Baara's Dreams

Chapter 15

A few nights later, Maacah lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. The massage had relaxed her, but sleep was still elusive. Tossing and turning on her couch, she contemplated the eminent return of her husband, trying to picture in her mind a progression of the disease whose signs she had already seen. She was trying to imagine her loving Naaman's handsome face botched with pale skin when she heard a noise outside her window, followed by, "Pssst, Maacah, wake up."

Sitting up in bed, Maacah said in a tremulous voice, "Naaman, is that you, or am I just dreaming?"

"It is I, love," the voice responded. "Go to the front gate and open it quietly, and let me in. No one is to know I am here but you."

Hurrying to the front gate, Maacah opened it. Naaman slipped into the shadows, saying, "Close it quickly. I will meet you in our room."

After securing the gate, Maacah hurried to her room. As she stepped through the door, her husband caught her close in a bear hug. She clung to him for a minute. Neither said a word. When she went to pull back, Naaman said, "No, don't. Let me just hold you for a moment. I have dreamed of you in my arms for the last year. Let it be as I dreamed for a little longer."

"Hold me as long as you like," Maacah replied. "Today, tomorrow, each day for the rest of our lives. You don't have to return to battle do you?" she questioned. "Rumor has it the war is over, and you were victorious."

"Yes," Naaman murmured, caressing Maacah's head where it rested on his chest. "The war is over, and the troops will enter the city triumphantly tomorrow. But, I had to see you alone first. I had to hold you once more while you still held the image of a strong, healthy man in your mind. I couldn't let you learn of my condition in public with the rest of the citizenry. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you gasp with revulsion and then try to cover the reaction and pretend all is well. I couldn't spare you completely, my love. But I came tonight so you would be forewarned, to give you the opportunity to be abed with a headache and not have to face public humiliation."

As Maacah stirred in his arms and started to speak, Naaman put his finger on her lips to silence her. "Don't make any protestations yet," he said. "I want you to close your eyes and kiss me. Then I want you to turn your back while I light a lamp and remove everything but my tunic. As you may have guessed as I talked, my disease has progressed. When I tell you, you are to turn around. I wanted to spare you the sight. I considered putting myself in the thick of the battle and allowing myself to be killed, but I hadn't the courage. At night as I gazed at our star and felt the love you were sending me, I imagined your grief if word came that I was killed in battle. I imagined how I would feel if news came that you had died. I couldn't put you through that grief; your love wouldn't let me. But I fear the grief I will put you through now will be worse because as long as I live, it will have no end. Each time you look on me, you will grieve afresh."

Putting his hand under Maacah's chin, Naaman tilted her face upward, lowering his lips to hers and kissing her fully and passionately, putting all of his love into what he feared was one last kiss. He could not imagine any woman wanting to kiss him once she saw what he had become.

Finally letting Maacah go Naaman turned her to face the wall while he lit the lamp and removed his outer clothing. Clad in his knee-length, short-sleeved tunic, he said, "You can turn around now, Maacah."

Maacah turned slowly to face her husband. Naaman stood some three feet from her illuminated by the mellow glow of a small oil lamp. Even with the softening effects of the lamp, the stark reality of the disfigurement caused by the disease was not masked. Yet without flinching, Maacah took a step toward him, reaching out an exploring hand. While he stood statue still, she let her fingers slowly explore his beloved face. The right side of his face from just above his ear, below his eye, to the right of his nose, down past the corner of his mouth, and disappearing down his neck and under his tunic was solid white. On the other side, the white skin began somewhere in his hairline, encompassing half of his forehead and his left eye. The line of white cut the left side of his face in half, continued below his left ear, and disappeared into his hair. The whole effect was as though he had been masked and someone ripped the white mask from his face, leaving parts of the mask stuck in places.