Lot's Wife Edition 1 2016

FICTION
Amidst Apples
and Thyme
by Katherine Mitula
Amidst apples and thyme, I look into the past
and I remember.
I remember happier times, times that made
me laugh and dance and smile with joy. I remember
the times of grief, of fear, of pain, which fill my
heart with darkness. Times that truly made me
understand what it is to feel alive. I kneel at the foot
of the grave, and let my mind be consumed.
There was once a boy. A man, he must be, now.
A man with his life ahead of him and a future of all
he could dream of. He was sickly, weak. His father
came to me for help, for I was the foremost healer
in the big city. I could have refused, for even then, I
was not as young as I once was, and my back ached
fiercely, as if it was reminding me of my old age. I
had retired from practicing three years before; I had
no obligation to respond to any pleas for medical
assistance anymore. But the desperation in the
man’s eyes convinced me, and I agreed to help
him. Now the boy is a renowned architect with a
sweetheart he loves more than life itself.
How strange it is that our actions and choice
can have such an impact on the world. If not for
my healing of him, he would never have survived
to adulthood to realise his calling and follow his
dreams. The world would be lacking half the
memorable buildings which now litter the earth,
proud and unyielding, a symbol of international
unity.
I sit on the ground and dream of flying. I have
never flown before, and I don’t think I ever will.
Flight is for those of the future; I belong with the
past, and the horse-carriages and steam-boats
which carried us from one destination to the next. It
was by boat that I was brought to the land in which
I dwell now, the land which I choose to call home.
If I had been carried by the air it would have taken
mere hours; as it was, it took months. Months of
tedium and endless ocean, my mind enduring only
with the knowledge of the end of the journey, the
bright land to which I sailed with its promise of
safety and a new beginning. Beside me stood my
husband, my dear husband who endured so much
in the motherland and chose to be by my side as
I undertook this final, life-altering journey into the
unknown.
I left my homeland behind me knowing that I
would never see my parents or sisters or brothers
again in this lifetime. I have no regrets, for there I
have lived peacefully and happily with my husband
and my children, who I value with my life. From
the occasional letter, I knew that my parents and
siblings yet lived, and that was enough for me. I had
my own life to lead, and though they would always
be in my heart I could not let myself crumble with
fear or worry for them, not when I must be strong for
my children.
Now, my husband is dead, taken from me by
the ravages of consumption. I sit by his grave, and
ponder. Was it his fate, to end this way? Was it what
God meant for him? I do not think I’ll ever know. All I
know is that there is a hole in my heart that was not
there before, and if it weren’t for my children I would
feel well and truly alone.
I sit by my husband’s grave, and dream that
he is there beside me, smiling at me and holding
out his hand. I reach out and take it, and feel the
life-giving warmth of it. Together we stand, and
walk, away from the apples and the scent of thyme
which still lingers in my nostrils, and away from the
tombstone of death. I close my eyes as the brilliant
light tenderly envelops me, and smile.
58 | Lot’s Wife