Farmer of Stones

The farmer shifted slightly in his stance and his gaze hardened, his
eyes quivering as he looked down upon the valley of shale. The land
there was sterile, the steep slope running down in deep, scarred crags
of earth. Down below the air was still and stagnant and the sun heated
the rocks until they glowed a dusky yellow. "This?" the farmer asked as
he shook his bony hand at the valley. His voice came weakly from his
throat, so the woman standing beside him, and twining her fingers
between the farmer's own, could barely hear his words. But she didn't
want or need to hear her husband. The land's skeletal crop spoke for
him and filled the woman with sorrow and despair. "I'm driven from my
own land, land which was green and ready with my harvest, to this. I
was told it would be good land, Malina, as good as the land we left.
Otherwise I would have stayed and fought for my land. I have been
tricked." When his wife said nothing, the farmer grew sick and wanted
to look to his wife, but he was afraid to meet her eyes. He felt
flooded with shame for bringing her with him, for insisting she stay by
his side. He had brought her along because he was afraid to leave her,
because he was afraid of being alone.

"Praise God for sparing us," said the farmer's wife.

"But it is a slow death he has given us, not a saviour."

"What could you do?" she asked her husband. "Ambibulus ordered the land
seized and all who stayed were killed. Could you believe that the land
they gave us would be fertile? The Romans wanted your land to feed
their soldiers and you told them no. So they took what you had. Lucky
they let us keep our lives. But this land is dead. Nothing will grow
here. We should leave before we use up more of our water and supplies.
Beersheba is but two days ride south-west of here." The farmer
contemplated leaving, but noticed the punishing tone in his wife's
voice. If he was to turn back now, the two of them would be homeless
and they would be forced to beg in the city. His wife, keen with
discerning the thoughts under her husband's eyes said, "We can go to my
cousin's home. I'm sure he will employ us." Her cousin, always her
cousin, thought the farmer. His resolve began to harden and he began to
envision a victory over the valley they had been sent to die in.

"Your cousin can barely feed his wife and children. If we did go to him
he would take us in, but there would not be enough food and eight
people would starve instead of only two." The farmer's wife knew her
cousin had enough food to feed them, but she said nothing. "Look over
there! A small stream is running through the rocks--"

"No," said his wife in despair. "That's sunlight reflecting." She felt
her heartbeat quicken with the thought that her husband might actually
stay.

"No. I'm sure its water," he said as he took a step down into the
valley. He ran down the rim of the valley as sunlight skipped of the
plates of rock around him. "I'll turn some of these over and see what's
beneath them." He bent down and with a heavy grunt slowly pulled a
large flat rock up from its earthen bed. "Look, Malina. There is good
earth underneath, but these rocks have kept it from fertilising. In a
day, I can clear the valley and begin planting my seeds. If we work
hard we'll be able to make the land grow."

"You should come back up and pray with me, and ask God to bring us a
miracle," said the farmer's wife. "We must ask God for his
mercy."

"I have no time. Bring the donkey down with you and start unpacking. I
will start working right away," said the man as he lifted up another
stone, tossing it near the first. Sweat dripped from his brow, but the
bead of saltwater was gone before it could touch the earth.

The woman did not obey her husband right away and knelt on the earth
asking for God's mercy.

A week passed and the farmer and his wife worked diligently to clear
the valley so that it would be ready to accept their crop. They built
an overhang on the northern rim of the valley for here there was a
little shade and here they slept and the wife cooked meals while the
farmer worked. The farmer worked as if possessed and did not stop
labouring during Sabbath, though his wife pleaded. In two days he was
able to clear the valley of all the stones, piling them in the far
southern corner of the valley. The next day he spent planting the seeds
of his crop, in straight, vertical rows across the valley. As he
planted, he noticed that there were more stones underneath the first
layer of rocks and dirt, but he didn't want to frighten his wife so he
kept the knowledge secret. When the day was over and the sun had
mercifully disappeared, he laid by his wife, kissing her forehead
repeatedly and thanking her for believing in him. "This will work out,
Malina. After the first harvest we will have money again and can build
you a real home."

"If you really believe this you will lay with me and give me a child,"
said the farmer's wife. They had been trying for a child for a long
time, but had given up when none had come.

"You want to try again?" asked the farmer as he glanced from his wife
out into the shadowed valley.

"Yes. One more time. If God favours us with fertility, he will also
favour your land and make it fertile."

Months later the farmer had grown sullen for he could tell his crop
would not be successful. His wife was much more happy and contented and
her plump belly rose just enough to reveal pregnancy.

"I wish it would rain," the farmer said as he sat sulking at his crop,
the shoots of wheat sparsely growing in the stony soil. "If it would
rain, my crop would be saved."

"It is a poor month for rain, for the sun has soaked up all the sky's
liquid," said the farmer's wife. To her husband, she sounded very
contented as she rubbed her belly. "God has granted us one gift. If you
prayed as I did, he might also help you with your crop." But the farmer
ignored her.

"Why are you so happy? The baby will die if the crop does not come.
We'll have no money for its food. We will end up dead ourselves."

"We have enough food. The oasis you have found has fed us well,"
responded his wife.

"But it is too far away, and the most fish I am able to catch from it
are two a day. That is only enough for me and you."

"We should leave and go to my cousin's. We will find food for the baby
there," said the farmer's wife and admitted that this was something she
had been contemplating.

"No!" the farmer said, vehemently denying his wife. "I will not abandon
my crop."

"But what will you do when it does not grow?" asked the farmer's
wife.

"I will go to the holy man who lives in the caves east of here. Others
have gone to him asking for rain and were successful. If I bring him
some fish and the last of our money I should be able to buy the success
of my crop."

"But that man lives many days from here and I can't travel so far. You
should pray to God here, so I won't be left alone."

"I have never had any success in God," the man admitted. "My faith is
in my hands and what I know. This man, whose name is Hanani, speaks to
God personally. I will have much better chance if I go to him, so I
have to go, Malina. Understand, I can not live under another man's
roof. I can't be a servant to my own blood. I will go to Hanani and pay
him to bring rain to our valley."

"But what will I do while you are gone? The lake is too far for
me."

"I have been saving up fish, so you will have a basket full to eat
while I am gone. I have also filled several buckets of water for you to
drink from while I am away. Now I must leave."

"You will leave me and your child unprotected?"

"I am doing this so that our child will grow up strong, and so he will
be proud of his father. When I am dead, he will be able to inherit my
land."

"Go then, if this is what you've decided on. I am a woman, so what do I
know about the matters of men? But it would be better for you to pray
to God yourself. If you do go to Hanani, go with blessings and not with
money. With money you will bring the blessing of Beelzebub, and not
God. The price will be high if you use our last shekels."

"I will pay whatever he asks to save my crop," said the farmer. He took
the last of their money and, mounting the donkey, he left for the
caves.

When thunderclouds rolled like grey, air bound giants before the sun,
Malina knew her husband's trip had been successful. By the searing
pains from her groin and stomach, she also knew that her baby would
come soon. She lay prostrate under the shelter and looked out over the
valley, hoping to see her husband return.

When the thunderclouds erupted with rain, her pains grew worse, but she
was happy for she knew the elation in her husband's heart. Then her
husband's silhouette appeared on the rise of the valley and he was
leading the donkey behind him. After the sight of his wife, he ran down
into the valley and headed for their shelter.

"Its coming," his wife said with a fierce grin when he reached the
shelter. She huffed deep and repeatedly. "Please, bring the blanket, so
when he comes out I'll have something to hold him in."

"Yes. I'll do that," said her husband, but his eyes were on the rains
falling and drenching the valley and his sparse crop of wheat.
"I see Hanani sits close to God and has granted you your rain."

"Yes," said the farmer dejectedly. "Here is your blanket."

"Don't hand it to me," said the farmer's wife, her voice squeezed with
pain. "Put it beneath me and tell me when our child is born."

"I can see its head," said the farmer, glancing once at the baby, then
turning back to the rains and his crop. Above, the sun was breaking
through the clouds and its rays cast a red sheen on the rain.

"Good," said the farmer's wife. "Now put the blanket under me and when
the baby comes, wrap him gently in it." She saw her husband was not
looking at her and she called to him. "Why are you not helping me?" she
asked. "I can feel the baby is out of me. What is it. Tell me,
please."

"You were right about Hanani," the farmer said dejectedly out to his
field. Already he could tell that the crops were thriving in the rain
and the better soils. "Hanani's price is high. Not for the rains, but
because every shekel we owned could not pay to make the earth
fertile."

When the rains had cleared, the valley was yellow with wheat, but
Malina was barren.