She
is here to bring. With the light, glowing marble in Her hand and the soft,
serene smile on Her face, She waits.
He is here to take. With
the dark, lifeless marble in His hand and the indifferent, emotionless look on
His face, He waits.
The mother on the bed is
moaning in pain; she is getting weak. The labor is stretching far too long and
the midwife is worried – worried for the child, worried for the mother. She is
afraid that they won’t make it. The two strangers standing by the wall, invisible
to the midwife and the mother, are not afraid; they know exactly what is going
to happen.
He twirls the dark
marble in His hand lazily. It won’t be long now - a few minutes, quarter of an
hour at most – and His marble won’t be empty anymore and there will be one less
soul in the world. He doesn’t feel excited about it. In fact, He looks quiet
indifferent.
She holds the glowing
marble carefully between the palms of Her hands. It won’t be long now – soon
Her marble will be empty and there will be one more soul in the world. She
feels a million different things: excitement, contentment, happiness… and
sadness.
She hates when it
happens this way – when She is there to bring a new life, just to meet Him on
the scene, taking one other immediately. If things always went the way they
should, She and He would never meet. She would bring a soul, and He would take
it decades later. But things never go the way they should.
She steals a glance at
him – it’s an accusing glance, full of well-veiled hatred. He sees it, but
doesn’t react. She shouldn’t hate, not Him, not anything or anybody, but She
can’t help it: She hates His darkness, His constant indifference, the way He
has no emotions, the way He is… the task He has been doomed with.
The mother groans again
and the midwife flutters around her, her forehead just as wrenched in sweat as
the mother’s. “You are almost there,” she whispers to the mother, trying to
calm her, to soothe her, but the mother barely registers her voice.
He smirks. It’s almost
over.
He peeks at His unwanted
companion from under His lashes, His longing unseen by Her, unseen by
everybody. He shouldn’t desire what She has, but somehow, He still does.
He didn’t ask for it, he
didn’t ask for being Her polar opposite. He didn’t ask for being feared and
resented while She is waited and loved. But this is what He has got and He
won’t complain. After all, it is just a job.
He twirls the marble
between His fingers.
He knows His place.
But He can’t help
desiring Her.
The mother screams, and
slowly, a head appears between her legs. The midwife doesn’t stop moving, once
holding the mother’s hand, then, in the next moment, standing at the foot of
the bed, easing the child’s way into the word.
She steps forwards,
glowing marble on Her outstretched hand; Her time has come. She is almost done
here. But…
She peeks behind her
shoulder, looking at Him, still standing by the wall stoically, one hand in His
pocket, the other clutching His marble, waiting for His time to come.
It’s no more than a
minute now.
She doesn’t take Her
gaze away from Him. She won’t address Him, not now, not ever, but She still
pleads with Him, silently, without words. It
doesn’t have to be this way… He looks away defiantly.
The mother gives one
last groan as the child slips from her body. She falls back to the pillows,
spent and weak, her eyelids dropping. Crimson blood seeps from between her
legs, more than there should be.
The midwife is
preoccupied by the child – she is small and limp and hasn’t cried out yet. The
midwife’s soul freezes for a moment. So the last hours were in vain, and the
child doesn’t live long enough to be placed into her mother’s arms.
But then She steps in,
as graceful as ever, unseen by mortal eyes, and stands by the midwife. She
touches the child’s face with one single finger, feeling the soft skin of the
chubby cheeks. Then, taking a deep breath, She holds up the marble in one hand,
lifts Her other hand and cracks the thin surface of the marble with her fingernail.
The marble sighs as the
soul trapped inside breaks free. For a moment, the whole dim room bathes in
light – it’s a shame the mother and the midwife can’t see it – and then it is
quickly over as the new soul finds its way into the child’s fragile body.
In the next moment the
infant gives a healthy cry.
The midwife lets out a
shaky laugh – it’s not over, after all; the child is alive -, and takes her
aside to clean her and wrap her in blankets. On the bed, the mother is getting
weaker and weaker, but she still smiles proudly. She has done it; she brought her
little one into the world. She is still bleeding, overlooked by the midwife,
and her flustered cheeks slowly lose color. Her eyelids are dropping and her
vision is becoming fuzzy.
She steps back to the
wall again – Her work is over. The child lives, She has given her a soul. Now,
it’s His turn to do what He has to.
He steps up to the
mother, who is barely breathing now, and positions His hand holding the marble
above her. Now, it takes only one quick, little movement. A flick of His wrist
and it is over. A turn of the marble and the mother is dead.
Yet, He waits.
He doesn’t know what,
but something stops Him, keeps Him away from doing what He has to.
He takes a look behind
His shoulder, looking at Her. He relishes at the sight of Her – She is
beautiful and pure, even He can see it. And even though She could have left by
now, She is still there, waiting, staying to see the mother perish. Staying to
see what He does.
If he does anything.
He sighs, His breath a
sulfuric puff in the air.
After all, what one more
soul in the world does? Nothing. This mother, if she lives, won’t change the
world. She won’t lead armies to battle, she won’t conquer countries, she won’t
change lives. She will just raise her little daughter in this tiny village.
Maybe she won’t even leave this place in her life.
Whether she lives or
dies, it hardly changes anything.
He makes up His mind and
takes a step backwards, sliding His marble into the pocket of His robe. He has
done nothing, yet His work is over for the day.
The mother takes a deep
breath. She stops bleeding, and her heart starts to beat faster and stronger.
The color returns to her cheeks. The next moment the midwife hands her the
infant, bundled up in warm blankets and by then the mother is strong enough to
hold her daughter.
Death had mercy on her
today.
Meanwhile She and He
exchange a glance, standing by the wall, unseen by mortal eyes. They don’t say
a word – they never do -, but they still understand each other.
She is Life. She is
joyous and She can’t help but detest Him. He is Her natural opposite and She
hates Him for that. But today, everything put aside, She is grateful for what
He did.
He is Death. He is
mournful and He can’t help but desire Her. She is His natural opposite and He
loves Her for that. And today, regardless of Her hatred towards Him, He put His
duty aside for Her.
And because of them,
mother and child are alive.
