old stuff Prologue

Prologue. -- Abbaleh

Alexenah looked at her father’s frail body lying motionless and quiet before her on the cold stone prison floor. His head lay in her lap. His arms and legs were wrapped in bandages as though he had already been prepared for the grave. She cringed at the smell of pus and blood that seeped through the muslin cloth. His wrinkled gray tunic was as threadbare and simple as the small room they were in. On the other side of the dark prison cell’s door, she heard the clink-clank sound of the hobnailed sandals of the Roman Guards as they paced back and forth.

“"What will happen to me when you die, Abba?" she whispered, "Where will I go?"
She took his hand gently and enfolded it with her own. It felt cold. The fingers were stiff and unbending. The thin flesh was dry as old leather. His hands were no longer supple and caring as she remembered them. How had he come to this? He was kind. Gentle. Loving. He had never harmed anyone or taken anything from any man. No, quite the contrary, he was a giver—not a taker. How does that demand beatings and prison?

“Abbaleh,” Tobiah said. His sudden voice—a raspy, strained whisper—startled her. “Abbeleh," he repeated, "When you were small, you called me ‘Abbaleh’." He opened his eyes. "Am I no longer Papa. Am I now just Father?” He squeezed her hand. Then, slowly, with much effort, Tobiah slid his hand from hers and pulled out a small leather pouch from inside his shirt. Pulling harder, he snapped the worn leather cord from around his neck. He grasped the pouch close to his chest and said, as if to himself, “My Bundle of Life.”

Tobiah undid the leather tie and reached in. He carefully took out a linen handkerchief, stained and soiled with age, with something folded inside. He offered it to his daughter.

Alexenah looked back to the cell door before she took the tiny bundle. Did they know he possessed this hidden treasure? She heard the guards arguing. Their attention remained elsewhere. She pulled back the layers of linen to reveal what was so precious to her father.

“It is but a rock, Abba. A pebble.”

“Do you not recognize it, my child?”

She turned it over in her hand, held it up between her finger and thumb trying to see it in the dim light. “It looks like every other pebble you find along the road.”

“You were only a child when you brought it to me. Remember? You said, ‘Look, Abbaleh, a jewel! You called me Abbaleh. . .”

“My pretty jewel!" she remembered, "But now,” she closed the linen over the stone and offered it back to him, "It is nothing more than a stone."

“Reminds me of you,” he said, gently covering her small hands with his. "It is truly a jewel." He closed her fingers over the parcel and pushed her hand back. “I want you to have it now.”

Alexenah paused, then nodded as she carefully wrapped the stone again in the cloth and placed it back in the leather pouch. “I will keep it always to remind me of you, my father.” Then squeezing it tightly in her palm, she wrapped the broken leather neck-strap around her knuckles to bind it in her hand.

“I am of little importance, my child. Let it remind you of your heavenly Father.”

“My heavenly Father?"

“Yes, my dearest, Our Father in heaven placed you in his treasure pouch on the day you were born. You see, my child, you are most precious to him. He keeps you close to his heart.” He paused between each few words now to catch his breath.

She felt a knot in the back of her throat. She drew her hand to her chest and felt her heartbeat. Tears welled up and overflowed as she lowered her head.
He tried to speak again.

She placed her finger to his lips, and said, “You shouldn’t talk any more, it only causes you pain.”

“There are things worse.”

“Worse than pain?” she questioned.

“Not feeling pain,” Tobiah said, his voice growing even more weak and trembling. He looked up at her and smiled. “I wish not to escape this. I am dying. I believe more in redemption than I do in recovery. And release from heartache and pain is not always necessary to see God’s hand”

Then quiet. A long silence interrupted only by the mute conversation of the guards outside. He spoke her name again and Alexenah lowered her ear to his lips.

“When I die they will take you and sell you,” Tobiah whispered. She could barely hear his words.

“ Should I fight them, Abba, or should I run? I will stand up to them. I am not afraid. I will resist them. We have lived our lives in peace," then quieter, "I do not wish to be a slave.”

“Your wishes. . . will not matter. They are even now waiting outside the door . . to take you.”

Alexenah glanced to the door. She wiped her cheeks. She bit her lip.

“There is someone greater,” he said, reaching for her face. Then, louder as he grabbed her arm, “Jehovah will redeem you. He will redeem us all.” Then he was caught up in another paroxysmal of coughing. Alexenah wiped the blood and sputum from his chin with the hem of her dress.

“I know the promise of the coming Messiah,” she said.

After what seemed like hours of holding him, he whispered, "Remember Chesed my dear Alexenah?”

“God’s loving kindness?”

“Chesed is God’s sure love. God is good. He is kind. Do not forget this.”

"I will not forget Abba, Father." She wiped the cold sweat that covered his forehead, nodded and swallowed. She watched as he struggled for air. Each painful breath sounded like a child's rattle. It was everything she could do to not let the scream in her belly escape.

Tobiah rose up on one elbow and strained to sit up. Alexenah held him so that he could gain breath.

Again, only a whisper's breath, he leaned his head to the side and spoke again. “Earlier you asked where you will go….Go with him… in his loving kindness. He will never leave you…. never let our people go from…..His embrace.” He squeezed her hand. Then slumping back down, he winced.

To Alexenah it seemed as if time halted.

Then, but a murmuring whisper, he said “When the best is torn from your life, He still holds you in the fold of his arms. Oh, how I love you, my little flower.” He sucked in another measure of air as he stared toward the ceiling.

She kissed his forehead, “I love you too, Abbaleh.”

Silence filled the room. No sound came from the hall. She couldn't even hear her own heart beating. Why won't he let the last breath out again? His eyes widened. His cheeks paled. He tensed, and then his muscles relaxed.

And then she heard the door latch open.