Oct 14, 2023
This month's patron-funded story is Leviathan by Steven Guy. It's narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with cord?
Can you put a rope in his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook?
Will he make many pleas to you? Will he speak to you soft words?
Will he make a covenant with you to take him for your servant forever?
Will you play with him as with a bird, or will you put him on a leash for your girls?”
Job 41:1 - 5
A week before Lent a star fell from heaven. The light of its burning lit the sister’s bedroom through their window and woke them from a deep and dreamless sleep. Christine leapt from the bed and pressed her face to the window.
A miracle, she cried. A miracle that we should see a star fall.
Her sister stayed by the bed and took to her knees in prayer.
It has landed not far, Christine shouted. Perhaps in the pasture near to the river. Come. Run. Let us find it. A star falls from heaven - it will be of silver and gold. We are newly rich.
Her sister shook her head and remained upon her knees. It is an evil omen sister, she whispered, to see such a star fall. Close your eyes. Remember your prayers.
But Christine took her sister by the hand and led her out, both still in the thin shifts they slept in. Spring was not yet in bloom and it was cold. Their breath hung in a thousand tiny crystals as they ran to the pasture near the river. The smell of smoke was in the air and just as they ran out of breath and began to walk, they found a man – or rather, they found a man of sorts. He lay on his side at the end of a deep furrow that smelled both a little of wet earth and of a blacksmith’s forge. The furrow was no doubt from the mighty fury of his fall and he was unconscious and curled up like a child. His skin was a peculiar red in color – he seemed to be burnt or dyed to some shade between ochre and aubergine. His feet were blackened stumps and his hands black too, save for his palms which were the grey color of ash. On the whole, he looked charred, like the wood at the bottom of the charcoal maker’s pit, and yet his chest rose and fell. He was alive and breathed like a man.