THE DOUBLE EDGE SWORD AND THE DEPUTY MARSHALL

We had agreed to meet behind Stoney’s Distillery at midnight. I arrived early. Fireflies aluminated the night and angry mosquitoes feasted on flesh. From where I looked, the lights inside were off and the loading area was chained. No workers. I continued a few hundred yards from the building between giant Cedar Trees, and along a twisted muddied path leading into the shadows, and eventually secured my camel to an abandoned well. Prostitutes weren’t allowed to meet publicly, and only allowed to do business in Eretz, which had the largest Prostitute Temple, east of Jericho. In the distance, the top of the trees swayed in the wind whispering of a change in the weather and more rain to come. I fetched water from the well and poured a few gallons for my camel. And waited for Aviv.

ONE HOUR LATER, she finally emerged between the trees. I was pissed. “Make me wait again and I’ll break your jaw with the end of my sword,” I said. She was 27, brunette, thin, tall, curved, brown eyed, cinnamon skin, and an Edomite. Jewish men, typically, did not sleep with Edomites because they worshipped foreign gods. But, long as they worshiped the members below my belt, I couldn’t care less about doctrine. I was an equal opportunity enthusiast. She had a medium sized tote hanging from her shoulder and reached into it, removing a small jardiniere—a decorated pot made for plants—and placed it at my feet. Her miniature garden revealed a cluster of freshly sprouted barley.

Calmly she said, “Zohba, forget my jaw. I’m pregnant. And the baby is yours.”

My eyebrows said otherwise. “What? Bullshit it is. Look. Let’s get this over with.” I kicked the pot of barley to the side, fracturing the orange rim.

Her voice cracking, she said, “I urinated on seeds of wheat and on seeds of barley 5 days ago. And… uh…well… the barley sprouted first.” She knelt and corrected the pot upright, placing the chipped piece back on the rim. It obeyed. She then gently placed the pot back at my feet. “Zohbah, a man-child is in my womb and the sprouted barley you’ve kicked serves as proof.”

I grabbed a licorice stick from my pocket, calculating, and began removing the bark. “How do I know, Aviv, that this isn’t someone else’s urine and someone else’s barley? And hell, if you’re really pregnant, someone else’s kid? You’re a prostitute crying out loud. Or, did you forget?” I sunk my teeth hard into the licorice stick, weakening the bark.

Her eyes watering, she said, “Did I forget?”

“Correct, Aviv. Did you forget or you retired now?”

She wiped her tears and said, “Each day I give my body to the flames and cowards like you are the embers fueling the fire. Raca—she unleashed Aramaic curses on me—if i’m a prostitute, Zohbah, that’s fine. But, tell me. What about the men who sleep with them?

With the licorice stick screwed in the corner of my mouth, I said, “Cry me a Nile. We both know the truth. You saw the color and stripes on my tunic, and gathered I was a high ranking official. And you took your shot. It’s what prostitutes do. But, that’s beside the point. You’re not in the business of babies and have probably swallowed more than your share.” I spat a two inch licorice bark at her feet and glared. “Now, listen, you lice-infested whore. After tonight, disappear. And if I see you again, I’ll pop you like the pimple you are. Understand?” My eyes were on fire. I walked away and untied my camel, and stepped on the stirrup to mount the beast.

She removed her shawl, uncovering her head, and revealed her long red hair. She was stunning. “Popping?”, she said, “I’m not afraid of you, Zohbah.”

I tugged on the camel’s leather halters, instructing the beast her way. I Towered over her and said, “The previous bitch thought the same. And today she’s munching gravel.”

She glared and weighed her next words carefully. “The last bitch, Zohbah, wasn’t me. And clearly the last bitch didn’t know the law.” Her voice now had bass. “Infidelity by a sworn official is punishable by death. Or, did you forget, big boy, you can be popped, too.” The ground made a sound. It was the fractured piece of the jardiniere. It disobeyed and fell. She looked at it and managed a smile. “Or, explaining to your wife, how another woman knows, her husband owns a single testicle, is a better option. But, I’ll leave that up to you.” At this, I clenched my jaw and thought wild things. I dismounted my camel and invaded her space. We were nose to nose. Until she stepped back.

“What? Gonna hit me again, man of God?” She said. Her anger was strong like the winds, fighting to dislodge immovable objects. “You’re a fraud, Zohbah, policing the city and guarding politicians, with scriptures tatted on your biceps. When, really, you’re basically a cheating husband dealing with chronic addictions.”

I’d been a government official 13 years and looked forward to promotion. My resume was impeccable and politicians loved me. I knew everybody. Even the religious leaders. I’d attend lectures and participated in food drives. I’d even protect triage centers during riots, and protected the homes of dignitaries fearful of insurrections. I was that guy. At least during the day. And worked hard to keep it that way.

She said, “A year and a half we’ve been fornicating. And to be clear, during that time, I’ve slept with just you. Yes, just you. And there’s 55,000 reasons why.” She reached in her tote again, and this time, launched a small red bag at my chest. A sinner’s piggy bank. A coin for each lie I’ve told my wife. “Since we’ve met, Zohbah, you’ve paid me 55,000 shekels—three times what my peers earn, and for them, requires ten times the men. Think about that. Why would I sleep with other demons like yourself, when one demon is traumatic enough.”

I dropped the bag of coins to my feet and looked at it. What the hell did I just do, I thought. I then raised my eyes, balled my hand, and struck her in the face. She grunted and fell. I stood over and said, “Two people can keep a secret, my pops taught me. But one of them better be dead. I’ll kill you, Aviv. Hear me? Dead. Like dead-dead”

Blood trickled from her eye as she palmed her face and stumbled back to her feet. With her lip quivering, she said, “You’re too late, Zohbah. I’ve been dead long before meeting you. And what’s in my womb will now be dead also. Go on, Zohba. Go on to your family. Hug them. And pretend all is well with your heart. And forget I said anything.” Aviv turned and headed toward the muddied path and disappeared into the thick twisting branches—leaving behind the bag of shekels and barley. I could still see the tears mixed with blood on her face, even as I headed home, 6 miles south, on the king’s highway.

Scene Two

ELEVEN MONTHS LATER, a new King was inaugurated and his court room was immaculate. The walls were made of white marble from the quarries of Egypt, and carved into them were detailed images of doves and angels. The ceilings were high. And white-and-blue, twelve foot flags, proudly swung from the rafters. The King’s bench was massive. It was made entirely of Gold and positioned six feet above everyone. A group of lawyers discussed strategies, as sad relatives negotiated on behalf of loved ones. Others combed through documents tactically searching for evidence on who’d done what or who hadn’t. Overall, though, the youth out numbered the heads with gray hair. However, most were self-represented—poor folks—limping in a legal safari filled with roaming lions.

A year earlier, I had been promoted to Deputy Marshall by the previous administration. And it was my highest achievement, yet. At precisely 9:00 am, a staff member handed me a stack of dockets. I placed them at my post, secured my sword, and addressed the room. “All rise. The Court of Israel is now in session, the Honorable King Solomon presiding." He was 6 foot 8, athletic built, with a long black beard. He was incredibly wealthy and dressed as splendidly as the flowers in his botanicals. And his crown had twelve stones—one for each tribe of Israel. Known in the region for heavenly wisdom, The King was revered and ruled with a balanced scale by his side made of gold. It was 4 feet wide. And before the start of every case, He’d pre-load jasper marbles, from a velvet bag, weighing 8 ounces each, and placed them all on one side, leaving the other side of the scale empty and unbalanced.

As the King took his thrown, he frowned and nodded, and a guard immediately shut two large exit doors. He then turned and nodded again, and another servant began sweeping a cool breeze in his direction with large fans made of Ostrich feathers. All the right strings were being pulled. He then reached for his gavel, smashed it, and ordered everyone to be seated. The round had begun.

He scanned the room and counted heads with his eyes, calculating the hours needed to clear the room. He then turned to me, nodded, and said, “Good Morning Mr. Zohbah. I’m ready. What is today’s first case?” I grabbed the first docket at the top of the pile and scanned the document. Something about a dead baby. I then turned to the second page. And almost wet my pants. “Mr. Zohbah, perhaps before the Messiah returns?” Patience was thin. I buried the docket at the bottom of the stack and reached for another. “Mr. Zohbah, question. Was the first docket cursed?” I shook my head and kept my eyes fixed on the stack. He tapped his bench. “Alright. Then today, Bailiff. Let’s go.” I retrieved the initial docket at the bottom of the stack and announced the case, reluctantly.

I cleared my throat and said, “Your Honor, my Lord. In the matter between Plaintiff, Aviv Goshen, and Defendant, Tamar Cohen, both parties are disputing a homicide of a new-born infant in the district of Canaan.” After speaking her name, my heart dropped to my stomach. Was she also here for me, I thought. And why didn’t she abort the baby. I resumed to my post and attempted to hide behind one of the hanging flags. But, the King’s assistant wasn’t helpful. Her feathers produced a constant breeze and caused the flag to bob and weave, exposing my face—along with my guilt. As the flag brushed my face every few seconds, I finally mustered the courage to gaze across the court room. We locked eyes. And Aviv’s stare burned a whole through my soul.

The King reviewed the docket and addressed them. “Mrs. Aviv, please remove your shawl when you address the court. And Mrs. Tamar, good morning to you. Know, you’ll have your chance in a moment. But, for now sit tight.” Her red hair fell to her shoulders as she stepped forward, alone. And her face was still as stunning as before. The King continued. “A person who represents themselves in court, has a fool for a client.” He grimaced. “Nevertheless. What is your account of events, Mrs. Aviv ?” He then reached for an 8 ounce jasper marble from the left side of the scale, reclined in his seat, and crossed his leg. The floor was hers.

With her chin tucked and lips quivering, she said, “Pardon me, my lord. This woman and I live in the same house, and I had a baby while she was there with me.” The King suddenly raised his hand and interrupted her mid-sentence. And asked about the father’s whereabouts. Aviv lifted her chin, wiped her tears, calculated, and then looked in my direction. The food in my stomach rose to my mouth. But, after seconds passed, the King jokingly reassured her, that clearly, his Deputy Marshall isn’t the father. And, instead, she’d do better keeping focus on her testimony. As the King said this, a snot-nosed youth sitting in the back row, maybe in his early 20’s, suggested perhaps, it might be him, who’s the actual father. And if he wasn’t, he’d be willing to practice. The court room erupted with laughter as Aviv hung her shoulders. And to avoid further suspicion, I joined the circus and laughed just as hard. Yet, still. All I could think was how terribly wrong they were and how terribly right she was. The King smashed his gavel and demanded order. Silence fell over the court and Aviv continued her account.

“Pardon me, my Lord. Just, that, losing my child… has been… has been… difficult.” The tears continued and King Solomon sympathized allowing her to gather herself. “Both of us our prostitutes, My Lord. And while I cannot speak for Mrs. Tamar, and because I’ve been with so many men, it’s impossible for me to point who the father is.” She lifted her chin and again glanced in my direction. But briefly this time, as if sparing my life. The food in my mouth retreated. And the King nodded at her in approval and placed the first marble on the scale. Wisdom was at work. But so was folly. The dispute continued.

She wiped her nose with tissue and said, “as I was saying, my Lord. The third day after my child was born, this woman also had a baby. We were alone. There was no one in the house but the two of us. During the night this woman’s son died because she lay on him. So she got up in the middle of the night and took my son from my side while I slept. She put him by her breast and put her dead son by my breast.” Aviv glared at the other woman and said, “Have you no shame? That’s my son you’re holding and you know it”. The other woman hurled profanities in return and had to be restrained. The king smashed his gavel and called to order.

Aviv lowered her voice and said, “My apologies King… but.. but.. the next morning… when I got up to nurse my son—the child was dead! But when I looked at him closely in the morning light, I saw that it wasn’t the son I had borne and…” The King lifted his index finger and Aviv knew the drill. She paused. Solomon then dropped another 8 ounce marble on the scale and calculated his next question.

Running his fingers through his long beard, he said, “Tell me. What’s the boys name?” Both mothers answered simultaneously. The babies name was either Asher or Elijah. But it couldn’t be both. The King raised his index again. “Alright. I think I see what’s going on here. Mrs. Tamar, please step forward,”. She was dressed in all black and had a refrigerated voice. She wasn’t ugly. But she also wasn’t beautiful. And a gold bracelet in the form of a serpent wrapped her left forearm. And in the right, a baby rested peacefully. And could possibly be mines.

The King continued. “Mrs. Tamar, since you’re ready for blows, and because the first to speak always appears right, that is, until another comes along and gives their side, the court is ready to hear your version of events.” The third marble sat in the King’s hand, as the scale teeter tottered, almost balanced. Tamar denied the first account, claiming the living son was hers and the dead one was Aviv’s. But, Aviv insisted and held her position—the live child was hers and the dead one was Tamar’s. And so they argued viciously before the King. Tamar spat at Aviv, and in return, Aviv spat back. The King smashed his gavel and called to order, again. But this time warning them with contempt.

He uncrossed his leg and said, “I’ve heard enough. This one says, ‘My son is alive and your son is dead,’ while that one says, ‘No! Your son is dead and mine is alive’. But I’ll do you both one better.” The king stood and pointed at me. “Zohbah, I command the living child be cut in half with your sword and give each mother a half. The audience gasped and whispered to one another. And I wondered which sin was greater: not fathering my son or killing him. My heart pounded as I pulled my sword from my sheath and stood before the mothers.

Talking through her teeth to avoid being heard, Aviv said, “Coward. I swear if you raise that sword, I’m telling everything”. Her eyes were filled with water. Tamar, stood to my right, and after hearing Aviv, squinted as if solving the mystery. Surely she would speak out. So I hurried. I grabbed the new born by the ankle from Tamar’s arm, held him upside down, tightened the grip on my hilt, clenched my jaw, closed my eyes, and raised the sword north with torque and speed. The baby weighed less than a pillow and had a full set of black hair. His arms jerked around and he began to cry. Everyone in the court room stood and either clapped their mouths or covered their eyes. And it was then I realized I was indeed a coward.

But Aviv being deeply moved with love for her son, jumped on my torso. She raised her arm risking the sword and allowed her shoulder to take the impact. My forearm collided with her neck knocking her to the ground. She grunted and wrapped her arms around my boot and said, “Please, my Lord, give the living baby to Tamar! Don’t kill him! Please I beg you!” But, Tamar being the Raven she was, pleaded the opposite. She insisted the ceremony continue, and the baby be cut in half. And neither mother be awarded the child.

The King’s eyes filled with fire. He rose to his feet, looked at the 8 ounce jasper marble in his right hand, and placed it on the scale. The unit slowly moved. The audience watched the scale anxiously, teeter tottering, back and forth. And there it happened. Equilibrium. A hush fell over the court. And only Aviv’s whimpers were heard from the cold granite floor. The King raised his right hand and stared into the audience.

Calmly he declared his ruling and said, “Give the living baby to Aviv. Do not kill him. She is the biological mother.” He then pointed to Tamar and calculated. “Honest scales belong to the Lord, Mrs. Tamar. And all the weights in the bag belong to him. Today I find you guilty of murder and kidnapping. You will spend the rest of your days chained to a wall, giving birth to regret.” He smashed his gavel and ordered Aviv be given resources for emotional and physical damages. Guards swept Tamar away as she kicked and screamed and pleaded, threatening the King to reconsider. He ignored and took a recess. And ordered the court be emptied. Aviv signed papers and exited immediately through the crowd, whimpering along, and calling the babies name—Asher—and how much she loved him. The audience cheered and sung a song of justice, clapping and enthralled by the King’s verdict.

By the time the room emptied I was alone. And stood frozen hypnotized by an almost-bloody sword, wondering what could’ve been. Aviv had solved her case, while mines, had just begun. I laid the sword on the granite floor and exited a convicted man.