Ro’eh finished his daily chores, stepping back into the house. On the shelf sat the helper idol, next to the shrine-ash his wife’s mother depended on. His book of workings lay open on a small table, and wall hangings were back in their place.
“Does the farm require much work today?” Mahalath asked, attempting to engage Ro’eh as he sat.
Ro’eh gave a grunt without looking up. His eyes focused on the page of his book of workings.
“Will we be attending the gathering tomorrow? We have not been for three gatherings now.” Mahalath questioned, setting a bowl of soup down in front of him.
Ro’eh gripped the edge of the table after his wife spoke. “I didn’t think you cared.” His eyes stayed on his reading.
“It helped,” his wife said. “The people are lifting. It made your mood better.” Mahalath breathed deep. “Now you barely talk, unless you are complaining.” Her voice raised.
“I would not complain if I wasn’t so tired; I have many burdens.” Ro’eh’s fist hit the table, sloshing out a bit of soup onto his page. He rose from the table, leaving, and slammed the door as he stepped out.
“He does not treat you well.” Mahalath looked in the dark corner where her mother sat. Her eyes traced something else she thought moved in the dark. She did not see it again and gave her attention to her mother.
“He has not been himself,” Mahalath defended. “It is like a struggle he fights within. Things were better when we met with the ones at the spring. Now, they are worse than before we attended.”
Her mother spoke slow and deliberate. “Those people did not make him better. They only made him restless, and now he turns that restlessness toward you.”
Mahalath tried to turn away when her mother grabbed her arm. Her cold, bony fingers wrapped around.
“You are already yourself.” Her mother said sharply. “No gathering can alter that. A man does not change. He only learns what to hide.”
Mahalath’s face tightened and a tear formed causing her to pull away. Her mother’s grip held and a fingernail caught, leaving Mahalath’s arm with a scratch. A slight grin cornered her mother’s mouth while she watched Mahalath depart.
The First Day sparked something in Mahalath. She prepared a meal and left it covered on the table, then walked out to find Ro’eh.
“I am going to the market,” she informed him.
Ro’eh stood, confusion on his face. “You must know, most shops will be closing early. It is the day they gather.”
“I know. Dinner is on the table,” Mahalath said, continuing on her way. She knew her intention was not shopping.
She set out for Erudition at a fast pace, slowing as she neared the crossroad. There she stopped. It was her mother’s icy grasp on her arm, as if holding her in place. The words still echoed in her head, growing louder and louder. No gathering can alter that.
Suddenly a voice sounded, shattering her thoughts.
“Hello!”
Mahalath turned to see a white bearded man with a cane and an older woman holding his arm seeming to steady him. Mahalath gathered herself, waiting for the couple to near.
“May we walk with you?” Selah said, smiling gently.
“Of course.” The tightness left Mahalath’s face as she returned the smile.
“You are… Mahalath; Ro’eh’s wife?” Raham questioned.
“Yes, Raham,” Selah nudged him gently. “She is known among the women.” Selah turned looking Mahalath up and down. “Even though we haven’t seen much of her lately,” Selah stated more as a question.
“Nor Ro’eh,” Raham stared at Mahalath as if waiting for a response.
“Well, yes,” Mahalath stammered. “Ro’eh has been… Actually, things are not well.” Mahalath’s eyes went to her feet.
Raham and Selah stepped, continuing to walk, while tilting their ears as if to listen.
“Ro’eh was better. The gathering – it stayed with him. The joy was on his face. He was gentle even after a day’s work. Now… it’s my fault.” Mahalath’s voice broke. “I brought the old rites back after they were gone. I told Ro’eh we needed them.”
A moment passed, and no one spoke. Finally, Selah took a deep breath, but was cut off by Mahalath.
“I know it’s not others who form you, but even if it’s temporary, it is better than being angry all the time.”
Selah stopped in the path. She took Mahalath’s arm; her hand still warm after holding Raham’s.
“The light comes from the Sustainer who keeps us. We each carry that light. It is easy to hide when alone. We are like the stars against the night sky when we gather.”
“Walk with those who have hope, and the hope is yours too.” Raham spoke.
Mahalath stared into the distance contemplating their words as they neared Erudition.
Reaching the spring, the Gathered greeted them. The hope Raham spoke of strengthened in Mahalath’s spirit as she melded into the gathering.
Afterward, the three remained in company on the dimly lit road, until separating at the farm. Mahalath continued; her path growing darker. She had come to a decision that left her anxious as she neared the house. My mind is made. I will not turn back.
Mahalath arrived home to find it quiet. Ro’eh had not waited up, and the energy of the gathering still resonated with her. She took her lantern, collecting the old rites and carrying them out. The helper idol, the shrine-ash, the hangings, and even Ro’eh’s book of workings were placed in a pile near the goat shelter.
“I will rise early, and rid our household of these by fire,” she muttered, before retiring to bed.
Morning light seeped in, and the crowing rooster caused Ro’eh to stretch out. He quickly realized that his wife was not in bed and went to look for her. He walked past the empty shelf and missing wall hangings yet did not notice.
“Mahalath,” he called but received no answer. Finally, he found her with a small fire and realized the old rites were piled near it.
“What are you doing?” Ro’eh called, quickening his step.
“I should never have stopped you. These things have harmed us. They have taken our peace and kept you from the gathering.” Mahalath said while taking a few steps back.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “It was you who said Ima could not leave the bed without them. We decided it was not necessary to be rid of them.”
“It is your choice now,” Mahalath said. “But I choose the Sustainer. He is the helper, not this empty carving.”
Ro’eh approached the fire and stared at the old rites. “What about your mother?” he asked.
“As you said, these are nothing but comforters in the mind. They have no power. I will speak to Ima. She will have to accept this.” Mahalath turned toward the house, leaving Ro’eh alone with the fire and the old rites.
Ro’eh stood motionless for a moment. Thoughts ran through his mind as if he were working something out. Then it seemed to click all at once.
I have been the dog in Raham’s given word. I chose the familiar bank over the stream and remained like the dog.
At that moment, Ro’eh considered the change brought by the gathering. He considered how cold he had become toward Mahalath and weighed his wife, the gathering, and himself against the pile near the fire.
The old rites are dry bank. They leave me thirsty like vinegar. The stream is the fresh water that satisfies. I choose to be like the lion that steps in.
A moment of contemplation passed, then Ro’eh reached out.
He pulled his book from the middle of the pile and tossed it in the fire. The papyrus turned black as each page curled into ash. He took another of the old rites tossing it in, and another until the pile was ablaze and the heaviness lifted.
Mahalath’s mother sat at the window as the smell of smoke reached her. Mahalath approached her from behind, staring with her. She kneeled beside the chair placing her hand on her mother’s shoulder.
“Ima, I am sorry, but it must be this way. We reject the old rites. There is one God and nothing beside Him. Besides, it is Ro’eh and myself that care for you, not these empty things.”
Her mother remained silent, watching the smoke rise from the burning old rites. Her face was void of emotion until Mahalath rose, leaving her mother to work it out.