Numbers Fiction: Pinchas
“They laughed at them,” Shmida said to the little girl. “They often laughed at them,” Shmida repeated as he leaned back on his low stool. The little girl looked up at Shmida with adoring eyes. Shmida’s face and arms were wrinkled like a prune left in the sun. His robe was freshly ripped over his heart. He smiled widely, revealing one remaining tooth protruding from his lower gums.
“People always laughed at Tirzah and her sisters. But it was a mean laugh. They ridiculed them. They teased them. They wanted the girls to hear laughter and feel pain.”
“But why?” the little girl asked. She was seven years old, had dark long braided hair and freckles that spread from her face down her arms. She sat cross-legged on the wooden porch floor, looking at Shmida. He was looking at the wide expanse of land from the porch of his large stone house. A fresh grave lay under an oak tree. “Why were they so mean?”
[the rest of the story is at http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/attractive-spinsters/]