The Leper (standard:other, 4046 words)
Author: A.M. Snead	Added: Apr 09 2003	Views/Reads: 3343/2186	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
When hope becomes the enemy...how desperate must the hopeless be to reach for it?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

slowly started for town.  Perhaps underneath it all, they wanted to 
believe as well, but hope had become their enemy.  When the hopeless 
began to hope, it only enhanced their hellish existence.  But what if 
the rumors were true?  I was willing to risk the torture of hope 
unfulfilled for even the slightest chance to touch my loved ones again. 


The desperate courage I had summoned faltered suddenly when I came to
the well-used road that would take me into town.  My kind was not 
welcome there.  Unlucky souls had been chosen to bring us food, but 
they came only as far as the gates and they came at night when we were 
all tangled within our tortured dreams of a life stolen away from us.  
I stayed up one night, just to see someone from the other side of our 
dark veil.  They crept in like a thief, cloaked from head to toe.  I 
could not tell if it was man or woman.  The two-wheeled cart drawn by a 
young ass carried baskets and bundles of food.  Food that had began to 
spoil and was no longer deemed fit to sell to normal folk.  This was 
the food given to us. 

I had watched the cloaked figure hurriedly drag the commodities off the
cart and stow them just inside the gate, without entering themselves.  
They kept the cloak pressed tight to their face, as if breathing the 
same air as us would inflict them with our infirmities, condemn them to 
the same torturous fate as ourselves.  I had contemplated approaching 
the person suddenly and without warning, just to see what the reaction 
would be.  But I kept my distance and didn't let them know I was 
watching. 

I stood on the roadside for a long time, leaning on my staff.  No one
came or went.  I wondered where they were.  Never was this road 
completely deserted as it was today.  Where had everyone gone to?  I 
lowered my eyes to the hardened surface stretching away before me, and 
stared at the thin layer of dust through the decaying cloth that had 
impaired my vision for so long.  In the dust were footprints of those 
who had passed by yesterday, or possibly this morning.  Footprints of 
all sizes.  Children had walked this road recently, certainly 
whispering to each other of the village of the walking dead at the end 
of this side road.  It had been so long since I'd seen a child that I 
was willing to risk the horror in their expression just to look at one. 
But I hadn't ventured from the fenced village in search of a child. 

I could feel my strength draining as I stood there and I wondered how
far down the road I would make it before I collapsed.  It wouldn't be 
far.  Instead of attempting the walk, I sank down in a heap at the edge 
of roadway.  Had someone ventured by, they might have mistaken me for 
nothing more than a bundle of rotted garments.  But was I anymore than 
that?  This hope that had walked me out the gates and down the dusty 
road that was little more than a path and brought me here...had faded.  
There was no hope for the damned.  My family was forever lost to me, 
and it filled me with despair to realize I was only now beginning to 
grasp that horrifying understanding.  I would never hold my children 
again.  I would never again feel the love in my Rebecca's embrace.  I 
was one of the walking dead that the children whispered about.  All I 
had left to look forward to was death.  And I did. 

My weakened arms slid up over my head as I bowed toward my knees and
wept.  Wept for the dreams that had been stolen from me, for the love 
of a family that surely saw me now as merely a dark shadow of a 
tortured past.  I wept for the hope I had clung to when I'd walked out 
those gates.  For the first time in five years, I had never felt so 
alive as I did the moment that hope took hold of me.  Now I longed for 
it to come back to me.  But it wouldn't be returning, for a reality I 
had somehow evaded all these years had suddenly hit me; I was dead.  In 
mind, in spirit, and soon...in body as well. 

I huddled there in the dust, unmoving, my staff resting on the ground
beside me as the torturous sunlight baked my decaying form.  The 
weeping faded as the well of tears deep within slowly dried and left me 
as barren and cracked as a desert floor, pummeled mercilessly by a 
scorching, dry wind.  The tears were gone, but the ache grew stronger.  
My chest tightened painfully as if squeezed by a mighty force bent on 
crushing what was left of my useless life.  Gasping, I sucked in a lung 
full of hot, dusty air then immediately began to gag.  I bent forward 
as a series of raspy coughs racked my aching body.  And deep within my 
tortured soul, I prayed to the God of my ancestors for the first time 
in five years.  I prayed for His mercy to end my suffering, though I 
couldn't help but wonder if my suffering would ever cease. 

When a sudden shadow fell across my huddled form, I tentatively peered
out from beneath my shielding arm.  Somehow a crowd had appeared on the 
road without me noticing.  And yet, suddenly, the murmurs of the crowd 
were deafening.  I raised my head and stared.  No one noticed me there 
and I was thankful.  Dust spoofed into the air as scores of feet 
thumped down the road.  They weren't just folks casually heading for 
town.  They moved forward with purpose, with eagerness.  Many were 
stretching out their arms, reaching.  When I chanced a look at their 
faces, I saw that their eyes were alive with hope.  Many of the faces 
were streaked with tears that spilled from glowing eyes. 

I cowered back and ducked my head.  The ache swelled inside me, and the
crushing force in my chest tightened fiercely.  I longed for the hope, 
the joy, in that sea of faces.  I hungered for it.  Envied it.  I 
squeezed my eyes shut as the crowd flowed past me.  For the briefest of 
moments, I sensed eyes on me and the urge to look up was nearly 
unbearable, but I forced my head to stay down.  I feared what I would 
see.  Not the fear of rejection.  I was accustomed to rejection.  But 
it was a new kind of fear that invaded my heart.  The fear of believing 
the impossible. 

I stayed where I was, head down, eyes shut tight, until I felt the eyes
leave me and move on.  But though they were no longer looking at me, I 
could still feel the weight of their gaze. 

Slowly, I raised my head as the last remnant of the crowd was passing
by.  Against my own will, my eyes slid to the front, searching, 
seeking.  But for what?  For who?  But I knew, didn't I?  I was 
searching for the one who had looked at me.  The only one, I knew, that 
had even noticed me there on the side of the road.  For five years, I 
had been invisible, a hateful reminder of the dark side of life.  For 
five years, eyes had avoided me...even the eyes of those like myself, 
just as my eyes had avoided them.  But suddenly...someone had looked at 
me.  Someone had noticed I was more than a bundle of rotting rags, and 
taken a moment to really look.  But why? 

Clutching my staff, I laboriously hauled myself to my numbed feet and
stood leaning on the walking stick.  Some folks in the rear of the 
crowd noticed the sudden movement, glanced briefly my way then 
quickened their steps.  I didn't realize what I was doing until I found 
myself shuffling forward, after the crowd.  Through the strips of aged 
garment, my desperate eyes swept over the sea of people, struggling 
past their nameless faces, searching, seeking the one who... 

I saw him.  At the front of the clamoring crowd, he moved forward
casually and with confidence.  He didn't flinch when hands reached for 
him, whether young or old, healthy or sick, rich or poor.  And suddenly 
I knew that I had to get to him.  Though I wouldn't be allowed to touch 
him, somehow I knew that his word alone was all I needed.  If he would 
just speak to me. 

With renewed strength that seemed to come from nowhere, I shuffled
alongside the crowd, down the edge of the dusty road.  Whenever I 
stumbled too close, those near me would cringe and hurriedly drift 
deeper into the crowd around them, away from me.  I didn't care.  I had 
only one goal.  And suddenly that goal seemed more important than 
anything else had ever been. 

When I neared the front of the crowd, I lunged inward, my hand
outstretched.  "Master!"  Those I bumped into gasped and cried out, 
shying away in horror.  I ignored them, barely noticed them.  
"Master...please..." 

All at once, the crowd was no longer moving forward, but instead fanning
out away from me as I stumbled through them.  Suddenly, a wall of men 
stepped between me and the one I was seeking.  I hesitated, leaning 
shakily on my staff.  The men rebuked me and ordered me away, but I 
couldn't move.  I bowed my head down against the tip of the walking 
stick and wept.  "Please...I must speak to the Master." 

They held their ground as if nothing in heaven or earth could move them,
but suddenly broke rank and stepped aside uncertainly when a gentle 
voice urged them to let me through.  I shuffled forward, my eyes down 
and head bowed as the sudden urge to kneel swept through me like a 
whirlwind.  I hesitated a few feet from him and clutched my stick, my 
diseased body hunched and trembling.  As I felt his eyes upon me, I 
fell to my knees in a heap before him. 

Tears flowed like a river from eyes.  And words that shocked and
frightened me spilled off my dry lips.  "Lord...if you will...you can 
make me clean." 

In a movement I wasn't prepared for, he reached out his hand...and
touched me.  Since the day I had walked away from my life five years 
ago, no one had touched me.  Not a single touch.  Now, suddenly, 
someone was laying a hand on my shoulder.  I almost cringed, almost 
begged him not to touch me lest he be inflicted.  But I couldn't move.  
I could only marvel at the feel of another human being.  But he was 
more than just another person.  Oh, so much more. 

His hand squeezed my shoulder gently, affectionately, as if we were old
friends greeting one another.  I raised my eyes and met his warm stare. 
His eyes glowed as a hint of a smile crinkled the corners. 

"I Will."  His voice was soft, tender.  "Be thou clean." 

A sudden rush of warmth swept through me like a raging flood and I
gasped, a consuming exhilaration empowering my limbs, standing me to my 
feet.  I felt my disease flow away in the flood of warmth, leaving in 
its wake a strength I hadn't felt for such a very long time.  My hands 
clenched the staff fiercely, feeling every lump and groove in the wood, 
then released suddenly, letting the stick thump to the dry earth.  With 
trembling fingers I clawed at the strips of rotted garment that 
encompassed my face, tearing them away and watching them drop to the 
ground beside the staff. 

His hand was still on my shoulder as I revealed my face to a world I had
hidden from for so many years.  I was trembling, tugging the decayed 
cloth from my hands and then just staring in awe at the clear, healthy 
skin and straight fingers. 

"Tell not others of this." 

The quiet commandment, like a whisper in my mind, drew my eyes to his. 
I could only stare at him, his wondrous gaze pouring through my soul, 
filling me with emotions I could never begin to describe.  Tell no one? 
 But how could I not?  How could I do anything but proclaim with a 
shout what had happened here? 

"Go."  He said softly, squeezing my shoulder.  "Show yourself to the
priests as Moses commanded."  His eyes glowed...literally glowed.  "But 
tell no one of this." 

I swallowed tightly, and nodded.  "Yes, Lord."  But even as the words
slid off my lips, I knew I could not keep quiet, I could not stop 
myself from telling others of God's amazing gift to me.  Staring into 
his eyes, I saw the sparkle of understanding.  He knew, even as he gave 
the gentle commandment, that I would tell others, that I wouldn't be 
able to help myself.  So why did he tell me not to?  Why would he? 

His fingers tightened on my shoulder one last time before he drew his
hand back.  I wanted to clutch him, grasp his hands in mine, press his 
palms to my lips and let my tears tell him how deeply thankful I was.  
But I could merely stand motionless as he smiled and moved on.  And in 
that smile I knew that neither words nor tears were necessary for him 
to understand my gratitude.  He could feel it, as surely as I could 
feel his love for me.  Me...a man rejected the instant I became an ugly 
scar on the face of humanity.  Rejected and forgotten by all, except 
this one man and... 

Though everything inside of me urged me to follow after him as the
others did, I hesitated.  I had to force my legs not to run after him, 
to beg him to let me stay with him, but somehow I knew that his desire 
for me lay elsewhere. 

Breathing deep of the warm air, I let it out slow as I watched the crowd
disappear down the dusty road.  I turned and walked in the opposite 
direction, towards a life stolen from me long ago. 

********************* 

Big blue eyes full of wonder stared up at me from the other side of the
gate.  She didn't appear frightened of me, though I was a total 
stranger to her now.  I fought the need to grab her and hold her so 
close to me. 

"Anna."  I said softly.  Tears tightened my throat.  My baby girl. 

Suddenly, a young boy was standing behind her, his hands gripping her
small shoulders protectively.  He stared at me uncertainly, as if 
struggling to determine if I meant them harm.  As we looked at each 
other, no words passing between us, his distrusting eyes flickered with 
a trace of recognition.  He swallowed then licked his lips.  "Do we 
know you?" 

My chest tightened and I wanted to cry, but I fought for control.  "You
did...once."  I whispered.  "I was hoping...we could get to know each 
other again." 

The boy shifted his feet and cocked his head slightly.  "What's your
name?" 

I smiled.  "Jacob.  My name is Jacob." 

The boy's eyes widened.  "That's my name."  Something shifted in his
stare as sadness darkened his eyes.  "My father's name was Jacob, too.  
But he went away when I was little.  He got sick, and had to go away so 
we wouldn't get sick too." 

Tears burned my eyes.  The horror of that day rushed back in on me and
my knees threatened to buckle. 

Anna simply stared up at me with her big blue eyes as young Jacob went
on.  "Mother still prays for a miracle.  She misses him a lot."  His 
voice grew small, tight with his own tears.  And for a moment, I saw 
the small, frightened boy he was the day I went away.  "I still hear 
her cry for him at night."  He swallowed thickly and looked down as if 
embarrassed to add his own admission:  "Sometimes I do too." 

The tears slid down my flushed cheeks but I made no move to wipe them
away.  "Jacob..."  I whispered. 

"Jacob?  Anna?" 

The female voice drew my eyes away from my small jewels.  A sudden ache
swelled my heart until I was certain it would burst.  The woman moved 
towards us uncertainly.  Her beautiful long hair flowed down her back, 
teased lightly by the faint breeze.  "Jacob...who are you speaking to-" 
 Her question disintegrated in the warm air when her eyes locked with 
mine.  A multitude of emotions clouded her gaze, ruled by disbelief.  
She froze, unable to speak as she looked at me, surely wondering if she 
were hallucinating. 

I released a breath I hadn't known I was holding.  "Rebecca..." 

"Jacob...?"  She whispered, unbelief trembling my name on her lips. 

"Mother."  Young Jacob turned and looked at her, but she wasn't seeing
him. 

Like a flood, her tears broke suddenly as her hands flew to her face and
she sank to a heap on the ground, weeping.  I stepped through the gate, 
running my hand lovingly over the tops of my children's heads, and went 
to Rebecca.  I lowered to my heels next to her and drew her into my 
arms and held her tight.  So tight I was afraid I would hurt her, but I 
couldn't let go. 

"My sweet Rebecca."  I sobbed against her hair.  I felt small arms
encircle my neck and looked up to see Jacob's tear streaked face only 
inches from mine.  He had recognized me all along, I knew this now.  
But fear of believing had held him back from admitting what his heart 
had told him was so.  "My son."  I choked out, releasing one arm from 
my wife and hugging my boy close, burying my face in his neck and 
sobbing harder than I had since the day I left. 

I felt another set of eyes on me and raised my head.  Little Anna still
stood where she was, watching the three of us uncertainly.  Though five 
years old now, I could still see in her the baby girl who had reached 
out to me so eagerly whenever she caught sight of me.  I stretched out 
my hand to her and smiled as fresh tears poured down my face.  "Come 
here, baby girl."  I urged softly.  "Your father needs to feel you 
close to him." 

As if suddenly understanding what she was seeing, Anna broke from her
stand-still with a suddenness that startled me, and ran into my 
embrace.  I hugged my loved ones to me and held them tight, convinced I 
could never take my arms from around them again. 

And their touch...oh their touch was like a sweet dream come true.  In
all my life, for as long as I lived, I knew only one other touch could 
ever compare.  A touch, I realized now, that hadn't been necessary.  
His word alone would have healed me. 

Why, I wondered, did he go one step further...and touch me? 

But I already knew the answer as I closed my eyes, hugged my family
close, and saw his smile once again. 

Love was not content to just speak words. 

Love must express itself. 

Love must touch. 

~ The End ~ 


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