The Jar

Note: For those unfamiliar with the Old Testament, this is a retelling- well, re-imagining-of the story of Elijah and the widow at Zarephath, as recounted here. 

Give me, he said, some bread, and then added

please.

This is the last thing, I said, that I have to give.

Give me, he repeats, and this time adds, the jar will never run out.

He presses his lips together then, something startled in his eyes, as though unused to opening his mouth to speak a blessing, and unsure of its consequence.

*

Perhaps that is why I decide to give him the last meal, that, and the bone deep weariness that is also anger that is also sorrow that is also the jar that never runs out. 

To have come this far, to have begged and stolen, and worked my knuckles raw, while they threw the acid of their piety on my body, another layer of scars, to have endured all this, and come at last, in the end, to die in a strange land.

Perhaps, I wish to believe, that the jar also contains one last act of kindness, or indifference masked as kindness, whatever it is, it is close enough to what he needs, which is bread. 

*

The jar doesn’t run out.

*

Sometimes, it seems, even blasphemy is a form of prayer- heard.

*

I have known what it is to be fugitive, and so I let him stay, though I think, what he runs from, is bigger than mortal queens and kingdoms, and stone walls and silence can only do so much.

*

My boy makes him smile, and one day, laugh, the sound loud, and hoarse. He stops abruptly, and leaves the child mid game to retreat into his room.

*

He stays there for two days.

*

I know who he is of course, though he gives me no name, and does not ask for mine.

*

The jar does not run out.

The ground cracks beneath the azure sky.

*

Thank you, he says one night, as we break bread under the stars.

For some reason, shame rises like bile in my throat, and it must show on my face- he looks surprised- thank you, he says, softer, Miriam.

It only makes me angrier.

*

I promised myself once that I would never again be beholden to anything above or beneath this earth.

I have not been able to keep that promise, and I know that everything has its price, especially promises.

*

I find out this price when my boy dies.

*

He twists my hand so hard, I’m forced to drop the knife.

Then he uses it to tear off a bit of his robe and bind my wrist.

Is this why you came, I whisper, because I cannot bear my voice.

Is this why you came, to make me pay for my sins? Because know this, if I had to do it all again, I would.

His eyes fill with tears.

*

He brings me back my son.

I look in his eyes, and see, for the first time, no fear.