Book of Ruth Creative Writing

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Brasilia

Naomi: Ruth why are you following me? Your sister picked up and went. It is late. You have a long walk home. I don't want you to be lost or raped on the way. Come: let's kiss once again and say goodbye.

Ruth: Mama: last week an idea occurred to me that I do not want to be your former daughter-in-law (despite the wonderful memories that come with that). I would rather that this situation - with talking to you / learning from you / listening to you - continues for as long as possible please God throughout our lives. I thought about this and sat on the floor and cried, I wanted this so much. Almost daily up to the day I met you, I prayed for someone to answer my many questions. They tormented me and there was almost nothing more urgent for me than that. You have done that, and you're doing much more than that. You are my fairy godmother and I feel a visceral internal pull to you that is stapled inside me. I cannot undo it. I have been starved for love; you have given me that. I have hankered for wisdom; you have taught me. Yes, it is true: on a rational level I understand that I am not of your nation; we are poor; I may be a hindrance on you; you may be ashamed of me back home. I have a lot to learn. My experience with Israelites is non-existent; the only Hebrews I have known are you. And so thinking of the future I am concerned of my neediness, and of this almighty pull - how it might impact you, whilst I am reluctant to end this period where I am just so happy always seeing you and being with you. I once compared you to a tree that made roots in me. You have cut in me and tattooed me and at the moment it seems that nothing will take it away for you are interwoven in and through me.

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And that is why I want to go with you. …

Last night, Naomi, you wanted to bless us and you asked what it is that I wished God give me. This is it: What do I wish that God would give me?

The privilege of learning from you, conversing with you, being there for you on a permanent basis.

Naomi: Dear Ruth, you are a young girl. You are beautiful. You have so many of the boys who would love to marry you. You are going up your childhood and chance by being with me. I love you. Just return to your village.

Ruth: You press me to be insistent. We village people have the story of Cinderella, a poor girl taunted by her stepmother and stepsisters. She sat there in the garret with the mice at her feet, hoping for a better future. Suddenly the godmother came along. And then she married the prince. The prince died. The godmother remained. Sometimes, people in my village have impersonated Cinderella without ever knowing (so I assume) how she really felt. Should I tell you how she really felt? In the garret alone for decades….....

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