Scene 11: The Ancient Book of Tobit

While Tobias worried that he had foolishly lost his father’s money, his father and mother worried that they had lost Tobias. Each morning, blind Tobit ran his fingers over the marks he had scratched on a wax tablet, counting the days. Each evening, he took up his stylus and scratched one more mark.

One morning Tobit heard the footsteps of his wife, Hannah, crossing the courtyard. At this time of day she left to take mended garments to her customers. Instead, she walked toward him.

He straightened, alert as she sat beside him and took the waxed tablet from his lap. “What is it?” he asked.

“The days required for a journey to Ragae have long passed,” she said. “Is it possible that Gabael refuses to release your money?”

Tobit nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible.”

“Perhaps Gabael is dead, and Tobias petitions someone else.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Perhaps Tobias lost the receipt.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper. “How well did we know his traveling companion. What’s his name?”

“Raphael.”

“Perhaps this Raphael turned on Tobias. Our son could be lying in some ditch mortally wounded. Or . . . or . . . dead for all we know.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Is that all you can say? It’s possible?” Hannah dropped the wax tablet into Tobit’s lap and rose.

He heard her sandals slap halfway across the stone yard. Then she stopped and wailed, “My child has perished! Oh, my child! Do I not care because I let you go, you, the light of my eyes!”

Tobit huffed. It was the light of his unseeing eyes that was gone. “Calm yourself, Hannah,” he said. “Tobias is young. This is his first journey away from us. Give him a few more days to discover the world.”

“Discover the world? Small comfort that is. He may choose to take the money and never return to us.”

Tobit leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s possible.”

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photograph courtesy morguefile.

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Scene 6: The Ancient Book of Tobit

With every step toward Raguel’s house, Tobias struggled to word his argument in a way that wouldn’t offend Raphael. Should he flatly refuse to let Raphael speak to Raguel about marriage? Or should he try to reason? Seven men had died trying to wed this girl. The odds were not in his favor

“There’s the house.” Raphael pointed to a large, whitewashed, flat-roofed building. Only its upper story was visible above the vine-covered wall that enclosed the property.

Raphael quickened his pace, but Tobias slowed. A shift of light through one of the upstairs latticed windows gave him the feeling that someone was watching. He trotted to Raphael and caught his sleeve before he knocked at the gate.

Raphael turned, his fist poised to knock. “Yes?”

Tobias cleared his throat. “About that marriage offer . . .”

Raphael knocked.

Tobias broke into a cold sweat. “I think –”

The gate opened, and a slender young woman leaned out, slipping a storm-gray shawl over her shiny black hair. Tobias froze with his mouth open as her dark, clever eyes assessed them. Raphael made introductions, but Tobias hardly heard.

“I’m Sarah, daughter of Raguel.” She opened the gate wider. “Step in. I’ll fetch my father.”

As Sarah swished into the house, they stepped into the tree-shaded courtyard. Raphael turned to Tobias. “What were you about to say?”

Tobias clamped his mouth shut. “Nothing.”

Sarah returned to the door and beckoned them inside. They followed her through a tiled entrance hall and down a wide hall to a reception garden perfumed by pink and white blossoms lacing the potted bushes. In the center of the garden a rotund man lolled on a floor cushion with a scribe at his feet. Sarah extended a bangled arm toward him. “My father, Raguel.”

The scribe scuttled out of the garden, and Raguel rose, eying Tobias. “Young man, you are a replica of my cousin Tobit!”

Tobias warmed. “He’s my father.”

“Ha!” Raguel returned to his seat as servant laid out floor cushions for his guests. “And Tobit is well?”

Sarah and her mother stepped in as Tobias told about Tobit’s blindness. The family frowned, shook their heads, and spoke their regrets. Then servants carried in trays laden with savory meats, dried fruits, and warm honey cakes. As they feasted, Raguel entertained them with tales of his relations. Daylight dimmed. Lamps were lit.

Tobias, well-fed and charmed by the evening, leaned toward Raphael. “Might now be the time to speak of . . . what we talked about?”

“Why not?” Raphael raised his cup to Raguel and made the proposal.

Sarah bit her lip. Her mother, Edna, grabbed her hand. Raguel leaned back, patting his full belly. “Nothing would please me more, except . . .” He exchanged glances with Edna.

“Except what?” asked Tobias.

“Except it must be done tonight.”

Tobias stared at Raguel. Tonight? He had expected a betrothal period. He knew his father would counsel him to be wary of a man too eager to make a deal. Raguel was not only eager, he was desperate. But with dark-eyed Sarah standing near enough for Tobias to catch the sweet scent of her perfume, he felt desperate too. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Tonight.”

Raguel saluted with his drink. “Let it be done. Wife, get the bridal chamber ready.” He refilled his guest’s wine cups, and the house became a flurry of activity.

When Raguel left the garden to find his scribe to write the marriage agreement, Tobias felt the blood drain from his face. He turned to Raphael. “What have I done?”

“You’ve arranged a nice match for yourself.” Raphael drained his cup.

“You mean I’ve arranged my own death.”

“Ah.” Raphael licked his lips. “The demon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you still have the goatskin pouch with the fish heart and liver in it?”

“And the gall?” Tobias nodded, wrinkling his nose. He wondered if it was his imagination or if he was really catching a whiff of it.

“Save the gall. You won’t need it tonight. But take the liver and heart with you. There’s always incense in a bridal chamber. Add the fish heart and liver to the ashes of the incense until the mixture smokes. The demon will smell it and flee, never to return.”

Tobias wondered if Sarah would smell it and flee as well.

“Then you and Sarah must kneel and pray together for protection,” said Raphael. “Don’t be afraid. She was destined for you from the beginning.”

“Are you sure?” asked Tobias. “How do you know these things?”

“I make it my duty to be informed.” Raphael refilled his own cup and offered more wine to Tobias, who drank another cup before Raguel returned with his scribe.

After the marriage agreement was signed, Sarah entered wearing a white wedding robe and flowers in her dark hair. With servants attending as witnesses, Raguel gave Tobias the hand of his daughter in marriage.

As they danced, ate, and drank late into the night, Tobias watched the worry creep into Sarah’s eyes, and his own fear grew. Would he have to fight a demon? What did a demon look like? Was Raphael trustworthy? Did he want Tobit’s son to die so he could gain access to Tobit’s money? By the time Tobias and Sarah were escorted to the bridal chamber, he was questioning his own sanity.

Raguel smiled stiffly as he watched Tobias and Sarah enter the bridal chamber. As soon as the door closed, he excused himself, went outside, and dug Tobias’s grave.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy Dover Angels.

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Scene 1: The Ancient Book of Tobit

Tobit had a habit of burying corpses that no one else would touch. No one dared, because the unfortunate dead, usually fugitives from Judea, had met their demise by somehow angering the Assyrian king. Anyone killed due to royal spite was better left to the king’s own methods of disposal.

But to Tobit’s way of thinking, these poor souls were his own people and deserved burial, even in foreign Nineveh. So the day when his son, Tobias, dashed in the door crying, “Father, there’s a strangled man in the bazaar,” it didn’t matter that Tobit had just sat down to his wife’s fine meal. He leaped up and barreled out of the house without taking a bite.

Tobit glanced at his lanky son trotting beside him and warmed with pride. Barely a man, Tobias had already inherited his father’s compassion. But Tobit’s pride cooled considerably when he thought of the danger. Anyone who buried a body killed at the king’s discretion risked the death penalty. Under Shalmaneser’s rule, Tobit himself had barely escaped such a fate. While he was in hiding, all his property had been seized. He had returned to his wife and son in Nineveh only because Shalmaneser had been murdered and the new king had chosen Tobit’s nephew as cupbearer and keeper of the signet. Still, no one could predict a king’s mind, especially in matters of life and death.

“You’ll stay back and mix with the crowd,” said Tobit. “I’ll retrieve the body.”

“But I can be of help,” said Tobias.

“You’ll help by staying back unless I motion for you,” said Tobit. He would not endanger his son unless it was necessary. Besides, touching the corpse would make him ceremonially unclean for a few days, and he wanted to spare Tobias the  inconvenience.

The sounds and smells of the bazaar increased at they approached. Fragrant perfumes and pungent spices lured shoppers to one section. The reek of goats and pigeons drew buyers to another. Hawkers shouted. Pack mules brayed. Camels yawped.

Tobit and Tobias shouldered through the crowd, brushing past gossips, listening for comments about where the body lay. Knowing most people would avoid the corpse, Tobit craned his neck to see where the crowd thinned. When he spied the body, half-hidden by a pile of hides, he motioned Tobias aside and approached the corpse alone. He felt the crowd’s stares and heard their whispers of disgust, but he knew everyone was relieved to get rid of the man.

Reverently Tobit wrapped the body in his own cloak. Then with a grunt, he heaved up the bundle. People scattered wherever he turned, leaving him a choice of exits. He ducked into the nearest lane, Tobias emerged from a side path ahead, and together they cautiously took the shadowed back streets home.

Tobit lugged the corpse into his high-walled courtyard, glad to remove himself from the glare of the nosy neighbor watching from her window. Just inside the gate, he laid the man on the ground. Tobias loped into the house, but since Tobit was defiled, he sat beside the body and ate from the small bundle of food his wife had left there.

When dusk faded toward dark, Tobit carried the corpse to the graveyard that edged the poor section of town. There he buried the man. Then, sweating and weary, he trudged home. He craved his own bed, but since he was defiled, he could go only as far as his courtyard. Inside the gate, he lay down on a blanket his wife had graciously set out for him.

The neighbor’s whine drifted from her window. “Did Tobias learn nothing? He had to run away before, yet here he is, back again, and up to his old habits! Does he not fear hanging? Or worse?”

Tobit sighed, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared at the stars. A scratch and flutter sounded on the wall above. “Sparrows,” he muttered, hoping their noise would not keep him awake all night.

A warm slime plopped into his eyes. “Gah!” he choked, sitting upright. Bird droppings. He rubbed the ooze out with his fists, then with his blanket. The burning sting forced him to squeeze his watering eyes closed. He felt his way to the jar in the corner and splashed water over his eyes until he could open them. The night had darkened. He lay down beside the jar and looked up at the sky. The stars were gone. He looked around. Everything was gone. He couldn’t see.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy morguefile.

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