Water: John 4

Wake Up

The morning sun cracks through the shutters, and her beloved darkness flees to the corners of the room. She lifts her head from the table like hot oil jumping from a pan, as if a rooster has crowed inside her heart. Wake up. Warm up. It is day, your day.

As she rubs the sleep from her eyes and feels the crease on her cheek, stirring comes from the man’s room. And like a wisp of smoke in the wind, the voice in her heart vanishes.

Mechanical processes take over her limbs. Her spirit shrivels, instantly dry and stretched like an old leather skin. There is no cheese this morning to accompany the ripe olives and figs. She has only left over pita. The man is content as long as he need not prepare or clean. Still, she pinches the bridge of her nose, aware she must return to the market before the day’s end.

Crushing the last of the dried hyssop with salt, she mixes it with oil to freshen the stale pita. By the time the man enters the kitchen the coals burn hot and the water boils. She pours his tea, drops in three eggs and sets the table. “I woke up early this morning, refreshed. So I figured I would get an early start.”

“Good. Good. I’m hungry this morning.”

“Should I prepare you an extra egg?”

“What?” The man is distracted by the arrangement of his scrolls. He resituates them before focusing on the woman’s question. “No, no. Two will be fine.” He turns toward the table.

The woman breathes deeply, calming her beating heart. Women are not allowed to touch the scrolls. The man is not even aware she has taught herself to read them. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“There is much going on today with the council.” He sits and blows on his tea.

She nods, continuing with her preparations.

He nods. It is enough that she knows he is important. Beyond that, he does not interfere with her business and she does not interfere with his. The two of them had been upfront from the beginning.

His wife had died in childbirth, along with his firstborn. Despite his attempts at genuine mourning, he had found himself inadequate to do so for long. And with his wife gone, he had confessed he no longer nurtured a desire for children. Thus their current arrangement had made infinite sense.

She brought a cleanliness and order to his life that he had lacked, and yet she was barren; barren, with many men to prove it. Her presence in his life gave him reason to be proud of his goodwill—proud that he granted her the title “woman” though she did not deserve it. Her low status justified his selfishness and abusive nature. And in return she received a tenuous handhold on society.

Every morning she feels her grip lessening.