God's Last Blessing
I wrote this one around 1993 or so, and thought I'd dust it off. Enjoy!
I cannot help what I am. I was raised from the earth, and my hands have been black with soil since I was but a young boy. But now the black on my hands has been mixed with red, and I have been cast away, cut off from all my family, all my friends, and from all of humanity itself.
I work with the soil. I take pleasure in the riches produced from the earth, and from the sheer bounty of the land. From composted manures doth arise great fruit trees, grape vines, and the meaner tuber vegetables. From rotted vegetation springs forth a new crop of legumes, berries, and gourds. This renewal is a constant reminder of the eternal life I have been denied.
The great God had blessed me with favourable growing conditions during the last growing season. The rains had been gentle, and the sun had coaxed young seedlings up into full golden heads of wheat. They grew, unplagued by insects or by disease, and they were beautiful. The weevil did not devour my grains, and the beetles left off their attacks upon my legumes and tubers. In gratitude for the generosity of my God, I harvested the best of my crops to offer in supplication. I culled the plumpest red grapes, largest black olives, most milky-juiced figs, and the longest, straightest carrots. The gourds I offered to my God were smooth, round, and hollow, lacking any soft spots or mildew. The pomegranates I offered were filled with luscious seeds, and the blood-red juice flowed from them in ample amounts. I also offered five skins of the finest red wine, pouring the libation at the foot of my altar to God.
But God spurned my offerings. He sent down his blessing of fire upon the slaughtered sheep which lay upon the altar of my brother, these the very sheep that had grown fat on the clover of my own fields that now lay fallow. The wine-soaked ground of my altar was ignored, and God cast the fruits of my labour onto the ground, smashing the gourds and crushing the figs and pomegranates under the very sandals of my own brother. Is it unjustifiable that I grew jealous? Is it wrong that I burned with anger?
But God could read the trembling of my limbs for the anger they contained, and he spoke down to me, saying, "Why are you so hot with anger, and why has your countenance fallen? If you turn to doing good, will there not be an exaltation? But if you do not turn to doing good, there is sin crouching at the entrance, and for you is its craving; and will you, for your part, get the mastery over it?"
And I stood still, the heat of anger burning hot within me, and I did not answer my God. My brother looked upon me with his expression of exaltation, and he held no pity for me, no, not even for his own brother. He taunted me, and he gave forth the decree that only the meat and flesh of the finest slaughtered beasts could be offered henceforth to God in sacrifice. And he proceeded to kick my ruined crops away from where he stood, and he offered to trade two of his yearling rams for twenty skins of my wine, saying that if the wine held no value for God, it did hold value with him. But he held no pity for me, for he did know that twenty skins of wine did contain more time and care in their preparation than did two yearling rams who are cared for by their dams.
And even still did I burn with a righteous and unholy anger, and I did proceed to say to my brother, "Let us go over into the field where your sheep graze upon my clover." And my brother did proceed to walk with me, gloating in his approval in the eyes of God. At the edge of the field I did pick up a large sharp-edged rock, and I did strike my brother over his head with it. As he lay prone on the ground with the blood pouring forth from his head, I proceeded to choke the very life from him, strangling him with the cord that I use as my belt. And my brother I let lay at the side of my field, amongst the dung and rotted vegetation of a compost heap. Then I did leave the field, and I scraped up the ruined remains of my God-spurned sacrifice, and I did add these remains to the compost heap which bordered my clover field.
But while I was walking back to my home, God did approach me and ask me where my brother, his favoured son, was. And I still felt my anger, and I answered him in a lie. I said that I did not know where my brother was, and I asked if I was to be my brother's keeper. But God knew that I lied, and he cursed me twice. He banished me from my family, and he forbade me the very ground that I had so grown to love and respect.
The punishment was too heavy for me to bear, and I begged for protection. For as a man hated even by God, I would be hunted down and killed just as I had schemed to kill my own brother. But God proved to be lenient, and he granted me protection against murder and violence by branding my face with a burning sigil.
With that I left my home with my wife and I travelled far to the east, learning to be a hunter and a gatherer. No longer will the ground grow my crops, for God either takes away the rain or he sends so much that it rots the heads off my wheat and mildews my gourds. The blackness of the soil is gone from my hands, but even if I cannot see it, the redness of the blood remains. My children grow spindly like the ill-fated grains, and several have died during drought and famine.
God has kept with his contract with me, that he should protect me from violent death, but I feel no obligation toward him. I do not offer sacrifices to him. I do not pour libations to him. My children do not know him, but we do know what it means to have been denied eternal life. We rejoice that we have not been cursed thus.
One of my sons has proven to be a great hunter. He does not know what it is to work the earth. He never partakes of the fruits of the soil. He slays antelope, zebras, and the great lions of the plains. He has slain many enemies, and he has even slain one of his own brothers after a heated dispute. I do not fear for him, for he has no fear himself. While I lay as fallow as my clover fields, my son abounds with fertile life. His family is large. He has three wives and many sons, and even among his enemies he is revered even as he is feared.
He has become like God himself. I fear him as I fear God. I loathe him as I loathe God. But even as God protects me, so too does my son protect me. In my old age he brings me meat, cheese, and milk. In my old age he brings me the bread and beer he has traded from foreign lands. In this way does he preserve me alive, and in this way does he prolong God's curse upon me.
When I die I know I will join my slaughtered son. I will join him as bones in the earth. I will become as a sterile seed in the ground, and no growth shall shoot forth from me. The ground where I lay buried will forever lie desolate, for although I have been denied life to time indefinite, I have been granted eternal death.
I cannot help what I am. I was raised from the earth, and my hands have been black with soil since I was but a young boy. But now the black on my hands has been mixed with red, and I have been cast away, cut off from all my family, all my friends, and from all of humanity itself.
I work with the soil. I take pleasure in the riches produced from the earth, and from the sheer bounty of the land. From composted manures doth arise great fruit trees, grape vines, and the meaner tuber vegetables. From rotted vegetation springs forth a new crop of legumes, berries, and gourds. This renewal is a constant reminder of the eternal life I have been denied.
The great God had blessed me with favourable growing conditions during the last growing season. The rains had been gentle, and the sun had coaxed young seedlings up into full golden heads of wheat. They grew, unplagued by insects or by disease, and they were beautiful. The weevil did not devour my grains, and the beetles left off their attacks upon my legumes and tubers. In gratitude for the generosity of my God, I harvested the best of my crops to offer in supplication. I culled the plumpest red grapes, largest black olives, most milky-juiced figs, and the longest, straightest carrots. The gourds I offered to my God were smooth, round, and hollow, lacking any soft spots or mildew. The pomegranates I offered were filled with luscious seeds, and the blood-red juice flowed from them in ample amounts. I also offered five skins of the finest red wine, pouring the libation at the foot of my altar to God.
But God spurned my offerings. He sent down his blessing of fire upon the slaughtered sheep which lay upon the altar of my brother, these the very sheep that had grown fat on the clover of my own fields that now lay fallow. The wine-soaked ground of my altar was ignored, and God cast the fruits of my labour onto the ground, smashing the gourds and crushing the figs and pomegranates under the very sandals of my own brother. Is it unjustifiable that I grew jealous? Is it wrong that I burned with anger?
But God could read the trembling of my limbs for the anger they contained, and he spoke down to me, saying, "Why are you so hot with anger, and why has your countenance fallen? If you turn to doing good, will there not be an exaltation? But if you do not turn to doing good, there is sin crouching at the entrance, and for you is its craving; and will you, for your part, get the mastery over it?"
And I stood still, the heat of anger burning hot within me, and I did not answer my God. My brother looked upon me with his expression of exaltation, and he held no pity for me, no, not even for his own brother. He taunted me, and he gave forth the decree that only the meat and flesh of the finest slaughtered beasts could be offered henceforth to God in sacrifice. And he proceeded to kick my ruined crops away from where he stood, and he offered to trade two of his yearling rams for twenty skins of my wine, saying that if the wine held no value for God, it did hold value with him. But he held no pity for me, for he did know that twenty skins of wine did contain more time and care in their preparation than did two yearling rams who are cared for by their dams.
And even still did I burn with a righteous and unholy anger, and I did proceed to say to my brother, "Let us go over into the field where your sheep graze upon my clover." And my brother did proceed to walk with me, gloating in his approval in the eyes of God. At the edge of the field I did pick up a large sharp-edged rock, and I did strike my brother over his head with it. As he lay prone on the ground with the blood pouring forth from his head, I proceeded to choke the very life from him, strangling him with the cord that I use as my belt. And my brother I let lay at the side of my field, amongst the dung and rotted vegetation of a compost heap. Then I did leave the field, and I scraped up the ruined remains of my God-spurned sacrifice, and I did add these remains to the compost heap which bordered my clover field.
But while I was walking back to my home, God did approach me and ask me where my brother, his favoured son, was. And I still felt my anger, and I answered him in a lie. I said that I did not know where my brother was, and I asked if I was to be my brother's keeper. But God knew that I lied, and he cursed me twice. He banished me from my family, and he forbade me the very ground that I had so grown to love and respect.
The punishment was too heavy for me to bear, and I begged for protection. For as a man hated even by God, I would be hunted down and killed just as I had schemed to kill my own brother. But God proved to be lenient, and he granted me protection against murder and violence by branding my face with a burning sigil.
With that I left my home with my wife and I travelled far to the east, learning to be a hunter and a gatherer. No longer will the ground grow my crops, for God either takes away the rain or he sends so much that it rots the heads off my wheat and mildews my gourds. The blackness of the soil is gone from my hands, but even if I cannot see it, the redness of the blood remains. My children grow spindly like the ill-fated grains, and several have died during drought and famine.
God has kept with his contract with me, that he should protect me from violent death, but I feel no obligation toward him. I do not offer sacrifices to him. I do not pour libations to him. My children do not know him, but we do know what it means to have been denied eternal life. We rejoice that we have not been cursed thus.
One of my sons has proven to be a great hunter. He does not know what it is to work the earth. He never partakes of the fruits of the soil. He slays antelope, zebras, and the great lions of the plains. He has slain many enemies, and he has even slain one of his own brothers after a heated dispute. I do not fear for him, for he has no fear himself. While I lay as fallow as my clover fields, my son abounds with fertile life. His family is large. He has three wives and many sons, and even among his enemies he is revered even as he is feared.
He has become like God himself. I fear him as I fear God. I loathe him as I loathe God. But even as God protects me, so too does my son protect me. In my old age he brings me meat, cheese, and milk. In my old age he brings me the bread and beer he has traded from foreign lands. In this way does he preserve me alive, and in this way does he prolong God's curse upon me.
When I die I know I will join my slaughtered son. I will join him as bones in the earth. I will become as a sterile seed in the ground, and no growth shall shoot forth from me. The ground where I lay buried will forever lie desolate, for although I have been denied life to time indefinite, I have been granted eternal death.