JOB'S VISITORS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21716, 3 February 1934, Page 1 (Supplement)

JOB'S VISITORS

BY UNA C. CRAIG

A HISTORICAL TANGLE

Job shifted uneasily on his mat and cast down his eyes. God had sent him many tribulations, and he had grown resigned. In fact, resignation had become a positive habit. But he did think lie might have been spared some of the minor annoyances, such as visits from superior, scoffing people like this man he could see hurrying toward his doorway. Job did not realise that he had been chosen to test a divine theory and that the small things of life are infinitely more difficult to bear than the larger ones. They cannot bo met with quite the same broad gesture, the same grand pose. It is so much more spectacular to fight a lion lurking in the bushes than a flea in the folds of one's sackcloth. So Job sighed, folded his hands with a jerk of annoyance and muttered, " Time's curse 011 this bearded persecution!" God's villified masterpiece stepped into the shadow of Job's house. The very air seemed stirfed as the ghosts of intervening years flew by and left them face to face—Job and Bernard Shaw. Thalia, from her old, forgotten grave, stirred and laughed. " Well, Job, my man," breezed Bernard, " still practising your art?" " Art? What art?" snapped Job. " Why, the historical art of submission. I take my hat off to you as the superb propagandist. You made a mighty shrewd move to get your name known to posterity." Job smiled into his beard. " Well, that's one up on you, G. 8.," he said slyly. "My reputation has stood the test of time, whereas yours—well, we shall see." " What do you mean? Are you implying a doubt?" Shaw's eyes snapped fire, then, looking down at the bald spot on Joh's head, they softened to a twinkle. " Would you like to be put into a play?" he asked. " It would add immensely to your reputation." " Would it?" Job asked doubtfully, thus igniting another spark. " Good heaven, man! Of course it would. That is, if I wrote the play. I knocked Will Shakespeare into & cocked hat over Cleopatra. Cut out all the sentimental eye-wash, you know. Then Joan of Arc—well, the world knows the real Joan since I put her on the stage." "An Uncomfortable Person " Job was filled with vague alarm. His reputation had been pretty secure up till now, and he didn't quite like the idea of this prober tampering with it., " If you don't mind, I think I'd rather you left me alone," he said meekly. " But 1 never leave anything alone," Bernard Shaw asserted. " It's against my principles." " What an uncomfortable persoa you must be to live with." "Ah! There you have it." G.B.'s eyes positively scintillated. "Itis my ruling passion to keep people from feeling comfortable. Comfort breeds stagnation." " Then, by the beard of the prophets, I must be the most progressive thing in history," proclaimed Job. Mrs. Job came in then to say that Bildad had sat on the egg-basket and there wouldn't be omelettes for lunch. " Ah, well," sighed her persecuted lord. " just another minor tribulation. We'll have watercress instead. Mr. Shaw will approve of that." But G.B. missed that shot, because his attention was foenssed on the figure of a woman who was moving toward the house. Job saw her likewise. " Plait my beard, if I'm not seeing things! Who's been monkeying with the history books? Here comes Queen Vashti." " Yes, the first woman to rebel against man's dominance," exulted Shaw. " This should be interesting." Good in Rebellion

Job struggled to rise. " Are you Job of Cz?" inquired an imperial voice. " Your humble servant," mumbled Job, flopping back on to his mat in an attempt at obeisance. "Humble—ah!" breathed Vashti. " That is why I have come. I want to learn humility of you. There is so much rebellion in me. It burns like a fire and I would be free of it." " Free of it? Free of it?" cried Shaw, springing forward. " You should chorish it, woman. It is the seed of your salvation. It will save you from romantic enslavement." Vashti stiffened, " Sir, I don't think I addressed you," she said curtly. " I don't care a fig about that. I've got something to say, and I intend to say it. All the hoity-toity airs in heathendom won't stop me." " Who is tlrs trousered interloper?" Vashti inquired. "She doesn't know me! Not know me!" screamed Bernard. "Me, who out-Shakespeared Shakespeare!" His voice broke into incredulous spluttering?. " Pacify him, woman," Job signalled. " He's a potential firebox, and there's ■no knowing where his sparks will land." " Do you think you could make a little less noise?" pleaded Vashti sweetly. " You rather make my head acho. you know." " I'm sorry about your head, but I can't help making a noise. I was born to make a noise." " Oh, dear!" sighed Vashti. " I suppose we'll have to let him. These twentieth century men—so—so domineering." Then suddenly she sprang up again, interrupting G.B.'s flow of rhetoric. " But why should he have all the say? Men think they can do everything, and women get all the knocks. It comes of their over-ruling sense of possession. I ran away because of it. Ahasuerus is like that. He thinks because I'm his wife he can order me around. I'm getting tired of it." « "A Nobler Art " She paused for breath, and found G.B.'s eyes twinkling with approval. " Good girl, Vashti," he encouraged. " You've got tho idea, only you're a few hundred years ahead of your times. I'm all for women's rights and the development of mind over matter, so you'd better come along with me. I've a scheme for tho regeneration of society and 1 might be able to work you into it. You mightn't be a queen, but you'd i bo free to bo yourself." Vashti held out her hand. " I bolie ve I like you, after all," she said. " Your ideas seem nobler than your manners." "But, T say!" interrupted Job. "I thought you came here to learn humility and submission." "So I did. But I've changed my mind. I think you are a trifle out of date." Job folded his arms and sighed. He feared she was starting something tho world would find it impossible to stop " Well, watch out that this old boaster isn't pulling your leg," he mumbled. " And I still hold that resignation is a nobler art than revolution." " Como along," Shaw said, taking Vashti's hand. " He's getting up on to his old hobby-horse again." " So we'll go out and mount on yours instead, shall we?" she asked, with unqueenly mischievousness. As they went out they passed Mrs. .lob, coming in to say that the cattle had eaten all the watercress, and there wouldn't bo even that for lunch. " Just another minor tribulation," they heard Job muttering. "Sanctimonious old humbug," snorted Shaw, who always got the last word.