The Healing River

         A cool, gentle breeze drifts down from the early morning sky and rustles the leaves of the trees along the riverbank. Deep-blue clouds move slowly overhead among a sea of faint stars, their reflection ebbing, distorted, across the river's ponderous surface. Night insects offer up their last calls as the eastern horizon lightens perceptibly with the dawn's inevitable approach.
         City lights wink from beyond the river's opposite bank. The muffled noise of traffic—roaring engines and blaring horns—penetrates only for a moment the serenity of the riverbank and then is hushed by the current's wet gurgling.
         A lone figure, a man, emerges from underneath the obscuring shadows of the trees, pausing briefly at the boundary between shrouding branches and naked shore. The abrupt squeal of a car tire braking, like a hawk's piercing cry from some distant perch, causes him to continue forward with a startled jerk. The loose, sandy soil sighs with every cautious step, and at the water's edge the noise stops.
         For a long while the figure stands motionless, his gaze fixed upon the murky depths. The water laps gently against the tips of his sandals, and blades of lush grass brush against the skin of his ankles. His reflection in the river is faint and distorted, a ghostly twin tenuously linked to the tangible world at the edge of the muddy bank and which the current's movement could seemingly carry away with no effort on the slightest ripple.
         Moving slowly, deliberately, the man lifts the tattered shawl from his shoulders, its fringe worn and many of the threads missing, and lets it fall to the ground. He moves a hand to his waist and unties the leather girdle encircling it, while with the other hand he reaches back and begins to loosen the grimy turban covering his head.
         The dirty, stained cloth unwinds to reveal a bald head. An awful stench drifts away on the cool breeze as cankered flesh is exposed. Festering sores glare brightly at the sun's first tentative rays. Swollen eyes, a crooked nose, and blackened lips each reveal themselves in turn as the last strip of fabric peels from the skin and floats down to land in the river and be carried away.
         Next to be removed are the sandals. Bleeding fingers painfully loosen the dusty leather straps and then blistered feet are pulled away from the rough soles. The sandals are then tossed to one side and land wetly in a patch of mud.
         The long, coarse coat enshrouding the figure's emaciated frame takes a long moment to remove. The coat sticks to the thinly woven shirt beneath it, and so the man must gingerly pluck and pull at the two garments to separate them. Arms trembling and breathing ragged, he works patiently until the coat eventually releases its grasp and shrinks to the earth.
         Standing straight, the figure reaches down to his knees, grasps the hem of the shirt, and pulls it up and over his head. Masses of rotting flesh pulse and bubble along his legs, torso, back, and arms.
         The smell is overpowering, even to the man himself, and he wastes no further time in stepping forward. Carefully he wades into the river, allowing the chill water to envelope his already-numb body.
         The sun's probing rays pierce through the trees' concealing canopy as the man's head disappears beneath the surface of the water. The sky glows brightly with the breaking of the dawn, clouds ablaze with brilliant hues of orange and red. A flock of birds streaks over the tops of the trees and vanishes across the far shore of the river. A profound silence descends upon all.
         A hand suddenly breaks the surface of the water, emerging from the murky depths, followed by an arm, a shoulder, a face. The skin is bright and smooth, as clean and unblemished as purest lamb's wool, and glows in the morning light. Thick brown hair covers the man's head, and his blue eyes sparkle with life.
         Splashing to the riverbank, he gathers together his clothing—a delicately woven shirt, a soft brown coat, supple leather sandals and girdle, a finely crafted shawl, and a clean, white turban—and quickly dresses.
         Raising his hands to heaven, the man gives a shout of joy, offering up praises of thanksgiving to the new day. He weeps openly, tears of happiness that streak down his cheeks and fall to earth.
         With trembling hands the man wipes dry his face and then sets his feet in motion to begin the journey home, retracing his steps from the prior dark night. He passes through the line of trees edging the river's shore and enters a desert landscape beyond. His strong, confident frame soon fades from sight among rocks and brush.
         The city lights vanish in the brightness of morning, and the noise of bustling traffic—the awakened world—rushes back, invading the quiet of the river's methodical flow.
         A pile of indistinct clothing lies abandoned on the riverbank, not far from a jogging path partially hidden behind the trees. As a passenger jet roars low in the sky, beneath pale clouds of gray, a man's lifeless body, naked and frail, floats away with the current and is finally obscured by a bend in the river.