In the retelling of the parable of the
prodigal son, you will recall that I have
imagined that there was not only a younger
son named Nikva, and an older son named
Mainan, but also a younger daughter named Hayanita.
And she, today, will leave on her long
-planned quest to find her brother in a
town called Noash on the sea.
The old man leaned against the beam beside
his ramp and watched a dream unfold before
his weakened eyes and prayed that Hayanita's prize
would be her brother's life.
He raised his empty arm and smiled, amazed
that ten years had not broken the resolve
and hope in her that she would be
the way her brother would come home.
He waved once more and stood there on
the porch and watched her take the final
turn from sight and make her way toward
Noash on the coast.
He thought, Your mother's brawn and beauty mingle
well in you, my child.
I know what she would do if she
were here.
She'd look at me and say, It's time
to eat.
Then she would go inside and spread the
meal and wait for news that Haya's heel
had crushed the serpent's head of lice and
freed her son to be the prize of
Hayanita's quest.
The old man lingered.
Better than he told or wished to tell,
he knew the way to Noash and the
town.
The day would not go down until some
knave would hurl a slur against his brave
and tender girl.
The road that leads to Noash has allure
but breeds grief and anguish in the pure.
Five days she walked and slept at night
in synagogues or in the sight of one
if rabbis were unsure that she was scrupulous.
The poor would take her in and make
a place and she would say at dawn,
May grace abound to you and would you
pray that very soon my brother may receive
me in the way you did.
Then she ventured on and bid them all
farewell until she came to Noash by the
sea.
The flame above the curving rim of blue
and rolling waves fell blazing through the evening
haze and boiled with blood-red spray, it
seemed, and sent a flood of molten crimson
flowing forth on the horizon to the north
and south.
She climbed a hill outside the town so
she could watch and tried to put herself
in Nikla's place and thought, I wonder if
his face is ever set to climb this
hill and watch the west and feel the
thrill of what I see, an image of
the heritage our father's love bequeaths to us
in endless seas of golden grain that roll
like these great waves and blaze with fire
like them in beauty, but do not condemn
the seamen who embark and fail, but only
those who will not sail.
She wondered as the sun went down where
she should stay the night in town or
on a nearby farm and as she prayed
she thought, my father has a lot of
rooms and loves to share, perhaps there is
a farm somewhere nearby with rooms and with
a heart like his.
She raised her head and partway up the
hill along the road an old man with
a crooked goad and scrawny goat walked slowly
from the field and as he sang a
song made his way home.
His face was thin and on his neck
there was more skin than there was meat
to fill.
She knew the song.
It made her tremble through the twilight and
rejoice.
The man must be some distant kin and
clan to know this song and yet it
did not bode well for her brother's bid
to live if wealth had taken wing.
Just barely she could hear him sing.
When the staff is broken and in judgment
spoken, righteousness is heard, think not God is
silent, though the famine violent, this is but
his word, he stands not to give account,
it is we who must be for him,
come let us adore him.
Excuse me sir, I'm looking for a place
to stay, a simple floor or porch, I
have a blanket of my own, perhaps a
roof above my head, that's all.
The old man gazed a long time, then
he said, amazed, I am amazed.
He said I'd see and be amazed.
Who said you'd be amazed?
At what?
Your father said I'd be amazed.
Well shake my head, I truly am amazed.
You look just like them.
Who?
Her voice shook.
Your father and your brother.
There the chin, the cheek, the nose, the
hair, amazing.
Sir, which brother do you mean?
I mean the one you came to find,
Nikva.
You know my brother's name, and yours, although
you don't know me, your given name is
Hayanita, and your fame has come before you.
He told me for years that one day
I would see you on the road to
Noash.
In your blood, he said, it's more than
skin that knits you to your mother.
And I add, your father, Sir, I stand
before a man I do not know, and
yet who knows me well.
Please, show me who you are and take
me to my brother.
Come, let's walk.
I knew your father years ago when he
first came to seek his son and see
if he could take him home.
The lad refused, and so your father bade
me keep an eye on him and gave
me money, keeping from the grave, he said.
And so for ten years, I have seen
your father come and try time after time
to show the boy that there is hope
and far more joy at home than in
this place.
I know your father very well.
I owe you much, kind sir.
Tell me, how long has famine reigned?
I heard the song.
Does Nikva have enough to pay?
The boy eats carob pods to stay alive.
He steals them from the pigs and sometimes
gathers flint and twigs to sell for pennies
and a place to stay.
Do you know where he is today?
The old man pointed to a shed with
three sides.
There, he makes his bed with bats and
sleeps on gathered leaves.
His daily rent?
To keep the thieves away and feed the
swine.
I'll wait here if you like.
You've been a great help, sir.
But you don't need to stay.
I'll be all right.
Thank you.
And may my father trouble you no more.
Come visit us.
My father's door is always open.
Fare thee well, young lass.
It was no trouble.
Tell your father, I will come someday.
She walked down toward the shed.
He lay there on the leaves as still
as death.
She wondered as she watched if breath still
came.
His eyes were closed.
His cheek was dark and hollow and the
reek was foul.
His fingernails were caked with dirt and streaks
of black soil snaked across his rutted brow.
His hair had not been washed for months.
There were no shoes anywhere.
His feet were bare.
His ragged cloak replete with eaten holes and
in his sleep he gripped a pouch he
used to keep the parchments that his father
sent.
She kneeled beside his head and bent down
over him and kissed his cheek.
Incredibly, there was no shriek or sudden jerk.
He stared into the face of Hayanita.
Hayanita, who are you?
he said and sat up in his leaves.
Hayanita, you've gotten thin.
No one had called him Nick for years
except his dad.
He saw the tears pool in her eyes
and then she said, your little girl can
raise the dad.
His mouth fell open.
Hayanita?
Yes.
I said I'd come.
No more, no less and bring you home
alive.
The last time I saw you, you hadn't
passed four feet.
You must be eighteen now.
He pushed the hair back from her brow.
It's really you.
Did you come by yourself?
Yes.
Why?
Do you want to die?
Why?
This city is a pit.
It blinds the young with dazzling names then
binds and swallows them alive.
I'm here to bring you home, she said.
It's clear you don't belong.
It's clear as mud.
Look, Haya.
You don't know the crud inside.
You don't know who I am.
Hear this, my brother.
I do damn those words and call them
lies.
It's you who don't know who you are.
It's true there is a mystery.
What makes you think the dazzled dupes and
fakes of Noash can declare the true and
wonderful design of who you are?
One knows, and only one, who Nikla is.
And when you're done with dabbling in the
darkness here, all dazzling as it is, the
clear, bright air of eastern skies will bring
you home to him.
And I will sing.
Awake, O sleeper from the grave.
You are a son and not a slave.
They sat in silence for a long, long
time.
He was amazed how strong this little girl
of eight had grown.
And then she changed her look and tone.
He built a porch just after you had
left.
It faces west.
We knew what it was for.
He'll be there, Nik.
And will not quench a smoldering wick.
Come home with me.
Even tonight.
I have some bread.
The moon is bright.
It's cooler in the dark and we can
sleep by day.
Please, come with me.
And quietly, the fetters and the folly fell.
She took his hand and where he had
before said no a hundred times, he said,
let's go.
Come, children, carry fire and make this candle
blaze and may Christ take this second flame
and with it burn up every hopeless word
and turn the fatal dream of false despair
into the bright and living air that blows
down from the Father's farm.
And may you feel the mighty arm of
God lift you into the light of truth
and put an end to night.
We do not know ourselves aright until we
have the Father's light.
We think we know ourselves and groan until
we know as we are known.