Арчибальд Кронин - The Innkeeper's Wife[Christmas Story]

At dawn, Seraia, wife of the innkeeper, awoke, and her first instinctive glance showed that Elah, her husband, was not there beside her. She sighed and for some moments lay still, facing another day, feeling anew the weight of sadness that bore down upon her heart. She thought of the troubles in Judea, the last trace of liberty gone, the people oppressed by the harsh rule of the Roman procurator, forced to worship as idols the images of the deified Emperor set up in the temple. Through-out the land, between apathy and recklessness, a blight had spread, brigandage and robbery were rife, the taint of moral decay, of sacrilege, exaction and hung in the air. Would nothing, she asked herself, ever come to change it? Above all, with deepening anxiety, she thought of her own difficulties, and of the painful problem which, beneath her own roof, increasingly beset her.

The morning was grey and cheerless with a harsh breeze blowing across from Mount Hermon but, urged by her sense of duty, she stirred, got up and began to clothe herself, shivering slightly, for Bethlehem lay high on its windswept spur and the air at this season was sharp and chill. She was a comely woman still, despite her forty odd years, short and trim in figure and with an open face marked by lines of kindness. Her expression in repose showed a pleasant quietude. Her grey eyes, matching the sober hue of the robe she now girded about her, had in their depths the look of one who sees more than outward things, one who has, perhaps of necessity, created an interior life all her own.

She had finished dressing and, with a last look around the room to ensure its order, was about to leave when slowly, with a cautious touch, the door opened. It was her husband. Plainly discomfited to find her up, he hesitated irresolutely on the threshold then, too hastily, launched into an explanation of his absence: he had gone downstairs at an early hour to prepare for the crowd of guests that must flock to the inn today; and with a sudden gust of that fretful irritability which had lately come upon him, he began to grumble at the extra work which they would have because of the great movement of people to register in the census ordained by Herod Antipas. When he paused, appearing to expect some reply, she said quietly:

"It is not like you to complain of trade, Elah ."

"Of good trade, no," he retorted. "But today’s may be of a mixed variety. The rabble will be on the move."

"Then why concern yourself so deeply… you must have risen in darkness, long before the dawn?"

He reddened perceptibly under her steady gaze.

"Someone must make arrangements… yes, yes, someone must do it… so why not I…?"

While he ran on with increased confusion she answered little, pitying his weakness and shame, yet finding in these manifest emotions and in his sidelong questing glances, a faint encouragement that he still cared something for her.

As she went downstairs the light was brightening, already there were movements in the kitchen-her two good maids, Rachel and Athalea, both devoted to her, had begun the many preparations for this busy day. The cooking pots of lentils were al ready on the fire, water had been drawn from the well, the goat’s flesh was roasting on the spit, as was proper under the Mosaic law. To Rachel, kneading the dark barley flour she had ground in the stone handmill, Seraia said:

"Today we must make an extra batch of loaves… also a special sauce of butter and milk for the meat. And fill extra gourds with olives."

"But, mistress:’ Rachel, the short dark one, who had a sense of humour, looked up jestingly, " if all the world is to be taxed our guests may well lack appetite."

"They will eat," Seraia said, with a faint smile, "if only to assuage their grief." Then to Athalea : "When the bread is in the oven see that the upper rooms are made ready."

Malthace, Seraia noted with relief, had not yet appeared. She, indeed, from natural indolence, and the elaboration of her toilet, which often occupied her for an hour, or more, was always late, but her brother Zadoc was in the yard and Seraia could hear him bullying the stable boys and shouting for the wine jars to be brought in, as if he owned the place and were not a known rogue with a long record of misdemeanours who, some years before in his native Lydda, had been publicly flogged for stealing.

The rough sound of Zadoc’s voice, and the thought of his sister upstairs, idly bedizening herself before her mirror, plunged a sword in Seraia’s heart but with an effort she drew herself erect and commenced her household tasks, managing in many was through her own competence to make up for the slackness and short-tempered inefficiency which had marked her husband since Malthace and Zadoc had come to the inn, at first as servants, but soon after with a growing assertiveness and authority that could only spring from Elah’s infatuation for the woman.

It was not until after the tenth hour that Malthace showed herself, announced by her loud laugh and wearing the rich, braided gown which Seraia knew Elah had given her. As she swept into the kitchen, with a look of bold effrontery and that sly air of proprietorship which cut Seraia so cruelly, she exclaimed:

"It promises right well for today There should be good pickings for us. Already there are many travellers on the road."

"Doubtless:" Seraia rose from the hot roasting spit, basting spoon in hand, "but not all will be as rich or lavish as you would wish."

"Elah will single out the rich ones," the other laughed knowingly. "That I promise you.

"Then you feel that you may speak for him?" Though her nerves quivered, Seraia forced herself to answer evenly.

"Why not?" Malthace retorted, with a toss of her earrings. Placing her hands upon her hips she postured like a dancer." Tell me, do you like my dress?"

Seraia saw her maids watching her with covert sympathy and this increased her sense of insult. But with an effort she maintained her calm and answered the servant girl.

"Yes, it is beautiful… and costly too, I do not doubt."

"Which makes it fitting for today. There will be excitement in plenty before we see the end of it."

Indeed, as Malthace had said, there presently began a great stir without and a great commotion within. Situated as it was, among the olive groves on the main road to Bethlehem-which lay, girded and fortified by the great wall of Rehoboam, a bare quarter of a league away-the inn was passed by all the traffic to and from the town. Founded by Elah’s grandfather, a man of high integrity and a member of the council of the Zealots, of whom it was said he would rather lose ten talents than overcharge one shekel, the hostel had in these days enjoyed a high and sober reputation. Now, in Elah’s hands, this was less than formerly, but he had made extensions, adding a large atrium, lit from above, in the Roman manner, and with this and other modern innovations, still commanded an abundant though perhaps a less exclusive patronage.

Thus before the day was far advanced the place was filled to overflowing, all rooms occupied or bespoken, the long atrium packed with a noisy throng, eating and drinking, some disputing violently, others forgetting the discomforts of their enforced journey and the gloomy prospect of the new Roman taxes by making merry.

Amongst them Elah bustled officiously, scolding the kitchen maids, interfering with the waiters, but always with a sharp eye to the main chance-it seemed to Seraia that his love of gain, grown within recent months, had never been more evident. Nor had Malthace and Zadoc ever seemed nearer to him, always at his elbow, smiling, prompting, propitiating, yet with an interchange of glances between themselves that, to Seraia, boded ill.

Indeed, for the innkeeper’s wife, as the oppressive noontide passed and the long, noisy afternoon wore on, a strange sense of personal crisis began to form and take shape within her. What, she asked herself, would b e the outcome of it all? She believed that Elah still respected her, yet he seemed more and more under the domination of Malthace. After twenty years of marriage she knew her husband, knew him to be well-meaning in many ways, soft by nature rather than severe, a man absorbed by commerce who, despite his uncertainty of temper, had on the whole been considerate towards her in the past. But lately he had changed and, obsessed with those material things which to her were of slight importance, had fallen into that self-indulgence spread by the loose ideas and looser living of the Imperial masters.