BROKEN

a short story

By Christine Jayakaran

I was all alone. I felt broken and all over the place. Well I was literally all over the place as pieces of my body lay strewn beside me. I watched helplessly as He began to put me back together. He was careful and meticulous no doubt, but the piecing together was painful. The cracks showed. The imperfections stood out. My original beauty was gone. My slender, long neck was now gone and in its place I had a wide unsightly opening. I used to be a thing of beauty on my own. I didn't need fixtures or attachments to add to my looks. I was eye catching in my old form and now let's just say I was more of an eye sore than anything else.

My maker though, didn't seem to think that. He looked at me through the same kind, thoughtful and precise eyes. He didn't seem put off with my scars or scared of my gaping wounds. Instead he looked at me with so much love while he did what he does best. I looked over at the window sill where I used to stand so proudly and peer into the street below. I will no longer stand there I'm guessing, what with my new utilitarian look and all. I will need to be content with sitting at the table or standing off to a corner just out of sight.

You see, I used to be a tall, stately Jerusalem vase. I didn't need much embellishment since I was remarkable as I was. I had the most intricate work done on me by none other than my maker and then was kept on display for all to see, at the window of his modest shop in the small side street just off the busy Palestinian thoroughfare. My life was perfect until that fateful morning when a young mother with her four children came in to make a last minute purchase. Her older boys were playing a hazardous game of catch all the while running maniacally around the priceless gems that my maker had so carefully crafted when one of them ran straight into my exquisitely crafted rear. Horror of horrors!! I lost balance and after a few heart stopping seconds I heard myself thudding to the ground and then thankfully passed out.

When I came to, I was laid out on the Maker's table on a neat but well used piece of linen and he was looking at me through his work spectacles. I knew then that the damage must be intense, for him to take those dreaded eye pieces out! He worked on me for two whole days all the while attending on those who walked in and out of his shop. Tirelessly returning to me, his broken masterpiece.

I now stood at half my size with a whole new look. He gave me a wide curved handle and to my aforementioned wide neck opening He added the most chic lid. I had no idea what I could be used for, in this new and different shape but I had to trust him. He did after all Create and re-Create me. The next few days were a blur as I stood in my spot on the maker's work table smack dab at the centre. I watched as my friends the Urn family and the Jar tribe were shipped off to Lebanon and Egypt respectively. I had just started settling into my new space and getting used to my new look when in walks the most beautiful young woman I have ever seen. (And believe me when I say, I have seen my share of beautiful women, being a window piece and all.) She walked in so gracefully with a silk shawl draped effortlessly around her slender neck and looked around with quiet confidence. She explained to the maker of how she needed something special. Special how he asked pleasantly? Well she needed a special container to hold an ointment that she planned to use for a very unique purpose she said. Talk about being secretive! She looked around the store and didn't seem too impressed until...until her eyes fixed on me. She looked at me with unfettered joy. She carefully lifted me and examined me all over and almost jumped in delight. She told my maker that I was exactly what she had in mind! Imagine that! You're shocked? Imagine my surprise!

My maker smiled in response and didn't look shocked, not even surprised. He just walked over and took me ever so gently from her hands and prepared to pack me up for her. Just before he lowered me into the small wooden crate he stroked me with his fingers and whispered over me 'My masterpiece! Do what I created you to do'

I was parcelled off to my beautiful new owner's home and that evening I was filled with the most expensive and fragrant perfumed ointment known to folk on this side of the world. My new owner then carried me almost reverently before all her dinner guests and proceeded to pour the ointment out of me onto the feet of the guest of honour, a young Jewish rabbi. I was emptied onto his feet and then set on the table beside him while she wiped the ointment using her luxurious thick brown hair.

I realised then that this was what my maker had in mind for me all along. As an exquisite vase, fit for royalty I was valuable yes. But as a simple yet intricately crafted perfume jar I was full of purpose. In my eyes I hadn't seen much beauty or use but in my Maker's eyes I was irreplaceable and perfect.