Passing Over
Apr. 19th, 2011 12:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolAt midnight time froze. The streets of Pharaoh's realm were still and quiet, for nobody was abroad at that hour. There had been nine plagues and a tenth was expected. In such troubled times, it was best simply to keep your head down.
A glimmer of light appeared – a flicker, as if from a candle seen across a great distance – a pinpoint of light in the sky. It glimmered, clarified into a strong beacon, and dove to the roof of Pharaoh's palace.
The Spirit of the Lord climbed off his chariot. He peered over the edge of the roof to look at the door-frame of Pharaoh's great gate. Please, he begged, let there be a miracle. Let Pharaoh have repented his defiance of Aaron and Moses and the word of God. Let Pharaoh have painted his door-frame with the blood of a lamb.
But there was no mark above the door. The Spirit of the Lord sighed heavily. The terrible task that had been given him would have to be performed after all. Every firstborn child, from the poorest house to the palace of Pharaoh himself, would have to be taken. He appreciated that the Lord needed to delegate the dirty work so that He could concentrate on the important things, but the Spirit of the Lord felt he had had a terrible burden over time. He had evicted Adam and Eve from Eden, and he had inflicted the curse of many tongues upon the people building the Tower of Babel, and now he had this task to perform. He was immortal, but for the first time he felt old.
From the rooftop, the myriad houses of the city were displayed before the Spirit of the Lord. "So many," he thought, looking at all the buildings hemming in the sparkling waters of the Nile on both sides. He wished that the Lord had not assigned him this grim task, but he knew there was no point appealing on high. The dirty job would have to be done, and he had better get started.
He turned back to his chariot and rummaged for his great sack. Pausing only to stroke a few of his beasts of burden – eight small horned deer – he hefted his bag and hopped down through a smoke-hole into the palace proper.
The Spirit of the Lord stole whisper-quiet through the vaulted stone corridors of Pharaoh's palace. His furred boots shushed across the floor, but his stealth made no difference one way or another – the tamed Bengal tiger sleeping on the stair was trapped between seconds just as Pharaoh's family were. Through great pillared halls he crept, peeking into doorways and parting curtains. Doors opened freely for him, and locks unsprung; no mortal bindings could stymie the Spirit of the Lord, and he alone chose what to free from the chains that secured time itself.
Into the nursery he prowled with his great sack. There he saw three small beds, with a child asleep in each. Setting down his burden, the Spirit of the Lord drew a papyrus scroll from his belt – The List. The List contained knowledge of every person ever born on Earth. It told him who had been born to whom, and in what order; it told him their good deeds and their evil works; it described their names and faces, and where they were to be found. The List was a very long document, which was why it had to be kept in a scroll, with the top and bottom ends vanishing into nothingness as it was rolled on its tubes.
From The List the Spirit of the Lord determined that the largest child, an eight year old girl, was Pharaoh's first-born. He read the entry on the child. There wasn't much there, because she hadn't lived much of a life yet. Her name was Sa'kus. She had told a few lies and harbored a few petty jealousies; she had also done a handful of good deeds and been generally obedient and well-behaved. She was, in short, a small child, who knew nothing of the struggles of the Hebrews and cared nothing for the policies of her cruel father. The Spirit of the Lord felt a crushing sadness.
He opened his sack. It looked empty, despite its fullness and bulging sides, because the contents were invisible. It was full of a great many invisible bags. The Spirit of Lord was tasked with tying one over the head and neck of every unprotected first-born child. When time un-froze, they would suffocate, and the Tenth Plague of the Lord would be complete.
The Spirit of the Lord felt in the sack and pulled out one of the invisible bags. It was very supple and smooth, and although it could stretch it would not break. It would also evaporate with the daylight, but by that time the children would all be dead – irretrievably dead and gone. It had a pair of slender cords that could be drawn shut and tied around the small necks of the children.
The Spirit of the Lord slipped one hand behind the head of Sa'kus and lifted her head off her pillow. With the other hand he gently tugged the bag over her thick, curly black hair. The edge of the bag pulled down over her face and chin. Gently the Spirit of the Lord tugged on the threads to draw the mouth of the bag closed.
I can't do this, he said to himself. He ripped the bag off the child's head and threw it across the room.
"I can't do it, Lord," said the Spirit of the Lord, turning tear-filled eyes to the heavens. "I can't kill even one child in this way, let alone a nation of them."
DO AS THY HEART COMMANDS, a voice spoke. WORK MY BIDDING.
"I cannot do as my heart commands and also work thy bidding," answered the Spirit of the Lord, but there was no reply. It was a puzzle that the Spirit of the Lord spent a long time contemplating. But, in the end, he had a solution.
The Spirit of the Lord turned back to Sa'kus. He shook her gently, and she came unglued from the prison of time. Awakening, she asked "Who are you?" to the merry old man sitting on the edge of her bed.
"I am the Spirit of the Lord," he replied, "although I go by many names. Come, child; we have much to do tonight."
"Are you an assassin?" asked Sa'kus, her eyes wide.
"No, of course not," replied the Spirit of the Lord crossly. "Well… in a sense, perhaps I am. But really I'm not, and you have nothing to fear from me. Come, we must visit a great many houses."
"You're here to kill me," said Sa'kus, withdrawing from the Spirit of the Lord.
"I swear this will not happen," said the Spirit of the Lord, and he extended a hand to Sa'kus. There was something in his twinkling blue eyes that the girl trusted. She took his hand, and together they walked out of the nursery – she in her nightclothes, he in his outlandish red suit.
"If you're not here to kill me, why are you here?" asked Sa'kus.
"I have to 'take' every firstborn child in Egypt," said the Spirit of the Lord, his eyes twinkling. "Not kill them, just 'take' them. You will be believed to be dead, perhaps. But you will not die."
"Where will we go?" asked Sa'kus.
"With me, far to the north," said the Spirit of the Lord. Taking both of Sa'kus' hands, he clicked his heels together and they rose up through the smoke-hole to the palace roof.
"Oh look, the pretty animals!" cried Sa'kus, running to pet the noses of the reindeer. The Spirit of the Lord threw his bulging sack into his chariot.
"You shall never grow old, you and the other children," he said. "We shall all live far from the rest of humanity, apart from time and space. Do you like toys?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Sa'kus, clapping her hands.
"Then we shall make some," the Spirit of the Lord proclaimed. "And perhaps we shall give the extras away as gifts to the children who remain behind, so that I may atone in some small measure for thieving from their families."
"I hope there will be other children to play with," Sa'kus said. The Spirit of the Lord picked her up by the waist and stowed her in his chariot alongside the sack.
"Oh, there will be plenty," said the Spirit of the Lord, his eyes shining. He climbed into the chariot, flicked the reins, and with a leap the eight reindeer pulled him skyward.
A glimmer of light appeared – a flicker, as if from a candle seen across a great distance – a pinpoint of light in the sky. It glimmered, clarified into a strong beacon, and dove to the roof of Pharaoh's palace.
The Spirit of the Lord climbed off his chariot. He peered over the edge of the roof to look at the door-frame of Pharaoh's great gate. Please, he begged, let there be a miracle. Let Pharaoh have repented his defiance of Aaron and Moses and the word of God. Let Pharaoh have painted his door-frame with the blood of a lamb.
But there was no mark above the door. The Spirit of the Lord sighed heavily. The terrible task that had been given him would have to be performed after all. Every firstborn child, from the poorest house to the palace of Pharaoh himself, would have to be taken. He appreciated that the Lord needed to delegate the dirty work so that He could concentrate on the important things, but the Spirit of the Lord felt he had had a terrible burden over time. He had evicted Adam and Eve from Eden, and he had inflicted the curse of many tongues upon the people building the Tower of Babel, and now he had this task to perform. He was immortal, but for the first time he felt old.
From the rooftop, the myriad houses of the city were displayed before the Spirit of the Lord. "So many," he thought, looking at all the buildings hemming in the sparkling waters of the Nile on both sides. He wished that the Lord had not assigned him this grim task, but he knew there was no point appealing on high. The dirty job would have to be done, and he had better get started.
He turned back to his chariot and rummaged for his great sack. Pausing only to stroke a few of his beasts of burden – eight small horned deer – he hefted his bag and hopped down through a smoke-hole into the palace proper.
The Spirit of the Lord stole whisper-quiet through the vaulted stone corridors of Pharaoh's palace. His furred boots shushed across the floor, but his stealth made no difference one way or another – the tamed Bengal tiger sleeping on the stair was trapped between seconds just as Pharaoh's family were. Through great pillared halls he crept, peeking into doorways and parting curtains. Doors opened freely for him, and locks unsprung; no mortal bindings could stymie the Spirit of the Lord, and he alone chose what to free from the chains that secured time itself.
Into the nursery he prowled with his great sack. There he saw three small beds, with a child asleep in each. Setting down his burden, the Spirit of the Lord drew a papyrus scroll from his belt – The List. The List contained knowledge of every person ever born on Earth. It told him who had been born to whom, and in what order; it told him their good deeds and their evil works; it described their names and faces, and where they were to be found. The List was a very long document, which was why it had to be kept in a scroll, with the top and bottom ends vanishing into nothingness as it was rolled on its tubes.
From The List the Spirit of the Lord determined that the largest child, an eight year old girl, was Pharaoh's first-born. He read the entry on the child. There wasn't much there, because she hadn't lived much of a life yet. Her name was Sa'kus. She had told a few lies and harbored a few petty jealousies; she had also done a handful of good deeds and been generally obedient and well-behaved. She was, in short, a small child, who knew nothing of the struggles of the Hebrews and cared nothing for the policies of her cruel father. The Spirit of the Lord felt a crushing sadness.
He opened his sack. It looked empty, despite its fullness and bulging sides, because the contents were invisible. It was full of a great many invisible bags. The Spirit of Lord was tasked with tying one over the head and neck of every unprotected first-born child. When time un-froze, they would suffocate, and the Tenth Plague of the Lord would be complete.
The Spirit of the Lord felt in the sack and pulled out one of the invisible bags. It was very supple and smooth, and although it could stretch it would not break. It would also evaporate with the daylight, but by that time the children would all be dead – irretrievably dead and gone. It had a pair of slender cords that could be drawn shut and tied around the small necks of the children.
The Spirit of the Lord slipped one hand behind the head of Sa'kus and lifted her head off her pillow. With the other hand he gently tugged the bag over her thick, curly black hair. The edge of the bag pulled down over her face and chin. Gently the Spirit of the Lord tugged on the threads to draw the mouth of the bag closed.
I can't do this, he said to himself. He ripped the bag off the child's head and threw it across the room.
"I can't do it, Lord," said the Spirit of the Lord, turning tear-filled eyes to the heavens. "I can't kill even one child in this way, let alone a nation of them."
DO AS THY HEART COMMANDS, a voice spoke. WORK MY BIDDING.
"I cannot do as my heart commands and also work thy bidding," answered the Spirit of the Lord, but there was no reply. It was a puzzle that the Spirit of the Lord spent a long time contemplating. But, in the end, he had a solution.
The Spirit of the Lord turned back to Sa'kus. He shook her gently, and she came unglued from the prison of time. Awakening, she asked "Who are you?" to the merry old man sitting on the edge of her bed.
"I am the Spirit of the Lord," he replied, "although I go by many names. Come, child; we have much to do tonight."
"Are you an assassin?" asked Sa'kus, her eyes wide.
"No, of course not," replied the Spirit of the Lord crossly. "Well… in a sense, perhaps I am. But really I'm not, and you have nothing to fear from me. Come, we must visit a great many houses."
"You're here to kill me," said Sa'kus, withdrawing from the Spirit of the Lord.
"I swear this will not happen," said the Spirit of the Lord, and he extended a hand to Sa'kus. There was something in his twinkling blue eyes that the girl trusted. She took his hand, and together they walked out of the nursery – she in her nightclothes, he in his outlandish red suit.
"If you're not here to kill me, why are you here?" asked Sa'kus.
"I have to 'take' every firstborn child in Egypt," said the Spirit of the Lord, his eyes twinkling. "Not kill them, just 'take' them. You will be believed to be dead, perhaps. But you will not die."
"Where will we go?" asked Sa'kus.
"With me, far to the north," said the Spirit of the Lord. Taking both of Sa'kus' hands, he clicked his heels together and they rose up through the smoke-hole to the palace roof.
"Oh look, the pretty animals!" cried Sa'kus, running to pet the noses of the reindeer. The Spirit of the Lord threw his bulging sack into his chariot.
"You shall never grow old, you and the other children," he said. "We shall all live far from the rest of humanity, apart from time and space. Do you like toys?"
"Oh, yes!" replied Sa'kus, clapping her hands.
"Then we shall make some," the Spirit of the Lord proclaimed. "And perhaps we shall give the extras away as gifts to the children who remain behind, so that I may atone in some small measure for thieving from their families."
"I hope there will be other children to play with," Sa'kus said. The Spirit of the Lord picked her up by the waist and stowed her in his chariot alongside the sack.
"Oh, there will be plenty," said the Spirit of the Lord, his eyes shining. He climbed into the chariot, flicked the reins, and with a leap the eight reindeer pulled him skyward.
