The Scroll

1 - Simca

Kohelet tucked his feet under his blanket and watched the sparrows squabbling over the crust of bread on his windowsill. The birds had arrived, as usual, at the first light of dawn for their feast of crumbs; and judging from the growing flock, the news of a free meal had been chirped all over Jerusalem.

A wrinkled smile found its way to Kohelet's face. Each day his friend Benjamin would securely attach a new crust of bread around the nail he had driven into the window ledge. Benjamin claimed he wanted Kohelet to be awakened by the happy sound of the birds instead of the raucous noise from the marketplace below their apartment, but Kohelet knew better. Benjamin his own reasons for waking him so early each day.

Kohelet peered through the frantic tangle of sparrows fighting for their share of the morning meal until he spied her—the small, brown finch that always showed up a bit later than the sparrows. She perched on the far side of the window, patiently waiting for the crumbs that would inevitably fly free from the knot of flashing beaks. Kohelet had named her Simca, the word for "joy," for the chubby finch seemed pleased that she could stand aloof from the intense competition while benefiting from the sparrows' labors.

Each day, after the sparrows finally tugged the crust free and toppled it into the dirty street below, Simca would strut back and forth on the windowsill as she waited to celebrate the dawn with her sweet song. As the first rays of sunlight cleared the palace walls high above the city and warmed the window ledge, she fluffed out her feathers and gave voice to the joy of a new day. Simca sang as though the sunlight had infused her body and she would burst if she didn't let it out. She sang for Kohelet until the old man finally got out of bed. Only as he arrived at his desk next to the window did Simca give him a sharp nod and fly away.

Kohelet watched Simca flit across the empty marketplace toward the orchards outside the city walls. He pulled his garment closer.

The harvest was almost finished, and the early morning air was clear and cool. It was his favorite time of the year, for soon the pilgrims would flock into Jerusalem for the Feast of Booths. The streets would be crowded with people, and every belly would be full of food. It would be a time to meet old friends and catch up on events outside Jerusalem.

He looked past the jumbled roof line that surrounded the marketplace and up to the heights of the king's palace. The royal buildings were edged in sunlight, giving them a surreal glow against the gray shadows of the city below. He'd spent most of his life within those palace walls, but now the memories of those days brought only pain and regret.

He dropped his gaze to the empty marketplace lying in shadow below his window. Down here the only connection to his previous life in the court of the king was his friend Benjamin, for they had escaped from the palace on the same day. They no longer spoke of the events that had led to their downfall. There was no point in stirring up the past, as their current fiscal problems and Kohelet's physical trials were more than enough to absorb their combined energies.

Their exile had banished them to the poorest section of the city, overlooking the noisiest marketplace in all of Jerusalem. It was a drastic change from the lifestyle he had known in the palace, but Kohelet had long since made peace with that reality and had fully embraced his new life. At least here he was finally part of a real community, part of a family. He chuckled softly to himself. "You are fast becoming a sentimental old fool."

A shutter creaked below him, and a splash of water hit the pavement in the market square. Today wasn't Sabbath, so within the hour the merchants would set up their stalls for another frenetic day of buying and selling, another day of trying to get ahead. Kohelet's white eyebrows knit into furrows of deep thought.

It was a self-evident truth that human endeavors could never provide the satisfaction of obtaining anything truly lasting, yet every day the city streets were filled with people desperately trying to scramble higher than those around them. They would scurry about, trying to accomplish something permanent, to gain a lasting benefit from all their labor.