NONFICTION
The temptation
The Bible tells you that there’s nothing new under the sun, especially temptation arriving on the scene in Eden. And I learned that again at the gas station, on one relentlessly dull day.
My husband and I had stopped to stretch our legs, have a much-needed coffee, perhaps a snack. A donut laced with lemon icing, perhaps, or cinnamon toast glistening with buttery flavor? More temptations.
Of course, I needed to use the restroom first, and also wash my hands. But there on the gray tiled floor was something glittery, sparkly. Intriguing.
There were no curtains at the small window, only a shabby blind, so it couldn’t be a simple brass curtain ring. No, I thought, it was too shiny, too interesting. It called to me to investigate, to satisfy my insatiable curiosity.
It didn’t disappoint.
It was a stunningly beautiful ring, and as I turned it over in my hands, as carefully as you would examine a newborn baby, there shone several precious jewels; it was a heavy weight in my cradling hand, with an unusual maker’s mark. I loved it, even as it scorched my sweaty palm.
And as the temptation seeped into my soul, I discovered that it fitted my ring finger to absolute perfection.
I love jewelry. Real, junk, colorful, tasteful. So sly questions were already snaking into my brain.
‘What are the chances of the owner coming back to claim it?’
‘If I handed it in, would the staff member keep it all for herself?’
I continued to ponder.
After all, there’s not much honesty in our society, is there? Is there?
Precisely.
It was just a momentary pull, that temptation, to keep this precious find just for myself. Almost immediately, I started to think of how the owner would feel, how heartbroken she would be, at this loss. I wondered if I could really justify stealing her personal treasure. For essentially, that is what it would amount to.
I slipped the ring off my finger with a sigh — a mixture of regret and quiet conviction. I was doing the right thing.
I exited the restroom, and I looked around at the serving staff, mostly women and probably as humanly frail as I, so I hesitated. I asked to speak to the manager, putting my trust in his or her senior role as one of accountability and trust.
In fact, the manager was a man, unlikely (I thought) to be tempted by such fripperies.
The bejeweled ring was duly and safely locked away, as I breathed my quiet thanks and heartfelt relief, leaving me with a clear conscience and plenty of time for consumables.
It was a little later while we were still breakfasting, that I was approached by the smiling manager and a sobbing young girl, face washed pale with tears.
Ring now securely on her finger, and joy radiating from her face, she came to give me crushing hugs and sincere thanks.
She had turned back in almost-blind panic as soon as she saw that her slim finger was shockingly bare, and drove back with many prayers and cries.
I was more than a bit ashamed when she praised me for my civic honesty, as I had been severely and so selfishly tempted.
But my own frail but genuine faith (and the fact that the manager was a middle-aged, no-nonsense male, not interested in bling) had provided me with the escape route I needed to resist.
She wasn’t the only grateful one.
Wendy Westley was a successful nurse and midwife in the U.K. and now writes short stories and poetry in retirement. Her poetry has been published in: Pulsar Poetry Webzine, Amethyst Review, Spirit Fire Review, Underbelly Magazine, and The Seventh Quarry Press.
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Image: Part of Adam and Eve (1507) by Albrecht Dürer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
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