"Ho so!" breathed Si'Wren with mounting satisfaction, as she kept her
voice cautiously low. "One day I will see Him, then. But, why can we
not worship images of Him now? Will He not be pleased?"
Nelatha looked around this time, checking wearily over her shoulder
before answering, "Sister, if I make an image from dust, so..."
Nelatha took up the water skin and hunkered down into a squatting
position, then took up a clump of loose dirt in her fist, and carefully
dispensed a little water into her partly opened hand. She put the water
skin aside, and worked the moistened handful of dirt with utmost care,
making it into a rounded, flattened lump of dark mud. Then with her
fingertip she poked three times, and made it into a crude face having
two round eyes and a round mouth.
"Behold," Nelatha said gravely, as she held forth in her hand the
small, round, flattened visage of an idol made out of mud, "a child's
plaything. Pretend that you are a child, Si'Wren, and that this is the
doll face you made of Habrunt. As long as Habrunt is not here, you may
talk freely to this as much as you like. But when the real Habrunt
comes, why talk to dumb clay? Now, unlike Habrunt, who comes and goes,
if the Invisible God knows all and sees all, and is so all-knowing that
nothing escapes His knowledge, why should you speak to a mere fruitless
idol about getting a man, or of many babies, a house, health, and
wealth? Why speak to that which sees and hears not, of avoiding meeting
savage men or beasts without a strong swordsman to shield and protect
you? Why ask that which is itself made of the barren earth, of gaining
good crops without needless sweat, thistle, thorn, or pestilence?"
Nelatha waited, watching closely. But Si'Wren only regarded the idol in
Nelatha's palm in open perplexity.
"I... I do not know," Si'Wren stammered uncertainly. She stared at the
clump of mud, which had already sagged and cracked a little in
Nelatha's upturned palm. Si'Wren somehow felt the wrongness of it,
although she could not say why.
"Well?" Nelatha demanded of Si'Wren. "Is there yet no understanding in
your stony heart?"
But Si'Wren could only stare at her blankly.
Nelatha propped her fists on her ample hips and frowned crossly at
Si'Wren.
"Speak, foolish one."
"Forgive me, Nelatha. I do not understand this," Si'Wren pleaded, with
an apologetic expression. "Why did you not pray directly to the
Invisible God?..."
Si'Wren's voice trailed away.
Then understanding struck like a thunderbolt, as Si'Wren suddenly
perceived the futility of all graven images in the presence of a real
God, even an invisible one.
"Ooh!" she said. "Now I see!"
"Aye! Ohh!" Nelatha mocked Si'Wren imitatively, as her eyes and mouth
becoming like wide round circles, to match Si'Wren's expression, which
in turn exactly resembled the little round-eyed mud face.
"Si'Wren, if the Invisible God is all-seeing, why should you speak to
the dirt which was formerly between your toes, when you can pray
directly to He who made the whole world instead? Why bow to idols,
which neither see nor hear? The real wonder is why you who are made of
dust, are as dense as a rock. Who needs a stone idol, with you around?
Stupid, ignorant, half-witted slave that you are sometimes, I can only
marvel at how fittingly you were born to such low estate, for your
thick-headedness. But that can be cured, and without the use of the
rod, or such herbs as these. I may speak of mysteries, Si'Wren, but at
least I do not speak falsely. I only faithfully repeat that which the
old woman L'acoci taught me in secret, and it must not be repeated, on
your life!"
"I swear, Nelatha," Si'Wren eagerly reassured her, "I shall not breathe
a word to anyone!"
"Enough for now, then," Nelatha said, in satisfaction. "We will talk
again later."
With that, both girls returned to their labors, but now Si'Wren had a
new wonder to marvel over. Why, ever again, should she worship a graven
image?
The next day was just a little chilly throughout the early hours, and
Si'Wren wore a coarsely woven dried grass shawl that was no longer
green, but a faded, mottled gray.
Early in the morning swirl of drifting mists, the two girls worked
together in silence, safely observing the many inhabitants of the House
of Rababull perform their morning routines from an unobserved vantage
point. It was as if they, too, were invisible behind the gauzy insect
veils stretched across the open tent flap at one end, and it gave
Si'Wren much to think about.
Others could be watched or glimpsed briefly as they led the horses from
the stables, to brush them, and check their hooves and remove the
stinking clots from them with blunt points, and so on, while another
group could be observed at length as they filed out to spend the day
laboring in the Master's vineyards and grain fields.
They also watched the familiar faces of the womenfolk of the House of
Rababull, lifelong slaves every one. Each had her bundle of soiled
clothing, and many bore their babies suspended from forehead slings
draped down across their backs, and as the women walked past in the
direction of the back of the compound, many were accompanied by a
number of tiny, naked toddlers. The womenfolk, some of whom were
accompanied as well by elder daughters, were taking their bundles of
wash out through the two tall narrow rear gates of the walled compound,
to the nearby stream where they would pound and slap the soiled
garments on the rocks whilst wailing together as one the old,
long-familiar tribal ditties.
Si'Wren's memories of such were too vague and distant, to recall her
own mother and father. For she was an orphan from earliest memory, a
slave taken or sold out of her own mother's arms too long ago to have
any recollection of it.
But she was not entirely alone. Did not the House of Master Rababull
claim and feed and protect her just like any family member, albeit one
of the very lowest possible rank?
As a mere slave, was she not more privileged than the richest of
beggars who dwelt in their so-called glorious 'freedom' amongst the
flies and dogs and dung of beasts without number, and who called out
incessantly as they begged by the wayside in the filth and scum, and
despaired of their very lives? They who had freedom and family had it
worse than Si'Wren, as they waited and begged and cowered, not knowing
whether it be for a shred of food or the bruising end of a staff in the
dirty gutters and tilting hovels of the Emperor's numberless narrow
city streets and alleyways.
Still, Si'Wren could not help thinking that the washer women had it
best of all. To sing, and slap wet rags, and raise babies, and cook.
Was this not bliss?
As she remained thus lost in her contemplations over her work, Nelatha
turned slowly to face Si'Wren and made as if to speak. Sensing
Nelatha's hesitation, Si'Wren paused in her work also, waiting and
watching respectfully.
At this, Nelatha reached up and took the water skin bag from it's hook.
She tilted down the spout, made from the leg-end of a dumb brute beast,
and carefully poured some clear water into an unglazed, shallow clay
bowl.
Then Nelatha said, not to Si'Wren, but to Si'Wren's reflection in the
shimmering watery surface, "Look, Si'Wren! Open your eyes, and behold
Wisdom! Do you not see my reflection in the water, more perfect a
likeness than that of any polished shield in the Master's armory?
Behold how the clear water is almost totally invisible, and yet can you
not see my perfect likeness in it, just like a waking vision? The
Invisible God is so, and sees us in like fashion. We do see Him
indirectly, Si'Wren, just as we see each other in the water's
reflection. For does not all Creation reflect His glory?"
Si'Wren nodded, blinking and smiling timidly as she leaned close beside
her beloved slave sister and replied eagerly to Nelatha's watery
reflection in the clay bowl, "Aye, Nelatha, it is good to pray to the
water, yes?"
"No!" Nelatha slapped Si'Wren's hands away irritatedly, mystifying a
crestfallen Si'Wren, whose weeping brown eyes immediately betrayed her
shock and confusion.
"Stop looking at me like that. I have no sympathy for fools. Or do you
expect me to admire you for your skillfulness with tears? You bow to
the ground before Him, yes! But remember; He is in Heaven! Si'Wren, the
Invisible One created all things, but He looks down from on high, and
sees all things, and has set before us a life of good mixed with bad to
see which we might choose, day after day, all of our lives. He sees our
hearts, and searches them always, for there he finds the treasure of
our souls, and desires to know what we hide there, or whether it be
good or whether it be evil."
"Oh, forgive me, Nelatha!" breathed Si'Wren. "It is so difficult to
understand this Invisible God. Do even evil things, like scorpions and
vipers, show His glory?"
"Don't be silly!" Nelatha said. "Of course not. Well, perhaps they do
show His awful terribleness somehow. Of that, I know little. Ugh! How
could you even think of such a question?"
Nelatha reached down, and drew with her fingertip in the dirt, a
brawny, disembodied male arm extending from a cloud, and holding a
thunderbolt.
"Observe," declared Nelatha with hushed emphasis, "the hand of God,
from a puff of cloud, and does not fog wet the skin?"
Si'Wren stared, her eyes fastened upon the scene before her.