The Goldsmith's Tale

Aaron didn't take much persuading that a set of brand new Gods were needed. They decided to get the ball rolling with something nice in gold. When Aaron came to my workshop I suggested the Bull Calf. Something young, I told him, is always best to worship. Cattle fulfil all life's needs: meat, milk and leather. Heaven is already pretty full of their burnt offerings. It doesn't take much of a leap of faith to see them rain down blessings from on high. As this was the first in a new line of Gods I suggested they start out with a male. Anyway, a fine Gold Calf would look wonderful as the centrepiece of the God Launch Party.

For such an important job a lot of gold was needed but they supplied more that enough, already fashioned into blocks. Aaron put the haul together, he told me, from earrings he gathered from the people. That tale sounded pretty tall to me. Not one Israelite, man woman or child, would have been able to carry their heads aloft with that much gold hanging out of their ears. I and my apprentices worked non-stop for several days, sweating at the smelt, pouring moulds and working fine filigree. I made the Calf ten feet tall not including the dais. I was well pleased with Him - my finest work. He looked like a living thing, as if His muscles would ripple into action, as if His raised hoof would step forward rakishly onto the sand, as if His youthful head would shake skittishly. The men would see themselves in Him, I thought, and the women would see the potency they wanted in their men.

The day came to present the Calf to Aaron. He was fairly wild with joy and praised my skills to high heaven, said my gifts were sent from the Gods. I was pleased, I'll have to say, with all the praise and back slapping - even I'm not impervious to a bit of ego stroking. The Calf was stowed away until the unveiling ceremony. Aaron didn't ask for the bill but I sent it to him anyway. With no sign of my money coming I thought he was probably up to his eyes preparing for the party so I went to see him. He was quite the man of action, directing the preparations and shouting at the women. When I asked for my few bob he hummed and hawed, said he didn't think the bill would be so high. He asked me how many hours I'd worked on the new deity, how many men had helped me. I was mad as hell but kept my cool while he disputed the amount of labour and materials used. But in the end I nearly lost the rag when he practically accused me of telling lies and cheating. He demanded a discount but I stood my ground. I came out of his tent empty handed. After a lot of wrangling I was able to squeeze most of the money out of Aaron but he paid me only what he though the job was worth. What I got barely covered my expenses and left me with no profit.

I was fuming in my tent when who came by but Aaron's wife. I don't want us to look like people who won't pay their bills, she said, I want to make peace between two stubborn men. With a flourish she presented me with a charcoal drawing, a sketch of my Golden Calf. That piece of work, she said, is worth far more than what you're owed. I am a well respected artist in this part of the world. The Pharaoh has several of my paintings in his collection. I looked at the bit of paper and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You're not in Egypt now my girl, I said, we can't eat pencil marks on paper in the desert.

I brooded in my tent for several days, sore with resentment for the way Aaron had treated me. Then I heard that Moses was on his way back down the mountain. When he got back to the camp he found the Chosen People having fun beneath their new God's gaze: the feasting, drinking and fucking had gone on for several days. The old man's rage blew through the camp like a bull on the rampage. Aaron wasn't long about putting the blame for their indiscretion on the people but took the credit for making the Calf himself. He didn't want Moses to know, I suspect, that he'd employed a foreigner. I was sorry to see the Calf melted down and ground into powder. I laughed when the Moses made them drink it.

But my satisfaction was short lived and in the end my gloating turned to pity. Many men stepped forward that day to consecrate themselves with blood. The slaughter that took place, I guessed, would not be the last. The Chosen People's God was not a man to cross.

Biography

Anne Mac Darby was born in county Laois but now lives in Kilkenny. She writes poetry and short stories. She has had work published in Ireland and England in such magazines as Poetry Ireland Review, Cyphers, The Shop, The Interpreter's House, etc. She has won several awards including a first place in Syllables Poetry Competition.