"Do you have any water?"
It took several moments for her to realize that someone had spoken to her. When it did sink in the voice had asked again. The idea that someone would speak to her both shocked and stunned her. She looked down at the clay pitcher in her hands, it was chipped and cracked around the rim. It was so plain down there in her hands, like her so plain almost beyond notice. She stared at the bruise peaking out from under her sleeve, almost unnoticeable.
Why would anyone speak to her anyway? She was no one- well no one that anyone would want to speak to. Wasn't that what her husband would always say. That she was worthless, that she was below notice?
"Do you have any water?"
She blinked in surprise, she stared down at the edge of the well, focusing on each of the worn blocks surrounding it. With an effort she still her trembling hands on the clay jar- she would not- could not afford to drop it again. Not after the last time. She discovered that she might be able to look at the speaker without seeing him. She would look for his feet, but only that. If she knew where his feet were she would know which way to run should she have to. She could not, no would not look up at the speaker for the fear of her husband learning of it made her hands tremble again. The pitcher shook, the waters spilling over the sides. maybe if she pretended not to hear, he would go away.
She would just turn and walk slowly, carefully away from the well and enter her house. She would not- no could not afford to spill the water again. Her husband said she was so clumsy. She took several deep breaths and made herself steady her hands and thus the pitcher.
"Do you have any water to spare?"
Why wouldn't he leave her be? What had she done to this man that he would persist in his requests? Didn't he know that just by talking to her, he increased her own torment? Maybe... just maybe if she offered him the water then he could drink and go away and her husband would not see. Just this once, please, please, just this one time. Hesitantly she held out the pitcher towards the man. She looked and saw the man's feet. They were bare on the hot stones of the square. He stood on them comfortably as if they heat did not bother him.
Suddenly her hand met another hand. She had touched the man's hand and- the touch was cool like the water that was in her clay pitcher. She felt refreshed in a way she had never felt before. As the feeling flooded her, she looked up from the earth and saw the sky as if for the first time. It seemed that it had been a long time since she had seen the sky, it was so blue.Then their eyes met. The man who touched her hand smiled at her.
"Thank you."
Though he spoke to her, it was his eyes that spoke more. She could not say what the words were that she saw written in his eyes but they were so important that she knew that she needed more. A burden lifted from her chest and she took a very deep breath unlike any breath she had breathed since she had woken for the first time in her mother's arms.
They watched each other for a long time it seemed, His eyes were with her even as he drank from her pitcher. The moment lasted a long time, perhaps an eternity, perhaps a few seconds.
A moment later he handed the pitcher back.
She felt shame at having looked, she cast her eyes back at the ground despite want to keep them up. She was about to apologize, to make an excuse that would somehow explain her boldness, that would...
She stopped before she could began and stared at the pitcher in her hands. She knew it had to be the same pitcher she had carried out to the well, it was the same one she carried everyday. It was the one her mother had given her on her wedding day. It was the same pitcher but now it was no longer chipped as if time had been erased from its surface, as if the cracks had never formed.
She stared at it in shock, disbelief and wonder. Her fingers traced it's simple but pure form crossing the now smooth surface. It was pristine, unblemished.
Forgetting every warning of her husband, every trepidation she looked back up at the sky and the well in the square for the smiling man. Afterward she could not say that he had ever been there, but she would not say that he had never been there.
She felt the smile come out from under the swollen lip on her face. She felt the rush of blood as the blush spread under the yellowing bruise on her cheek. She looked down once more and found the footprints on the stones in front of her.
She blinked back the tears and realized that she was thirsty. Thirsty for something more than the water in this well; for more than this moment in the light. She stood in the moment that she had just held with the man at the well, a moment of truth.
"I am thirsty." She heard a voice say. A voice she had no heard in a long time. It was her voice.
She felt her smile spread through her whole being.
"I am." She heard the man say again. She looked down at her pitcher which was now brimming with new water. She gazed at it in wonder. It had no weight in her hands. In its reflection she was almost sure she could still see the man where he sat on the edge of the well waiting- waiting for her.
I am thirsty.
"Drink deep." She heard him say.
She raised the pitcher to her mouth and drank deeply.
*****
This one is for my friend, Rick Redmond.
It took several moments for her to realize that someone had spoken to her. When it did sink in the voice had asked again. The idea that someone would speak to her both shocked and stunned her. She looked down at the clay pitcher in her hands, it was chipped and cracked around the rim. It was so plain down there in her hands, like her so plain almost beyond notice. She stared at the bruise peaking out from under her sleeve, almost unnoticeable.
Why would anyone speak to her anyway? She was no one- well no one that anyone would want to speak to. Wasn't that what her husband would always say. That she was worthless, that she was below notice?
"Do you have any water?"
She blinked in surprise, she stared down at the edge of the well, focusing on each of the worn blocks surrounding it. With an effort she still her trembling hands on the clay jar- she would not- could not afford to drop it again. Not after the last time. She discovered that she might be able to look at the speaker without seeing him. She would look for his feet, but only that. If she knew where his feet were she would know which way to run should she have to. She could not, no would not look up at the speaker for the fear of her husband learning of it made her hands tremble again. The pitcher shook, the waters spilling over the sides. maybe if she pretended not to hear, he would go away.
She would just turn and walk slowly, carefully away from the well and enter her house. She would not- no could not afford to spill the water again. Her husband said she was so clumsy. She took several deep breaths and made herself steady her hands and thus the pitcher.
"Do you have any water to spare?"
Why wouldn't he leave her be? What had she done to this man that he would persist in his requests? Didn't he know that just by talking to her, he increased her own torment? Maybe... just maybe if she offered him the water then he could drink and go away and her husband would not see. Just this once, please, please, just this one time. Hesitantly she held out the pitcher towards the man. She looked and saw the man's feet. They were bare on the hot stones of the square. He stood on them comfortably as if they heat did not bother him.
Suddenly her hand met another hand. She had touched the man's hand and- the touch was cool like the water that was in her clay pitcher. She felt refreshed in a way she had never felt before. As the feeling flooded her, she looked up from the earth and saw the sky as if for the first time. It seemed that it had been a long time since she had seen the sky, it was so blue.Then their eyes met. The man who touched her hand smiled at her.
"Thank you."
Though he spoke to her, it was his eyes that spoke more. She could not say what the words were that she saw written in his eyes but they were so important that she knew that she needed more. A burden lifted from her chest and she took a very deep breath unlike any breath she had breathed since she had woken for the first time in her mother's arms.
They watched each other for a long time it seemed, His eyes were with her even as he drank from her pitcher. The moment lasted a long time, perhaps an eternity, perhaps a few seconds.
A moment later he handed the pitcher back.
She felt shame at having looked, she cast her eyes back at the ground despite want to keep them up. She was about to apologize, to make an excuse that would somehow explain her boldness, that would...
She stopped before she could began and stared at the pitcher in her hands. She knew it had to be the same pitcher she had carried out to the well, it was the same one she carried everyday. It was the one her mother had given her on her wedding day. It was the same pitcher but now it was no longer chipped as if time had been erased from its surface, as if the cracks had never formed.
She stared at it in shock, disbelief and wonder. Her fingers traced it's simple but pure form crossing the now smooth surface. It was pristine, unblemished.
Forgetting every warning of her husband, every trepidation she looked back up at the sky and the well in the square for the smiling man. Afterward she could not say that he had ever been there, but she would not say that he had never been there.
She felt the smile come out from under the swollen lip on her face. She felt the rush of blood as the blush spread under the yellowing bruise on her cheek. She looked down once more and found the footprints on the stones in front of her.
She blinked back the tears and realized that she was thirsty. Thirsty for something more than the water in this well; for more than this moment in the light. She stood in the moment that she had just held with the man at the well, a moment of truth.
"I am thirsty." She heard a voice say. A voice she had no heard in a long time. It was her voice.
She felt her smile spread through her whole being.
"I am." She heard the man say again. She looked down at her pitcher which was now brimming with new water. She gazed at it in wonder. It had no weight in her hands. In its reflection she was almost sure she could still see the man where he sat on the edge of the well waiting- waiting for her.
I am thirsty.
"Drink deep." She heard him say.
She raised the pitcher to her mouth and drank deeply.
*****
This one is for my friend, Rick Redmond.
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