Short Stories

© Wendy Noble, 2004

[Evening, the Hebrew’s campsite, just outside Jericho.]

Joshua, may I have a quick word? 

Certainly, Azeel, please be seated.  Kebab?  Olive?

No thanks, don’t want to spoil my lunch.  Look, first off let me just say, good job crossing the Jordan River.  Seriously, it was almost miraculous how it all worked out.  No matter what anyone else says, I think Moses made a good choice in you.

Easy on the grease, Azeel.

All right, I’ll get straight to the point.  It’s been six days now and some of the boys aren’t happy. 

What’s the problem?

The trumpeters are bored just blowing the same old note.  Zerah, the lead trumpet, wants to know if they could do a little jazz number – just to lift everyone’s spirit?  It could put a bit of bounce back into our step.

They need to be patient, Azeel, and stick to the program.  

Well, what about all that stuff they’re throwing at us?  Couldn’t we throw a little back?   Jeru’s got a nasty bump on his right temple where someone got him with a pomegranate.  What with that and the continual trumpet blasts, he’s got a killer of a headache.  It just doesn’t seem fair, not to defend ourselves.

This is the way God wants us to take the city.

But, if we’re not actually going to live there couldn’t we just ignore it and march past?  They seem nice enough people.  Live and let live, eh?

I merely pass on the instructions God has given me, Azeel.  He wants us to take the city.  Anything else?

Well, as you know, I’m the last person to listen to gossip but I’ve heard that one of the scouting party has been fooling around with loose women.  It’s rumoured that he’s been seeing a prostitute inside the city.  Don’t tell me that’s the sort of behaviour God will overlook!

God is slow to anger and generous in mercy.  What’s all this about, Azeel?

The point is, all this marching around the city every day never saying or doing anything to defend ourselves, but not making any inroads into the city either, seems so pointless.  There’s rumbling in the troops, Josh.  No-one’s questioning your ability to lead, but there’s serious doubts about where you’re leading us.  I even heard one of the ark-bearers saying he thought you’d lost the plot.  Are you sure this is what God wants us to do?  Have you heard that priest, who stands on the wall near the gate tower? 

Which one in particular?

I think his name’s Ben-Ihin.  He wears that fancy tunic with the purple edging and the ruffle down one side.  You know, the one with the big hairdo.  When he smiles, his gold tooth glints in the sunlight.  He’s always shouting at us when we march past and telling the wounded to stretch out their hands towards the wall and they’ll be healed.  

What about him?

Some of the boys think he makes a lot of sense.  Should it be this difficult?  How come they’re the ones living in a city with comfortable houses, brand new chariots and leather sandals and we’re the ones marching around in circles, covered in dust?  If God was really blessing us, shouldn’t we be the prosperous ones?  If they’ve displeased God, shouldn’t they be the ones getting stuff thrown at them?  

Have faith, Azeel. Tomorrow is the last day.  We will march around the city one more time. At the final trumpet blast, we will all give a mighty shout and the walls will fall down.

Just like that?

Yes.

We don’t do anything else to the walls – just shout?

That’s right – one shout and down they come.

Sure they will.  And to celebrate, I’ll put on the wife’s best dress and serve you muffins and a big mug of camel’s milk.

Azeel!

We’ll give it one more day, Josh, and then we’re going to have dialogue with Mr Ben-Ihin.  He’s a man who really seems to have his act together.

TWO DAYS LATER

Another muffin, Joshua?  I baked them myself.

The End

Home | Biography | Speaking | Writing | Links | Contact