Two years later
It was the first time in two years of slavery that Gili smiled happily. She watched the little baby drool and blow tiny bubbles from his mouth. “He is so cute, Mistress Karinah,” she said as she gently touched the downy black hair on the baby’s head.
“I love it when he does that,” Karinah responded, pointing with her fingertip to the tiny bubbles and gently stroking his cheeks.
Karinah and Gili both heard the door squeak, but neither of them looked up. “And how is my little nephew?” Naaman said as he walked into the room, his feet tucked inside sandals lined with soft sheepskin to cushion the jolt of his stride.
“He’s adorable,” Karinah beamed as she looked up at her husband.
Naaman smiled at the comment. “All babies look alike,” he replied, only partly in jest. Then patting his wife on the arm, he said, “I must leave for a few hours. I will return before nightfall.”
Gili lowered her eyes and backed away, discretely lifting a small pouch filled with crushed spices to her nose. It masked—but didn’t eliminate—the stench that came from the man. She had overcome the awkwardness of seeing his disfigured face, feet, and hands, but her stomach rebelled at the smell of disintegrating flesh, and more than once she had wretched in his presence.
“Have the cook prepare you a small cloth like this,” Karinah had instructed Gili after seeing her wretch the first time. Showing her a small white linen pouch filled with spices, Karinah explained, “It helps mask the odor.”
Karinah smiled to acknowledge her husband’s comment but turned her attention back to the baby and its mother before he was even out the door. “You’re very lucky,” Karinah said with more than a tinge of envy as she handed the baby back to her sister.
“I know it,” the beaming woman replied as she cuddled the child against her.
Gili stood in the corner of the room and watched her childless mistress coo and fuss over the two-month-old baby. For reasons Gili didn’t know, Karinah and Naaman didn’t have any children. And seeing the baby made Gili temporarily forget her own situation. But as the woman and her baby began saying good-byes, the familiar loneliness and longing for her own family crept back, and Gili’s mind raced back over the two years since she had been taken from those she loved and forced to serve as a slave.
Not a day passed that she didn’t immediately drop beside her bed when she awoke and offer up her morning prayers. And every day they began with exactly the same plea: “Jehovah, Lord God. Thank you for allowing me to sleep safely last night and for another day to live. If you will, let today be the day I am freed from slavery and return to those I love and miss. But if not, give me the faith and courage to be strong until I see them again, and bless them to know that I am alive and well.” Her petition continued with expressions of gratitude for her knowledge of a prophet as well as a plea for God’s protection. And though she was a slave, she expressed heartfelt gratitude for being a slave to Naaman and Karinah. Every few weeks for almost two years, she had heard rumors of the brutal mistreatment or death of someone she had known in Edrei, someone else who had been forced into a life of slavery.
“Gili!” Karinah said forcefully.
Pulled from her mental ramblings, Gili said, “I’m sorry, mistress. I didn’t hear you.”
Pointing to her sister, Karinah said, “Will you please escort them out and then come back here and brush my hair.”
“Yes, certainly.” Gili walked from the room with the woman and her baby trailing behind. A few moments later, Gili returned, picked up a wooden comb, and began carefully combing Karinah’s hair.
Looking in the thin sheet of polished copper, Karinah tipped it so she could see Gili’s reflection. “You no longer find it so difficult to look at my husband’s disfigured appearance, do you?”
“No, he no longer looks strange to me,” Gili said as she gently glided the comb through the dark brown hair. “In truth, mistress, I never think about it.”
“Neither do I,” Karinah said. After a long pause, she added, “He’s a very good man.”
Gili nodded her head. “He is.”
Karinah lowered the copper sheet to her lap and sat silently as Gili repeatedly pulled the comb through her hair.
“Mistress, may I speak?”
“Certainly, Gili,” Karinah said.
“There is a prophet in Israel who can heal Master Naaman,” Gili said as she quickly plucked a wild strand of gray hair from Karinah’s head.
It wasn’t the sudden pinprick of pain that made Karinah twist around to face Gili. “There’s a what?”
“A prophet,” Gili said.
“What is a prophet?” Karinah asked. She took Gili’s arm and guided the girl around so she was standing in front of Karinah.
“A prophet is a man who speaks for God, a man who has wonderful power to heal people. He can cure your husband of his leprosy.”
“Ah,” Karinah said, nodding her head. “Like our priests of Baal and our sorcerers.”
“No, mistress, not like those men. They do their work by evil power. A prophet works by the power of God.”
“Baal is a god,” Karinah insisted.
“But neither you nor Master Naaman believes in him.”
Karinah smiled at the perceptive child. “No, we don’t believe in him.”
“I believe in Prophet,” Gili said proudly. “He can heal people if they believe in God.”
“Do you know this man?”
“Yes, mistress; others call him Elisha, but to me he is Prophet.”
“How do you know him?” Karinah said with suspicion, not really believing this young maiden could possibly know a man who spoke for God and could miraculously heal people.
“He’s been in my home many times,” Gili said. Reaching inside the folds of her robe, she extracted the leather pouch holding a small but beautiful pale pink stone. Removing the stone from the bag and holding it in the palm of her hand, she said with reverence, “He gave this to me many years ago. It is my most valuable possession.”
Karinah picked up the delicate stone and held it to the sunlight. Its crystal shape refracted the light and made the beautiful colors of the rainbow appear on the white wall beside them. “He gave you this?” Karinah asked.
Gili nodded her head and said, “It’s the reason I’m here.”
“This stone?” Karinah sked as she placed the stone back in Gili’s palm.
“I was hiding from the soldiers with my mother, but I forgot the stone. When I went back to get it, the soldiers captured me.”
Karinah looked at Gili’s brown eyes and was suddenly assaulted by sadness and shame. In the two years the girl had been her slave, Karinah had never asked how Gili had come to be there. Not once had she asked about the child’s father or mother or anything about her as a human being. And now this young maiden was standing before her and unselfishly offering a cure for her husband, expecting nothing in return. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Karinah asked in a subdued voice, “How do you know this man can cure my husband?”
Gili looked at Karinah but said nothing. The pause was long enough that Karinah shifted in her seat and nodded at Gili to prod her response.
Still Gili hesitated. Her wrinkled brow, downturned mouth, and narrowed eyes all seemed to be evidence of an internal conflict. After a long moment, she said quietly, “Other than my family, I have never told anyone what I am about to tell you.”
Karinah inclined her head slightly toward Gili. “Why is that?”
“Because it is a sacred experience, and we don’t speak of it, especially to . . . a nonbeliever.”
“I see,” Karinah said. “Do you think I will ridicule your beliefs?”
Gili shook her head. “No, I don’t think that; I just don’t know if you will believe as I do.”
Karinah studied Gili’s expression. Placing the polished brass mirror in her hands onto a table, Karinah said, “Gili, if you know something, or someone, that can heal my husband, I ask you to tell me. I give you my word I will not ridicule you or your God. Do you understand?”
Gili nodded.
Karinah smiled slightly. “How do you know this man, your prophet, can cure my husband?”
“Because he brought my father back to life and healed him when he was gored by an angry cow.”
The words had been spoken with such simple conviction. Pointing to a nearby chair, Karinah motioned for Gili to sit. “Please, will you tell me more of how this man healed your father?”
Gili examined the earnestness in Karinah’s eyes then hesitated only slightly before saying, “Yes, Mistress.” Drawing the chair so they sat almost knee-to-knee, Gili sat down and began.
The suspicious look on Karinah’s face was replaced with curiosity as she listened to Gili’s words. For twenty minutes Karinah sat transfixed, listening to Gili’s subdued voice as she gave a vivid description of her father’s terrible injuries and miraculous healing. When Gili finished, the two sat in silence for a moment. Then with earnest pleading in her voice, Karinah asked, “Do you honestly believe this man, this prophet of Israel, can heal my husband?”
“No, Mistress,” Gili replied warmly. “I don’t believe he can heal Master Naaman. I know he can do it if God wills it.”
Karinah slid forward in her chair and lightly grasped Gili’s arms in each of her hands. “Where can we find this prophet?”