Bethany switched off the prayer room light, then flipped it back on quickly, and turned to see if the candle was extinguished. She had been prostrating before the figure of Mary holding baby Christ in her lap. Her nightly prayer had gone well, but what turned her head naturally was the fear the candle may still have lingering flame that would set the house on fire overnight. It was not for herself that she feared as much as the three children who were asleep on a bunk bed.

 

As a mother, she could simply not believe her eyes. She saw invisible risks in each room and so when she turned on the light, it immediately crossed her mind that an active candle would show itself in the dark. The future was not as simple as logic to Bethany. She had to go over and snuff the dead candle twice and chant to herself, I have snuffed out the candle. I have snuffed out the candle. I will remember snuffing out the candle.

 

Bethany did not like she was a worrisome woman. The childish demon that made her doubt reality so often had caused her only trouble and ache in her almost four decades of life.

 

She liked herself when she prayed, when she told her children to believe than to complain, and even the way she had loved her husband though he knew not much beyond the physical world. She was of two spirits, one that communicated with the invisible world, and the other that was forever shackled by the pragmatic doings of life.

 

Yet the two spirits, which had a mind of their own, juggled her heart so carelessly that a certain exhaustion would take over her for a moment and suspend normal logic and boot her brain into oblivion. And so, when she turned on the light to check if there was a candlelight, she could forgive herself because it was, to an extent, not her.

 

The children, Joel, Isiah, and Sarah, slept in one bedroom, where Sarah took the upper bank as the only girl and the oldest, and Joel and Isiah shared the lower one. Isiah, the second oldest, was thirteen and had an early growth spurt that elongated his arms and legs almost to the height of the bed. Joel seemed he would turn out shorter but for now had a wider and bigger stature at eleven, so the bed, floating the crisscrossed and contrasting bodily dimensions of the boys’, appeared to have no square inch unoccupied—except for when Isiah would wrap his long arms and tuck Joel in for a brotherly hug.

 

The first time Bethany found them bundled like firewood in this manner, she had thought if she should have given them the names of biblical brothers. And, long before her husband fell apart like a tree eaten by starved termites, she had been in his arms, glowing with womanly pride, and confided, the boys love each other so much. The way Isiah hugs him arrests my heart.

 

Her husband had remained quiet and fixed his eyes at the curl his arm sunk into her chest. You know what I thought? She had whispered in a cool, owlish voice that tussled his arm’s hair like reeds dancing to a zephyr. What? He liked what she would say in these moments. They were things for him to keep like a secret stored in an army of honeysuckles. They fled with the night, before the morning dew formed and the sun brought the children and the village to life. A man can get addicted to late-night bed whispers, and he was no exception.

 

His silence had nothing to do with his inattentiveness as a man. What she said excited him because it had the omniety of a sealed action—a piece of life in a completed time and space. We could have named them Joseph and Benjamin, so God would take ownership of their brotherhood.

 

The husband could not agree or disagree. His biblical knowledge was the size of a fish, and his faith thinner than its skin. So, he thought and said nothing.

 

But, she said processing a new idea that flashed in her mind, but then they are both prophets so it may all be right, after all.

 

This time he spoke as if one of the honeysuckles burst in his heart. You worry about the most curious things my beautiful, his voice trembled in deep range as if it was traveling through water. The children will grow as their fate sees for them.

 

Though his words were as banal as ever and had no gram of hope, she took each word to heart and planted them in her treasured poetry garden. Bethany had no clue, in the near future, the seeds would passionately devour her to metamorphose into an oak of memory.

 

 ⦿ 

 

Only a year later, Bethany committed her first motherly crime which exacerbated the irrational nature of her worrisome spirit. When her husband fell ill, and the doctors told her his heart would stop beating in about six months, Bethany had begged the doctor not to tell another soul until she decided how to handle the information. Terribly agitated by her wailing, the doctor had easily accepted her request, but gave her a firm condition.

 

We can’t keep it longer than three days. The patient must know what to expect. She was looking at the floor, tears flowing out of her eyes like a weak waterfall, and in the distorted view, the doctor appeared like a frog floating in the clouds. The room was circling like Autumn wind.

 

Mrs. Betany, are you alright? The doctor came closer and stood beside her, and the room settled into the ground back again. Yes, she said. Is there not something you can do, Doctor? Is there not something you can do?

 

She was on the floor, hugging the doctor’s shin, and crying. The doctor despised his job from his heart. He knew there was nothing he could do. The husband’s heart had lost its shape from too many clogged arteries. It was nobody’s fault. The heart was put to live the age of a flower, to bloom in time, and never see the dusk of life.

 

He gently picked Bethany up, forcing her to let go of his shin. Please calm yourself, Mrs. Bethany. We have to be strong in the unfortunate days of our beloved ones. Your husband needs you now more than ever. Your sorrow will only break him sooner. Please gather your spirit. The doctor felt he was speaking in tongues as he was not used to wisdom in any form.

 

Bethany cried out loud for a while longer and then suddenly, her emotions disappeared like a rain interrupted by unnamed force stronger than itself. She got up and stood delicately tall with her chins tucked to the thick roots of her neck.

 

She bowed to the doctor. Thank you for all you have done, doctor. Forgive me for casting my sorrow onto you. I will arrange things as necessary. Please, give me until the end of the week. The doctor could not fathom the shifting spirits in front of him, how a woman could go from an exploding firework to a spreading serenity. That is okay. Let me know if can help. I will certainly be there when we inform him. It is important to explain the details even if they may not change the results.

 

Bethany bowed again and stood still.

 

Be strong, Mrs. Bethany, the Doctor spoke in oceanic octave, God has his hand in everything.

 

Bethany bowed one more time and left the room. In the hallway, the patients sat on chairs that lined up until the lobby. The tunnel stretch seemed like a vortex of illness about to swallow her.

 

When she walked out onto the street, the day was as ordinary as it had been in all the days she came in and out of the hospital. She gazed at the late morning Sun, and she could feel the shadows of the pedestrians shuffling about below her angled face. The sky was cloud less but the blue hue still hung like a canopy of hope—out of reach. The construction buildings clamored with their giant machinery. Everything was exactly how it has always been and so why should her life singularly fall away like a log on a river. Why? Why? Why? The razor-sharp syllables rang and knelled in her mind, and the morning was no longer bright or tender. It was a leftover from the night the sun muscled out by her ultimate force.

 

Bethany had to escape the sun.

 

She walked away from the hospital, feeling the floating spirit of her husband as he lay on the eleventh floor, soaking in the tub of misfortune.

 

She got a cab and told him to take her to the furthest orthodox cathedral in the city.

 

That will be expensive, Mother. It is a long way from here, the cabman explained. She opened her purse and handed him as many hundred bills her hand grabbed. The taxi man shut his mouth and drove the little cab with a smile on his face that he just made the amount he would make in a week.

 

⦿  

 

The church was empty. A bird or two flew around and stopped on one of the empty steps to peck some non-living things, be disappointed and flew around again. Bethnay walked to the steps and before she took a step, prostrated her whole body, folding like a child against the concrete, and the birds even came closer to her—wondering if she were worth a peck. Not much was going on in Bethany’s mind except an amber of thought that a cathedral could also be empty.

 

The cathedral was near empty at such curious day hours, but there were still women and jobless men who were in the compound. They just did not happen to walk around when Bethany arrived and hid her face on the ground. The women were in their usual spots hidden behind cement semi-walls, around the church’s perimeter. Perhaps this was the day all the local men had jobs and did not have to pray at the altar. The better chance was, as it occurred to Bethany, as she formulated her prayer in the dark pool her joint armed made. Even for an observer in the daylight, nested face seemed as if sunken in a puddle of hope as if the world was leaving her and she were becoming invisible. Perhaps her second life was arriving? It had crossed her mind, but she knew she was not ready for that so she simply wiggled her whole body without opening her eyes, and prayed to God in simple terms: please let me understand why you would do something so cruel to a mother like me?

 

She heard a footstep get closer and make a gentle throat clearing sound. It was an Abbott that happened to be on his way out. He was wrapped in thick white fabric and ceremoniously held the cross in his right hand. Bethany bowed and rose from the ground. With ease of a custom that never is questioned by those who practice it, she leaned forward, and the abbot crossed her face while she kissed the edges of the cross. He said the blessing words and cleared his throat again. The sun scooted into the cloud as if she wanted to break her oppression during the dialogue.

 

What brings you at this hour? asked the Abbot even though he knew he was looking at a woman shaken by life’s tricks.

Bethany did not respond. It suddenly felt she had done the wrong thing by coming here. She did not know how far she was from her dying husband. Tears came sooner than words, and she did not hold them back. They slowly began to trickle down her face and disappear into her hand which she put on her lips to hide their froze state.

 

Come here, my child.  What sorrow has found you?, asked the Abbot in his soothing liturgical cadence, and guided her to the nearest stone bench.

 

Bethany collected herself. The unexpected listening ear motivated a part of her that had sharp ways to recap a situation regardless of its complexity. The sun came out of the clouds, and Bethany saw the sunray glisten on the great concrete again.

 

Father, God has put me to the test, and I don’t know what I have done wrong.

The Abbot took his time.

Oh my child, what wrong has the almighty counted on you?

I don’t know, Father. I spend my awake hours caring for my family, and now …, Bethany fell silent.

My child, if the lord paid us for all we did, we would have to pay him back for all we owe him. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?

My husband is ill, Father. The doctor says it won’t be long before he passes on. We have three children, and I don’t wish to marry in my widow days. What am I to do when I lose him, Father? Does God ever reward a loyal wife with years of misery? The tears returned to Bethany’s face, and now flowed more freely and boldly like a summer creek. The droplets at the end paved all ways they can over her chin and down her visible jugular veins.

 

The Abbot sighed because he understood the depth of the woman’s despair.

 

Father, what should I do? There ought to be something I can do to rescue my husband from that death bed. He is too young to die. I would rather die in his place. He can always marry another woman and feed the children.

The Abbot considered the sky with careful attention as if he was looking for the guidance of the stars. It was not unusual for soulmates to trade life, but survival was never a guarantee in such arrangements. In trading life, often, a fly could buzz in a room and send vibration that disturbs some sequence and prevents the souls from arriving where they were projected. The spiritual, invisible world was more sensitive and far precarious than the dull and rigid physical world. However, the Abbot wanted to let Bethany try. Her broken vigor, as if a flower reflected in a fractured mirror, made him think she might succeed.

 

My child, nothing happens to us that we don’t deserve. Yet, your sorrow is justified. Your children will see the darkest of days without their father.

Bethany’s face was switching into seriousness—as the tear rivers began to disappear into her skin and pain her face like a lousy painting with infinite flaws.

Hold on to your soul. I know a woman who can help you. She lives far from the city so it may be a few days’ trip. 

Bethany bowed and leaned on her lap as if she was settling into her silence.

Now, this woman lives in the other world. Tell her what you told me and let her decide what is best for the solution. What you want is to try to see as little as possible when you are there, and whatever you see and smell, you want to forget as soon as you leave.

 

The Abbot looked at the sky again, struggling to remember the last time he met a person in such a desperate state. He smiled thinking the misery of the world never lessons, but those who come running for miracles was dissipating by the years. Bethany, in some way, restored some faith in him.

 

⦿  

 

The last time Bethany was officially seen by the street eyes was when she got off the cab and walked into the cathedral.

 

Then, at the end of the week, when the day she promised the doctor arrived, she reappeared at the hospital on foot. It was only a few days, but her face had lost its lush plumpness as if a portion of her life had left her body.

 

The doctor noticed her unwell disposition but said nothing to its effect. As she stood, waiting for the doctor’s guiding words, Bethany remembered the children before her husband. Her husband was in the same hospital room, and the same hospital bed. The question was she now would never know what fate the children had had in the days she abandoned them.

 

Follow me, Mrs. Bethany, said the doctor as he headed out the door. She obeyed and took the wide steps to keep pace with him. As they walked down the corridor, the ill air stuffed her nose as it always did. Then they got to the room, and the doctor stopped before opening the door.

 

Remember, Mrs. Bethany. It is important to show him strength. Hope is all we have in these times.

 

She bowed in agreement. Then he reached the doorknob and opened the door.

 

Suddenly, an exciting scent sweeter than a worship incense brushed her nostrils. As she walked in, Bethany immediately worried if someone had been to where she had been.⦿ 

 

Written in 2025 G.C, Bowling Green, Kentucky, United States of America

 

© 2026 Masamune Belay (Birhanu Tadesse Gessese). All rights reserved. 

All works presented here are the original property of the author. Unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or modification of any material is strictly prohibited without prior written consent from the author. For publication permissions or other inquiries, please contact: masamunebelay@outlook.com.