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Elegant lady, walking through her castle proudly, she stops by a mirror to straighten a curl or two, and then glances at her watch. The guests will be arriving soon. She hurries past the dining room and smiles at the resplendent setting – then frowns. She beckons to a servant angrily. There is a wrinkle in the table linen and there is no room in a house such as this for so great a sin.
A bell sound suddenly touches her ear. “Ahhh,” she sighs, “the guests have arrived! It is time for the feast to begin!”
She claps her hands to send her servants in a frenzy. There is a symphony of glasses tinkling, and a little maid with vacant eyes answers timidly, “Yes, Madame, everything is ready.”
They stand in line for hours, these children, waiting with the flies for their daily ration of life; these little ones with straw-like limbs that even the slightest wind might blow away. And how they wish they could fly to some place green and alive, far away from the drought, the dust and the flies, and the remnants of death lying at intervals around their camp. They listen to the sound of metal spoons clanking inside the narrow cups, and a multitude of fragile hands reach out to receive another temporary blessing. And their empty bellies are almost pacified for barely a little while.
There is a sudden flurry in the doorway, as perfume and smiles and repetitive greetings of ‘How are you?’ fly into the room. “So glad you could come,” replies the hostess more than once as kisses barely miss each targeted cheek and coats are shed like second skins into the arms of the waiting servants. With a smile, Madame leads her guests into the elegant dining hall, as soft, delicious music filters in to set the mood. A tiny silver bell sings a reminder that the first course is to begin, and a parade of servants enter to a chorus of delight from the guests, for they have never seen such a collection of sumptuous temptations. “Tonight we dine!” Madame chants and there is applause from a multitude of diamond-ringed hands.
Their meal consisted of something like rice, mixed with desperation and seasoned with despair. They ate to the sound of grief expressed by parent and child alike, as life slipped away from life, and frantic, helpless hands struggled to hold onto their loved ones for just a little while longer. And dry soil drank the only rain it could find from a multitude of grief filled eyes.
Witty conversation flowed around the table interspersed with laughter, though most of the attention remained centered upon their celebrated hostess who now held them captive with her charm and the brilliant history of one so well armed with life’s best. As they admired her arsenal, she entertained them with her being. Jewels glistened against her skin,mesmerizing her prisoners, reflecting their souls in little cold stones. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, and this is the way it is,” she instructed them. And they nodded their approval as a tray was placed before them supporting a tower of icing and sugary spires designed to melt upon the tongue and disappear.
In the interval they waited, looking in from the other side, wishing someone would turn around and notice them. Time was so short, and none of them knew how long they could remain. Just a cup of cold water and something to eat, a kind word or two, a little hope to carry them through another day was all they would need. Surely, they would not remain unnoticed forever. Maybe if they waited long enough, if they could just survive until someone noticed...
Madame looked up with her wine glass in her hand, and through her glistening cup she caught sight of their reflection in the window, the rows of countless faces and desperate, pleading eyes. They had been watching her, she knew, ever since the feast began. She beckoned to a servant unbeknownst to her guests. “Draw the drapes,” she told him. “It’s dark out there and the view is most unpleasant.”
Elegant lady, sitting in her castle proudly, surrounded by her collection of glittering illusions, basking in the admiration of all those adoring, attentive eyes. She would continue to fool them with her charade; her pantomime of wealth so skillfully performed by a body draped in golden bliss, and no one would ever suspect how poor the lady really is.
The righteous considers the cause of the poor: but the wicked cares not to know it - Proverbs 29:7
Copyright 2000 by H.D. Shively
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