Morning light fell on Crossroads Clearing, and Barak found himself sitting, staring, and deep in thought. His bundle of blades and crafting tools appeared heavy in his gaze, yet he had not touched them. Their weight increased as his indecisiveness kept him from moving. He pushed to get up and start the day, yet thoughts of Zakar’s smile greeting him at the stall held him in place.
I can’t deal with them another day. I am better off here, he thought. At least I am free of Naqam’s binds; of his so-called helping hand. He will spread rumors that I don’t keep my word, and I will lose the stall if I don’t do his bidding. I should not have listened to his honeyed words. The internal struggle brought resentment, fear, and self-pity without resolution. Barak became angrier as he considered the situation.
In the middle of his contemplating, a sound caught Barak’s attention, causing his eyes to scout the area. What is that strange animal? he thought. He finally pinned the source, noticing a small, burdened woman walking the path from the lake. Mara. Her unashamed voice carried raw and loud. She was attempting to sing, cracking on every high note and mostly off-key. Mara noticed Barak and her mouth closed mid-sentence. Her course changed towards him, shifting unevenly under her heavy load.
Mara neared him, pausing to set her basket down with a thud. “Aren’t you normally at your stall by this time of day?” she rasped. “You’re not sick, are ya?” The questions were only leading. She knew he was troubled after seeing his confrontation with Zakar the day before.
Barak sighed, “I do not serve Zakar, nor Naqam. They pretend I am another of his workers.” His fists clenched as he spoke.
Mara sighed compassionately. “These two I know well,” Mara admitted. “I would not intentionally do business with either of them, but it appears you are past that point. Too bad no one warned you, but Zakar is Naqam’s steward doing his unpleasant tasks, like delivering court summons. This way, Naqam can pretend to be a nice, generous guy.”
“He granted the stall,” Barak said. “Then the cost was heavy. I took it as help. It was a yoke.”
Mara’s brow furrowed. “Listen, you can sit here feeling sorry for yourself as long as you want, and tomorrow you will be no better off. Alternatively, you can swallow your pride and stop being bruised. You can take control of your own circumstances simply by deciding to. Weren’t you happy getting that stall? Didn’t it make things better for you?” Mara led.
Barak stood, shoulders back. “The stall is better, yes. But I never meant to work for him.” He stretched out his own hand, then slowly closed it into a fist. “He opens his hand like he’s helping… then closes it around you.” Barak paused, then added bitterly, “He is like that big snapping turtle at the bottom of the river. lies perfectly still… wiggles a little worm on his tongue… and waits for something hungry to swim right into his mouth.”
Mara shook, trying to withhold a laugh. Composing herself, she swayed the conversation. “There is kindness and mercy here too, yet at times, it’s found after enduring suffering. Your character and what others see in you depend on how you respond, and this produces hope. You can either face this trial and overcome it,” she said sharply, “or you can fail and have Naqam to blame.”
Barak thought for a minute. “You are wise. I will prove to Naqam that he cannot break me.”
“Not for Naqam,” Mara shot back, “but for yourself; for the craft the Creator blessed you with. Prove to yourself what kind of man you are. Not one who can have his joy removed by this exploiter, but one that is defined through patiently enduring and overcoming.”
“This seems right,” Barak said. “There is no gain in sitting and complaining.”
Barak grabbed his roll, slinging it over his shoulder. It was lighter than he had remembered. He helped Mara situate her load as well, then the two walked confidently toward the market.
Barak entered the busy market area, taking a deep breath in preparation of Zakar. He laid eyes on his stall and proceeded toward it glancing around, but there was no sign of Zakar or the cart of wood he expected. Instead, a few villagers approached, waiting eagerly for him to settle in.
“I was hoping to catch you today,” one said. “This ax handle has splintered and is nearly broken.”
Another handed him plowing tools in need of repair. Barak gave each an humble smile and promised the repairs would be complete in a few hours. A few more villagers trickled in, gradually filling his workday with various tasks. Soon, Barak was so involved in his work that his worries melted off him. He soon realized he hadn’t even thought about Zakar since his hand gripped tools.
About that time, Barak felt a large hand on his shoulder, gaining his attention. He turned to see Naqam standing with his practiced smile.
“I realize you have been under some strain with all the extra requests,” Naqam said, attempting to soften Barak. “I didn’t mean to burden you so much, yet Zakar informed me of your reluctance yesterday.”
Barak thought of Mara’s words. “It has been a bit much,” he downplayed, “but I realize the stall is much better than my old workspace. I will try harder to help you.”
“This is good,” said Naqam, “the stall’s value is a few months’ wages, and I need it to profit me. Tell you what, I’ll avoid sending Zakar to burden you as much, although it would be good if you would at least manage a few items I need to sell.”
Barak agreed, making some space. He laid out his mat as he had previously to display a few pieces. He left half the stall open for Naqam’s wares with enough space to work efficiently.
Mara had been nearby getting supplies with the coin she had earned. She watched discreetly as Naqam approached and witnessed the exchange between him and Barak. Waiting until Naqam was on his way, she passed by, catching his gaze, giving him a nod and a smile of approval. He returned the nod. Some hands actually lift, he thought, watching Mara continue on her way.