Woman without her man is nothing. What do you feel about that statement - agree or disagree?Now, let me put in some punctuation: Woman, without her man, is nothing. How do you feel now - agree or disagree?
OK, I'll change the punctuation: Woman: without her, man is nothing. How do you feel now - agree or disagree?
Isn't that what we do all the time - we see or hear the same thing but we each add in different "punctuation"? And then we wonder why we have trouble communicating with each other! You look at someone with admiration and they think you're being critical … and you haven't even said a word! Their "punctuation" comes from their past, from similar expressions of people from their long-ago and you become those people from their long-ago … not the person you really are.
And the same with the Bible - there are so many versions it's no wonder we cannot communicate with each other!
According to Jewish usage the twenty-four books of the Hebrew Scriptures fall into three divisions: the Law, the Prophets and the Writings. The Prophets are divided into the Former Prophets and the Latter Prophets. The books of Samuel, Kings, Chronicles, Ezra-Nehemiah were not divided by the Jews until the close of the Middle Ages. The twelve Minor Prophets are treated as one book. The two sub-divisions of the Prophets therefore contain four books each.
In Protestant editions of the Bible the Old Testament follow the Hebrew text as regards content, but the books in the second and third divisions are rearranged in sequence and several are divided, making a total of thirty-nine.
In Roman Catholic editions, the Old Testament contains the rearranged thirty-nine books of the Hebrew Scriptures plus seven others which are current in the official Latin Vulgate Bible and which Protestants include among the Apocrypha.
The Greek Orthodox Church, which uses the Greek Septuagint Version as its official text, has generally been accustomed to follow the longer canon of the Old Testament, including in this case also the 151st Psalm and 3 Maccabees.
And that's only four of the many religions which follow Christ! Just as there is no such thing as The Reality, there is no such thing as The Bible - there is no end to the variety of bibles to choose from and, like life, your reality is that which you choose rather than that which is.
Now, what is Arthur Bayly's current reality?
Walking back from the funeral parlour, several hours later and with the arrangements for Thursday made, Joan turned to Arthur, "You know, this might sound a bit strange, callous even, but I'm just not sad like I'm supposed to be."
"Perhaps it hasn't sunk in yet," he said.
"Hmm, I thought you might say that and you could be right, but I think you're not." Joan said, stopping on the pavement in front of him. "You know, love, something inside tells me I won't be sad ... well, not very sad at all."
"Are you sure?" asked Arthur, surprised ... even shocked.
"Yes, I am sure and I don't know why. It's a puzzle," said Joan, smiling up at her confused looking husband. "Look, I loved my mother - you know that."
"Well, yes ..."
"And, well yes, you and I did have our differences but she was a rock when things weren't going well for us," she said quietly. "You know, she never judged or criticised either of us - just listened and smiled. Offered me cups of tea and biscuits and smiled and listened. I guess she knew that I knew my own answers, even when I didn't think I did. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I think so," said Arthur, gingerly, "and she never said anything about me?"
"Nope! Not ever!" said Joan firmly. "And nothing bad about me either. She just smiled and might ask me, 'So, what can you do about that, dear?'"
"And did you know what to do?" asked Arthur, seeing another side of his mother-in-law.
"No, not usually!" said Joan, smiling at the memories. "I had no idea and felt really trapped and so would go on about my troubles, over and over, and she'd just smile, offer another cup of tea and say, 'Well dear, you know what to do about that, don't you?' Of course I didn't know what to do. Or, I didn't think I knew."
"Oh, sorry!" said Arthur as a pedestrian bumped him.
"Sorry mate," said an Australian voice as a young man rushed past.
"Look dear, I want to hear about your mother," said Arthur, "but don't you think we should move on. It's getting dark and a little cold."
"Yes, you're right."
"And I'll make you a cup of tea and you'll know what to do next!" said Arthur, trying to hide a sneaky smile.
"Arthur Bayly, you do have a sense of humour after all," said Joan as she took his arm and strode off up the street. "You know, Arthur," she said, stopping suddenly, "maybe we've been hiding our full selves from each other, do you think?"
"Absolutely dear," said Arthur, smiling, "and I never realised, before, that you can't talk and walk at the same time."
"Arthur!" said Joan, cuffing him gently on the arm. "OK, I won't stop again! It's just ... I don't know, it's just that we've started communicating again and I have so much to say to you. So much time seems to have been lost and I want to make it all up right now!"
"You impatient thing, you," said Arthur, smiling and pulling his wife to him. "But we can make it all up here in the cold and dark or we can do it in the comfort of our house ..."
"Oh, you practical thing, you!" she said as they started to move along again.
As they reached their door, Arthur reached into his pocket for his keys. They weren't there. He tried his left pocket. Not there either. He tried his right pocket again, as if there was somewhere in his small pocket that they could hide. Not there, still. He tried his jacket pockets. No keys.
"What's wrong, Arthur, can't you find your keys?" asked Joan, used to Arthur's fastidiousness of always putting things back 'where they belong,' as he would say.
"Ah, no, I seem to have misplaced them," he said. "Most unusual." He kept rattling round in his pockets as if they'd magically turn up if he kept at it.
"I'll use mine then," said Joan, fishing in her bag.
"Here they are mate," said a tallish young man with blonde, curly hair. "Don't say we never look after you!"
"Oh, oh, thanks," said Arthur, perplexed. "But how did you get hold of them?"
"Just let's say we're looking out for ya, mate!" said the young man in an obviously Australian accent. "And now we know where you live."
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, feeling the blood draining from his head and his stomach tighten uncomfortably.
"Look mate, just keep yourself clean, don't pry into our business again and you're sweet!" said the young man who then dashed off with a wave.
Joan unlocked the door as Arthur stood there, unable to move.
"Come in, love," said Joan. "You can tell me what you've been up to when you're safe inside."
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, struggling to find more useful words.
"Arthur, inside!" commanded Joan, taking his hand firmly.
"But ... but ..." said Arthur, like a cracked record.
Joan led him to his chair in the sitting room and he obediently sat.
"I'll get us a cup of tea, love," said Joan, looking concerned. "I'll be right back.
As she put the cups down on the small table, Arthur shook his head as if waking from a dream ... or a nightmare.
"So, my dear, what do you make of it all?" asked Joan. "My mother dies this morning, we arrange a funeral, a young man bumps into us, he returns our keys and acts curious ... suspicious."
"Oh yes, it was the same young man wasn't it - the Australian!" said Arthur, as if a light suddenly went on in his brain.
"Yes, I'm sure it was," said Joan. "So, my secret man, what have you been up to?"
"Ah, nothing, Joan, nothing at all," said Arthur pleadingly. "I lost my job this morning, I witnessed a police scuffle ..."
"Lost your job? Police scuffle?" asked Joan, wide-eyed.
"Well, I did mention my job but we were busy with your mother. I thought I should let it wait till later," said Arthur with a sigh.
"And a police scuffle?" asked Joan, repeating herself.
"Oh yes, I hadn't got round to mentioning it," said Arthur as the memory of it - so recent but so quickly gone from his mind - returned. "The police said he was a New Zealander, a black man. Would that be a Maori?"
"Ah yes, I suppose so ... who?" asked Joan, now totally confused.
"Ah, the man they caught ... and the other one who thanked me and it was all so quick ..." said Arthur as his mind went the speed of light and his mouth was stuck at 30 miles per hour.
"Arthur, Arthur, please stop there," said Joan, patting his hand. "Stop. Take a breath - a deep breath - and then tell me all about it.
It's obviously not only me who's had a harrowing day!"
So Arthur told her about it - everything he could remember.
"So that's it?" asked Joan, enthralled at the events surrounding her husband.
"Oh I don't know love," said Arthur, wiping his forehead. "I keep thinking there's something I've missed ... something I saw that I've forgotten ... something ..."
"Arthur, Arthur, stop, stop," said Joan, holding his hand. "Stop thinking and you'll remember. And have your tea."
"Oh yes, I'd quite forgotten!" he said, smiling wanly. "Stop thinking to remember ..." He found this mildly amusing, somehow.
"And, as far as you know, you don't know that young man, that Australian?" asked Joan, trying to put the jigsaw of Arthur's day together. "You haven't been investigating an insurance case he's in or something?"
"No, but he said we, as if there's a group," said Arthur as the lump in his stomach returned.
"Yes, it did sound a bit threatening," said Joan. "Now, why don't we call that police officer, that Amanda, and talk to her about it?"
"Oh Joan, what a good idea!" said Arthur, feeling less vulnerable, suddenly. "She gave me her mobile number. I hope she doesn't mind."
"If she does, she can say so," said Joan lifting the phone.
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