Greetje: New page: {{info}}Four nights they walked, and slept by day.
Beneath the Carob branches lay
The daughter fast asleep from hard
And weary nights; and keeping guard
Beside her, lay the pro...

2008-10-13T15:03:57Z

New page: {{info}}Four nights they walked, and slept by day. Beneath the Carob branches lay The daughter fast asleep from hard And weary nights; and keeping guard Beside her, lay the pro...

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{{info}}Four nights they walked, and slept by day. Beneath the Carob branches lay The daughter fast asleep from hard And weary nights; and keeping guard Beside her, lay the prodigal, His moving lips inaudible, Still restless and awake, transfixed On bloody bark and branches twixt The earth and sky, where traitors used To hang with common thieves accused Of Treason toward their sovereign king And, in the act, of plundering His wealth. 

The lips of Níqvah spoke A wordless speech: “O, Father, cloak This worse-than-naked son with rags, And feed me from the garbage bags, And let me live with slaves, for I Have treated you with scorn, and my Contempt was worse than all the blame That stained this bloody tree with shame, Which now, with life and leaves arrayed, Spreads out and covers me with shade. I do not ask to sit with kings, But only shade beneath your wings.”

And so the prodigal rehearsed His speech and waited for the first Signs of his sister's wakening. Mid afternoon she stirred. “I'll bring You water, if you like,” He said. “I'd like that, Níqvah. All the bread Is gone, you know.”I know. Let's try To make it home tonight. The sky Looks happy to the west. I think We'll make it. I'll go get your drink.” When he returned, the packs were rolled And Hahyaneta said, “I told Your brother you would come.”What did He say?” But Hahyaneta hid Her face as they began to walk, And didn't answer him. “Some talk Of pain is good, you know.”I know. He said he didn't care. ‘Just go And waste your breath,' he said.” The tears Rolled down her cheeks. “How many years Has Mãnon felt that way?” he asked. “Unless he's keeping something masked, He never cared.”I'm not surprised. He never wrote. To be despised Is sometimes good for us. I don't Deserve his pity, and I won't Demand his love. The way I spurned Our Father, surely has well earned For me whatever Mãnon feels. How great his love must be that reels With hate so long! Perhaps, if he Believed that I have come to see How precious is our Father's care And how unspeakable and rare His heart, and noble is his mind, Then, maybe, there would be a kind Of softening of Mãnon toward My soul.”I wish for such reward, My brother, but I fear the wrath Of Mãnon grows along a path Far diff'rent from the one you hope. Oh, that his anger were the scope And measure of his love for all That our great Father is. But gall And bitterness are not born from The thrall of mercy nor do come From treasuring the fountain of Delight we call our Father's love. There is another stream that feeds The bitterness of his good deeds.”

Now as the evening came and they Began to climb the rugged way That leads up to the great Plateau, All conversation ceased. Below, And now behind these two, ten years Of emptiness burst, to the cheers Of every waving stalk of grain, A bubble in the wind, and feign The beauty it possessed before It broke. His back now to the shore Beyond the western rim, the son Stood trembling on the road – the one Where he had run the other way, As though it were just yesterday. Before him lay what seemed a sea Of endless gold. What enemy, He thought, could make a boy believe That any distant world could weave A better beauty than this place? Then suddenly he said, “My face, My hair! I'm filthy, Hahya. Look At me!” She smiled at him and took A long, deep breath, and said, “Let's go.”

The old man's chair rocked to and fro. His lips moved silently as though He sang some favorite psalm. The glow Of golden red and crimson rays Had set the western fields ablaze, As if some cosmic cause were found For merry-making. But no sound Was heard except the rhythm of The rocking chair. And then, above The rail, the old man saw two shapes, And stopped. He thought, “I know the capes That Hahyaneta wears.” He took The rail and stood so he could look. And then he saw her lift her hand The way she always did, then stand, And let the other shape go on. He knew. For all his soul was drawn, And there was no resisting this. He left his cane, and, lest he miss A step, he jumped them all, and ran, Forgetting that he was a man Of dignity, and that his knees Were bad. He often thought, with ease Someday I'll run on these, and more, Is this not what they're ruined for?

He stopped just long enough to see His eyes and take a breath. Then he Embraced the boy, and pressed his face Against the foul and crusty place He used to kiss the lad goodnight, And pushed his fingers through the tight And matted hair; and there with plain And heaving sobs, released the pain Built up four thousand nights. And then, The weeping son said, “Father, can Perhaps, you make a slave of me, For I have sinned and cannot be Your son?” To which the great old man Replied, “I have a different plan.” And then, to servants gathered by, He said, “Bring me the ring, and my Best robe, and leather shoes. And take The fire and fatted calf, and make For us the finest feast that we Have ever made. For this, you see, My dead son is alive and sound; He once was lost, but now is found.” And so the common labor ceased, And ev'ry hand prepared the feast. The colors flew at ev'ry gate! And they began to celebrate.

As usual, Mãnon was in The field and working late. He'd been There since the crack of dawn and worked All day. “Let duty not be shirked,” He liked to say, and took some pride In his long hours, and liked to chide The servants, that he could out-serve Them ev'ry day, and out-deserve Them all. He heard the music from The house and saw the servants come Out dancing on the lawn. His first Response to songs and joy: a burst Of anger: this is not the way To serve their Lord! What holiday Have they declared to frolic like A carefree child? If I must strike Them, then I will, to see that they Learn how to serve and to obey.

“What's all this racket here?” He snapped. A servant overflowed and clapped, “He's back! He's back! Níqvah is back!” He frowned, “And in the prison shack With other thieves, may I suppose?” “Oh, no, Sir Mãnon! Master chose The fattest calf and killed it for A feast, and said, ‘Bring wine and pour A goblet for my son, and let All work be put aside and get My ring and finest robe with joy, And put them on my living boy.'”

The older son was stunned and stood There by the fence he'd made, and would Not enter. Then his Father saw Him by the fence, and went to draw Him in. “Your bother's home. Come see Him, Manny. He has changed. You'll be Amazed.”I'll tell you, Father, what Amazes me: that he can strut Here like an honored guest although He took your hard-earned cash to throw It down the sewers of Noash, And let you subsidize his brash And wicked reveling with whores. And made you weep behind those doors For ten years while I slaved to make A profit on this place. So take Your pick, my Lord, the wicked one In there, or me, the working son.”

“I'd like to think that all these years You have enjoyed the place. It sears The soul, Mãnon, to take your rage To bed night after night. You wage A war against your self. Beware Of other mistresses whose snare Is just as deadly as the kind Your brother sought. Oh, be not blind, My son. All that I have is yours, And free. For all time it endures. But if what you desire is pay, Bequests will never come that way. Come, join me at the table, son, The labors of the day are done.”

But Mãnon stood there like a stone, And sent his Father back alone. The girl was watching from the door, And as her Father passed, “Once more, Perhaps,” he took her hand and said, “Our little girl can raise the dead.” She turned and saw the shining face Of Níqvah laughing in the grace Of life, then through the evening shade Beyond the fence that Mãnon made, She walked.

His face was streaked where sweat Ran through the pollen dust, and met His tangled beard. The garments that He wore for working stank. And at The middle of his fingers there Were blisters on both hands. Despair Seemed written on his frozen face. “In vain,” he thought, “He said the race And pace were all in vain. The hours, The years, the sweat, the plans, my pow'rs – For naught. Bequests don't come that way.” Then Hahyaneta kissed the gray And brownish coating on his cheek, And said, “Hi, Manny. You look weak. Can I get you a drink?” He shook His head, “No thanks.”Mãnon, it took Your breath away, what Father said. I think I understand. The dread You feel right now – that all your sweat Has been in vain – it's true. And yet It is a gift to know bequests Are free, and loaded treasure chests Of grace, all hidden in the ground, Are never earned, but only found. And, dancing doesn't come that way, And happy parties are not pay. Day labor is of no avail The gift of joy is not for sale. You've labored hard to shun what's bad And now it's hard to just be glad. But, Manny, look. Your Father and The servants, and your brother stand Inside the door and bid you come. And listen to the children drum!” She took his hand: “Come, all is well.” And thus the fetters broke and fell. He waked as from a life-long trance, And said, “May I please have this dance?”

And now, O Christ, with candle three Let there be light so we can see The way between two forms of death, And with that light, O give us breath To live again, and bring us back From pleasures in a foreign shack, Or from the pride of weary arm, While working on the Father's farm. From demon sloth and pleasures raw, Or demon toil and pride of law. The pathway home from either place Is opened by the word of grace. Come, to the light of candle three, Remember that bequests are free. The ticket that you have to show Is this: that you are glad to go.

The Prodigal's Sister, Part 3 - Revision history

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Four nights they walked, and slept by day.Beneath the Carob branches layThe daughter fast asleep from hardAnd weary nights; and keeping guardBeside her, lay the pro...

Greetje: New page: {{info}}Four nights they walked, and slept by day.
Beneath the Carob branches lay
The daughter fast asleep from hard
And weary nights; and keeping guard
Beside her, lay the pro...