Baara's Dreams

Chapter 16

The riotous crowds celebrated in the streets for hours. It took a long time for Naaman and his family to make it to their house. Men in the street kept stopping the commander to congratulate him. They assured him that his disease was not a problem. Some even held their sons up to see the commander's face, telling them the white patches were marks of valor. Suddenly what Naaman had feared would be cause for humiliation became a sign of courage. For weeks little boys who played war in the streets, covered parts of their faces with mud, pretending to be disfigured, as was Naaman.

As the weeks lengthened, though, the celebrity surrounding Naaman's disease lessened. Some children who had not been told the story of the dramatic entrance into the city would whisper and point when Naaman was in public. Some of the troops became restless under Naaman's leadership. When he inadvertently called one of his soldiers by the wrong name, rumors began that the disease was beginning to affect Naaman's mind.

One night about a year after returning home, Naaman told Maacah, "I am considering resigning my post in the army and joining the old men who congregate at the gate and gossip the day away."

"Why?" Maacah asked, perplexed. "You are not in your dotage yet. I think you've just reached your prime," she said coquettishly, batting her eyelashes alluringly.

"Perhaps," Naaman responded, smiling despite himself. "But you're just a besotted woman filled with romantic nonsense. Out there," he said, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the palace, "they think my disease is beginning to lessen my mental prowess. The troops are becoming impatient. It's best that I take action before the King is forced to reconsider his support of me."

"But, Naaman," Maacah said, "it hasn't been long since they hailed you as a conquering hero, marching into the city with their faces painted to match yours. Surely you misinterpret the unrest."

"No, I'm afraid not," Naaman replied. "There are always those who ambitiously seek the commander's post. They take advantage of any small error and use gossip to make it seem gargantuan. Many of my men are still loyal and would mourn my resignation. But it's better that I step down while I am still respected, while I can be instrumental in selecting my successor."

"But such an action wouldn't be good for you," Maacah said. "You wouldn't be happy sitting idle among the gossips at the city gates."

"I know, love," Naaman admitted. "But what is best for me may not be what is best for Damascus."

"Perhaps you should try a foreign healer first," Maacah suggested. "Perhaps someone outside Aram will have a cure for the disease."

"You know better, wife," Naaman responded gruffly. "You know that the King has already exhausted all of the healing expertise at his disposal." Taking his disfigured hands and framing his mask-like countenance, Naaman leaned toward Maacah thrusting his face in front of her startled eyes. "Look at me, Maacah. I am not going to get better. This is how I will live out my days. No healer can help me."

"No ordinary healer, perhaps," Maacah admitted. "But Naaman there is one you haven't tried." Hurrying to finish her speech before he dismissed her, she spoke rapidly. "Baara said there is a prophet in Israel, a man who lives in Samaria. She said that he has healed many diseases with the help of Yahweh. She believes he could heal you."

"Now, Maacah," Naaman answered in exasperation. "You know we have tried everything. You know that Baara makes fantastic claims for her god. You also know that she suffered exhausting nightmares for months after moving into our household because her god didn't save her family from my soldiers. Her fantasies may bring her comfort, but don't you get caught up in them and send me off on some wild goose chase."

"I wouldn't bring this to your attention under normal circumstances, Naaman," Maacah pleaded, "but Baara's logic has echoed in my mind for some time now. I have no answer for what she asked, and I doubt you will either."