Week 5 Storytelling: Her Story

Ancient Egyptian woman.
Photo by Florence Hornblower
Source: Flickr

Jezebel felt terrible complaining about her life. She knew she was lucky. There were women, even some of her sisters, who hadn't found kind men to take for husbands. They lived at home and dreaded the day their fathers would no longer be there to provide.
It seemed that in many ways, the gods had smiled on Jezebel and belssed her. She had a husband who never shouted without cause. She had a home and a farm. She had a brother-in-law who was kind to her. She hardly wanted for anything.
Yet her life felt so empty. All day long she either weaved, cooked, or lounged. She took no pleasure in these activities and longed for something more. Something meaningful in her life. She had hoped to have children who would fill her days with liveliness and laughter, but she and her husband had not been blessed by the gods in this way, though she still hoped.
This feeling of emptiness had merely tugged at her heart for years, and she pushed it away, reminding herself of her blessings. But a few days ago, a few travelers had come through and stayed at her husband's home for dinner. They regarded her ad asked if she was a sister or wife.
"She is my wife," her husband said.
"A beautiful one," a traveler said.  And after that, no one said a word to her. She served them food, she danced, and she tried to start interesting conversations. But no one looked her in the eyes again. No one asked her a question. And at the end of the night she realized no one had bothered to learn her name.
"Jezebel!" she wanted to shout. "My name is Jezebel and I have thoughts, feelings, and a life of my own!" Though she was beginning to wonder if this was all true.
After that dinner, she was unable to remember why she should be happy. She couldn't recall a singularly happy moment in her life that wasn't tainted by a feeling of a lack of purpose and meaning.
It was upon one of her moments of deep reverie that her brother-in-law walked in. His skin glistened from his work in the fields and he shook the dark hair out of his eyes to reveal his deep brown eyes. So lost in her thoughts, she did not recognize him at his entry.
"Get me some corn," he said.
Her mind couldn't make sense of his words, so mangled were her thoughts.
He wanted something, is that right?
She mumbled something about how he should get it so that she wouldn't haver to ruin her hair.
He left and she silently berated herself for being so unlike herself.
When he returned, she was taken aback by his strength. Had she never noticed before how handsome and strong he was? Is he different than she had always thought? Perhaps they're both different. Maybe they've both been hiding who they truly are.
Maybe he is what's missing. 
"Dear, won't you come lay beside me? We could make each other so happy. Your brother never needs to know. Please, come be with me."
"How dare you!" he shouted. "You are like a mother to me!" He began hurrying away.
"Please don't leave me alone here!" She rushed to stand and chase after him, but she was restrained ad tripped on all the refinery she was expected to wear each day. "There is so little left of me! Please help me!"
But he was gone. All those time she had felt empty before did not compare to this absolute hopelessness she had now.
I won't let this one moment of weakness ruin everything. 
She could hardly remember how she did it, the pain she felt, or why she did it. But before she knew it, she was lying on the ground, bleeding, a black eye, and a broken chair at her side. She lay there, giggling nonsensically as she awaited her husband's return home. She seemed unaware of her surroundings, staring at the door.
She couldn't tell  if hours had gone by, days, or merely a few moments. She didn't even hear her husband come in, but heard him suddenly shouting.
"He beat me. When I refused to sleep with him, he beat me."
"Who beat you?"
Don't lose everything you have. He can't know. 
"Your brother."



Author's Note: One of my pet peeves in stories is when women are demonized and everything that goes wrong is blamed on them, but they don't even get so much as a name. More than that, when reading the story of the two brothers, what struck me what that the death of the wife is covered in one sentence. We know nothing about her, and all we get is a sentence in regards to her murder by her own husband. The brothers are considered perfect.
So for this re-telling, I stuck to the same story, but it is completely from her perspective. I wanted to show why she may have done what she did. I often think about how life as a woman in most every ancient society would have been horrible, and this was my attempt to imagine what exactly it would have been like for a woman who had nothing going on except being a wife and sister-in-law.

The Two Brothers Part One: Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie (1907).