The Nail
The man pushed up against the nail as long as he could stand the pain, pressing the palm of his foot more firmly into the splinters of rough wood behind it. His calves burned. God how they burned. His chest leapt to force in the air one last time before collapsing along with his knees. The burning began anew in his wrists.Why??
*****
“Where’s Joshua?” His mother asked, handing the sack filled with lunch to her husband.
“Down at the shop. Why?”
Joseph stooped to grab the sack and sneak a peck on Mary’s cheek.
“You left him there with your tools out? He’s seven years old!” There was a little alarm and scolding in her voice.
“Really? You’re worried? Has he ever climbed up and grabbed a tool without permission? Come, woman. Your son’s practically Noah in his obedience. He’s in one of those trances of his, anyway, studying something new on the bench.”
“What is it this time?” She asked.
“A nail,” he replied. “The Legate wants that Roman-style table done by Shabbat.” Most of his work was done the traditional way, but this official wanted his table built in the Roman way, slammed together with iron pins. They had fascinated Joshua. Perhaps he’d never seen them before.
