The Small One (Part 1)

I grew up in a big affluent family, as my father was a wealthy merchant. We also had many servants, and each member of the family were assigned a few. I had a few as a child and was given more as I got older.

I had a happy childhood and my mother loved me dearly. However, I couldn’t say the same about my father, he was always on business trips and attending to businesses here and there. When he was home, we were mainly entertaining guests. He entertained family, friends, and business acquaintances. During these events there were always a mind blowing display of food from all over the world, places he had visited. I always thought my father was a generous man, always entertaining people. I later realised it was his way of drumming up business for himself.

As I approached my teenage years, I started to feel different. My siblings both younger and older seemed taller and bigger than me and I became their object of ridicule. One day I asked my mother, why I wasn’t growing as fast as my siblings. She replied,

“We don’t all grow at the same rate. Don’t worry about it. The main thing that needs to grow is up here.” She said pointing to her head. “And yours is growing perfectly well because you have got the same smartness as your father.”

She was absolutely right. As I got older, like my older brothers, I worked for my father. I was the most successful, making the highest sales and acquiring lucrative business deals. I worked harder than everyone but instead of being praised by my father and siblings, they made fun of me.

“He only makes the sales because people pity him for being so short.” Or

 “He is a short crafty man indeed! How else would he have made such a deal!”

That was all the thanks and praise I got over dinner as they pretended to toast my success.

One day while I was attending to business in the market square, I came across a friend, he was a tax collector. He explained how he worked for the Romans, collecting taxes and was paid well. Although, he added that it was not seen as an honourable job especially where the Jews were concerned.

My friend’s family wasn’t rich but seeing him looking very wealthy and content, got me thinking. Maybe it was time I left the family business and started on my own, they didn’t value my contribution anyway. And I was fed-up of people constantly looking down on me.

That was how I became a tax collector. My family wasn’t happy about it but they were never pleased with my actions anyway, so it didn’t matter. Just under six months, I had an agreement with the Roman officials and therefore had a number of tax collectors working for me. Hence earning the title, chief tax collector and it made me very wealthy.

This infuriated my family even more, especially my siblings. They expected me to pack it in after a couple of months and were disappointed when it didn’t happen. Their feelings towards me didn’t really bother me.  And I can’t really say I’m surprised because it has always been that way and now seemed no different. The way they treated me made it easier to cope as a tax collector as I was seen as unclean and a traitor for working with the Romans.

Over the years, I acquired possessions, married and bought a big house. I had everything my heart desired – beautiful wives, children I adored, horses, camels and so on. But with everything I possessed, apart from my household, people only feared me, they didn’t respect me. My achievements and wealth meant nothing. After a while it started to really trouble me and that same discontentment I felt before I became a tax collector started creeping back into my life and that worried me.

One night, while I was resting on the rooftop of my house, I overheard a conversation.

(To be continued.)

Stay blessed,

Lara