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Hair
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"Marrying you saved me the loss of many battles." Elimilek once said, "When I'm hopeless, I look at you, and you give me that smile, like everything's going to be more than alright– you give me hope."
Naomi’s cheeks flushed at his words, bringing his hands that were entwined with hers to her heart. "It's easy to hope when I have you."
"No," he shook his head. "This is all the wonder of who you are. You are a star, you know that."
Naomi laughed softly, witnessing the tears that glittered in his eyes.
"Yes," Elimilek uttered, "I am convinced. You've managed to shine against the darkness. I thought that I would die the day my mother died, that there would be no life left for me, but Naomi, you have given me hope."
"You are strong, Elimilek, more than you know."
"Maybe," he said, then. "Promise me something."
She held his gaze, waiting.
"Never blink out, no matter how deep the darkness."
~🍁~
Naomi was shaken by what could've happened to Ruth. The guilt ate her up all night, and she tossed and turned. After an hour of that she would check on the women, and find them fast asleep, on a mat in the dining area, holding on to each other, the oil lamp still lit, a gentle glow.
It was while she was in bed, tossing and turning in the dark, her hair, got in her mouth, wrapped around her neck. She fussed over its length, tying it into a messy bun again, then she felt like crying— Gathering herself, she undid the bun she made.
Running her hands through her long brown hair, she sighed. It wasn't as voluminous as it was before. It lost its shine, too. She ran her fingers through her hair, remembering how Elimilek would do the same, mindlessly, yet tenderly.
Remembering how, when Mahlon was a toddler, he'd reach for her hair and twirl it in his hands enthralled. Then there was Chillion, who would sometimes eat her hair as a baby, gurgling happily. On the verge of tears again, she gathered herself, releasing a breath.
She got up abruptly, finding a lamp and setting it a light. Walking out of her hall, through the darkened hallway, she checked on Ruth and Orpah one more time, and then she left, opening Orpah's door.
She looked through all of Orpah's things in a haste, searching, yet she could not find it. At her wits end, when she was about to give up, she saw it glinting, underneath the bed, its tip showing. Naomi bent to pick up the dagger. Then she quickly tidied up the mess she made, leaving the room in a hurry.
The mirror was old, the reflection not as vivid as she would have hoped, but it was enough. The glow of the lamp made it better. She held the dagger in her trembling hands, the tears burning her eyes— the noise of her memories, of the guilt, of the pain, overwhelmed her, caved in on her.
"Enough." Naomi said, firmly silencing it all, the tears trailing down her tears. The last of them.
And then with a firmer hold on the dagger, she held one side of her long hair in her hands and slashed with the dagger, it fell to the floor, a silent death, messy, each cut, like a a shard of glass being pulled out of her wounded heart.
She slashed more, not too mindful, of how it would look in the end. She was in some sort of a high, feeling more alive than she had felt in a while.
And then when the deed was done, and her hair was shorter than she ever imagined it would be, she breathed. It was ugly, even from the poorly reflected mirror she could see it. The length was not even equal.
Staring down at her hair, that lay scattered on the floor, in small piles, she held in a brave face. Naomi broke down, falling to the ground. No tears left her eyes, just harsh, painful breaths that wished that they were sobs.
~🍁~
When Ruth woke up that morning, groggily wiping her eyes, feeling Orpah stir beside her, she heard soft humming. Curious, she got up and was surprised to see Naomi preparing breakfast with a smile on her face, but that was before she saw her hair.
Ruth held back a scream.
Naomi turned, catching the horrified look on Ruth's face. But before Ruth could get a word in, or Naomi could find an explanation—Orpah who screamed.
"Mother!" She ran towards Naomi, passing an equally horrified Ruth, and gawked at Naomi’s hair, or lack of it.
"What did you do to your hair?" Orpah spared a glance at Ruth, who spared her a glance, and the two of them seemed to be on the verge of tears.
"It was bothering me, so I cut it." Naomi answered, once again busying herself with preparing them breakfast. It had been a while since she made them something.
"Mother, why?" Ruth pressed, struggling to understand. "Your hair was so beautiful and...you loved it and—"
"Let's eat, shall we? Go wash your hands, " Naomi interjected.
As they ate, the silence was awkward, tense.
Ruth stared down at her small sweet cake, made by Naomi, gulping her glass of water. Knowing it was their only meal for the day, they ate slower, savored each bite, and were saddened at how small the food was.
"Stop looking at me." Naomi snapped, and the two moabite women looked away.
It was hard not to look at Naomi. Really hard. Her hair almost touched her shoulders in uneven, messy lengths. The back was even more horrifying as it looked like something ripped it off of her. Although her hair was hideous, she looked better than she had in months.
"What did you use?" Ruth broke the silence.
Naomi met eyes with her.
"To cut your hair."
"A dagger."
Orpah swore under her breath, then. "Why didn't you ask us to help you if you wanted to cut your hair? We would've helped."
"I wanted to do it myself."
"Why, Ruth began, but Naomi sent a glare her way.
"Enough." Naomi said. "Enough with the questions and the concerns. Enough with looking at me like I'm a crazy old woman. I've had enough."
The silence that came after was harsher.
Ruth dared to speak again, her voice softer.
"Let us help you fix it a little, Mother. It just needs a little more cutting."
Orpah nodded earnestly.
Later that day, in the evening, when Naomi washed by the river, her clothes sprawled on the grass, she ran her fingers through her short hair. Ruth and Orpah had cut it even shorter, to equal in length, and when they showed her how it looked— she had smiled.
She felt free in a sense and didn't miss a strand of her once long wavy hair.
~🍁~
"If one of them blinked out," she heard a voice in her head say, speaking through the darkness. "Then those around them would blink out, too. Let it all be in order, as from the beginning of time. Let there be—"
Naomi was made up of all dead things. Her body, laid on the hard ground, still numb beyond shivering despite the freezing cold. She couldn't move. She had not the slightest clue where she was. Opening her eyes was a battle she settled on losing. The emptiness in her soul was made manifest in her surroundings.
Cold, dark, and lonely.
It felt like hours until something happened. Hours of being paralyzed, struggling to move, simply her fingers. Hours of the cold, seeping into her bones, numbing her, and making her skin raw. Hours of feeling a thick darkness over her.
"Look at how the stars shine against the darkness."
"Naomi," Elimilek said, slipping his warm, calloused hands through her stiff, frozen fingers.
It was as though, breath returned to her, as a gasp tore out of her lips, and her eyes shot open. She was met with the darkest hues of blue, cast over the sky, with a number of stars dotted across it. What had once been dry, ground, was a field of lush green grass, but all of this was not what amazed her.
It was as she looked down, at the hand that held her hand in a tight grip, on the verge of tears, on the verge of hope, then she turned her head and there, laid beside her, was her husband Elimilek.
He smiled at her, the warmest of smiles, his eyes glittered with joy. Naomi’s heart pounded harder against her chest. This time, it was harder to breathe for different reasons. The tears glittered her eyes.
She made no move to throw herself into his arms, neither did she lean in for a kiss, for the fear of him fading away like the wind.
This was worse than the cold. Worse than the paralysis and the darkness and the loneliness. This was torture.
"You're dead." Naomi whispered, finding that it still pierced her heart to say those words after all these years.
"Naomi, you need to wake up," Elimilek said, the expression on his face, serious, his eyes held in them, a firm belief, a knowledge of something she did not know.
"You've been asleep for too long."
"No," Naomi shook her head, tightening her hold on his hand, the warmth igniting her skin. "No, I don't want to leave you."
Tears slipped past her cheeks, slowly trailing down. He caught them, wiping them away, gently. His hand lingered, and he pushed the small strands of hair out of her face.
"What have you done to your hair?"
"You loved it long," Naomi said, " I like it better this way."
A silence settled, with him simply holding her gaze, searching for something– by the frown on his face, it seemed like he didn't find what he was looking for.
"I loved you," Elimilek uttered softly, his hand caressing her face. "Dearly."
"Loved?" Naomi questioned, her voice cracking.
"I'm dead." Elimilek said, his eyes burning with tears.
"No," Naomi shook her head, her heart breaking. "Don't say that, please."
Elimilek's gaze softened. "Look at the stars, Naomi."
"No," she refused again, " I don't want to look at anything but you, Elimilek. I have no care for anything but you—"
"Naomi, look up." Elimilek said firmer, an anger in his voice.
"I'm scared," Naomi shook her head, the tears trailing down her cheeks. " I need you to stay, Elimilek. If I look away, I know you'll leave me again."
He wiped away her tears, igniting her numb skin, melting the cold away. She hadn't even realized how much warmth had surrounded her.
Naomi followed the broken flutter in her heart, and she leaned in, pressing her lips against Elimilek and kissing her husband.
She could die right there and then. All that her heart longed for, cried for, she held in her embrace. Instead, she tasted her tears, but when she opened her eyes, there was fear in his eyes.
Confused, she was about to ask him—
"Naomi, the stars are falling!"
Elimilek faded before her very eyes, turning into dust as a powerful wind, sent him away.
The scream that tore out of her lips was something she had never heard from herself. The tears fell, and when she looked up, all the life left her. The stars were falling, coming at her, in rapid speed— she would die. She would die, a death by the star. The cold and the darkness consumed her once again.
Loneliness overpowered her heart. And right before, she was about to be both blinded and scorched by the star that was coming right at her, she heard a voice.
"Never blink out, Naomi."
Jolting awake, harsh breaths tore out of Naomi's lips. She ran her fingers through her short hair, felt the sides of her beds, her racing heart— all that was real.
Elimilek.
Placing her fingers on her lips, a kiss from him felt more distant than eleven years ago.
~🍁~
Don't worry, I'll be back. Out for a walk. I'm old enough to take care of myself.— Naomi
She left home as the sun was rising. Opening the door, the wind rippled through her clothes, meeting her warm pale skin, setting it alight. She'd stopped by the river first, watching as it flowed by, continuously, seeing the different coloured fish that swam along with it.
Dipping her hand in the water, the small waves the river made splashed her. Witnessing her reflection in the mirror, she stared long and hard silently. She was unrecognizable, even to herself, and it was more than just her hair.
She walked past the well of Dibon, and then she decided she wanted to be somewhere there were a lot of people. Walking amidst the bustling crowds of the market of Dibon, Naomi felt like she could breathe.
She walked aimlessly among the people with not even a shekel in her pocket, hearing the moabite language, in a hundred voices, from the merchants to the people, and the music. The drums were played louder than all her thoughts and fears.
Little kids would smile at her at times, and those would be the moments her hear would melt. Yearn. When the sun was making it's descent on the horizon, painting the land in a warm, orange glow, she was heading back home, when she heard the conversation that floated over her, between two moabite women.
"Forgive me for feelings this way. I can not help it. They have been a thorn to Moab since forever." The young woman argued.
"—Beauty is not hard to find in Moab," an old woman beside Naomi said. "A pure heart that will keep a person searching day and night till the sun sets and rises. It can make a god sweat, I tell ya."
Naomi remained uninterested, letting the conversation pass over her. The woman walked the same path as her, through the crowds, and a few other conversations were heard, but their voices were clearer
" Although, the israelites are no better than us! They rejoice, too, at our downfall. They, too, are challenged by our growth and majesty."
At the mention of Israel, she held back a groan. Even after living in Moab for over ten years, she still hadn't managed to get used to how they talked about her people.
She tried to hurry on, and walk faster than them, not in the mood, to hear anything vile uttered against her people, but those who walked in front of her were slow, carrying bags of goods.
"Yet look at what the recent events have caused Moab to feel?" The old woman pointed out, frowning. "Is this what we have come to be, people who are saddened by the end of a tragedy, of other human beings. We are proving ourselves to be just as ugly as they call us, just as ugly as our origin."
Softer, the girl spoke. "Hush, grandmother. If people hear the words you are speaking, you will surely be stoned. All of Moab is still angry– whether you like it or not."
The old woman shook her head, the light in her eyes dimming. "Many a times, I've heard people cry out in the streets for war, but never have I heard, a cry for love."
"How can you love what has shunned you?"
"The end of a tragedy!" The old woman cried out, ignoring her young daughter who tried to shush her, the young woman's cheeks burning up.
Many heads turned her way, some moving along, others calling her crazy, and a few swearing at her.
"It is the end of tragedy for Israel!"
And that's what made Naomi come to a stop, shock slamming into her.
People continued to push past her, walk ahead of her. Naomi moved through the crowds. The old woman was finally silenced. She saw her at a distance, walking with her granddaughter, who seemed to be scolding her. She ran, pushing past the people that got in her way, and she came to stand by the old woman, stopping her.
"Forgive my grandmother," the young woman clasped her hands together. "She is demented. She knows not what she speaks. We truly are against the rise of Israel."
Ignoring the younger woman, Naomi stared at the old woman. She smiled warmly as the wrinkles on her face remained, stretching and growing.
"You said something about Israel. Tell me what has happened to my land."
The old woman's eyes glittered with tears, with love, and she held Naomi's hands, clasping them in hers, like she was praying for her. Naomi had forgotten what it felt like to be a daughter, to be young and taken care of. In the eyes of this old strange woman, she felt young. Seen.
"Yahweh," the woman uttered. "He has visited his people. He has finally come to their aid. The tragedy that went on for years, beaten and broken Israel—is over."
Staring at her, Naomi’s heart thudded, skipped a beat, as it all faded to silence, then thudded again, harder.
Oh, how she had thought that she would never see this day. Oh, how she had thought that if this day were to come, Elimilek would break the news to her, her sons would be alive. Oh—
"You are an Israeli woman, yes?"
Naomi nodded. "Yes," she whispered, " Yes, I am."
At that, the old woman laughed, a joyous sound erupted her lips, like a melody and for the first time, in years, her granddaughter looked at her, not confused, or detested or with embarrassment but with indescribable awe.
"The famine is over, dear woman. Go back home, for the tragedy has ended."
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