Short Stories
It is midday, in the town
of Cyre'ne. It is the end
of Passover week, and
Misha has been awaiting
the return of her husband,
Simon. He had been due
back, a day earlier, and
Misha was getting very worried.
He had traveled to Jerusalem,
several days earlier, for the yearly trip
of the Festival. He had
traveled with her younger
brother, Aschem. Unbeknownst
to Misha, however, her brother
had to stay behind with
an elderly uncle,
and Simon decided to start
walking back, alone.
_________________________
"SIMON!
What HAPPENED to YOU?"
Misha stood in the doorway
of their thatched roof house. Her
plump face had gone totally
white, upon seeing her middle
aged husband walking slowly
up the road to their little gate.
In the distance, she could hear
the cows mooing. It was past
their milking time, and there
was still much to do, before
the sun went down. Annoyed
that Simon hadn't returned
after the noon hour today, as he
had promised, Misha had begun
standing in their wooden doorway,
framing her eyes from the midday
light, with one leathery palm,
and holding her broad, aproned
hip with the other. At the
suprising sight of her husband,
however, she now dropped the
ragged towel in her hand, and
rushed to his side.
"What HAPPENED?"
What HAPPENED?
Were you ROBBED?
What HAPPENED?
Who DID this to YOU?"
Simon said nothing. He merely
stopped, just inside the wooden
gate to their farm, and abruptly
sat on the large rock that leaned
up against their front fence. He
wouldn't say anything: just shook
his sweaty, dirt-encrusted head,
sighed deeply, and put his face
in his big, bony hands. Suddenly,
quite unexpectedly, he began to
cry: great sobs racking his large
and manly frame.
Misha had been Simon's wife,
now, for 30 years. The only
time she had seen him in tears,
was when their young daughter,
at that time not yet the age of
three, had died from a sudden
fever; they had had to bury her
little, fragile body in the middle of
a hot, dry summer's day. Misha,
helping her husband shoveling the
dry rocky dirt, had stared,
open mouthed, as she suddenly
heard horrible racking sobs,
erupt from her usually silent,
and stoic husband. She had
said nothing, but watched as
Simon had gone right on
shoveling and tossing the dry
dirt, while streaks of dirty
tears sliding down his big,
fleshy face. Neither had
said nothing for a long time.
Neither of them had said
anything for a long time,
after that.
Now, seeing her husband's
face, again, racked with tears,
Misha recalled that same
afternoon, so long ago, and
she shuddered. Tracing her
steps back to the fallen
towel, she retrieved it,
and ran over to wipe the
crusted dirt off of her
husband's mop of dark hair.
His hair smelled of day old
sweat, and dried mud.
"SIMON!
Simon!
What HAPPENED to YOU?
TELL me!
COME!
At least come INSIDE!
You can get those torn
CLOTHES off!
And cleaned UP!
And......where is ASCHEM?"
"Don't worry;
don't worry.
He is fine; he had to
stay longer...to care
for Uncle Benjamin.
Don't worry.....I'm...
okay....I'm alright."
With another deep sigh,
Simon arose slowly, and
picked up the rough sack
that he had lay aside when
he had entered their gate.
"But....you were ROBBED!
ATTACKED!
But.....what?
What did they TAKE?
....They didn't take
your SACHEL?
But....what did they
WANT from you, Simon?
What did they WANT?"
Misha laid her hand on Simon's
right shoulder; she noticed
that his clothing was ripped
at the hand-sewn seams, and
that the cloth had many
rough splinters caught in it.
"What IS this, Simon?
What IS this?
Where they
BEATING you with SOMETHING?
Where did this HAPPEN?
Outside the CITY?
WHERE?
WHERE?"
Simon only sighed again,
and shook his head.
"No, Misha.
No.
Come.
Come inside, and I'll
tell you about it.
Only......let me get out
of these clothes.
I.......I want them burned.
I ........I can NEVER wear them,
again."
Misha stared, open mouthed,
and then nodded sympathetically.
"Of course, Simon.
Of course!
But, let's get you inside.
I'll run over, and get Abby......"
Simon suddenly stopped in the
doorway of their little home.
"NO!
No!
Do NOT get her!
Or Samuel!
Or ANYONE!
I don't want ANYONE
to hear about this!"
"Of COURSE, Simon!
Of course!
But, there's nothing to
be ASHAMED of.....
you were ROBBED......"
"NO!
I was NOT, Misha!
I was NOT!
Everything is right HERE!
Right HERE!
In my SACK!
SEE?
See for yourself!"
Simon, still wearing the
ripped and dirty robes,
flipped the sack he had been
carrying, and turned it upside down.
Misha stared, unbelievingly,
as all her husband's items,
including several coins,
fell onto the stone floor.
The strange clatter they
made sounded unusual
in their little abode; again,
Misha heard the sound of
mooing off from down the
long, rocky hill.
"OH!
Oh, my GOODNESS!
The COWS!
Simon, you must get to them,
immediately!
GO!
I will pick up, here!
Go; go NOW!
I will have some supper
for you, when you get back!"
Without another word,
Simon put down his cloth
sack, forgetting about
the dropped coins and
other items, and
walked steadily out their
door. His heavy footsteps
were now purposeful again,
and Misha let out a sigh of
relief. Well, at least things
were returning back to normal;
but......where had her husband
BEEN, since yesterday? And.....
why would he have been scuffed up,
by at least one, or more, attackers,
and yet not ONE of them had taken
his several COINS?
And, even more strangely, HOW
did he come to have all those
splinters in his clothing....but
yet, if he had been beaten...
why wasn't he BLEEDING?
__________________
Misha was pacing back and forth
in the kitchen, when her husband
returned with the milk pail: his
hair was now damp, and he was
carrying his ripped up clothes;
he was wrapped in an old blanket
from the shed out back.
"Here, Misha. I washed up
at the trough. Here! Take
these to the fire, and BURN
them!"
His wife sighed.
"But..... SIMON!
I can MEND them!
That is no PROBLEM!
It would be too WASTEFUL
to burn them!
What HAPPENED to you?
Aren't you going to TELL me?"
"I......I don't know.
I am alright, Misha.
I don't want to talk about it."
Simon went to the corner,
in the curtained area of their
sleeping quarters,
to put on the clothing that
Misha had laid out for him.
Suddenly, he heard her
call out from the supper
table.
"Simon?
SIMON!
What is THIS?"
He came out, from around
the curtain.
"What?"
"THIS!"
Misha was still carrying
the mysteriously torn
clothing;
she had her palm out,
and was holding it
towards him.
"THIS!"
Simon, still wiping
the dampness off
his head, came over
and stood in front of
his wife, almost warily.
"What?
What, MISHA?
I asked you to get rid
of THOSE THINGS!"
"THIS!"
His wife held out her
palm again, rather
impatiently.
"I found this stuck
in your CLOTHING!
It's a THORN, Simon!
And.....and, it's...
it's got...
BLOOD on IT!"
Misha was not prepared
for her husband's reaction.
Simon's face turned pale:
a drained color of greyish white,
and his eyes widened almost
out of their sockets. Gasping,
he reached out with one hand
to grab the small item out of Misha's
palm, along with his dirtied
and ripped clothing,
and with the other hand,
covered his mouth tightly. Then,
moaning, he hurried out of their
small cottage.
Misha followed him, almost angrily.
Her mood softened, though, when
she found him, out back behind
their shed vomiting noisily.
She walked over, and got the
bucket of cool water. She
knelt beside her wretching
husband, and now spoke to
him quietly.
"Simon....?
Aren't you going to tell
me what HAPPENED?
What is going ON?
Are you HURT?
Did you get sick...and, FALL?
And, get HURT?
Is THAT what happened?
Did you FALL, somewhere...?
Into a pile of BRUSHES?"
Sitting back on his haunches,
Simon accepted the bucket,
and drank gratefully. Then,
he closed his eyes, and shook
his head, sighing. Tears trickled
down, from each side of his
damp face.
"No, Misha.
I did not fall.
But.......but,
Someone had....."
"WHO?
Were you trying to SAVE
someone, Simon? Is
THAT what HAPPENED?"
Simon leaned back against
a rock in the grass, still clasping
the thorn in his leathery fingers,
tightly.
"No......no, my Misha.
Only......I think He was
trying to Save....
ME."
Misha stared at Simon;
she was kneeling beside
him, and now gazed at
him, dumbfoundedly.
Then, she whispered, very quietly.
"WHAT...?"
Her husband opened his
palm, the one holding the
large and Bloody thorn.
Peering down at it, he
grimmaced once more,
and then, tightly closed the
palm with a white-knuckled fist.
"Why don't you go inside,
Misha. I'll be in, in just
a little while. I'm going to
burn these things, myself.
And....then, I will be in,
and I will tell you.......
the whole Story."
******************************
As they went out,
they came upon
a man
of Cyre'ne,
Simon by name;
this man they
compelled
to carry
His Cross.
[Matthew 27:32]
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We read the bible and still i don't think we try to see what it was like for these people and the day to life they led. Going about their business just like we do. You know this man had a story and thanks for giving us a glimpse of what it might have been like for him. WELL DONE !
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