Judith Slays Holofernes, Pt XII

These past thirty days have been an education.

The Judaeans cease all but the most necessary work (and all but the most necessary celebrations) when they mourn.  Which means that the barley harvest was still brought in, and the appropriate sacrifices burned to their god, but beyond that… it’s been like living in a particularly noisy graveyard.

After she made her proclamation to me regarding the start of her training, my ward threw back her head and began to wail.  I was so taken aback at first- she is normally so calm, so collected- that all I could do was stare. And then she began to tear at her clothing, and I thought surely something had broken inside her mind, but then the priests came rushing in, and they began to wail, too, and so did the servants, and then they were all tearing at their clothing, and I realized what I was seeing- ritualistic grief.  Real grief, yes, but given ritualistic form. I myself stepped back into the shadows- I had my own grief, and it seemed out of place amongst theirs.

My Potential was hustled away by the women of her family, and I trailed lamely behind, a strange witness to a private time.  They went to the kitchens and scooped great handfuls of ash upon their heads. One of them moved to dump a handful on my head, and I did not stop her.

I later learned that there is such a thing as a professional mourner, someone you can hire to lament loudly on your behalf when you begin to tire.  It is something that many rich families do, to honor their dead, because really, it’s near-impossible to keep up wailing for an entire seven-day. But not my ward.  By the end of the week her voice has become a thin keen, but no one mourned Manessah on her behalf. This, of course, only endeared her further to the populace.

At the end of the seven days she ceased to wail, removed the ash from her hair, and changed out her torn clothing for widow’s weeds.  Official Mourning continued, but less dramatically. And at the end of the thirty days, the entire household seemed to take a deep, shuddering breath- and then carry on with their lives.  I fully expected my ward to do the same, but when I came to her this morning, the thirty-first day since Manessah died, I found her still dressed all in shapeless black. I refrained from comment- after all, black blends better with the shadows we will spend most of our time in.