JACOB
By marting
- 341 reads
Traffic. Was there anything worse? If there was, he'd yet to come
across it.
Travel was always a pain in this part of the world but the hammering
the roads had taken in recent weeks made it all the slower and more
uncomfortable. The roads had been jammed solid for what seemed days at
a time and to add to the irritation there seemed to be checkpoints
every few miles.
Up ahead everything seemed to have come to a total standstill for the
fourth time since noon. The routine was the same every time. Check
documents, check the load, ask a lot of pointless, petty questions,
give a nasty look and then wave you on.
Jacob seen it all before of course, having done this sort of run
hundreds of times in the past, with hundreds of different loads.
Textiles, oil, salt you name it, he had carried it.
The line of traffic started up again and crawled ahead for a few
hundred yards as a large group was let through all at once but then it
slowed, and once more, came to a halt.
He waited, patiently; he had no option really.
Interesting though, he thought, how some loads had a bit of extra
kudos, a feeling of doing something IMPORTANT for a change, even if
no-one else could tell what was up behind, under wraps. He knew, and
that was enough for him. He shifted position and stretched his aching
limbs while he had the chance.
Any day of the week you would see hundreds of carriers just like him,
going about their unglamorous business with a certain stubbornness.
They were all dirty, caked with the dust of the road and somewhat
shoddy in their appearance.
It could be a lot worse, he reflected. He knew plenty of others who
were forced to do the sort of work he had always been lucky enough to
avoid. Overweight loads, poorly secured; running through the night
without a break just to make deadlines for the boss; Long hours without
rest or proper refreshment breaks; He had heard some stories!
He felt himself fortunate to work for this one.
TRUST, that was the difference. To be trusted to do a good day's work
safely, efficiently without complaining and without expecting any
special treatment above the usual creature comforts. An honest day's
work for an honest..&;#8230;.
Hold on! They were on the move again!
Over the crest of the next hill he saw the little town ahead for the
first time. Nestling snugly in a range of low hills, and surrounded by
open country it was a cosy-looking place. He had never been here
himself but he knew a bit about it. Quite a historic town by all
accounts, some bigwig had been born here a couple of centuries back if
he remembered rightly.
Last lap then, should be in lodgings in time for supper!
The accommodation, wasn't the highest class, but it was better than
some he had been forced to use over the years and at least it was off
the main drag and away from the bustle of the ever-increasing crowds in
the centre of town.
At last, he felt he could shake off a bit of the dust of the road and
take a long refreshing draft of something cold and sharp. He felt a
quiet sense of satisfaction in a job well done, a safe delivery.
But what was going on now? A mob seemed to have gathered outside, some
of them shouting, demanding to be let in. He heard one of them saying
in no uncertain terms that he knew he was inside and he wasn't going
away until he'd seem for himself!
He couldn't understand why they were so intent on getting past the
door!
The landlord of the lodgings was doing his best and trying to convince
them that there was nothing to see but the were insistent, and becoming
increasingly determined by, the sound of the raised voices.
Farm workers, for the most part by the looks of them, but why here, why
now, and what did any of it have to do with him?
Just as it sounded as though the whole thing was going to get out of
hand the landlord relented and told the self-elected spokesman for the
mob that he could come in by all means, but it was a waste of time,
they weren't going to find what they were looking for, not here. And he
laughed, derisively.
Jacob stiffened in anticipation at the sound of the heavy door as it
creaked open on its massive hinges.
A face peered round the door, illuminated by a small torch and then he
could make out the figure of a man. He was dressed, as he had surmised
in rough work clothes, a piece of sacking loosely thrown over his
shoulder.
He was a man of the land that was for sure, as weathered and aged as
the scrubby trees that grew around these parts. But, within the
hardened features Jacob detected something else.
It was in the eyes!
The brusqueness of the man's shouted protestations a moment earlier
seemed out of character with the look of anticipation, almost of awe in
the man's eyes.
Jacob broke eye contact with the man, looked down and nodded at the
small bundle in front of him, the load he had carried safely and with
such care. He still couldn't quite understand what all the fuss was
about over something so small.
But here it was and, it seemed, there were a lot of people who thought
it was very important indeed.
The bundle stirred, a tiny arm poked out from the warmth inside and the
man stopped in his tracks and dropped to one knee.
Jacob too stirred in his place and looked on with an increasing feeling
of content. A job well done, he thought to himself, a safe delivery.
But what a fuss!
But then, what would he know, he was only a donkey.
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