It was four days later that the document was pinned to the door of his business. He saw it before he had passed the widow’s house on his way to his work. It must have been delivered yesterday evening. He had left his work before sunset the day prior so it had to have been after that. As he approached, he could see the blob of red wax that sealed the parchment. He knew it was official, and something in him wanted desperately to turn back to his house in hope that it would disappear. Why were his hands trembling as he reached out to detach it from his door? It was probably just additional information about the harem account; he should expect such things having acquired this new business. But, the knot in his chest was forecasting something of a more ominous nature. Even before he broke the wax, once inside the stable sanctum of his work world, he knew exactly what it was that he feared. In that brief instant his white tender underbelly was exposed and he knew just how vulnerable he was.
He slid a knife through the wax dislodging in from one side of the parchment. He flattened the parchment open on the table in front of him pressing it down before he allowed his eyes to begin assimilating the contents. At the top was all of the wordery of pomp and office that he expected. Then he saw on paper all that had passed through his heart and mind only thirty seconds ago. Had some devilish gnome robbed his mind and etched these thoughts on the parchment even as they were going through his head? Had he betrayed himself?
The perusal of the rest of the document was only perfunctory. His wizened face perhaps did not reflect with any accuracy the turmoil that now sat unchallenged as usurper of thought and emotion. The message was colder than the bottom stones in the well. He would lose her. He knew it. He knew he should cry, but was afraid to allow himself an admission of such finality.
The accountant folded his hands and turned his eyes upward and away from the paper that sat before him. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Why have you done this?” A tear dropped in his lap without having announced its arrival. The little office remained silent. He asked again and waited a long time. There was at last a whisper in the room. It did not use words. It could not have been heard by another even standing at the window. The whisper did not speak thoughts or words, rather an emotion, a presence that left things understood without using declarations per se.
The tragedy had not changed. He would lose her just as the words said:
“As subject of His Majesty the Emperor, you have been given the privilege of bringing your daughter to the chamber of Eunuchs of His Majesty for the consideration of her qualifications to serve as a possible maiden of the royal court; such honor is only bestowed upon the most favored of all young virgins, and is an undisputable sign of the favor of the gods upon any such maiden. Of all of those being summoned, only a few will be chosen to actually enter into this blessed benefit in service of His Majesty the great Ahasuerus. The first day of the new moon without fail.”
There was a dispute in progress. The thoughts teamed up with the above words to pierce an old man’s heart unto death. The whisper took away the pain. The knife twisted, the whisper stirred. The words hurled him to some depths to dash him to pieces; the whisper caught him before impact. The words brazenly called the whisper a lie; the whisper spoke of still waters.
Mordecai did not know how long he had sat at his table. But, he did know that it was over. The whisper had won. The words now lay quietly on the parchment. Some how, despite their threats, he knew something of worth and goodness was going to take place.
Oddly enough, having arrived at that conclusion, he wept.
