“Anastasi. Anastasi. Come, I am thirsty,” Marina’s voice croaked. The Roman servant’s bare feet shuffled along the mosaic tile at her mistress’ call. She dipped a small silver ladle into a pitcher, then raised the watered-down falernum to Marina’s quivering lips. Marina swallowed with a grimace.
Anastasi’s eyes wandered up to the handcrafted wooden instruments on the wall hanging like figs from a branch. Music usually soothed Marina when she suffered from a fit of pain. Anastasi glided over to the wall and unhooked a lyre, then began to pluck the strings and hum a haunting Hebrew tune she once heard as a child. “Baruch Hashem Adonai, Baruch Hashem Adonai.” After a few minutes of the gentle lilting of Anastasi’s voice, Marina gave a pained smile, and her shoulders relaxed.
The servant girl stroked her mistress’ head. Marina had been bedridden for the past ten years from an ailment that paralyzed half her body and afflicted her memory. A local Hippocratic physician recommended bloodletting to restore the balance of Marina’s bile, while the priest of Asclepius urged Marina to seek the god’s favor for healing. But no matter how many sage scientific and religious experts gave advice and treatment, Marina’s sickness had yet to be cured. So for the past twenty years of being a servant to the Gallus family, Anastasi’s primary duty had been caring for Lady Marina in her infirmity.
“Anastasi?”
“Yes, Marina?”
“Can you bring me my oils? The cinnamon one. The nice smell. I’m going. To the cena. With my husband. A whole lamb. With spiced vegetables. Goat yogurt. Fresh. ” Marina took labored breaths through her nose, as if inhaling the aroma of a pan of roasting meat sizzling at her bedside.
Marina’s aromatic oils had all been sold to pay for her medical treatment. The only food her swollen throat could swallow was crushed lentils. And she had been a widow for five years since her husband’s death in a carriage accident.
Anastasi laid her hand on Marina’s arm. “Marina, I gave the oils away to a friend, I’m so sorry. And I’m cooking your favorite for dinner tonight, so you can go to a dinner party next week.” She hesitated. “Your husband, he’s not here right now. But, perhaps you can see him.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “One day.”
Marina’s sparse eyebrows scrunched. “He’s home. My husband. The chimes. They ring. That’s it. There’s feathers. Peacock feathers. On the wall. Oh, my leg hurts. Anastasi, could you bring. Bring my daughter?” Marina had been barren her entire life, with no daughters to survive her.
Anastasi’s eyes blurred, fighting the frustration she felt rising in her throat. “Marina, I’m here. I’m here to comfort you and take care of you. As if you were my mother.”
Marina’s glazed eyes wandered to Anastasi’s face. “Oh, that’s right. Beautiful girl. So beautiful. When I was young. I was beautiful. My cheeks. Red.” She touched a bony hand to her hollow cheeks. “My hair. Dark, black. So soft.” The skeletal hand lifted slowly, as if a brick lay on it, and reached the top of her head, where it rubbed the thin, gray-streaked strands of hair on the top of her scalp. “Beautiful. Oh, beautiful.” She let out a shaking sigh. “Oh, Anastasi! Why live? No beauty. No memory. I hurt. I hurt.”
Anastasi had walked over to the window to stare at the streets below, where laughing children played tag, ambitious vendors waved fresh produce at buyers, and whispering mothers gossiped about their husbands– any scene to distract her for a moment from the pitiful sight of Marina. It broke her heart to see her mistress like this. She couldn’t bear to watch the woman whose eyes were once so bright, whose cheeks so rosy, whose fingers so delicate, whose laugh so bright, now lying here like a living skeleton– decaying. She plucked a deep blue iris flower from the clay jar on the windowsill and let it fall from her hands to the ground.
She couldn’t bear to watch the woman whose eyes were once so bright, whose cheeks so rosy, whose fingers so delicate, whose laugh so bright, now lying here like a living skeleton– decaying.
“Anastasi. Please. Tell me a story.” Marina croaked.
Still looking out the window, Anastasi’s eyes narrowed to a girl skipping with a woven basket along the edge of the road. The dark-haired girl bent over the blue iris lying in the ditch. She brushed off the flower, laid it in her basket, and kept walking. A lump rose in Anastasi’s throat as the memories flooded back. She had once been that trampled flower. Just like Marina was now. Anastasi turned from the window, then walked back towards Marina.
She sat down on the tapestry-covered chair next to Marina’s bed. “I’m no rhapsode who can sing of the stories of Odysseus, or the adventures of Herakles. But I can tell you the story of the day my life changed forever.
Anastasi looked toward the window, then looked back at Marina. “There was once a young beggar child. She would wander the streets, looking for food, for shelter, for warmth. This beggar child would do whatever it took to get relief from her suffering–whether that meant stealing a loaf of bread, sneaking into an inn to sleep, or giving herself over to a stranger’s desire.” Anastasi shuddered. “She thought she could only rely on herself to survive. But one day, she went out to beg, something different happened. Instead of the usual cruel glares or pitiful stares, she met the kind eyes of a Man. He ran through the crowd towards her and knelt down to her level. He told the beggar child to wait near a wall of stone, for there was a woman who would help her. A woman with a beauty radiant as gold–” Marina’s frail shoulders shook with sobs, and then she began to laugh. Anastasi stroked Marina’s arms. “Marina, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Her eyebrows scrunched. “Marina?”
Marina couldn’t hear her, for her mind had traveled far away, back to the time when she had met the Man with kind eyes.
It was the year 30 AD on a festive Saturday in the city of Galilee. The smell of roasting meat and aromatic oils, the sounds of squealing children and skilled lute-players filled the thick air. Despite the many distractions, Marina Gallus, young and beautiful, remained focused on her mission: to find an exquisite emerald necklace like the one which she saw lacing her friend’s neck at yesterday’s festival.
As she neared the jewelry shop, Marina tripped over a stray rope on the ground, and bumped shoulders with a middle-aged centurion clad in decorous armor. Furious, the Roman whipped his body around to hit the perpetrator. Marina cowered as he raised his arm, and she braced for the blow.
When she felt no pain, she opened her eyes, only to see nothing but the back of a man cloaked in a white robe standing inches from her nose.
“You had better not lay a hand on her, Lucius,” warned the unknown figure, whose bronzed arm had caught Lucius’ arm before it touched Marina.
The Roman centurion guffawed. “Well, well! Look what we have here. Some dark fishy Jew protecting this pretty Greek girl! Did you leave your boat for a prettier catch? Well, looks like you better get back to your nets, ‘cause I think she’d prefer a respectable man like me over to some scraggly-faced fisher boy like you.”
“Step away.” The Man gazed calmly in Lucius’ cold eyes.
Lucius glared at the Man, realizing he may not be able to stab him without starting a riot. The centurion then leaned close to Marina, the smell of falernum lacing his breath. “If you change your mind about following this pig, come find me, my beautiful.” He lifted a thick finger to Marina’s chin. “I’ll be in the first row at the chariot race.” Lucius roughly shouldered past the Man, striding away towards the hippodrome.
As soon as Lucius was gone, the Man turned around and met Marina’s incredulous stare. She stepped away from His sandaled feet. “Why would you protect me? Who are you?”
His hazel eyes shone with an otherworldly light, then he bowed in greeting. “Just your local scraggly-faced fisher boy, I guess.” The Man then raised his hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Marina.”
Her heart jumped. Handshaking was a grave taboo for a Jewish man. And how did he know her name? Concealing her surprise, she squinted her eyes. “Why would you come to help me? If I wanted to, I could have snapped my fingers and three of my slaves would have come instantly running to protect me. ” She straightened her posture and smoothed down the sides of her elegant khiton tunic, not mentioning that she left the house today without her usual entourage of slaves.
The Man smiled. “Marina, I don’t doubt that you could have defended yourself. You seem to be quite a head-strong, excuse me, a strong woman. But I wanted–” Something caught His eye several yards ahead, and He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, as angry pedestrians yelled at him to move or shoved past His standstill figure. “Marina, I’m going to ask you to do something for me. Do you mind purchasing bread and fruit? I will meet you outside the vendor’s booth in an hour, but I have an important errand to run.”
“Excuse me, do you know who I am? I came here to buy an expensive emerald necklace, not buy your peasant groceries.”
“I’ll see you soon, Marina!” He called out over his shoulder, running in the direction of whatever it was that caught His eye.
She watched him weave through the crowds with care, his blue tassels streaming behind his cloak without touching the dirt. Who did this Man think he was to order her around like that? But despite her wounded pride, she was curious to see what His plans were. So Marina tossed her hair over her shoulder and went to buy the requested goods. She wandered through the sweet-smelling aisles, sifting through until she found the two freshest loaves of barley bread and the plumpest apricots. The stout, bearded vendor leaning against a nearby column yawned, then overturned his hairy knuckles.
“One denarius, lady.” Marina dropped the coin into his calloused palm, grabbed the cloth bag of food, then sat down at the edge of a wall to wait for the Man.
But amidst the commotion in the marketplace, she heard a piercing cry from the opposite side of the stone wall. She peered around and saw a frail girl hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. “Lady, lady, I want to eat. No clothes to wear. No shoes, no shoes.” She began to sob harder.
Marina’s heart sank. There were so many children like her in the city of Galilee; it was easy to ignore them because of what it would cost her. If she gave the child money, she wouldn’t have enough to buy the emerald necklace. But seeing the girl’s matted hair and bony wrists, Marina knew she couldn’t just leave her there without helping.
She took a deep breath, and then dropped to her knees, eye-level with the shaking girl. She closed the child’s fingers around the bag of coins and placed the bag of food at her feet. “What’s your name?”
The girl’s nimble fingers grabbed the bread and shoved nearly half of the loaf in her mouth, clamping onto the rest for dear life. “In the brothel, they once called me Anastasi,” she whispered with her mouth stuffed.
Marina swallowed hard. The gods had not favored her. “Anastasi. Alright, dear. Use the money for some new tunics and shoes, and for a few weeks of food and lodging. May the gods protect you, child.”
She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then kissed Anastasi’s dirty cheek before the girl skipped away. After watching her leave, Marina turned around–only to bump into the Man. “Marina, would you join me for a walk by the sea?”
Had the Man seen her with the child? What would he think of an elite woman like Marina talking to a beggar? And giving the child groceries instead of saving it for Him? He looked anything but angry, so perhaps He didn’t see their interaction. But why would He want to go walking with her? Didn’t He think she still needed to buy that necklace? She nodded. “Alright, I could use a walk. Where are we going?”
“Just follow me.” He beckoned for Marina to follow him as he started down the path, and she did, marveling at how instantly she trusted Him. After a few miles of trekking, they reached the outskirts of the town, and they ventured down an abandoned stone path towards the sea.
“Just follow me.”
The quiet walk in nature with this stranger felt oddly comfortable, but it was still unusual for her, for she was used to the constant chatter of the cosmopolitan. She broke the silence. “So, what do you do for a living?” Marina huffed, her legs burning.
“Well, I skin fish. And cut lumber. And sometimes, raise people from the dead.” He smirked, then looked back at her. “Boring stuff like that. What about you, Marina?”
Raise people from the dead? This man was either a lunatic or a liar. Why did she ever decide to trek to an abandoned beach with him? What if he killed her and left her dead body unburied with no mourning ritual? Even if she survived, her parents would kill her if they ever found out she ventured out alone with a Jewish fisherman. Would her life really come to such a shameful end as this? But alas, there was nothing left to do but carry on.
She cleared her throat. “I am Marina Gallus, eldest daughter of the esteemed Gallus family. My mother is a priestess of Aphrodite, and my father is a Greek businessman. As for me, I will continue to train to be a priestess, then Aphrodite-allowing, obtain Roman citizenship and marry a Roman equestrian– although hopefully one with better manners, and more money, than a loser like Lucius.”
The Man raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you’ve got your life plan all figured out!”
Marina frowned. It was the only path she had ever thought possible for her. A woman of her status was only expected to rise into the ranks of religious service and marry into a rich family. She was proud to have been born into such a family, for she had a future of luxury and honor ahead of her as a priestess. Too many girls without wealth or status had no choice but to resort to less than dignified means to make money– like that poor girl Anastasi. Marina looked backwards, hoping she might see a small figure trailing behind them. If only she had brought Anastasi with her. Was she sleeping peacefully in an inn with freshly washed hair and a new tunic? Or had she been robbed by a soldier like Lucius and left alone in a ditch? Anastasi shuddered, praying to Aphrodite that she would have mercy on the child.
The powerful tide lapping against the shore pulled her from the roar of her thoughts, and she suddenly realized the Man was no longer right in front of her. He was running. Running towards the sea, splashing in the water, and laughing with a sound that drew the rays of the sun towards Him. He lifted his voice to the heavens and sang a beautifully haunting tune: “Baruch Hashem Adonai! Baruch Hashem Adonai!” Marina gazed at the man frolicking in the evening light, a twinge in her chest. She longed to run after him, to splash and sing in the water, to feel free. Instead, she called out, “I have an early morning serving at temple tomorrow! Hurry up!”
“As you say!” He called back. Shaking his thick brown curls, the golden rays reflecting off the strands, the Man walked back towards Marina and laid down a tattered blanket on the sand. He gestured for Marina to sit on it to protect her embroidered chiton. After she had folded her legs underneath her, the Man sat down on the sand a few yards away, leaning against a palm tree. Her dark hair floating in the evening breeze, Marina gazed at the incandescent sky, bursting with colors of fresh pomegranate. After the last sliver of the pink semi-circle fell down the horizon, Marina turned to the Man.
“You know what, fisher boy? After you left, I decided against buying my necklace.”
The Man smiled. “Is that so?”
She tossed her black waves over her shoulder. “Ha! I’m beautiful enough without it.”
The Man looked at her.
She twirled the edge of her khiton. “And I also realized. I realized that maybe there’s more important things than what adorns my body.”
“Marina, perhaps you’ve realized the beauty you chase will never make you happy. The unachievable standards of Aphrodite will only leave you longing for the next cleansing body oil, the next slimming herbal tea, the next promising magic crystal. Perhaps you’re tired of the senseless striving.” His gentle eyes gazed into the setting sun. She exhaled, the last peak of light falling from the horizon. It was true. She was tired. Tired of grasping for luxurious material items like a new emerald necklace, when there were children like Anastasi with nothing but rags to wear. The pained look in the child’s eyes pierced her heart again, and she shook her head. She wished she could help Anastasi permanently, but she knew it would cost more than money. It may cost her reputation as well, since many elite Greeks would look down on her for taking in a prostitute beggar as a servant. How much would she be willing to risk by helping Anastasi?
After a few minutes of silence, The Man sat up and reached into his satchel, pulling out a small wooden box. Marina inched close and peered at it, touching the smooth, polished rim.
“What is in that box, fisher boy?”
“Remember how much you wanted that emerald necklace? Well, I’ve got you something.”
“You couldn’t have! That would cost over a week’s worth of wages for you!”
He smiled, then opened the box. In it sat the most exquisite gold necklace she had ever seen. Marina’s face paled. Not a month’s worth of wages–a whole year’s worth. “You’re a stranger,” her voice trembled. “Why would you give me something so precious?”
Man shook his head. “You may think you are worth an emerald necklace. But in my Father’s kingdom, you are more precious than Ophir’s gold.” She closed her eyes as He clasped the necklace around her neck. When she opened her eyes, the Man was gone. Down by the tide, a newly clothed child splashed in the water and sang praises to the heavens.
“You may think you are worth an emerald necklace. But in my
Father’s kingdom, you are more precious than Ophir’s gold.”
The aged Marina gasped, staring at the face of that child who was now a radiant young woman. “Anastasi. I remember. I remember. The Man brought us. Together. Precious. Our lives. Precious.”
“Yes, Marina. I followed you to the sea. When the Man was gone, you ran to meet me and brought me in as your servant. Because of your generosity, my childhood wasn’t spent in the streets, but in the comfort of a home. You fought for me to live in your parents’ villa despite the disdain of the neighbors. When you married, I continued to serve you. Even when you lost your health, your husband, your friends, your money… I stayed. For these past fifteen years.”
Marina’s flooded eyes met Anastasi’s. “Anastasi. I never saw Him. Again. Every day. In the marketplace. I looked for Him. For years. He was gone. But today.” A faraway look appeared in Marina’s eyes. “Do you see? Blinking, beautiful. Beautiful.”
Marina’s face relaxed. “I see. The Light.” A rosy glow illuminated her face, then she shut her eyes to awaken to the face of Man that set her free.
Author’s Note:
One day as a hospice caregiver, I was holding a cup of iced tea for an eighty-year old
patient with dementia when she remarked: “Your eyes are exquisite. We need to work on that. Mascara.” She then gave me a detailed beauty lesson of eye her makeup routine, instructing me not just to apply to my upper, but lower lashes– although not too much, or else it “looks cheap.”
When I went back to my dorm that evening and put on my mascara for a photo shoot (for
the snow headshot in my bio, actually) I gazed in the mirror at my own reflection, and wondered how many times Pam had done the same as a young woman my age. I may only see her as an elderly lady with wrinkled, sagging eye bags and a thin, quivering mouth. But she was once a young lady like me, brushing mascara on top of thick eyelashes, smacking lip gloss on smooth lips.
Pam’s ironic comment about her past makeup routine prompted me to ponder: where can we find worth when lose beauty, memory, productivity, everything the world says gives us value? Are we just as valuable in the eyes of the Creator?
It was out of these ruminations that this piece came. I decided to set the story in the
Roman Empire, because it allowed me a fictional space to sort through my very real feelings, and also allowed me to have some fun with different characters (after all, you most likely won’t find an egotistical Roman soldier or a neglected beggar child in the city of Nashville– or will you?) Using a historical setting also allowed me to write about the time of Jesus in the style of Jacob of Saurag’s mēmrē, a literary method of re-imagining Biblical narratives, or in this case, potential narratives. Although Marina and Anastasi are completely fictional characters, I often wonder about the how Jesus’ path crossed with people that weren’t included in the Bible. After all, “there are also many other things that Jesus did, about which… the world could not contain the books that would be written” (John 21:25). We may never know on this side of heaven how He touched the lives of a beggar child or an elite Greek woman in the Roman Empire, but we know that His life was marked by compassion for all people no matter their socio-economic standing. In His humility and loving-kindness, He entered into the lives of women like Marina and Anastasi, and He enters our lives today, to show humanity how our value is immeasurable is in His eyes.
By Rebecca Grunkemeyer, Contributor
Rebecca Grunkemeyer is a senior at Vanderbilt majoring in Child Studies and minoring in French and History. In her free time, she enjoys playing the ukulele, hiking with her family, and reading storybooks to little ones. If you enjoyed her piece, feel free to reach out to her at rebecca.n.grunkemeyer@vanderbilt.edu.