Mishael’s Greater Labor

              Mishael took a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes, but only a moment.  If the guards should think that he was slacking, it could mean a sharp crack from a rifle and the endless sleep for him. But he had to change it up or he’d go mad.

              Yesterday, Mishael and the thirteen men left in barracks 5315 had been awoken at three in the morning with an urgent request to dig holes on the East side of the camp.  They kept at it from before sunup to way after sundown.  There was little water, no lunch and if anyone stopped for any reason, if anyone complained, if anyone even breathed wrong, they were immediately shot by the sniper on top of House Seven. 

              There were fourteen men that started that morning at three.  At five in the morning, there were only ten left and Mishael was beginning to believe that the four that did not return to Barracks 5315 were the lucky ones. When they returned for the evening, Mishael quietly questioned his friend.

            “Why did they do it, Ramfa?  Especially Barnum.  He saw what happened to the others when they stopped working.  Why did he just sit down and wait for the guards to kill him?”

            Ramfa considered the question as he unmade his bunk and prepared for sleep.  “Ah, Mishael.  Why would I have any answers?  Now, Barnum, I remember his face as the guards ordered us to fill in the holes and I know what lies in the heart of most men.  So, I have a good guess on why the man sat down, on why Barnum gave up his life.  See, Mishael, God designed man for purpose.  Without purpose, man is nothing.  And these guards…oh, they’re the devil’s own brood.  They know how to cut a man down.  They know how to bring pain that lies way under the skin.  See, Barnum gave up because he realized what the guards were doing.”

            “And what were they doing, Ramfa?”

            “They were robbing us of our sense of purpose, Mishael.  See, a man with no purpose is not a man.  A man was made to have purpose and when man is robbed of his purpose, as we were today, man becomes listless, he loses hope.  See, even the animals, they have purpose, but is a lower kind.  The animal’s purpose is more base.  But a man, why, he has intelligence and creativity, just like his Creator.  He was designed to use his gifts to make the world a better place, to help his fellow man, to bring honor to his Creator.  But take a man and reduce him to an animal and give him the most baseless of goals, and the man loses purpose and hope that his efforts will achieve something substantial.  He feels worthless and like our good friend Barnum, he gives up.”

            “So, Barnum lost his purpose and he gave up on living?”

            “Exactly, Mishael.”

            Mishael considered this slowly as he undid his shirt.  “But Ramfa, how will we not become hopeless as well?”

            “Even though they strive to make us feel worthless, we must accomplish something of worth.  Even though they work to take away our purpose, we must hold strong to the purpose that our Creator instilled in us.”

            Throughout the next few days, Mishael gave his purpose much thought.

The next day, the guards once again started the men on a pointless task, that of breaking the large boulders around the camp into smaller rocks and then into much smaller rocks.  Finally, the rocks were carried to a large pit on the South side of the camp to be thrown into the limestone quarry where so many of Mishael’s fellow prisoners had been laid to rest.  It was while tossing one shovel-full of gravel into the limestone pit that Mishael stumbled upon his purpose. 

“Ramfa,” Mishael gasped to his friend.

The guards reacted immediately, firing a shot over the prisoner’s heads.  “Get back to work!”

As they hurriedly resumed hammering at the rocks, Ramfa whispered urgently to his younger friend.  “What is so urgent that you’d risk your life just to tell me?”

“I know what it is, Ramfa.”  Mishael smiled like an idiot.

“You know what is what, Mishael?”

“I know what my purpose is, Ramfa.”

“That’s nice, Mishael.  Perhaps we could discuss this at a safer time.”

Mishael glanced at the guard.  “Yes.  Of course.”

Mishael remained silent for the remainder of the day, but he kept his eyes open to fulfilling his purpose.  Once, one of the men dropped his sledgehammer out of pure exhaustion.  Mishael ran over, ducking once due to the guard’s gunfire, and picked up the hammer, handing it back to the man.  Just as quickly, Mishael ran back to his own pile.

“Don’t move from your pile again or I will shoot you,” warned the guard.

Mishael nodded and kept on working.

As they were leaving to return the tools, Mishael carried not only his pickaxe, but two sledgehammers belonging to two exceptionally exhausted men.  After they dropped off the tools at the shed and made their way to the barracks, Ramfa found a spot close to his young friend.

“What you are doing is dangerous.”  Ramfa whispered.  “I understand your need and your thought, Mishael.  But perhaps there is a different way.”

“I will consider what you say, Ramfa.”

After that Mishael remained silent for the remainder of the night.

As they arrived at the tool shed the next day, Mishael was first as it opened, so that he could hand out the hammers and picks to the other prisoners.  After handing out the second hammer to a man named Haval, the guard unceremoniously approached Mishael from the side and pounded him in the face with the stock of his rifle.

As Mishael lay on the ground, shocked and bleeding from his scalp, the guard leered over him.  “That’s not your job, prisoner 65132,” that was the number on Mishael’s wrist.  “Step out of line one more time and you’ll feel the other end of my weapon.  And you will not be getting back up”

Mishael averted his eyes.  “Yes, sir.”

After another exhausting day, Mishael attempted a new tactic.  After the men lumbered into the barracks and slowly edged to their bunks for the night, Mishael grabbed a wet cloth and began gingerly washing the dust from each man’s feet. 

The first man that he came to, Haval, waved him away.  “Leave me alone, Mishael.  I just want to sleep and forget.”

Not to be deterred, Mishael quickly approached the man in the next bunk, a bald man whose name was Previd.  As Mishael approached the bunk, Previd also waved him away.  “None of your tricks today, Mishael.  Washing my feet will only remind me of all I do not have.”

Dejectedly, Mishael returned to his bunk to find Ramfa, surprisingly, still awake and waiting for him.

“I do not understand, Ramfa.  Why do these men refuse to let me help them in even the smallest way.”

“Mishael, these are men without hope. They have given up.  Sometimes when men have everything but their lives taken from them, they simply wait to die.  They cannot stand to see help…even in one of their own.”

“Then who can I help?  Without giving to others, how can I also not give up hope?”

Ramfa smiled.  “Mishael, one only has to speak with you to gain hope.  Perhaps you are letting your aim settle too low.  Perhaps you should seek to find your purpose in the service of those who not only need it but know they need it.”

“But who is that, Ramfa?”

“Pray to God tonight, Mishael.. He will show you.”

Ramfa slipped into his bed where the rough work he had endured quickly converted his breathing to snoring.  Mishael, however, turned his thoughts and concentration to his God.

 The next day dawned dark and rainy.  However, despite or maybe because of the rain, the prisoners were paraded out of their barracks and to the shed to retrieve their tools.  Some of the prisoners grumbled under their breath, afraid to be overheard by the guards.  But Mishael remained silent, a truth he had learned overnight kept a slight smile on his lips.

Mishael waited for the opportune time.  A little before noon, the rain broke and the sun, hot and blistering, came out with a vengeance.  Soon, all the men, including the guards, had little trails on their faces produced by the tracks of their sweat.  Around two o’clock as the sun seemed to beat on the men, Mishael found his opportunity.  He had been working by the west wall with his pickaxe on a particularly stubborn boulder when he noticed the guard next to him, the one, he realized, who had struck him in the face the previous day, wiped the sweat from his brow.

Mishael swallowed a lump of courage and spoke to the guard.  “Please, sir.”

The guard sneered over at him. “What is it, prisoner 65132?”

“May I get you a drink of water, sir?”

“Need a break from working, prisoner?  Or perhaps you wish to get an extra drink for yourself while you’re at it?”

“No sir,” stated Mishael as he continued to swing his pickax up, then down.  “I only noticed how hot you looked and wished to bring you relief.”

The guard paused, considering the prisoner for a moment.  “I’m touched, prisoner 65132.  But I can get the water myself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mishael smiled slightly to himself, so the guard would not think he was up to anything peculiar and went about his work.

That night, before bed, Haval approached him.  “I overheard what you said to that guard, Mishael.  We all heard.  Are you trying to get on his good side, so you may get an easier sentence than the rest of us?  Is that what you’re up to?”

“No, Haval,” said Mishael.  “I am only doing what Ramfa encouraged me to do yesterday.”

Haval looked confused.  “Ramfa?  Who is Ramfa?”

Mishael cocked a smile at Haval.  “Ramfa.  My friend who I talk to every day.  Surely you know Ramfa.”

“I know no Ramfa,” said Haval.  “But all of us see you talking to yourself every day.  We all assumed the heat had gotten to you.”

Mishael looked around and, for once, did not see his friend.  “But, Ramfa…”

“Enough of your delusions for now, Mishael.  Tell me.  What did your illusionary friend tell you to do?  Be nice to the guards?  Did he tell you to help those who are persecuting you?”

“No.”  Mishael said.  “Ramfa told me to seek God and it was God who told me to help them.”

Haval frowned.  “Well, perhaps that was not God.  Why would God tell you to help those who hurt you?  An eye for an eye.”

“It was God who told me that.”

Haval scoffed.  “Just like it was your imaginary friend Ramfa who told you to seek God in the first place?  You are lost, Mishael.  And you will die in this place.”

As Haval began the long trek back to his bunk, Mishael smiled to himself.  “No, you are wrong, Haval.  And I know this is so.  Because being kind to those who hurt me is the greater labor.”