he touched me where no one had before or since. My insides began to melt in fear. “Run” I screamed at my knees. As I made my move, he grabbed the hem of my tunic. He pulled. I stumbled. He reached to catch me, breath chugging in delight. I thought Uncle was going to tear his arm off and feed it to him. I snapped free and ran from the room, as he and Uncle Zebulun roared at each other in mutual rage.
The next morning we were thrown in a wagon with the garbage. The garbage was dumped into the stinking fire of the valley of Gehenna. We bumped and bounced on into Jerusalem where Master Silvus bought us at auction. I couldn’t look at all the men in their jewels, afraid I would see the leering of my previous. Uncle Zebulun met each gaze with strength and surety. I still wonder if that look is not what drew Master Silvus to us. Uncle Zebulun blames Masters’ choice on the Lord.
Master ran a strict household. He would not allow me to mix with any males, until his other female servants had trained me in the ways and customs of the Romans. Until I passed all the tests of holidays and eating customs and clothing preferences, I lived in quarantine. Mistress Roxanna arrived from Rome to inspect her husband’s holdings. She personally approved of all of us women who joined the household staff that summer. She has only been back one more time in the past three years.
Under the fair gaze of Master Silvus and Uncle, the pain of my violation eased out of my waking thoughts. My dreams were another matter. His eyes floated in the dark and his leer undressed me each night for months. Master Silvus held no such feelings for me. He would not allow such complications to disrupt the smooth running of his home. Each slave knew that anything like rape would earn him or her Master Silvus’ own justice. Master Emander paid me no attentions. He sought the fair women with yellow or red hair, not a dark olive like me. He was kind enough and even would converse in friendly tones from time to time, but nothing more. The rumor in the slaves’ rooms was that he was to marry high in the Roman government when his time came.
In time I started to sing again. First I found myself humming notes that my mother used to set me to sleep. All those songs ended in tears, but they kept coming back. A particularly sunny day would find me singing a psalm of victory, until I caught myself. Uncle sat unnoticed as I sang. When I choked off that particular psalm he cried out, “No little one, no don’t sever your gift! My heart just cracked when you stopped.”
“Oh Uncle, you baby me all the time. My tunes are nothing special.” As I turned toward him some of the other servants scurried back to work.
“They don’t believe that, and neither do I. Please don’t stop.”
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Beast and Cage
He snuck out again after evening meal. We stanched his wounds and he slept fitfully through the afternoon heat. He must have been dreaming of another time and place. He called out names in his sleep, ground his teeth. He drank nearly two pitchers of water at evening meal, but ate little. The Latins ignored him, except Master Silvus. Master never spoke to him, but his gaze was often on Ben.
Ben left the table first. As I hurried in to clear his bowls, I watched him stride at the stone. He circled it. I was drawn to my duties by Uncle Zebulun’s call.
The bellowing insults of my father fell on my brain again and again. His predictions of failure battered me from memory, as fresh as the moment he spat them at me. As I paced at the stone, his rage twisted face glared me down. I would not cry. I would not bleed again. I would conquer. I slowed my pace to cold-hearted study. I would find . . . there! A crack, no it was just a vein! I crept about the edge of the boulder with my nose just a fingers width from the surface. After a while my eyes began to water. I wiped them back. A drip fell square on it. A definite crack. I began with my littlest fingernail. Scratching back and forth, I worked at the chink in the stone. When I had ground my nail to the bed, the sun had set, so that I couldn’t see. Rebekah brought a lamp so I could see to go to bed.
“Master Benjamin, what is your fascination with Master Silvus’ test?”
“Don’t call me ‘Master.’ He has made it more than a test for me. I heard you singing your midday prayer, Rebekah.”
“Did my praying offend you, Ma . . ., Benjamin?” He looked away.
The next day I filed down all the nails on my left hand against the crack, but it was worth it. I could now get a grip. The next morning I felt my way around the rock in the dark. I swept as much dust as I could into the crack, then wedged the barest end of my longest fingers in as well. I pulled and tugged, allowing visions of my father and his friends full access to me. I focused so intently I forgot to breathe. This time I did not pass out, but gulped in fresh air and renewed my fight. For a week I strained and sawed and tried to peal the stone in two. My fingers had advanced to the depth of my nail bed into the rock.
Master Silvus met me as I headed into the pre-morning gloom once again. “You have done enough.”
“No!”
“I am your Master and I release you from the stone.”
“You are my Master, but I cannot let the stone be. You have turned it into my Father. I must beat him. I will not lose.”
“You cannot win.”
“I will not lose.” I turned back to my “Father.” CRACK! Silvus extended the lash past my face. I didn’t flinch or slow. Fire landed across my back and neck, and again. These blows only threw more fuel on the hate crackling to get out.
“I will beat you as senseless as you act. If you cannot learn to control the beast, you are worthless to me. Cage him and use his strength, but do not let your Father win your mind into foolish hatred.”
“Yes Master Silvus.” I stopped.
“Now that the stone and my words have unleashed your pain and anger, you need to build your cage. Blind anger against another makes you strong and banishes pain. Blind anger in the ring will leave you lifeless in two quick breaths. You are now outside your feelings thanks to the lash and my words. Never let yourself fall quite that senseless again. Instead learn to call up the images that bring on this rage and hold yourself on the edge of falling over to the beast. Then you will gain all the strength and toughness with control.”
“I will try.”
“You must do more than try, lad. The beast is always your greatest ally and opponent rolled up inside you. You cannot lose to the beast! Take this.” He unsheathed a broadsword about 5 cubits or forearm lengths. At the hilt, the blade was as wide as my hand. “You have earned a weapon to use with your hate on the stone.” I poured my memories and tears down my arms and into the blade.
When he took hold of the sword, I shivered. “Uncle Zebulun must need me somewhere else.” The first clang drove me to run.
Ben left the table first. As I hurried in to clear his bowls, I watched him stride at the stone. He circled it. I was drawn to my duties by Uncle Zebulun’s call.
The bellowing insults of my father fell on my brain again and again. His predictions of failure battered me from memory, as fresh as the moment he spat them at me. As I paced at the stone, his rage twisted face glared me down. I would not cry. I would not bleed again. I would conquer. I slowed my pace to cold-hearted study. I would find . . . there! A crack, no it was just a vein! I crept about the edge of the boulder with my nose just a fingers width from the surface. After a while my eyes began to water. I wiped them back. A drip fell square on it. A definite crack. I began with my littlest fingernail. Scratching back and forth, I worked at the chink in the stone. When I had ground my nail to the bed, the sun had set, so that I couldn’t see. Rebekah brought a lamp so I could see to go to bed.
“Master Benjamin, what is your fascination with Master Silvus’ test?”
“Don’t call me ‘Master.’ He has made it more than a test for me. I heard you singing your midday prayer, Rebekah.”
“Did my praying offend you, Ma . . ., Benjamin?” He looked away.
The next day I filed down all the nails on my left hand against the crack, but it was worth it. I could now get a grip. The next morning I felt my way around the rock in the dark. I swept as much dust as I could into the crack, then wedged the barest end of my longest fingers in as well. I pulled and tugged, allowing visions of my father and his friends full access to me. I focused so intently I forgot to breathe. This time I did not pass out, but gulped in fresh air and renewed my fight. For a week I strained and sawed and tried to peal the stone in two. My fingers had advanced to the depth of my nail bed into the rock.
Master Silvus met me as I headed into the pre-morning gloom once again. “You have done enough.”
“No!”
“I am your Master and I release you from the stone.”
“You are my Master, but I cannot let the stone be. You have turned it into my Father. I must beat him. I will not lose.”
“You cannot win.”
“I will not lose.” I turned back to my “Father.” CRACK! Silvus extended the lash past my face. I didn’t flinch or slow. Fire landed across my back and neck, and again. These blows only threw more fuel on the hate crackling to get out.
“I will beat you as senseless as you act. If you cannot learn to control the beast, you are worthless to me. Cage him and use his strength, but do not let your Father win your mind into foolish hatred.”
“Yes Master Silvus.” I stopped.
“Now that the stone and my words have unleashed your pain and anger, you need to build your cage. Blind anger against another makes you strong and banishes pain. Blind anger in the ring will leave you lifeless in two quick breaths. You are now outside your feelings thanks to the lash and my words. Never let yourself fall quite that senseless again. Instead learn to call up the images that bring on this rage and hold yourself on the edge of falling over to the beast. Then you will gain all the strength and toughness with control.”
“I will try.”
“You must do more than try, lad. The beast is always your greatest ally and opponent rolled up inside you. You cannot lose to the beast! Take this.” He unsheathed a broadsword about 5 cubits or forearm lengths. At the hilt, the blade was as wide as my hand. “You have earned a weapon to use with your hate on the stone.” I poured my memories and tears down my arms and into the blade.
When he took hold of the sword, I shivered. “Uncle Zebulun must need me somewhere else.” The first clang drove me to run.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Blood and Prayers
Silvus strode out to check my progress. He found me sitting leaned against the stone. “On your feet!” I bolted upright. “Bring me the lash!” A servant appeared through the back door of the house and jogged to Silvus with a strip of leather as wide as my thumb and and long as my body. “Face the stone, Benjamin! So, your father hooked you to a plow, then let’s unlock the donkey in you.” The first blow of the lash sliced my garment from my back. I stumbled into the stone and gripped it to keep on my feet. Another strike smashed across my shoulders. “Fall to your four legs young donkey, or get to work on the stone!” As I took a breath to answer another blow fell and I cried out. Another slash fell and I ground me teeth under a surge of anger. I caught the last strike on my bare hands and held the leather firm. “Now, aim that anger at that stone.” Silvus turned and left.
The top of the stone lay unblinking as I pounded. One fist then the other struck with just the tiniest of scraping sounds against it. With all the pain and fire in my back, I beat down upon the boulder. My hands turned red, then white, then brown as bruises formed around my little fingers.
Silvus walked up. “Let me see.” He turned my hands over and opened them. “The rock is winning. Your anger is weak. You risk little to express it, so that even stones can defeat you. You only invest the softest part of your hand to the task, like a little boy afraid of his shadow! Continue.”
The throbbing of my bruises screamed, “Liar!” at Silvus. I set my teeth and poured fist after fist into the stone. Each swing brought a whimper from me. As I heard my own pain, a part inside me broke. Tears and sweat mingled and fell on the stone. My whimpers, and the broken emotions they dragged to the surface, called up a fearsome anger in me. I swiped at the boulder with my knuckles. Keen clear pain shot up my arm. I met the stone with another swing. It bounced back my blood. Now he was an enemy. Stroke after stroke I lay on the beast. Both hands rose and landed against the stone. Flyspeck chips rolled down its edge. Great gulps of air hissed through my nose to feed the rage. The roar raised in my ears and drowned out everything. I was in a black rage and my vision shrunk to nothing.
I woke in a puddle of my own blood at the foot of the stone. Silvus had returned and gently shook me awake. “So, you have met the monster within, eh lad? Carry him inside. He has had enough for today.” I was able to get my feet under me, but without Zebulun and Rebekah’s help I would have crumpled again. They eased me into the shade and began to tend my wounds. I must have passed out again and again. Each time I came back around Rebekah was singing her midday prayers. I didn’t really understand the ancient Hebrew, but I did hear her sing my name, I think.
The top of the stone lay unblinking as I pounded. One fist then the other struck with just the tiniest of scraping sounds against it. With all the pain and fire in my back, I beat down upon the boulder. My hands turned red, then white, then brown as bruises formed around my little fingers.
Silvus walked up. “Let me see.” He turned my hands over and opened them. “The rock is winning. Your anger is weak. You risk little to express it, so that even stones can defeat you. You only invest the softest part of your hand to the task, like a little boy afraid of his shadow! Continue.”
The throbbing of my bruises screamed, “Liar!” at Silvus. I set my teeth and poured fist after fist into the stone. Each swing brought a whimper from me. As I heard my own pain, a part inside me broke. Tears and sweat mingled and fell on the stone. My whimpers, and the broken emotions they dragged to the surface, called up a fearsome anger in me. I swiped at the boulder with my knuckles. Keen clear pain shot up my arm. I met the stone with another swing. It bounced back my blood. Now he was an enemy. Stroke after stroke I lay on the beast. Both hands rose and landed against the stone. Flyspeck chips rolled down its edge. Great gulps of air hissed through my nose to feed the rage. The roar raised in my ears and drowned out everything. I was in a black rage and my vision shrunk to nothing.
I woke in a puddle of my own blood at the foot of the stone. Silvus had returned and gently shook me awake. “So, you have met the monster within, eh lad? Carry him inside. He has had enough for today.” I was able to get my feet under me, but without Zebulun and Rebekah’s help I would have crumpled again. They eased me into the shade and began to tend my wounds. I must have passed out again and again. Each time I came back around Rebekah was singing her midday prayers. I didn’t really understand the ancient Hebrew, but I did hear her sing my name, I think.
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