Home     About    Books    Authors    Services    Competitions    Submissions    Contact
 

NOTES:

CHRISTIAN SHORT STORY: SPRING 2008 - THIRD PLACE (TIED)

This story was scanned using OCR and may have spaces missing or other technical errors.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us; details are not supplied on this web page, in order to protect the author's privacy.

.

"Not Bread Alone"

by Polly Marsh - Taunton, Somerset, UK

TIED THIRD PLACE IN THE "CHRISTIAN" CATEGORY, SPRING 2008

My name is Mary. I live in Bethany, a village on a hillside just two miles east of Jerusalem. A village of small whitewashed houses built haphazardly around a busy market square and surrounded by olive groves.

The rainy season has ended and the summer has already made its presence known to us. The road is dry and dusty and the mid-day sun beats down mercilessly upon my head.

It's not fair! It's always me that has to fetch the water to clean the dishes. The goatskin jug is heavy on my shoulder and I am so tired after the long walk to the well. But I dare not rest. My sister is waiting for the water and she will scold me for my tardiness. Since Abba and Eema died she has taken on the role of matriarch and rules the household with a far stricter arm than Eema ever did. Oh, I do miss our parents so.

Martha rarely smiles now and worry lines crease her brow. She has no time for games. Fetch the water, Mary. Clean the breakfast dishes, Mary. Wash the clothes, Mary. Fetch more water, Mary, the supper plates are dirty. I hate washing the dishes: squatting in the dust like a common slave, for all the neighbours to see.

Lazarus, my brother, is lucky. He goes every day to the synagogue to study the Torah and works hard in the olive groves in the afternoon. He is very religious and a good brother to me. He patiently explains the stories in the Torah, recognising my thirst for knowledge - despite my being just a girl, he teases.

Martha is always angry when she finds us together at one of our 'lessons' and punishes me with more chores. Girls, she says, do not need to understand the teachings of God, just to obey them. Lazarus is never punished, but I don't mind. I love him. I love Martha too, but oh, she can be so stern!

I'd better not vex her more by being late with the water. She will only box my ears for me. Oh, and now I've spilt it and made my tunic wet! Well, at least it's cooled off my hot feet and my tunic will soon dry in the sun. Martha will never know.

I can see my friends Leah and Rivkah looking at the cloth and ribbons on the market stall. Oh, no they've seen me in my dirty tunic and Martha's old scarf on my head.

'Mary, Mary,' Leah calls and beckons to me. 'Look at this purple cloth all the way from China. Fit for a queen! Come and sit under the almond tree with us and chat.'

The offer is irresistible, as are the smells wafting from the market place: myrrh from Ethiopia, cinnamon from Babylon. How I long to rest with my friends and gossip, instead of having to work, work, work. To whisper and laugh about the village boys: the handsome ones like Rivkah's brother, Yonatan and the ones we think are beneath our notice.

'I can't stop,' I tell my friends, reluctantly, 'we have a guest coming for supper. A great teacher, a Rabbi from Galilee. Lazarus heard him teach in the synagogue and was so impressed, he invited him and his followers to eat with us.'

'I've heard of him,' says Rivkah, 'Yonatan says he is a great King come to free us from Roman oppression.'

'Some say he is the long awaited Messiah, sent by God to bring peace to the whole world,' says Leah. 'Are the stories true, do you think? Can he really heal the sick and perform miracles?'

'I'm sure they are true,' I say, importantly, 'and he's coming to our house! Perhaps I shall see a miracle today!'

Before my friends can answer I hurry on, leaving them open-mouthed. I don't stop until I am at the door of our little house.

It has one room downstairs, where we keep the goat and donkey at night and the upper level where we cook, eat and sleep. In the height of summer, when the heat becomes too much, we take our mats up onto the flat roof and sleep under the stars. I can see Martha looking hot and bothered as she stirs the barley and lentil stew. And I can see that our guests have arrived.

The man called Jesus is reclining now in our upper room. He and his friends have filled our home with their deep Galilean voices and dusty, tattered robes and are quietly chatting about recent events. They could be just any group of village men, with their beards and long dark hair, their skin weathered by the sun; even their leader is unremarkable in stature and appearance.

I am disappointed that there are no women in their group. I was hoping to see Mary ofMagdala, the one they say was once a prostitute! That would have given Leah and Rivkah enough to gossip about for a week!

Martha is giving me one of her fierce looks so I must hurry to perform my duty. I take a bowl and a towel from a hook by the door, fill the bowl with water from the jug and begin to wash each guest's feet, as is our custom. When I reach Jesus I dare to peek a look at his face. He smiles kindly at me and places his hand on my head as if in blessing. His eyes are deep and dark and they seem to peer right into my soul. This is no ordinary man, I realise, and he wants something from me. So I stay where I am, at the feet of this great Rabbi and listen to his teachings and try to learn from his parables.

I am aware of Martha's indignant eyes upon me, but this time I ignore her, even knowing the wrath that will descend on my head when the guests have gone. She scurries to and fro, stirring the stew, preparing the figs and pomegranates, setting the table and checking the bread in the oven. And all the while I can hear her sighs and tuts of irritation. But I am fascinated by Jesus and his talk of a loving God and I listen, rapt, despite Martha's frantic signals to me.

So enthralled am I that I have not noticed Martha approach. When she speaks I jump guiltily but it is Jesus she is addressing.

'Lord,' she says, 'don't you care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me!'

I am expecting the Rabbi to tell me to get up and help, and am already scrambling to my feet, but his response astounds both Martha and me.

'Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better and it will not be taken away from her.'

Martha is embarrassed so I hasten quickly to help her to serve the food and wine all the while pondering on the strange words that Jesus has spoken. Are they a parable? I wish I had Lazarus's learning, to interpretate them.

When everyone has been served, I gently take Martha's hand and pull her down beside me, once more at the feet of Jesus. Her face is red from exertion and shame but gradually she relaxes and listens as enraptured as I am to the strange teachings.

The sun is going down, so Lazarus rises to light the oil lamps. This acts as a signal to our guests and they prepare to take their leave of us, standing and stretching. One of their number, who I know to be called Cephas or Peter, a big rough voiced fisherman, thanks Martha for the food and rubs his ample girth in appreciation.

One by one they file out of our little house until only Jesus is left. He smiles at me and then turns to Martha standing nearby, her head lowered.

'Martha, what you did was not wrong and we all appreciated the food you lovingly prepared for us. But you have heard it said that man does not live by bread alone? What I wanted Martha, was not for you to serve me but for me to serve you, by teaching you about God and his love for you. That is why I said that Mary has chosen the better way. And now daughters, go in peace, with God's blessing.'

Now that everyone has gone I feel strangely bereft and many unanswered questions are jumping around in my head. But I have work to do.

With even less enthusiasm than usual, I gather the dirty plates and bowls and take them outside to wash. The goatskin jug is empty, I see, so I have another long walk to the well and back. But I can feel a gentle hand on my neck playing with my hair, as Eema used to do.

'Leave them, Mary. We'll fetch the water together, tomorrow. Come inside now and rest. There is much to talk about; Lazarus is bursting to discuss the Rabbi's visit and explain the parables to us. Come, sister.' Martha's smile is warm and her voice is kind, soothing: lacking its usual sting. I will be a better sister to her. I am fourteen, no longer a child. I will do my share willingly and help her to keep our little family together. She deserves that.

I had hoped to see a miracle today and had been disappointed when Jesus left without performing one. But I understand now that miracles need not be as amazing as water being turned into wine or as wonderful as a blind man receiving his sight.

No, a miracle can be what happens in the human heart when it hears God's voice and responds, as Martha did.

And when a foolish girl becomes a woman.

Copyright (c) 2008 by Polly Marsh - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!
 

COMMENTS FROM OUR COMMISSIONING EDITOR, Jo Holloway:
Lovely! Well written, with good use of the present tense giving us the ability to watch events through Mary's eyes, innocent and naive, a child-woman whose hunger came across so clearly. Well rounded ending, with a good punch line. I did feel it was unnecessary to spell out the situation in the first paragraph; it would have been more impactful to start with the second para, dropping the first altogether. Suggest a little more care over punctuation.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

I live in Taunton, Somerset and work as a Banking Administrator for a big DIY store.  I've just completed a Creative Writing Course and had one short story published by Woman's Weekly.  I hope to write further Christian stories as my faith is important to me and my desire is to inspire others, if only in a small way.

Back to Results Page