Bible Passages
The young minister places his Bible on the pulpit and reads, “From the Song of Solomon, chapter 4, verses 10 and 11. How beautiful your love, dear, dear friend—far more pleasing than a fine, rare wine, your fragrance more exotic than select spices. The kisses of your lips are honey, my love, every syllable you speak a delicacy to savour.” His voice fills the church, filling the ears of each member of his congregation.
All she hears is him. She lingers on each word—especially ‘dear’, especially ‘kisses’. She returns, over and over again, to ‘love’.
That Sunday she makes sure she’s the last person standing in line to shake his hand. Dressed in peach, she feels pretty, and the way he looks at her, she knows she is.
He cups her hand in both of his. You look beautiful, he tells her with his eyes. He pulls her close. “Visit me. Bring your Bible,” he purrs. The corners of his mouth shape a grin. He releases her and walks away.
She waits until supper to tell her parents, “I’m going to Bible study.”
They are pleased. Bible means something to them; something else to her.
The road is long but every step of the way she thinks of him—how he looked at the front of the church; how he spoke with such authority; how his lips shaped each word. Each word. Each word full of passion...longing...devotion…
She turns the corner and there’s the manse. Finally, they will be alone together. Her heart races. What will he say, do? And if he...or...and…? What should she do? Obey? Retreat?
What if he pleads? What if he purrs in her ear?
His voice… Oh, how she longs to hear his voice. His eyes… His l…
She feels her face burn. She doesn’t take another step. All she does is breathe. In. Out. She looks up at the endless sky. She studies the outline of a cloud—watches it transform. She wills herself forward. One foot. Another. A foot on his sidewalk. Another on his stairs. Her knuckles against his door.
Alone. Together. Finally.
“Come in.” That doesn’t sound like him. That’s...a...woman’s voice.
She has a choice to make. Leave or… She pushes the door open and—.
The kitchen is full of women—young, old, slender, overweight. They sit in a circle around the kitchen table with Bibles open in front of them. They stand in front of the fridge taking food out, putting food in. They raise one head, look at her with one set of steel eyes, share one thought, one judgment, one complaint. They aim it at her like a slap to her face. Another woman. Another one. The slap stings and leaves a red bruise.
Looking more closely, she notices that some women are missing body parts—an earlobe, the tip of a finger, a hand, a leg. Of course, they’ve come to him for healing.
“Ah, Ruth, you came,” he says, walking into the kitchen.
What is that red stuff dripping down his chin?
The women move as one—close the fridge, close their Bibles. They gather around him in a tight circle. “You look tired,” they tell him. “You need to eat,” they say.
“I made...” an endless list of baking—cookies and cakes and pies and—. “You need something more, something better.”
“My ear would be delicious.”
“My leg.”
One of the women grabs his hand, pulls him close. “My heart. Cut out my heart.”
He searches a drawer and finds a knife and hand-in-hand he leads her down the hall. Somewhere at the end of the hall, a door closes. Still, a little while later, a voice breaks through the door and pours into the kitchen. “Chew, chew, chew.”
The women pick up the chant. “Chew, chew, chew.”
Ruth must leave now while she’s still strong enough to resist him. At the door, she turns around and faces them. “You don’t have to let him do this to you. Come with m—.”
The women answer with one voice. “Let him? It’s an honour.”
Powerless to save anyone but herself, Ruth leaves the house, walks into the setting sun and lets the increasing darkness consume her.
Her heart finds a new prayer. She speaks to Him who will never fail her, "Please, God... Please guide me home. Amen."
On this blog in November...
Sunday, November 3
Petal's Monster
A children's story about Petal confronting her monster.
Sunday, November 10
An Age
A short memoir for adults about the birthday I celebrated too many candles on my cake.
Sunday, November 17
Not Forgotten
A tribute for adults about a Mayne Island friend.
Sunday, November 24
Carrots
A children's story about Mariam Horse and her bountiful garden.
