TES-AMEN

“Are the boys asleep?” I ask as Tabia enters our bedroom later that night.

“Sound asleep, my lord,” she responds as she approaches the bed. “Tuba was snoring as usual when I left their room.”

I shake my head in amusement. Those two boys sure love their sleep! None of us know where that phenomenon of snoring came from. But well…

“Good. Time to get some rest myself,” I declare as I stretch myself out on the bed. “I need to follow up with some of the supervisors tomorrow. Some of those lazy Israelites aren’t producing the quota of bricks they’re supposed to be producing. There’s gonna be hell to pay if they continue that way. Their little spokesperson isn’t showing up anymore to get them out of work, so they better wise up.”

Tabia simply nods and joins me in the bed.

Her silence is amusing to me, to say the least. Like I already stated, she seems to think we should let them go. Well, unless my master the Pharoah by some strange twist of fate says we should, nothing is changing. Period!

Anyways, I turn to the side and close my eyes as she does same. It’s not long before I’m out. It usually doesn’t take me very long to fall asleep…

“Fools!” I shriek furiously, cracking the whip over the Hebrew slaves before me. “What do you mean you can’t fulfill your quota for the day? Huh?”

The Hebrew man before me, wincing in pain from the lashes he’s just received, tearfully pleads, “Sire, please, it’s so difficult making the bricks from scratch. It takes extra time and”

“Nonsense! You’re just a bunch of lazy fools, that’s all!” I snap angrily at him. “You can do all that and still fulfill your daily quota. Don’t give me these foolish excuses!”

“Sire, please, you don’t understand-“

“SHUT UP! Don’t tell me I don’t understand. I understand all right. I understand that you Hebrews are such an unserious bunch of indolent laggards! Well, you’re not getting any holidays! Go back and get to work! And don’t you dare slack on your quota, or you’ll be sorry!”

“Sire, please-“

“SHUT UP! GO! GO!” I yell, cracking the whip with indiscriminate rage. The Hebrew men shriek and run off.

“PAPA! MAMA! PAPA! MAMA!”

I look around in confusion. That sounded like… like my second son.

But what is he…

“PAPA! MAMA! PAPA! MAMA!”

My dream is interrupted by these yells. I sit up straight in the bed, and there stands Tuba before us.

Naturally, I’m not the least bit pleased. If there’s anything I despise with a passion, it’s having my sleep rudely interrupted. And everyone knows that. Nobody’s getting spared from my wrath if they flout this commandment. So as my seven-year-old boy stands before me and his mother, having yelled us out of our slumber, you bet that the first thing on my mind is to give that boy some stern disciplining for this.

The frightened look on his face and his next words, though, send me into a panic.

“Papa! Mama! Something’s wrong with Binra! He can’t breathe!”

Goodness! My firstborn is choking?

What in the world could it be?

What’s happening?

“Choking? Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know! I was just fast asleep, then suddenly, I heard a noise, and when I got up, he was on his bed holding his neck and gasping for breath,” Tuba explains in a panicked hurry, wringing his hands in utter fright.

“Goodness!”

Those reprimanding words I had for Tuba quickly metamorphose into cries of concern for my firstborn.

“Binra! Binra! We’re coming!” I call out as I spring out of bed and follow Tuba.

TABIA

Tes-amen and I jump out of bed as fast as we can and follow Tuba to their room.

From a distance, we can hear the painful gasps and choking sounds of our first fruit. Whatever it is, it must be horrible.

But what is it? What in the world could be wrong with him? He didn’t complain of any respiratory problems before going to sleep. He seemed as healthy as always. No sign of even a sore throat. Where from this sudden attack?

Even as I wonder where this is coming from, I can tell what the answer is.

It’s the God of the Israelites again.

He’s struck yet again. And in a place most sensitive. Oh my goodness!

As we reach the room, the choking sounds suddenly stop.

We turn to his bed, and there he is: laid out, still and stiff on the floor beside the bed.

Eyes still wide, mouth slightly open, he’s no longer fighting for breath. No longer grasping at his throat as if that would help.

No longer breathing.

“Binra! Binra!” I shriek, falling to my knees as I grab my son and try to revive him. “Binra, wake up! Wake up, my son! Wake up!”

Patting his cheeks and shaking his limp body, I try my possible best to rouse my child.

A futile attempt.

Holding my son’s chest close to me, I listen frantically to hear and feel the familiar sound of a heartbeat.

Nothing. Not a sound.

I grab his hand and place my fingers on his wrist.

No pulse.

Growing hysterical, I shake him even harder, screaming his name with desperation. My husband and younger son are on their knees, watching with trepidation, willing the obvious to be untrue.

“BINRA, PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS TO US! PLEASE, I BEG YOU, DON’T DO THIS TO US! PLEEEEASSEEE, BINRA, PLEEEEEEEASSEEEEEEEEEE!”

My hysteria is through the roof at this point. I’m doing all I possibly can to revive Binra, but it’s not working.

It’s so obvious what the reality is, but I’m not willing to accept it. I just can’t.

It can’t be! My boy was active and all over the place this evening before I prepared them for bed. Surely when I said good night to him, I wasn’t expecting that it would be the last words I’d actually speak to him. This just can’t be real. It just can’t.

But as I continue to shake my boy and try to revive him, I know the reality. I try my best to refuse it, but I know it’s the truth.

Binra is dead.

The God of the Hebrews has struck again. And goodness, what a blow he’s landed!

In the place where it hurts the most.

My first son is dead. He’s gone.

I can’t believe it. My precious Binra… gone.

I’m never gonna see his cute little smile. His chubby cheeks. His sneaky little laugh is history now.

The wail that escapes my throat couldn’t even begin to adequately describe the pain I feel.

This is too much. It’s just too much.

Yeah, that last plague that hit Egypt didn’t spare them. You kinda feel bad for Tabia, don’t you?