The farmer took three javelina steaks from his salt box. The steaks were bundled in plastic bags of the type floating throughout the desert, accompanying tumble weeds in travels blind and chaotic. He placed the steaks in a battered stainless skillet and set them to sizzle on the stove’s hot plate. Pious retrieved a water pitcher from his pantry.
The prisoner had not moved. The smell of fried pork filled the cabin.
Terence entered Pious’ home without knocking. His right hand clutched his four-barrel pistol behind his back. Pious was startled and sloshed water on the cabin floor.
“If you don’t mind the inquiry, sir, where were you?” Pious asked.
The farmer set the pitcher down and gripped the frying pan with a false casualness, as if checking the meat required Pious to handle the metal and keep a sightline with Terence. His body tensed in a way both visible and animal. The old Preacher realized the threat and responded in kind. The click of the pistol hammer echoed off the close cabin walls. It was an unmistakable sound and issued a threat more credible than any words Terence could muster.
“Men are trailing me and mine. They would take our lives, opportunity given. I set a false trail.”
Terence and Pious spent a moment of stretched time staring at each other, regarding small and dangerous motions. Pious gripped the skillet. Terence gripped the pistol. Pious twisted his face into a disingenuous smile and released the panhandle.
“Please sit and eat,” Pious said.
Pious picked a steak out of the frying pan with calloused fingers. He laid it on a wood slab and offered it to Terence. Terence took the slab with his left hand and sat on the floor. He released the hammer from his pistol and strung it back around his neck. Pious plated the remaining steaks without acknowledging the firearm. He sat by the stove. A slab was placed near Lead, who remained unconscious despite the smell. Pious and Terence continued to regard each other with nervous apprehension.
“I can tell by your gray hair that you were a grown man before the Storms,” Pious said. “What was your livelihood?”
Terence picked up the steak, looked it over, and put it back on the slab. Pious poured water into an earthen mug. He pushed the mug toward Terence. Pious swigged from the pitcher directly.
“There isn’t time to tell it all, nor would I want to. I lived in a place called San Diego, a city empire near the old Pacific line. I was a school teacher. I had a family.” Terence smiled in the brief reflection of a good past. He drank the water and savored it. “All those things are gone and don’t matter and never again will. It’s not the life this one is,” Terence said.
“I apologize if my question brought harm.” Pious said.
The men ate in silence disturbed only by Lead’s dream whispers, urgent and incoherent.
“I said, I apologize,” Pious declared, agitated at Terence’s silence.
“I accept, no harm done. It’s just not a story I want to tell,” Terence replied. He worked on his steak with hands and teeth and then paused. “You ever hear the story of Job?”
Pious took a bite of his steak and shook his head.
“It’s a book of the Old Testament.” Terence said. “Job was a man who lived a long time ago, before the technology and knowing were created and lost. Job was a righteous man, a wealthy farmer who loved God true in his heart. God knew Job was his best man and was proud to have a servant so clean. One day God was talking with Satan.”
Pious’ face flushed crimson at the mention of the Devil. Terence continued.
“God and Satan were talking about what makes a man holy or unholy. Satan told God that it was suffering that made men unholy and comfortable men, men who lived life without worry, could afford to live a life free of sin. As an example, Satan spoke of Job. He offered a bet with God. He wagered that if he were to take away Job’s comfort, Job would curse God’s name and turn against him. Job would embrace sin and forsake God like the other sinners of low means and birth. God took the bet.”
The words made Pious nervous. The parish pastors never spoke of God and Satan consorting directly.
“So Satan waved his claw and destroyed Job’s life. His evil infected and slew Job’s children and cattle. His crops withered and turned to ashes. Coins and jewels vanished from his coffers. His soft robes unwound into brittle thread. His house collapsed into a pile of rotten timber and insects. His hair fell out and his body was plagued with hissing boils.
Job clothed himself in burlap sacking which hurt his tender skin and sores. He walked into his field and sat among the ashes and contemplated his undoing. Friends from distant lands visited Job, but when they saw what had become of him, they were upset.
‘What sin hath thou committed, Job? Why hath God smote thee?’ They asked.
Job replied, ‘To my knowledge I have committed no sin. If any of thee hath knowledge of my sin, please speak it.’
The friends looked down on Job, hideous, dressed in burlap, wallowing in ashes.
‘We have not beheld thy sin, but what God hath done to thee is proof enough of the evil thou hath committed. The righteous and innocent never need fear suffering and the wrath of God. Thou art an awful man to be stricken so.’
And with that they left Job to his misery. Job pondered and prayed but his suffering and agony was ceaseless. Finally Job raised his fist to the heavens.
‘Why have thou forsaken me Lord? Why must I, one righteous and without sin, suffer loss? Why must I live on in pain and be scorned and humiliated by my friends?’
Job had finally sinned; he’d questioned God’s infinite grace, which angered God. God came down to Job and stood before him.
‘Who are you to question me?’ He said. ‘I created the universe and all life. Everything you’ve see before, everything you’ve ever thought, everything that’s ever existed, everything that will be until the end of the days, tis all here because I say it is to be, for my own reasons. Who are you to question what I do? Who are you to question my infinite wisdom? Your mind is not able to understand all that I do. I know this because it was I who created your mind.’
Job was awestruck. Here he was, in the presence of his Creator, who was scolding him for complaining about suffering. Job said the first thing which came to mind.
‘I’m sorry my Lord, I did not mean to offend.’
God looked upon Job and smiled.
‘I forgive you.’ He said and swept his arm over Job and fields around him.
Job’s skin healed as did his lands. New cattle and crops sprung from the earth, and a new home fell from the sky. Over time Job and his wife conceived new children; daughters whose beauty was legendary.” Terence took a long drink from his mug. “Nobody knew what the wager was for, only that God lost.”
Pious looked at the uneaten remainder of his steak.
“Why did you tell me this story, Preacher?”
“You asked me where I’m from, what I used to be. I lived in a place that no longer exists. I had a wife and child who are dead. I don’t know why. I’ve never known why and I’ll never understand why. I am Job.” Terence stood up from the table. The early morning sun flooded the room with light.
“I must sleep now. I put you in charge of the well-being of myself and my bound.” Terence stretched his body on the hardwood floor. He slipped the gun back into his pocket.