Desperate Times

~ Eric Potter And what would you have done if it had been your daughter dying, if you had spent all your days and every last denarius on doctors, quacks who took your cash then shrugged their shoulders while your daughter drew closer to death? At last I was desperate enough even to go to the Jews. He wasn’t much to look at, though he could draw a crowd, and if half the tales I’d heard were true he could heal a troop of daughters. I could feel his power, palpable as his contempt and the Jews-only sneer with which he snubbed my request, but I could see that he loved to bargain, as sharp a trader as any of his tribe, so I made a counter offer (and threw in a low bow). He produced a clever comeback about kids and dogs— Christ, what a casuist— but I gave as good as I got, tossing back his talk of breadcrumbs. A deal struck, at last, I turned to leave but he began extolling my faith, a transparent effort to save face for relenting to a Gentile and a woman. I let it go. Why bother haggling? My daughter was healed. I’d won.