Working on the Sabbath Read online

  Working on the Sabbath

  Michèle McGrath

  Working on the Sabbath

  “You can’t catch me!” Niv taunted Taliah as he ran away from her across the field.

  “’Course I can.” Taliah started to chase him, leaping over the stalks of corn, as fast as her longer legs could carry her. Being two years older had its advantages.

  Afterwards she realised she should have known better. After all, she was eight now, almost a woman, not a child to be chasing her little brother home. Disaster came quickly, one moment she was running through the golden light, laughing as she reached out a hand to touch Niv’s shoulder. Next moment, she fell writhing to the ground, her ankle and her hip on fire.

  “What happened?” Taliah saw Niv’s anxious face through her tears.

  “Fetch Abba,” she hissed, clenching her teeth hard. Abba would make the pain better. He always did. She heard the patter of Niv’s feet as he left, but did not look up. Gingerly she stretched, trying to find out where she hurt the most, but the pain was too strong. She stayed rigid, afraid to move again. The sun beat down on her, making her desperately thirsty. Would Niv never come back? Then suddenly her father was there,

  “Keep still,” he ordered, “where does it hurt?” He ran her hands over her legs and back. She squealed as he turned her ankle and the pain in her back was so great that, when he touched it, the world faded round her.

  She woke as water dripped onto her forehead.

  “How do you feel?” Her mother, Marfa, looked frightened.

  “Thirsty,” Taliah murmured. A cup was held to her lips and she drank greedily. “What’s wrong with me? I can’t move.”

  “Your leg is broken. Hozai has tied it to a stick and says you must not stir or you will never be able to walk properly again.”

  “Oh, Ima, why did this happen to me?” Taliah cried helplessly. She had always been an active child, one of the fastest runners in the village. She had taken her skill for granted. Now it was gone, all in an instant. Afterwards they told her that there had been a deep hole in the ground, hidden by the corn stubble.

  “You put your foot right into it,” Tavi, her father, said. “That’s why you’ve broken your leg.”

  “My back hurts worse than my leg,” she complained.

  “Khata, sister, your bruises are all the colours of the sunset,” Niv exclaimed when he saw her back. “They’re wonderful.”

  “Hush, go away and leave her alone,” Marfa told him. “Don’t tease her now.”

  “Let him stay, please, Ima,” Taliah begged. “The pain seems better when he talks to me.”

  After that Marfa often sent Niv sit with her. They became closer than they had been before, but sometimes Taliah drove him away if he was too cheerful. She was not resigned to staying in bed, trying not to move her leg or her back. She fought against it with all her might and only pain made her reluctantly obey. Hozai ordered that her back should be rubbed with ointment and her unbroken leg straightened every day.

  “Stop! Please stop!” This hurt so much, Taliah screamed. The torture continued until her mother could bear it no more and told Hozai he had done enough.

  “On your own head be it,” Hozai said, as he left, “I cannot answer for the consequences if the treatment does not continue.”

  Taliah was left in a sort of peace. Eventually the pain lessened and the bones in her leg fused, although her back did not feel the same as it had before. Once her leg had healed sufficiently, Taliah was made to stand upright. They gave her the branch of a tree to help her walk. Unfortunately, the crutch was not long enough and using it made her hunch over. She hobbled around, not realising that her back was bent, until Niv said,

  “You’re like the handle on a bucket.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve all curled over. Your back is completely round.”

  Holding onto the wall, Taliah tried to draw herself upright. She squealed when a sharp pain shot down her back. It was as if she was tied with cords that would not break.

  “Abba, Ima, come quickly! I can’t straighten my back.”

  Hozai was sent for and he shook his head. “I warned you something might happen if you did not allow me to keep massaging her back,” he told them. “I will try again, but it will be more difficult now.”

  Hozai tried. Nothing changed. Taliah’s back curved more and more as the months passed. Walking confidently or running was impossible. Instead she inched along, clinging to her stick. She was terrified that her foot might turn on a stone. If she fell again, she might do herself further hurt. She could not sleep straight, but had to lie curled up on her side, like a tiny child. She was in constant discomfort, which made her sunny nature turn sour. Night after night she cried bitter tears. Again and again, she tried to force herself upright but she stayed bent.

  “Why are you so nasty?” Niv asked her once when she snapped at him again. “I was only telling you about Jagur and the fruit.”

  “Don’t you understand?” she screamed. “I can’t go and pick fruit any more, I can’t carry water from the well, I can’t help with the harvest. I can’t have any fun!”

  Taliah did not want to listen to other people. What were their troubles compared with hers? She shared none of their joys, so she no longer wanted to hear about their stories. Unfortunately, sympathy for misfortune only lasts for a short time, unless one loves a person very much. One by one her friends and relatives ceased coming to the house and began to avoid her. Even Niv was with her less than he had been before. She was left alone, carrying out the tasks of which she was capable, cutting up vegetables, sewing or tending the fire. This made extra work for her mother, who had two smaller children as well as Niv. Taliah also told her young brothers stories and played games with them. She tried to do so cheerfully, but inside she was screaming. She longed to be outside, to feel the wind in her hair. She wanted to help with the harvest, like all the other girls of her age in the village. Another worker always made a difference and they had fun together.

  She knew her mother worried about her. One day, when she came back from a short stumble through the village, she found Marfa crying.

  “What is it, Ima?” she asked.

  “Gada is to be married to Parlan.”

  “So? Why would that make you cry?”

  “Gada’s mother is my good friend and once Gada was yours. Remember?” Marfa’s tone was sharp. Taliah shrugged.

  “She isn’t any more. She never comes to see me now or asks how I am.”

  “You shouted at her the last time she came. Is it any wonder she’s been avoiding you?”

  Taliah lowered herself onto her usual seat. “But I still don’t understand. Isn’t Parlan a good match for her? His people are rich enough.”

  “It isn’t that. Look at me.”

  With difficulty, Taliah squirmed around, so that she could squint upwards at her mother.

  “Baht, daughter, I am growing older and so is your father. One day we will not be here. I had hoped that you, too, would be married some day…”

  Four years had passed since the day of her accident. Last month Taliah’s courses had started. She was now a woman. She would never be a wife.

  “…but it can never happen now,” Taliah finished the sentence for her. “Boys only look at me with pity, that’s if they glance at me at all. As for me, I can’t even see them properly; all I can see is the ground at my feet.” Taliah burst into such passionate weeping that Marfa took her into her arms and rocked her as if she was still a baby.

  When they had dried their tears, Taliah began to think carefully. What her mother had said was true. One day her parents would die. She might be still alive, a useless burden on other people’s charity. If no o
ne gave her help or shelter, she would starve. People who could not work begged in the streets, hoping the rich would give them money. The thought terrified Taliah. Although she no longer valued her life, Taliah did not want to die. In a tiny corner of her mind, she hid a shred of hope that something would happen and she would be well again. She did not expect this to occur, but she could not put it out of her thoughts. She did not want to. Therefore, if she was to live, she would have to become useful to someone, somehow.

  I can still use my hands and my brain, she thought. I can see things if they are right below me. Surely I can be of use if I try hard enough?

  That night, as the family sat at their meal, Taliah said,

  “Abba, Ima, I want to say something…”

  “Speak,” Tavi, her father encouraged her.

  “Gada is the first of my former friends to marry and the others will do so soon. I will never marry now, unless a miracle happens and my body becomes straight again. Who would want someone like me? At the moment I am a burden to everyone.”

  “I want you,” Niv piped up. “I am so sorry that I made you chase me that day and you were hurt.”

  Taliah twisted so he saw her smile. “I love you, Niv,” she said. “But if you took me into your house, I would be a trouble to you and the girl you marry. To end my own life…”

  “…is a sin you must not commit. Don’t talk of such things. Promise me you will never think of it again,” Tavi said sharply.

  “I promise, Abba. I’m not brave enough to kill myself. I have sins on my soul already, without adding another the minute before I stand in front of God.”

  “You are my beloved daughter and I want you to be with me in paradise when we both die.”

  “I will never be able to live alone or run a house,” Taliah continued. “So I must find some skill that will enable me to earn money. Then I shall be able to repay those who care for me.”

  “That’s a good idea,” her mother said, “but what can you do?”

  Taliah took a deep breath and told them what she had thought about since hearing of Gada’s betrothal.

  “I can still use my hands and I can see what is directly in front of me. If someone would teach me, I would work hard. Someone else would have to sell what I make, of course…”

  “I’ll do that,” Niv said, “and other things to help you. It’s a good idea, isn’t it, Abba?”

  “It is. Let us think of all the things that Taliah can do and, when that is decided, I will find someone to teach her.”

  Later on, Marfa said to her husband, “Whatever Taliah does, it must have some real value for she will not be able to work quickly at first. She can sew, although I have only taught her plain seams. She does them well and neatly but she needs more than I can show her. Women like nice clothes and to adorn themselves…”

  “Not many can afford to do so in this village.”

  “In Jerusalem they can. Perhaps you can find someone there to teach her. It is true what she says. If she lives in one of her brothers’ houses when we are gone, she will be a burden and not one her sisters-in-law will tolerate easily. A skill would at least make her more valuable in their eyes.”

  Later that week, Tavi journeyed to Jerusalem to find a teacher for Taliah. Niv went with him on the journey and it was the boy who discovered the person they were looking for. By chance, he stopped at a booth where a very old man was twisting fine wire into designs and sewing it onto silk cloth.

  “That’s beautiful,” Niv said. “I have never seen anything like that before. It glitters in the sunlight.”

  “No one has ever seen anything like it. I am the only one in this city who decorates cloth in this way.”

  “Is it hard to do?”

  “It is, but I have been doing it all my life. I create new designs each day. Unusual for a young lad like you to take an interest in such things. Would you like to learn how it is done?” There was a note of hope in the old man’s voice, which Niv recognised but did not understand. Taliah found out, many months later, that the old man had never had sons to pass his skill onto. His last journeyman had recently left him to set up a business in a far off city. He was alone and lonely.

  “No, but my sister would,” Niv replied. “Let me tell you about her.”

  At first the old man was reluctant to take another pupil, especially a crippled girl. It took a lot of persuasion before he agreed to allow Tavi to bring Taliah to meet him.

  “Not that I’m promising anything, mind you,” he said. “If the lass can work and do as she’s told, we’ll see. I don’t usually teach women. They’re too much trouble, flirting with the customers. If your daughter’s a cripple, that won’t happen, although I can’t be responsible for her.”

  “No need for you to be. She can lodge with my cousin and come to you for lessons. If she cannot do the work, I will take her away and pay you for the time you have already spent with her.”

  “That is fair.”

  So Taliah travelled to Jerusalem and lodged in the house of her father’s cousin. She did not know it, but her father paid his cousin for his trouble. Taliah also did little jobs to help his wife. Every day she went to the old man, whose name was Maluch. She was determined to learn this new craft. She worked so hard that, by the end of the day, her fingers were tightly cramped. They had to be prised open before she could eat. In time she gained skill, though never matching the expertise of her mentor. Her work, even though it was less skilful, enabled him to increase his output and to fill his orders more quickly. Taliah found the tasks distracted her from her pain and the thoughts of what might have been.

  Years passed. Marfa and Tavi died. Niv moved to Jerusalem where, as he had promised, he took Taliah into his home. Marit, his wife, knew this was his intention and, if she disagreed, she kept her objections to herself. Although she liked Marit, Niv’s wife and babies reminded Taliah every day of what she had missed.

  When her back hurt more than usual or children had taunted her in the street, she wept quietly. Often she wondered if this life was really worth living. Yet she kept her promise to her father and put all thoughts of suicide out of her mind though, sometimes, her misery made her cry out against her fate.

  “Why did God do this to me?” she asked Niv one day, when the pain was bad. “I was too young to be such a great sinner. I was only eight years old! People far more evil than me are fine and healthy but I am bent over facing the ground.”

  “Khata, I don’t know. Neither can I think of anything to help you. I would if I could, believe me.”

  “I am beginning to hate God.”

  “You can’t do that. God ordains all things according to His will. He has done this to you for a reason.”

  “What possible reason? Why does He want me crippled and almost useless when I should have been a wife, bearing fine children to bless His name? If I only knew why, I might be content. That’s if there is a God at all!”

  “Khata!” Niv sounded terrified. “Never say so. He will punish you even more.”

  But her own words had shocked Taliah deeply. When Niv was gone and no one could hear, she cried out,

  “I did not mean it! Really I did not! Lord help me! Help me! Help me!”

  Not long afterwards, Taliah made her way, as usual, to Maluch’s shop. Although it was early, the shutters should have been taken down and the door already opened. Everything was locked up tight. Taliah knocked and called out Maluch’s name, but he did not answer. She summoned help to break the door down. Maluch was lying on his bed. Taliah thought, at first, that he was asleep but, when she touched him, she found he was cold.

  “What shall I do now?” she asked Niv, later that day. “I know no other trade and only Maluch did such work in this city.”

  “We will think of something else for you to do.”

  Niv tried to be reassuring, but Taliah was afraid. She had been dreading this day for years. Now Marit would not want her and make Niv turn her out of the house. She would have to beg on the streets with the other cri
pples. She cried herself to sleep once again that night.

  Next morning, the family was visited by one of the priests from the Temple.

  “My name is Addai. I have come to speak with Taliah,” he said. Once he had entered the room and been made comfortable, he told them he had been a friend of Maluch.

  “Maluch talked to me of what was to happen to his business, once he was dead. All his near relations died before him and he was a wealthy man. He left a portion of his property to the Temple, as is right and proper. His shop and what remains of his goods belongs to you, Taliah.”

  “To me? Why? He never said anything about that to me. I did not expect him to. I am no kin of his.”

  “He told me that you were a good worker and you had helped him at a time of his life when he needed company. He said you have the right skills and are the proper person to continue his business.”

  “I cannot go out and buy supplies or visit customers, like he did. I can work hard, but my expertise does not match his.”

  “Perhaps it will one day,” Addai said as he rose to take his leave. “Certainly he told me that you were skilful already. Go to the shop tomorrow. All in it is yours now.”

  “We can help you with the things that you cannot do, Khata,” Niv said when Addai was gone. “Samal is old enough to work with you and maybe, later on, you can teach your skill to one of the other children. Marit and I would be grateful to you.”

  So it was arranged. Samal, Niv’s second son, came to work with his aunt. Two more of their children, Yanai and his sister Chasina, began to learn the skill of sewing metal thread into cloth to make patterns. The family prospered and the business expanded.

  One day, several years later, everything changed. Niv came running into the shop, where Taliah was sitting. He was breathless and covered in dust.

  “Khata, you must come with me!”

  “How can I come? It’s the middle of the afternoon. I have customers who will want their goods in the morning and I haven’t finished them yet.”

  “It’s the Sabbath; you should not be working at all today, as you know. It’s a sin. No one should expect you to. Your customers can wait. This is important or I wouldn’t have run all the way here to fetch you.”