The Pain that Made Her Beautiful

PMHB ch18 (Pic of Avel)

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Neorah knelt. She intertwined her fingers and brought them up to her chin and looked up at the thunderheads that that were slowly rolling in overhead.

Neorah was just out side the wagon she now began to know as home. Whether she liked it or not, she was here, so it was better not to complain about it. She was so desperate for Nayeli to just know that what she had just said would hurt God so much. How would she show Nayeli that?

“God, Jesus, my God, my Father, my Saving Grace. Please, Lord, show Nayeli that you really are there. She is just so headstrong, though, I guess I can’t blame her, that’s how she has had to survive, as a stone: she gives no love because she has never known any. God, I know Your love has no boundaries, never failing, and always there when any of us call for You. Jesus, my parents met You and knew Your disciples well and ate at the hill where You broke the bread and said a prayer to Your Father and fed the masses. They taught me Your will, Your words, they brought me up in Your love. Please, God, please, show her! Her body has been maimed permanently and will never be the same without Your blessing and divine providence,” Neorah turned her face downward and closed her eyes, letting tears fall, “I just want her to know Your grace and know Your kingdom after her small candle of life flickers out. Please, God, please.”

Neorah stood, wiping her eyes and felt a peace settle on her soul. It was, as though God was making it clear to her that He would undoubtedly answer her prayer, when, Neorah did not know.

She turned and saw a German holding a crumpled piece of deep red cloth. It was a beautiful color, like the sunset. It wouldn’t be so beautiful to Neorah for much longer, however.

“Here,” the German said, thrusting the cloth outwards, proffering it so Neorah would take it, “you’re to put this on and report to that tent,” the German soldier pointed to a large white canvas that was still collapsed in some areas, “you’ll be instructed from there on what to do.”

Neorah took the bundle from the German’s arms and went around to the back of her home and crawled in. There were already two other girls of about her age in the wagon changing in to bundles much like her own. All were richly colored and very vibrant, either earthy tones or those you would expect to see in a sunset, excluding purples, of course.

Neorah opened the bundle and a beige piece of cloth fell out. Neorah knelt and picked up what she found to be a sash. She pulled open the deep red cloth and found it to be a simple, sleeveless pullover gown,

Neorah took off her faded, dusty green shawl. Then, she untied her brown sash, letting it fall to the wooden floor beneath her sandals. Neorah unwrapped her long toga that was a faded, dusty, and stained blue.

Neorah slipped the gown over her head and tied the beige sash around her slender waist. When Neorah looked down, she was appalled! The gown had a neck to it that was cut rudimentarily and went into a low v-neck. That was not the worst of it. The gown hung to her knees, but a slit, again cut in a crude fashion, went up to her lower hip. She was so embarrassed to have such an exploitive piece of clothing on and bent down and picked up her shall, wrapping it around her shoulders and chest, draping it over her right side to cover most of the slit. She, cautious not to show anything that she didn’t want seen, got out of the high wagon and made her way over to the white canvas tent to receive further instruction.

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Nayeli lay on her stomach. Her arms were ticked tightly into her sides, her body straight as a pencil. She would have looked as though she were sleeping peacefully to the untrained eye. Nayeli’s eyes were searching behind her eyelids. For what, Nayeli did not know.

The world around Nayeli’s body was going hectic enough; however, the world behind her eyes was chaotic, horrific, frightening, cruel, and crude. She was so scared. Nayeli was running that is all she knew. She knew neither what nor whom she was running from, just that she was.

She wore a snow-white gown, in the Egyptian fashion. She wore a simple Roman necklace that was gold. The necklace, in about inch intervals, had a single pearl hanging and, with each pearl that was in sequence toward the middle of her chest, there was another pearl added to that interval. Nayeli had two to three golden bracelets on each wrist, which jangled every time she ran another step. Nayeli’s sandals were dyed black and had a strap that went in between her big toes and next toe in. The strap bisected on the top of her mid foot and went to the sole of the sandal, where it was fastened, and doubled back on to the top of the foot, where the straps would criss-cross. They then went the backs of her heels, criss-crossing behind her heel, and were fastened to the sole. The straps were then wrapped all the way up her mid calves, where they were tied. Nayeli’s long black hair was tied back into an extravagant braid that was pinned in a spiral around the back of her head with golden pins that had precious stones, like jade, aquamarine, sapphires, opals, rubies, and others, on the tips. She looked like a princess of the Nile who lived in the Roman Emperor’s palace.

There was a hand that chased her. It was not of flesh and blood, but like a memory or dream. It was like a black smoke was formed, shaped and angled to a hand looking thing, now chasing her. Nayeli ran, faster and faster, but to no avail. No matter how much ground she traversed, the space between Nayeli and the black hand was, ever so slowly, getting smaller and smaller. It was almost as if, the faster Nayeli ran, the quicker the space minimized.

Nayeli’s eyes snapped open from her dream at the sound of rustling fabric. It was only Avel. He was sitting on his small stool, leaning his back against the table that was covered in maps, papers, and other even more papers. He leaned his head forward and put his head in his hands. The flap to the tent opened and a soldier came through and poured steaming water into a washtub that was in the corner of the tent. Seconds later, another soldier came through with another large, steaming jug of water. Another soldier followed him. The soldier walked behind a female captive who was carrying a small pitcher full of something Nayeli couldn’t identify. She poured what, Nayeli assumed to be, scented oils in to the washtub.

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Avel stood. The girl they had brought was ravishing. She had chocolate brown hair that was pulled back into a loose braid that hung to her mid-thighs. She had an olive undertone in her bronzed skin that looked as soft as Cupid’s feathered wings. She had deep brown eyes and a slender build. Her dress, as all the other girls who were captives in the camp, was a low cut v-neck and had a long slit cut up from the bottom of the deep red gown that hung to just below her knees. Her hands were gentle as a mother’s would be, but strong from working. Her slender waist was accentuated by a simple beige sash that was tied on her left hip, opposite side of the slit.

She had something about her that was so… just so beautiful, as though she were the very first sunrise you see after a hard rain: pure, true, and clean. So clean and innocent was she that Avel felt almost ashamed to be in her presence, as though every wrong, every sin, and every unclean moment of his life was laid bare and he couldn’t run from it.

When she bent and poured the oils and perfumes in to his washtub, Avel turned and nodded to the men and they exited through the tent, the two who brought the jugs of water in stopping outside the exit and sitting, guarding the happenings that may proceed for privacy.