A work of fiction, based on actual historical realities

Oh my hat, there it is! Failing to locate it after multiple deep searches in the past and having shed streams of tears about it, led to me giving up all hope of ever finding this treasure again. But here it is, still so perfect, still so very pretty. I have no idea how it ended up in this storage barrel, tucked away underneath the heavy robes at the very bottom. I have been whining and whinging, mostly to myself, about having to sort out our stored junk before Ravi and I (and our soon-to-be-born baby girl…yes, I know she’s a girl) will relocate to start a brand new life in the city next month. This pretty little red dress, fit for a 6-year-old, takes me back to that day when the life of the little girl wearing it, changed forever. Her soul was set free and the flood lights of her mind were switched on. It was a powerful, yet simple interaction between a kind adult man and a receptive little girl, resembling a picture of the perfect key slipping into a giant padlock to unlock a life which had been locked in. I can so vividly remember it…so mind blowing….so beautiful….so indescribable…. I was not 6 years old, in fact, I was 12 years old, and [KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK]—The sound forthcoming from the front door startled me— Who could be knocking on my door now? I am not expecting anyone, not today…

I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE, NOW! Salome increases her pace. She does not belong in this part of the city. This was such a foolish idea! A sudden loud bang startles her, and instinctively but still in motion, she turns her head back to where the sound came from without breaking her stride. She is able to determine that the sound poses no threat to her as it came from the marketplace on the other side of the wall before realising that her decision to blindly remain in motion is yet another foolish idea. Within a split second, she finds herself flat on her belly with her face planted in the dust. She slowly lifts her head, and instead of feeling the usual pang of embarrassment spreading through her about her clumsiness, she feels jolts of shock at the sight right in front of her. It looks as if someone had left a mutilated animal just there. There is a bloody heap of pulp with what could well be the contorted limbs of a lifeless body protruding from it. Salome spits the dirt out of her mouth before carefully approaching the grizzly scene. Oh, good grief, it’s not an animal! It’s a baby girl, naked and maimed. There is so much of what should be inside her little body spread out all around her on the outside. Surely she has to be dead…! Just then, the tiny chin quivers and a whimpering whisper-moan escapes the tiny swollen lips. She is not dead!

Perhaps one day in the future someone could coin a term for the culture of unspeakable cruelty which everyone lives in, but no-one ever speaks of. Something to the tune of WHATEVER HAPPENS IN ROME, STAYS IN ROME. At first, it was just anger, the anger of a barren Hebrew woman projected onto the demented, self righteous Roman patriarchs who so shamelessly discard their female newborns as if they are mere trash. These poor babies are tossed out onto garbage or dung dumps where they succumb to starvation or dehydration or hypothermia or even animal attacks. For years Salome considered sneaking into Roman territory to rescue at least one of these infants, but it was not until that rumour started doing the rounds that her intention turned into action. This rumour was of unspeakable cruelty committed by a certain prominent Roman leader towards his own newborn daughter and it was intended to spark fear among the Hebrew people.

In Salome it sparked something profoundly stronger than fear or even anger. Her anger had been upgraded to rage. On that significant day riddled with foolishness she did, in fact, succeed in rescuing a Roman infant. However, instead of it being just an unknown baby girl, she ended up rescuing the infant daughter of the most despicable man she had ever heard of. She could never quite express the intensity of explosive love she felt for the broken baby in that heart shattering moment or even explain how that love continued to grow for her precious daughter. However, Salome could also never deny (at least not to herself) the fierce fire of growing bitterness, hatred and resentment burning unrestrained within her. The horror of the unspeakable trauma inflicted on her beloved daughter when she was a vulnerable infant became painfully evident in every missed developmental milestone, every disapproving look of disgust and every heartless mock and verbal judgement from outsiders. Salome felt like the only person in the world who believed that behind the exterior of the cripple, mute, scarred and stunted preteen girl who drooled and never made eye contact with anyone, there existed a special interior where the deep soul and vibrant mind of a precious girl were locked up inside a vault.

OH MY BEAUTIFUL ASHA, I SO LOOKED FORWARD TO SEEING YOU! I LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH! The kindhearted Teacher stretched out His arms as wide as He could to show the little girl just how much He loves her. Her explosive, audible little shrieks of laughter are filled with delight as she lets go of her gobsmacked mother’s hand to run, effortlessly and unassisted, to Him. But the strong arm of an angry man stops her before she can fall into His embrace. STEP ASIDE, PETER, LET THE CHILDREN COME TO ME! The angry man is filled with sadness and he steps aside immediately. Asha runs to Jesus, He picks her up onto His lap and the two of them proceed to have a conversation as if they are the only two people in the world. Salome, still gobsmacked, just stood there, completely transfixed by the scene. Except for the occasional feral grunt or moan from Asha’s throat, Salome has never heard her beautiful voice. The melodious echoes of coherent speech could not be denied and it was forthcoming from the running cripple girl who had been non-verbal, retarded and mute just moments earlier. Hand-in-hand Jesus walks Asha back to her mother and He then engages in a private conversation with Salome.

Although Salome rarely spoke of what Jesus said to her during that conversation, the evidence of her radically changed life could not be denied. In the absence of all bitterness, hatred and resentment, she displayed divine insight into and understanding of the redemptive power of Jesus which she imparted into her beloved daughter, Asha. Other than her small 6-year-old stature and two prominent facial scars, which actually served to enhance her unique beauty, 12-year-old Asha retained none of the deficits of her past.

With the red dress still in my hands, I made my way to the front door and opened it. HELLO, MY NAME IS EMILIO, SON OF ATTICUS CICERO. ARE YOU ASHA? Somewhat dumbstruck, I simply nod at the man while I feel an uncomfortable uneasiness rising up within me. My mind started firing off cascades of impulses in an attempt to make sense of what certainly contained a hint of familiarity. The polite man at the door looks tormented. He has a pale, ashen complexion, he is sweating profusely and upon him gazing at my prominent baby bump, it suddenly appears as if all traces of residual light in his eyes had been snuffed out by something resembling impending death. He is shaking uncontrollably and with his grey, boney, uncoordinated hands, he is holding a piece of paper out to me. Then, as I reach out to take it from him, it dawns on me. In my head, I hear the wise words about forgiveness and redemption as spoken by my beloved mother, Salome. Oh, how I suddenly long to have her here with me to share in what is about to happen. The uncomfortable uneasiness within me turns into instant excitement and I invite my brother, Emilio, inside.