Greetje: New page: {{info}}The old man leaned against the beam
Beside his ramp, and watched a dream
Unfold before his weakened eyes,
And prayed that Hahyaneta's prize
Would be her brother's life....

Greetje — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 14:59:43 GMT

New page: {{info}}The old man leaned against the beam Beside his ramp, and watched a dream Unfold before his weakened eyes, And prayed that Hahyaneta's prize Would be her brother's life....

New page

{{info}}The old man leaned against the beam Beside his ramp, and watched a dream Unfold before his weakened eyes, And prayed that Hahyaneta's prize Would be her brother's life. He raised His empty arm and smiled, amazed That ten years had not broken the Resolve and hope in her that she Would be the way her brother would Come home. He waved once more, and stood There on the porch, and watched her take The final turn from sight, and make Her lonely way toward Noash on The coast. He thought, “Your mother's brawn And beauty mingle well in you, My child. I know what she would do, If she were here. She'd look at me And say, ‘It's time to eat.' Then she Would go inside to spread the meal And wait for news that Hahya's heel Had crushed the serpent's head of lies And freed her son to be the prize Of Hahyaneta's quest.” 

The old Man lingered. Better than he told, Or wished to tell, he knew the way To Noash, and the town. The day Would not go down until some knave Would hurl a slur against his brave And tender girl. The road that leads To Noash is a trap, but breeds, Against its gluttony and lure, A grief and anguish in the pure.

Five days she walked, and slept at night In synagogues, or in the sight Of one, if rabbis were unsure That she was scrupulous. The poor Would take her in and make a place; And she would say at dawn: “May grace Abound to you, and would you pray That very soon my brother may Receive me in the way you did.” And then she ventured on and bid Them all farewell, until she came To Noash by the sea.

The flame Above the curving rim of blue And rolling waves fell blazing through The evening haze, and boiled with blood- Red spray, it seemed, and sent a flood Of molten crimson flowing forth On the horizon to the north And south. She climbed a hill outside The town so she could watch, and tried To put herself in Níqvah's place, And thought: “I wonder if his face Is ever set to climb this hill, And watch the west, and feel the thrill Of what I see: An image of The heritage our father's love Bequeaths to us in endless seas Of golden grain that roll like these Great waves, and blaze with fire like them In beauty, but do not condemn The seamen who embark and fail But only those who will not sail.”

She wondered, as the sun went down, Where she should stay the night: in town, Or on a nearby farm? And as She prayed, she thought, “My father has A lot rooms and loves to share. Perhaps there is a farm somewhere Nearby with rooms and with a heart Like his.” She raised her head, and part Way up the hill along the road An old man with a crooked goad And scrawny goat walked slowly from The field, and as he sang a psalm, Made his way home. His face was thin And on his neck there was more skin Than there was meat to fill. She knew The song. It made her tremble through The twilight – and rejoice. The man Must be some distant kin and clan To know this song. And yet it did Not bode well for her brother's bid To live, if wealth had taken wing. Just barely could she hear him sing:

“When the staff is broken,* And in judgment spoken Righteousness is heard, Think not God is silent, Though the famine violent, This is but His word. He stands not to give account. It is we who must before Him. Come, let us adore Him!”

“Excuse me sir, I'm looking for A place to stay, a simple floor, Or porch. I have a blanket of My own. Perhaps a roof above My head, that's all.” The old man gazed A long time. Then he said, “Amazed; I am amazed. He said I'd see And be amazed.”Who said you'd be Amazed? At what?”Your father said I'd be amazed. Well, shake my head! I truly am amazed! You look Just like them.”Like who?” Her voice shook. “Your father and your brother. There, The chin, the cheek, the nose, the hair. Amazing.”Sir, which brother do You mean?”I mean the one that you Have come to find, Níqvah.”You know My brother's name?”And yours, although You don't know me. Your given name Is Hahyaneta. And your fame Has come before you. He told me For years that one day I would see You on the road to Noash. In Your blood, he said. It's more than skin That knits you to your mother and, I add, your father.”Sir, I stand Before a man I do not know, And yet who knows me well. Please show Me who you are, and take me to My brother.”

“Come, let's walk. I knew Your father years ago when he First came to seek his son and see If he could take him home. The lad Refused, and so your Father bade Me keep and eye on him, and gave Me money. ‘Keep him from the grave,' He said. And so for ten years I Have seen your father come and try, Time after time, to show the boy That there is hope and far more joy At home than in this place. I know Your father very well.”I owe You much, kind sir. Tell me, how long Has famine reigned? I heard the song. Does Níqvah have enough to pay?” “The boy eats carob pods to stay Alive. He steals them from the pigs, And sometimes gathers flint and twigs For pennies and a place to stay.” “Do you know where he is today?” The old man pointed to a shed With three sides. “There, he makes his bed, With bats, and sleeps on gathered leaves. His daily rent: to keep the thieves Away and feed the swine. I'll wait Here if you like.”You've been a great Help, sir, but you don't need to stay. I'll be all right. Thank you, and may My father trouble you no more. Come visit us. My father's door Is always open.”Fare thee well, Young lass. It was no trouble. Tell Your father I will come some day.”

She walked down toward the shed. He lay There on the leaves as still as death. She wondered, as she watched, if breath Still came. His eyes were closed. His cheek Was dark and hollow, and the reek Was foul. His fingernails were caked With dirt, and streaks of black soil snaked Across his rutted brow. His hair Had not been washed for months. And there Were no shoes anywhere. His feet Were bare, his ragged cloak replete With eaten holes. And in his sleep He gripped a pouch he used to keep The parchments that his father sent. She kneeled beside his head and bent Down over him and kissed his cheek. Incredibly there was no shriek Or sudden jerk. He stared into The face of Hahyaneta. “Who Are you?” he said, and sat up in His leaves. “Hi, Níq. You've gotten thin.” No one had called him Níq for years, Except his dad. He saw the tears Pool in her eyes. And then she said, “Your little girl can raise the dead.” His mouth fell open, “Hahya?”Yes, I said I'd come, no more no less, And bring you home, alive.”The last Time I saw you, you hadn't passed Four feet. You must be eighteen now.” He pushed the hair back from her brow. “It's really you. Did you come by Yourself?”Yes.”Why? You want to die? This city is a pit. It blinds The young with dazzling names, then binds And swallows them alive.”I'm here, To bring you home,” she said, “it's clear You don't belong.”As clear as mud. Look, Hahya, you don't know the crud Inside. You don't know who I am.” “Hear this, my brother, I do damn Those words and call them lies. It's you Who don't know who you are. It's true There is a mystery. What makes You think the dazzled dupes and fakes Of Noash can declare the true And wonderful design of who You are? One knows, and only one, Who Níqvah is. And when you're done With dabbling in the darkness here – All dazzling as it is – the clear, Bright air of eastern skies will bring You home to him. And I will sing. Awake, O sleeper, from the grave, You are a son and not a slave.”

They sat in silence for a long Long time. He was amazed how strong This little girl of eight had grown. And then she changed her look and tone: “He built a porch just after you Had left. It faces west. We knew What it was for. He'll be there, Níq. And will not quench a smoldering wick. Come home with me. Even tonight. I have some bread, the moon is bright. It's cooler in the dark, and we Can sleep by day. Please, come with me.” And quietly the fetters and The folly fell. She took his hand, And where he had before said No A hundred times, he said, “Let's go.”

Come, children, carry fire, and make This candle blaze. And may Christ take This second flame and with it burn Up ev'ry hopeless word, and turn The fatal dream of false despair Into the bright and living air That blows down from the Father's farm; And may you feel the mighty arm Of God lift you into the light Of Truth, and put an end to night. We do not know ourselves aright Until we have the Father's light. We think we know ourselves and groan, Until we know as we are known.

* The song is to the tune of “Jesus Priceless Treasure.”

The Prodigal's Sister, Part 2 - Revision history

Greetje: New page: {{info}}The old man leaned against the beamBeside his ramp, and watched a dreamUnfold before his weakened eyes,And prayed that Hahyaneta's prizeWould be her brother's life....

Greetje: New page: {{info}}The old man leaned against the beam
Beside his ramp, and watched a dream
Unfold before his weakened eyes,
And prayed that Hahyaneta's prize
Would be her brother's life....