A few nights later, Maacah lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. The massage had relaxed her, but sleep was still elusive. Tossing and turning on her couch, she contemplated the eminent return of her husband, trying to picture in her mind a progression of the disease whose signs she had already seen. She was trying to imagine her loving Naaman's handsome face botched with pale skin when she heard a noise outside her window, followed by, "Pssst, Maacah, wake up."

Sitting up in bed, Maacah said in a tremulous voice, "Naaman, is that you, or am I just dreaming?"

"It is I, love," the voice responded. "Go to the front gate and open it quietly, and let me in. No one is to know I am here but you."

Hurrying to the front gate, Maacah opened it. Naaman slipped into the shadows, saying, "Close it quickly. I will meet you in our room."

After securing the gate, Maacah hurried to her room. As she stepped through the door, her husband caught her close in a bear hug. She clung to him for a minute. Neither said a word. When she went to pull back, Naaman said, "No, don't. Let me just hold you for a moment. I have dreamed of you in my arms for the last year. Let it be as I dreamed for a little longer."

"Hold me as long as you like," Maacah replied. "Today, tomorrow, each day for the rest of our lives. You don't have to return to battle do you?" she questioned. "Rumor has it the war is over, and you were victorious."

"Yes," Naaman murmured, caressing Maacah's head where it rested on his chest. "The war is over, and the troops will enter the city triumphantly tomorrow. But, I had to see you alone first. I had to hold you once more while you still held the image of a strong, healthy man in your mind. I couldn't let you learn of my condition in public with the rest of the citizenry. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you gasp with revulsion and then try to cover the reaction and pretend all is well. I couldn't spare you completely, my love. But I came tonight so you would be forewarned, to give you the opportunity to be abed with a headache and not have to face public humiliation."

As Maacah stirred in his arms and started to speak, Naaman put his finger on her lips to silence her. "Don't make any protestations yet," he said. "I want you to close your eyes and kiss me. Then I want you to turn your back while I light a lamp and remove everything but my tunic. As you may have guessed as I talked, my disease has progressed. When I tell you, you are to turn around. I wanted to spare you the sight. I considered putting myself in the thick of the battle and allowing myself to be killed, but I hadn't the courage. At night as I gazed at our star and felt the love you were sending me, I imagined your grief if word came that I was killed in battle. I imagined how I would feel if news came that you had died. I couldn't put you through that grief; your love wouldn't let me. But I fear the grief I will put you through now will be worse because as long as I live, it will have no end. Each time you look on me, you will grieve afresh."

Putting his hand under Maacah's chin, Naaman tilted her face upward, lowering his lips to hers and kissing her fully and passionately, putting all of his love into what he feared was one last kiss. He could not imagine any woman wanting to kiss him once she saw what he had become.

Finally letting Maacah go Naaman turned her to face the wall while he lit the lamp and removed his outer clothing. Clad in his knee-length, short-sleeved tunic, he said, "You can turn around now, Maacah."

Maacah turned slowly to face her husband. Naaman stood some three feet from her illuminated by the mellow glow of a small oil lamp. Even with the softening effects of the lamp, the stark reality of the disfigurement caused by the disease was not masked. Yet without flinching, Maacah took a step toward him, reaching out an exploring hand. While he stood statue still, she let her fingers slowly explore his beloved face. The right side of his face from just above his ear, below his eye, to the right of his nose, down past the corner of his mouth, and disappearing down his neck and under his tunic was solid white. On the other side, the white skin began somewhere in his hairline, encompassing half of his forehead and his left eye. The line of white cut the left side of his face in half, continued below his left ear, and disappeared into his hair. The whole effect was as though he had been masked and someone ripped the white mask from his face, leaving parts of the mask stuck in places.

As though in a trance, Maacah traced the line of the diseased face to the tunic. Then she lifted his right arm and ran her hand slowly over it as well, tracing the white skin that encompassed his complete hand and then extended up the inside of his arm to above the elbow. Another white splotch began halfway up the outside of his arm. Maacah slowly moved her hand up his arm, pushing up the sleeve of the tunic and exposing a completely white shoulder. As she lifted his left arm and began to explore the ravaged skin there, Naaman choked out, "Enough, Maacah. Haven't you seen enough?"

Lifting his left hand where the outside three fingers were white, Maacah raised the hand to her lips and carefully kissed each diseased finger. Still holding the hand, Maacah let her eyes slowly climb to Naaman's face. With her left hand, she deliberately caressed his diseased forehead while she said, "No, Naaman, I haven't seen enough. I will not have seen enough until you let me kiss every diseased part of your body. The skin may be white. The effect may mar your physical beauty, but it does not change who you are. You are still the loving man who married me despite the fact that I was physically impure. My impurity was on the inside, and it couldn't be seen, but you knew, and you loved me anyway. You are still the compassionate, devoted, laughing man I married. A skin disease, no matter how disfiguring, will not change my love for you, Naaman. I won't need to feign a headache tomorrow when you enter the city with your troops. I will gladly go and welcome home my conquering hero. All the city will see me welcome you home with love, not revulsion. Anyone who sees you as you are and is repulsed by your outward appearance will be shocked only because they don't know the inner man with the compassionate heart. A man so tender that he traveled through the night and sneaked into his wife's bedchamber to spare her embarrassment."

Then pulling Naaman toward her, Maacah concluded, "Come to my bed, now Naaman. Let me show you how little difference white skin makes."

A couple of hours later, Naaman left, still under the cover of darkness. He told Maacah he had arranged to rendezvous with his troops and enter the city with them later in the day. He also instructed her to tell their sons about the disease so they would not be shocked. He asked that she send one of them to his parents and the other to their daughter with the information. Once he was gone, Maacah immediately fell into a deep slumber and did not awaken until Baara entered some time after sunrise.

Entering the room and shaking her mistress' shoulder, Baara said, "Wake up, Maacah. A messenger has come to announce the return of the army. They are evidently just a few hours away from Damascus. People even now are gathering in the streets to welcome them home. The King is erecting a platform in the marketplace, and you and the boys are invited to await Naaman there."

Stretching and smiling, Maacah answered, "Yes, I know the army is coming, Baara. Bring me water. I must bathe so I will be fresh when Naaman arrives."

Returning to the room with water and breakfast, Baara asked, "How did you know, mistress? Word came to the city while you slept. Did Naaman send a message by way of your star to let you know he was coming today?" she questioned with a laugh.

"No, Baara," Maacah confided. "He did even better. He came himself during the night. He threw things at my window like a besotted beau and had me let him in for a midnight tryst. Don't tell anyone, but he spent several hours here in this room last night."

Looking at Maacah's shining face, Baara replied, "Then the rumors are false. He doesn't have leprosy."

Looking embarrassed and perplexed at the same time, Maacah admitted, "Oh, dear. I forgot to ask if the disease has been named. But, yes, Baara, he does have a disease. The skin disease I told you about has progressed. So much of his body is now infected that it would be impossible to conceal. It may be the non-lethal form of leprosy. Go now and tell Arisai and Shepho to come here and meet with me. I must tell them of their father's disease before he returns."

Naaman's sons were shocked at their mother's revelation. Unlike Maacah, they had not had time to ponder the disease since they had no idea their father had been ill when he left the city. Using her hands, Maacah traced the outline of Naaman's disease on her own face and told of the discoloration that covered much of the rest of his body in patches here and there.

Finally she concluded, "If you cannot stand proudly with your father today, it would be best to feign illness and remain in your rooms. His disease is not a pretty sight, but the disfiguration is only skin deep. It does not change who he is on the inside. He came here last night because he wanted to give me the opportunity to stay abed with a headache and not partake in what he fears will be public humiliation. He wants you boys to have the same opportunity. I assured him that, for me, the disease makes no difference. He knows that I've had time to contemplate the spread of the disease and try to prepare for public knowledge. Still, he thought the sight would be more than I could bear. It wasn't. But it might be for you. You've had no warning. You didn't see the patches he hid even from me until I discovered them by accident. We will both understand if you need time to adjust before you are seen with him publicly. I ask only this. If you are repulsed by his appearance, don't let your father see your revulsion. He has already suffered enough simply imagining our reaction. He even contemplated committing suicide on the battlefront to spare us. Don't let him wish he had died."

After the boys assured Maacah that they would support their father and try to keep any shock at the sight of his disease to themselves, she informed them that each would have to undertake the difficult task of warning other family members. They were to tell of the disease and invite the extended family to the home for a feast that evening. As each was dispatched, they were told not to reveal that Naaman had contemplated suicide.

"I don't want your father to ever know that I shared that bit of information with you," Maacah warned. "I felt you needed to know it so you would realize just how serious and disfiguring the disease has become. I thought the shock of your father contemplating suicide would help you to feel compassion and keep you from revulsion when you see him. Now, go quickly on your errands. I need you back here and by my side so we can welcome Naaman home together."

After sending the boys off, Maacah went to the back courtyard. She instructed Timna to have a fatted-calf killed so they could prepare a welcome home feast for Naaman. The two planned the menu to include all of the things Naaman probably couldn't procure on the battlefield. Servants were dispatched to the market for perishable delicacies while others prepared large quantities of the regular staples.

Finally, before leaving to go to the marketplace to stand on the King's platform, Maacah called all of the slaves together.

"I know that you have heard the rumors that Naaman has contracted leprosy while away at war," Maacah said. "I too have heard the rumors, which as usual, are part truth and part fiction. I have been sent word that Naaman does indeed have a disfiguring skin disease that has turned much of his countenance white. However, the disease is not contagious and doesn't cause the limbs to rot as leprosy does. You have nothing to fear from him. I knew Naaman had a few discolored patches of skin before he left, but his clothing hid them. The message I received said the disease has progressed so that it can no longer be hidden. When Naaman arrives home, I don't want anyone staring at him. He is not to be made to feel uncomfortable in his own home. If any of you have a problem with Naaman's illness, I will arrange for you to be sold into another household. Is that understood?"

When the slaves murmured their affirmation, Maacah released them to their duties. She told them that they could go into the streets for the celebration but must return immediately to continue preparing the feast for Naaman.

And so the household of Naaman prepared to welcome him home. Unlike the rest of the city, they were at least partially prepared for the shocking sight of Naaman's mask-like countenance. They steeled themselves to face him without cringing. But the crowds in the street were a different matter. The noisy throngs were rejoicing and dancing in the streets, awaiting the triumphal entry of the commander and his army.

As Naaman proudly led his troops into Damascus astride his majestic steed, quiet fell on the crowds and a hushed murmur ran through the populace, their faces reflecting shock and disbelief. The commander, the man all had adored since he had graciously taken Maacah as a gift from the King the first time he returned as a conquering hero, was no longer the laughing, handsome man they all knew and respected. Instead they saw a specter none expected, despite rumors that Naaman had contracted leprosy. Leading his troops into the city was a man whose face was marred. The hands holding the reigns were also discolored. But what caused even greater consternation was the men who followed. Every man riding behind Naaman had a partially white face.

The King himself had ridden out to meet Naaman, rather than waiting for the army at the palace. Now he entered Damascus on a horse at Naaman's side, his face too sporting a white patch. When they reached the open area that usually housed the market, the King stopped and dismounted. He and Naaman mounted a hastily constructed platform in the center of the square. Arisai, Shepho, Shemeath and Maacah were already sitting on the platform. They had been summoned earlier by the King. Now the King turned to address the milling crowds that surrounded them.

"I had the center of market cleared this morning in preparation for the return of our troops. I wanted a place large enough so that as many of you as possible could be present while I addressed the citizenry. A messenger came to the palace several days ago, telling me that our troops would enter the city soon. They also brought news of Naaman's disfiguring disease," the King said, gesturing to Naaman's face. "I sent my physician immediately to confer with him. He has been diagnosed with leprosy."

Immediately the crowd began to murmur and pull back. Taking Naaman's diseased hand in his own, the King held it aloft. "You have nothing to fear from Naaman," the King shouted. "Don't pull back in fear. The leprosy Naaman has contracted is not the lethal variety. He's had some skin discoloration for a couple of years, but it only infected areas that couldn't be seen. While he was away at war, the disease spread to visible parts of his body. These men you see with white patches on their faces have not contracted the disease from Naaman," the King continued. "Rather, they deliberately donned face paint for their triumphal entry. They wanted to show solidarity with their commander."

At that the troops began to chant, "Naaman, Naaman."

His family took up the chant, moving to embrace Naaman as he stood on the dais. Even though it was improper to show emotion or touch a woman in public, Naaman put one arm around Maacah. Facing the crowds and holding the other arm aloft, he called, "Silence." Immediately the crowds feel silent, waiting to hear what the commander would say.

"I'm humbled today by the show of support," Naaman said. "As long as possible, I hid the disease, even from my wife," he said, unashamedly looking down at Maacah with loving eyes and tightening his arm around her. "When I left for war, she was the only one who knew I had discolored places on my skin. I feared my men would withdraw in fear if they knew, but I underestimated the men of Damascus. They stood by me in battle, fighting by my side, not questioning my commands or my fitness even when the disease became apparent. Some were fearful, but when I addressed them, told them how long I'd had the patches, and gave them an opportunity to leave the army, they stayed with me. But when they painted their faces in support, I must admit, I cried like a baby. Your men are not only great men of valor; they are loyal and compassionate. Hail, the conquering heroes of Damascus," Naaman concluded, waving his arm to encompass the men standing at attention in the streets.