Zetetic was out in the orchard pruning a few withered branches, but mostly just enjoying her change in pace. She found it peaceful helping tend to things, even though the sowing field was but a small portion of what was in Raham’s youth. He was mostly retired and couldn’t put in the work a full field would require. All the original trees were kept up, but the field was left unattended. She hummed to herself, enjoying the light labor, barely noticing someone approaching.
“I was looking for Raham. Is he here?” a voice called.
Zetetic, caught by surprise, looked up, seeing a man she remembered from years past. With his donkey reins in one hand, he leaned on his staff, waiting at the edge of the orchard, not immediately recognizing Zetetic.
“Naseh, is that you?” Zetetic started in his direction.
“Zetetic?” Naseh squinted with the sun in his face. “It has been forever. I thought you had left Erudition?” he chuckled.
“It is true, but I am visiting with Raham and Selah for a time, enjoying the peace and resting.” She tilted her head, “Admittedly, I have seen few familiar faces around, nor yours.”
“Yes, I suspect many have come and gone over the years, and as for myself, I have just arrived from Jotbathah and stopped to water my donkey. My nephew is expecting me, and maybe I can make a coin while I’m here.”
They shared stories for a time before Naseh was on his way again. “I will see you at the spring on the First day, I hope?” he said in departure.
“Yes, I have been asked to give a word at the gathering. It’s about contentment. It will inspire, so don’t be late.” Zetetic teased.
The following day, Naseh was walking about in the marketplace since his nephew was out doing errands. He stopped by Joram’s stall, admiring some of the fine crafts hanging. One item caught his eye.
“Excuse me, can you tell me about those sandals?” Naseh asked.
Joram picked up the sandals and set them on the counter. “These are felted wool. Both soft and strong. It’s a natural beige that wraps comfortably around the foot. They are high quality with a thin, sturdy sole that is great for comfort as well as walking the paths; not too flashy, but not common.”
Naseh steadied himself against the counter, unlacing a sandal from his foot and replaced it with one Joram handed him. He expressed a serious expression, then bounced a bit and took a step, pushing all his weight onto it. A broad smile broke across his face.
“That is nice,” Naseh said with a chuckle. “That’s really nice indeed. They will be much better than these old, thick, hobnailed things I have on. Much lighter and I can make good use of them while I’m here trading and visiting my nephew.”
Joram attempted not to smile too big, but was amused seeing Naseh carry on. “I’m glad you like them. I put genuine care into them. Who is your nephew, anyway? I know just about everyone who lives in Erudition.”
“I’m sure you are acquainted with Amal. He grew up here, even staying with me for a while after my brother passed. When he could make his own way, I resettled in Jotbathah looking for something more. He is away trading the wine I brought. I promised him an amphora of the olive oil for his effort,” Naseh explained.
Naseh turned, looking across the marketplace. “By the way, what is the story of that fisherwoman I saw lugging the heavy basket?”
Joram looked up to see the small-framed widow woman. Her back remained slightly arched as she pulled from her basket to unload at the spice vendor.
“Oh… Mara? Yeah, she’s here most days. Poor woman carries that basket every day just about; filled with dried fish, reeds, herbs she forages, and whatever else she can scrounge up that might sell on that particular day. Mara is a survivor, but often has a tough time of it.”
Joram leaned in, lowering his voice, “I don’t like to gossip, but it wasn’t long ago that she nearly lost everything. Her fish brine spilled all over a fine wool blanket I had sold to a customer. He sued her. She was expected to sell her possessions to pay him, but another villager took pity and paid her debt.”
“It is unsettling to see such struggle.” Naseh’s eyes followed Mara. “I bet she would appreciate help. When my nephew returns, I will see what can be done.”
Amal returned home in the evening, stumbling and exhausted. He parked the cart securely with the four jars of olive oil he had hauled most of the day. In the morning, Naseh thanked him, paying him with a jar of olive oil.
The following morning, Naseh gave his nephew the last of his instructions.
“Load the cart with the rest of the wine and distribute it to pay my debts. Joram and Barak will each get one amphora of wine. Finally, leave the cart with the last amphora of wine and one jar of olive oil with Lydia, the spice vendor. Tell her the cart itself and the last jar of olive oil are for Mara,” Naseh explained.
“I will do as you ask, Uncle, but the cart? Mara is poor and ragged. Most villagers try to avoid her because of the fishy smell. What could that peasant woman possibly have traded that was worth so much?” Amal asked pondering.
“You are right to wonder what that struggling fisherwoman could have traded that was worth a handcart. I do not owe her for any trade; rather, it is simply a gift.” Naseh leaned forward on his staff. “Please do as I ask, but do not mention to anyone that it is a gift.”
Amal said nothing more, but left with a clenched jaw, carrying out his uncle’s instructions. He took the cart loaded with wine and oil to the market, paying each vendor their due. Last, he brought the cart with one amphora of wine and olive oil to the spice vendor.
Amal paused before giving Lydia the cart. “Surely, Mara has done nothing to deserve such a gift,” he thought. “The olive oil is charitable enough.”
He returned home with the cart. “I will reason with Naseh,” he thought.
Naseh was waiting outside, watching as Amal returned, pulling the empty handcart.
“I see you have done all that I asked, except for the cart. Why did you not leave it for Mara?” Naseh asked.
“Uncle,” Amal paused to gather his thoughts. “What you asked made no since to me. If you give away your cart, how will you haul your wine from Jotbathah next time? Besides, the cart alone is worth a month’s wages. Would you give it away to Mara, who can never repay you?”
Naseh’s frown deepened. “Why does this concern you? You were only to carry out my instructions.”
Amal was unwilling to let it go so easily and began arguing. “If you feel so charitable, then do not waste this gift on that unworthy peasant you do not even know.” Amal’s voice rose with heat. “I could use the cart myself, and I have served you faithfully for many years. Do you see my worth less than a smelly fisherwoman?”
Naseh turned and sighed, then his eyes reconnected with Amal. “Haven’t I always been generous with you, Amal? Even after your father died, have I not done well providing until you could manage on your own? Even now, I paid you more than a day’s wages for your labor. Do you really believe you are still owed more?”
“It is untrue, Uncle,” Amal defended. “I do not expect more from you since you treat me well and always have. You paid me more than enough for running these errands, and I would not ask for more. I only disagree that you should not treat a stranger so well, when I, your own kin, have need.”
Frustrated by the back and forth, Naseh lowered himself with his staff, finding a seat on a nearby bench. “Is it not mine to do with as I wish? Please Amal, deliver the handcart as I have asked.”
Equally frustrated, Amal turns sharply, grabbing the handcart handle, pulling it back to the marketplace. He arrived at Lydia’s stall, explaining she is to give the cart to Mara along with the oil. She agrees without question.
Amal did not return home. Instead, he walked away aimlessly, eventually ending up at the spring. There, he found Zetetic sitting with her head down, murmuring under her breath. She looked up noticing when Amal approached the water’s edge.
After studying his troubled face for a moment, she engaged him. “What is it that has your heart so troubled, young lad?”
Amal looks up, meeting her eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I just need some time away from my unreasonable uncle.” He paused for a moment. “He is here visiting me and supposedly making a profit, but he would rather give away my inheritance to strangers.”
Zetetic thought for a moment. “You are Amal.”
Amal squinted, taking a longer look at Zetetic, “You know me?”
Zetetic returned a small, knowing smile. “I have not seen you since you were a mere boy, but I knew your father, and I also know your uncle. Surely you have heard them speak of me – Zetetic?”
“Giving away your inheritance, you say? Go on…” Zetetic listened patiently.
Amal hesitated, still holding his surprise, before finally explaining.
He peered off into the water, tossing in a few pebbles he had gathered. “My uncle took me in after my father’s passing and saw to my needs. Now that I am grown, I have repaid him with respect and have always welcomed him when he visits. We have a great relationship, so I thought, but now I do not understand him.”
“I know our village is charitable, looking out for one another, but…” Amal’s face twisted as his thought died in his throat.
“I see where this is going,” Zetetic injected. “You believe family’s loyalty for each other should hold higher than care for the impoverished, and for your uncle to give a stranger what should belong to you causes you anger,” she clarified.
“Exactly!” Amal’s raised his voice again.” And he chose that smelly fisherwoman over his own, giving her a handcart that I could have used myself. I understand it is his to do with as he pleases, but it makes no since that he would choose her over me.” Amal became angrier the more he tried to explain.
Amal fell silent, allowing Zetetic’s gentle but firm assessment. “So, it is Mara you are so angry with. You wonder why an undeserving old fisherwoman like Mara received such a gift, rather than you?”
Amal, taken aback by the question framing, did not immediately reply.
“Well, no,” his voice tightened. “I don’t blame…” Amal stopped, reconsidering his position.
“Obviously, Mara did nothing. I’m just… I just… don’t think it’s fair is all,” he said, trying to walk back his position.
Zetetic stared at the engraved stone as she spoke sincerely, “I hear the hurt in your voice, Amal,” Zetetic comforted. “Your hard work and care for your uncle is seemingly unrewarded. An unworthy person like Mara reaps from him what she doesn’t deserve, but it is envy you struggle with, not Mara. You received what you have earned, yet Mara received grace that she has not earned.”
She met Amal’s eyes.
“Your uncle did not choose Mara over you.” Zetetic said gently. “He only practiced the same grace we each receive from the Promised One.”
“Don’t you know that the Giver does not measure as we measure; rather, He opens His hands to the needy. The real question is not how worthy you are, but does your eye focus on good or evil?”
Amal stared at his reflection rippling in the gentle breeze. For a time he said nothing, only considering how angry he had become. The burning was hot only moments before, but it subsided, leaving his chest heavy.
He pondered on Zetetic’s words and finally let out a long breath.
“Yes, you are right, Zetetic. I am envious when I have no right. I did not want the cart and was content with my wage… until I knew Mara was to receive it.”
Shame loosened his tightened face. Seeing his reflection, he lowered his head with his eyes fixed on his feet.