The Secret Life of God as Man

by Mary Quijano

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  For a while father takes on the chores that involve going into the village, ensuring I stay at home where I can cause no mischief until baby James has reached his third month, when mother will be able to take him out so she can do these errands herself.

  One day, however, the baby is fussy and feverish and father is out felling trees for a new project, so she sends me into the village to draw our daily ration of water from the public well.

  I carry our large clay pitcher carefully in both hands as I hurry towards the large walled pool. Many women and children are there before me to scoop up buckets of the clear clean water. As I wait my turn, a pair of small children playing tag suddenly run right smack into me, knocking me to the ground. The clay pitcher flies out of my hands and crashes against the stone wall of the open cistern, shattering into a hundred pieces.

  Both of the tots stop dead in their tracks while I climb to my feet, their eyes widening in fear as they look from me to the shattered pitcher and back again. Then the boy who ran into me falls to his knees, tears pouring from his eyes, and begs me not to kill him.

  That shocks me, hurts me: Am I really viewed as a monster, a boogeyman to be feared by small children?

  "It's ok," I say, squatting down beside him and putting my hand on his shoulder. "Don't be afraid of me. Look, I can still carry water just fine without the silly pitcher."

  As I say this I take off my small woolen cloak and, making it into a bowl-like shape, dip it into the pool of water and draw it out full to overflowing with water. Not one drop leaks from the thin fabric. The people at the wellspring stare at me in amazement, as I hoist the cloth bucket over my shoulder and walk away with a little wave at the boy and girl, who shyly wave back.

  Simchat Torah and the Goat Boys

  It's been a few weeks since the incident at the well, and today is Simchat Torah. We weren't able to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Sukkot this year since baby James is still too young for such a journey, so instead we have been celebrating by building a sukkah, which father and I stay in each night while mother prepares for the final festivities at weeks end, making traditional dishes to share at the synagogue as well as little decorations to add to our clothing - ribbons, fall flowers, religious symbols and such.

  Father reminds me again of the significance of this holy day, which marks the completion of the annual cycle of weekly Torah readings, culminating with the reading of the end of the Torah in Deuteronomy and the immediate return to its beginning in Genesis. This is done, he tells me, to remind us that the story of creation is a circle that never ends. I like that: they almost have it right.

  When the final reading is completed today with everyone present, there will be a blessing followed by a procession around the synagogue which includes much singing and dancing together. After that we will all break bread and share our favorite dishes; then later, while the elders toast everything they can think of with glass after glass of wine, the children will be free to play together in the surrounding courtyard.

  I feel both excited and nervous as we walk together to the village, father in the lead carrying the dishes mother has prepared, mother directly behind him carrying baby James, and myself bringing up the rear. There will be many children present, and I am not sure how I will be received by them.

  Also father tells me that this day traditionally marks the beginning of a child's Jewish education, and that there will be a confirmation ceremony for all boys that are of age following the blessing.

  This includes me, apparently, whether I think I need it or not.