Samaritan Woman

• Maria Morcos, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2013

The woman mounted the Noon-Service Bus and sat on the inside seat next to the aisle. Better to hog the seat than to risk anyone sitting next to her. She was replete with insults, overburdened with judgement and worn down by condemnation. One more negative experience could be the final soul-destroying blow. Somehow, one man after another had let her down; perhaps all men were depraved. Had she made a mistake by moving in with her last? An almost imperceptible movement of her lips accompanied a cry of anguish, pleading to God out of the depths of despair. Returning to reality, she recognised her stop was fast approaching. She scurried to the front of the bus, indicating her intention to disembark. The impatient driver accelerated a fraction too soon, causing the Samaritan woman to stumble. She glared at the sky as she wondered if God too thought her miserable existence was ludicrous.

Jacob’s Well-Come Market’s entranceway was an ant hill of activity; there was a congested stream of people walking in and out of the store. She did her usual examination to ensure she didn’t meet one of the local women, whose scornful words ran repeatedly through her head, like a close-looped video. Her objective was a military-style-hit-and-run mission; to enter and exit unseen. Her stealthy gait saw her goal achieved inside ten minutes. Scrutinizing her mental list, she eyed the items in the trolley. Bottled water! She backtracked and appropriated the final item, letting out a sigh of relief as she loaded the groceries into her shopping jeep. Her pensive mood was disrupted by an encroaching shadow. Her head abruptly snapped up, and she found herself staring into the eyes of a man standing uncomfortable close. Was he a store detective, coming to accuse her of shop lifting? She felt herself fumbling for the docket, her palms too sweaty to grasp it. He spoke and she took a step back. Had he mistaken her braided hair for someone soliciting business? Certainly no honourable man would communicate with her.
“Could I bother you for a bottle of water?” he asked.
She was puzzled, staring at the man with blank, vacant eyes. “How is it you, being a man, ask a drink of me?”
The man smiled an alleviating and benevolent smile, “I do not care for reputation.”
Had she finally found someone who would acknowledge her for who she was, befriend her and not feel so much abhorrence towards her? She reached deep within her jeep and handed the man a bottle of water, beaming the most celestial smile she could manage. For the first time in what seemed like decades, the Samaritan woman felt true sanctity; she wasn’t being castigated by anyone, nor was she being looked down upon or having malicious words sunken into her like salt to a wound. As he spoke, her soul metamorphosed; the ray of hope that had been a smouldering wick had ignited and burst into flames, setting off fireworks within her.