Free Twisted by Uvi Poznansky Page A

somehow, on it crooked hinges, and when I could still afford to toss some coins at her. I admit, it used to give me a measure of satisfaction to see her bow down before me, all the way to the ground, to pick them up. At least, there was one creature in this village who had the misfortune of being poorer than me. But not anymore. Hitting rock bottom is no fun. I hate being found empty handed. I had nothing now, nothing I could give her.
    No, this was not her voice, because now I could hear the shrill yowls, the howls of anguish, punctuated with a shriek here and there, first from one throat, then another. Yes, I recall what happened. I go back to that place, back to that moment in time, hearing the fading of the singsong wails, and the unexpected burst of laughter out there in the distance.
     
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    A nd so I knew the mourners had started to disperse by now, which was truly humbling. Alas, they had been at it for a shorter time than usual —but how could you blame them, really?
    There was no money, and of the seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen and five hundred donkeys we used to own, not a single one was left. Nothing you could offer them for payment; alas, nothing left to sustain the customary expression of grief. Sigh.
    Job stayed with me awhile. Again and again he mumbled, in his inexplicable, pious manner, “ Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I depart.” Men! Always thinking of themselves! All the while there I was, flat on my back, in need of some attention, and some clothes, too!
    Finally he left the gravesite. I waited, waited until the sound of his footfalls had shuffled away—oh, how well I knew this tortured gait of his!—until it too was gone.
    All was quiet now, deadly quiet. You had to put your ear close to me to hear the one thing, the only thing that screwed up this silence: the crinkly sound of my hair and nails, continuing to grow, somehow. Even the crows had stopped echoing their calls between one and another. And yet, I was not alone. I could sense another presence.
    When at last I mustered the will to blow the gravel off my eyelids and force them open, the first thing I saw was sandals. Diamond-studded sandals, no less.
    Never before had I seen such an elegant design in our village—not even at my own wedding some years back, when Job could still afford spoiling me. At the time he had been considered a good catch. Rich beyond belief, and as healthy as an ox, he had not been known for being blameless or righteous until much later. Some wicked fun we had! And to please me, he would pour coins into my purse—what a delightful jingle!—so I might buy the most exotic fabrics for my dresses, and the most expensive footwear, imported by Babylonian merchants traveling through the Kingdom of Edom on their way to Egypt.
    How I had been pining lately for his attention, or—failing that—for the luxury of going on a shopping spree! It would have been a pleasant distraction from all my suffering.
    If only I could go, one last time, and buy some brand-new designer clothes, or better yet, shoes...
    But now, these sandals—right there at my eye level—were sleek, but also quite strange. Their tar-black, impossibly high heels were cutting with a twist into the freshly dug earth; which at once, seems to scare away a host of worms.
    Naturally, I tried to squirm away—but could not move a muscle.
    And look: inside these two contraptions were the ugliest feet I had ever seen. Toes crooked, nails spiked, with an irregular, cracked outer edge—yet they were painted quite liberally with some blood-red smear.
    Sigh. I closed my eyes. Was this a joke, or a bad dream? With such a sloppy manicure, this bitch—whoever she was—must have been even more impatient than I ever was.
    I wished that—for a spell—I could take a peek, just long enough to compare our feet. Mine, you see, are so much prettier! And what’s more, they had been cleaned the night before