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Chapter Twenty-Eight
An Eventful Day
In spite of our many concerns, these were heady
times for our family. The success
of Papa’s shop soared after he brought so many orders back after his trip. His friend Ezra grew successful
too. Because of their mutual
success, their friendship was even stronger. Papa’s estranged friends had returned slowly, and now, with
his success, men he had once thought of as enemies greeted him on the
road. Though we heard nothing more
about our ailing aunt until the arrival of John, Samuel’s health actually
improved during this time. My
brothers and I, with Uriah tagging along, trekked each day to Aaron’s school,
returned home for our chores, and held onto our childhood as long as we
could. Each of us was inspired by
Aaron’s deference toward us, but we felt intimidated when he called on us to
recite so often in class. With my
almost perfect memory, Aaron wanted to show me off the most, which should have
made me especially unpopular with classmates. Yet slowly, one by one, our friends returned. The talk of gold had subsided, and the
children of Joseph had, after all, always been a peculiar lot. Since it was common knowledge that
Jesus was special, it seemed only natural that one of his brothers might share
his gifts. That person, of course,
was me.
Not long after Papa’s last trip, Aaron announced to
our class that James, Joseph, and I had mastered Hebrew and, because of our
understanding of the Torah, reached the highest level in school. We were now full-fledged readers of the
Torah, a book we understood almost as much as him. The truth was, of course, to keep me on good terms with my
brothers, Aaron held me back until James and Joseph were ready before making
the announcement in class. Uriah
was doing well too in school, Aaron informed our parents. Simon was learning the method of
“reading backwards” Gamaliel once introduced. He might never be a scribe, but, according to our teacher,
he would, with practiced effort, be able to read documents, including the
Torah, understand maps, road signs, and be able to write in Hebrew and Aramaic.
Papa, though a carpenter, had learned to write
Hebrew and Aramaic fluently and read all of the holy scrolls. Working in his trade to provide for his
family had limited his efforts to teach his children but he had never failed to
encourage us to learn. This was
not true for most of Nazareth’s simple folk. Other than our friend Samuel and a handful of Pharisees in
town, the remainder of Nazareth’s parents were almost illiterate, themselves,
and could barely write their name.
Because of this lack of inspiration, which had been shown by Mama and
Papa to us, most of our classmates had to be prodded each inch of the way.
Jesus’ encouragement was, because Papa was so busy,
greatest during the latter years of our youth. His influence upon the education of the added members of our
household was also significant.
Uriah, who had resented his father’s heavy hand and lost interest in the
Torah, now, with Jesus’ coaxing, followed James, Joseph, and my lead. Tabitha, though totally illiterate when
she first came to us, was now, with my brother’s help, reading simple sentences
and could write her name in Hebrew script. Abigail and Martha, had shown signs of progress,
themselves, after being home
schooled. Though the girls were
not allowed to attend synagogue school and had done poorly in Gamaliel’s class,
they seemed to be inspired by our examples.
After all that time in Gamaliel’s class and a year
in Aaron’s synagogue school, it was apparent to everyone concerned that my
brothers (including Uriah) had risen far above the level of Nazarene
youths. Benefiting by our
knowledge, Tabitha and the twins, unlike the other girls in town, also rose
above the norm. Most of the
students were still struggling with the basics of our ancient language and,
though they spoke Aramaic as did all Jews, they could scarcely write a
word. Even Simon was far ahead of
his classmates. The Torah and the
prophets were learned by the students after listening to our recitations in
class. Aaron, of course, was the best
reader, but James had an excellent voice, as did I, while Joseph often
stammered, and Uriah still had trouble with some of the big words. Of course, I tried not to compete with
my brothers or teacher in school, but some of the best readings, Simon once
confided to me out of earshot of the others, had been delivered by me. As a scholar, everyone expected Aaron
to speak well, but I was, Simon struggled for the word, a natural. I did it all effortlessly, as if I had
memorized most of it, which, in fact, I had. Strangely enough, my narration of Joshua’s attack upon
Jericho (a horrid affair) impressed them most of all. I remember reading portions of the law to the class, which
Aaron thought perfect, but it put half of the class to sleep. Such boring chapters were best
expounded by Joseph in his nervous, monotone voice, since it was unintelligible
driveling anyhow. James had once
been fortunate enough to read the stirring account of Moses parting of the Red
Sea. There were many other parts
of the Holy Scriptures that stirred the class, but nothing more so than the
battles the Israelites fought under Joshua’s leadership during the conquest of
Canaan.
My exposure to Israel’s wrathful God had a great
influence upon my life, but in a negative way. I accepted the chronicles of our people’s destructive path
because it was, after all, spoken of in the Torah, but already, many years
before his mission, Jesus words and ideas seemed to be in direct conflict with
the revealed words. Now, when I
compare the holy scrolls to the religion Jesus brought into the world, I’m
still puzzled. That day, when our
teacher elevated my brothers and I in school, I felt no spiritual stature. I had learned to read and write Hebrew
and Aramaic, as I had planned, but I was not happy with our wrathful God. We faulted the Romans for their
brutality and yet throughout the scriptures there are passages in which God
orders his warriors, Joshua, Gideon, and Jehosaphat to wipe out entire
peoples—men, woman, children, even animals, young and old, without mercy or
afterthought. Rome, in spite of
its harsh treatment of criminals and insurrectionists, was, at least before
Jesus began his mission, tolerant of other faiths. When I asked Jesus why God dealt so harshly with ignorant
pagans, he merely shrugged. A sad
look came over his face, perhaps for my lack of faith or thick-headedness. Once Aaron, wagging his finger in
amusement, reminded me that the Canaanites, Ammorites, and Amalekites were evil
folk, who had persecuted our people and stood in the way of the Israelites
occupying the Promised Land. The
Canaanites, in fact, sacrificed their own children to their gods and corrupted
our people with vile practices, turning them from our God. Yet, in spite of Jesus own tolerance of
the cruelty inflicted upon innocent children by the Israelites, themselves, he
had twice in his lifetime, preached turning the other cheek. “Do unto others as they would do to
you,” he would preach to the multitudes.
If I trusted my own intellect, I would believe that Yahweh and the risen
Lord were scarcely the same God.
The condition of mankind and terrible blood sacrifice were, of course,
the reason why my brother came into the world, but it could never justify in my
mind, the wholesale destruction of entire peoples that occurred during the
Flood and later, more selectively, when the Israelites conquered the Promised
Land.
So long ago, so many lashes and close calls and
visions of death for followers of the Way, and yet, as I look up at the
daylight streaming into my small window, I believe, without doubt or regret in
what God has brought into the world...Jesus, my brother, the Messiah and risen
Lord.
******
That day when Aaron made his announcement that
James, Joseph, and I were at the highest level in school, Jesus escorted the
honor students out of class. Simon
and Uriah mingled among us sharing in our glory. The girls, who greeted us after class, followed us cheerily
down Nazareth’s dusty road. James,
Joseph, and I were not certain about the outcome of our elevation. Many students resented our status. At Aaron’s signal, our classmates had shouted
out their congratulations during class, but not one of them had said a word to
us as we departed the synagogue.
Though Papa’s standing had changed somewhat in town, we were fearful of
our classmates. Tagging along at a
distance were our old friends Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz, who called out their
salutations. Boaz was too dumb to
be deceitful, but I thought I saw a mischievous gleam in the two brothers’
eyes. Quite by coincidence, our
group met Regulus making an inspection of our sector of town. As Jesus had directed, we marched
two-by two, in the same way his disciples would when he sent us to preach the
good news. Back then, instead of
being matched up with my brother James, I walked hand-in-hand with
Tabitha. Regulus, who nodded
approvingly at our procession, grinned down Tabitha and me. Always the diplomat, Jesus asked the
optio to allow Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz passage into our yard. Regulus gave Jesus a curt dismissal at
first. I wasn’t sure I wanted them
in our yard either, but, with those imperious blue eyes, Jesus convinced him to
allow the three entry if he personally watched them during their visit. It was an awkward, uncomfortable period
of time.
When Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz showed up that
afternoon, James and Joseph’s friends, Isaac and Jeroboam, quite by
coincidence, arrived and were also given permission by Papa to visit, but, like
Simon, Uriah, and my friends, were not yet allowed in the house. Here we were, I thought grimly, looking
around at the group, Nazareth’s finest.
Our sudden fame as scholars seems to have drawn back our friends, and
yet I sensed it might be short lived.
Was it mere curiosity? Or,
in the case of Jethro and Obadiah, something more sinister. James and Joseph’s friends had snubbed
our family. Though they had no
other friends, it was hard to believe that my brothers had forgiven this
insult. Reluctantly, however, they
gave each other the embrace of friendship, while the rest of us looked on. It was quite unemotional. A slight frown was frozen on James’
face. Though they wouldn’t bring
it up with Jesus around, I wondered if my fair-weather friends would come back
later and look for my gold. They
had threatened us before and been exiled by the Romans from our property, and
yet Jesus insisted that, after James and Joseph’s example, Simon, Uriah, and I
welcome them with open arms back into our lives. You can never have too many friends, Papa had once told us,
but Jesus had another reason why we should forgive are friends. Even now I find this notion to “turn
the other cheek” when someone wrongs you unnatural. The forced acceptance of Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz back into
our lives was an object lesson that day but also the basis for Jesus’ greatest
commandment: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
As he followed Papa back to the shop, Jesus gave his
brothers a friendly reminder “Play now, but tomorrow we must get back to work.”
There would be many orders to fill. Papa slapped his colleague on the back
and waved at us all as they turned the corner of our house. Out of Jesus’ hearing now, James and
Joseph walked slowly away with their friends. Jethro immediately turned to me and asked, “Where’s the
gold?”
“I knew it.” I pointed accusingly. “That’s why
you’re here!”
“Jethro,” James called back over his shoulder, “you
want me to call the guards?”
“I was just joking,” the gangly youth grinned.
“We heard that thieving shepherd got the gold,”
muttered his brother. “If we put our heads together, we can find it and split
it six ways.”
“Really?” Joseph looked back in disbelief. “Those
Romans dug a thousand holes in the hills and our property. You really think you can find that
gold?”
“Sure,” Boaz grinned stupidly, “we got Jude. He should know where it’s at.”
James walked over and glared at Boaz and the
brothers. “You dumb oafs. Leave
our little brother out of it.
There’s no gold on our property.
The Romans searched everywhere.
If there was any treasure, they would’ve found it. Those men aren’t fools!”
James defense of me caused Uriah, Simon, and me to
laugh hysterically. Word of the
bandit’s gold in the hills and the Romans effort to find it was common
knowledge now. Boaz nodded
vacantly. I noted, as Jethro
smiled, that he had yellow teeth.
Obadiah appeared to have a black eye, probably from a scrape with his
brother or some other youth. Only
Boaz appeared to be genuinely friendly.
I wanted to believe that James, Joseph, and their friends, when added to
my small group, would make short work of Jethro and his brother if they made a
move.
“Jethro,” I replied belatedly, shaking my head, “you
weren’t joking. After what Obadiah
said, I know exactly what’s on your mind.
Unless you promise not to mention this subject again—either of you, you
must leave our property at once!”
There was an intake of breaths as I walked up to
Jethro and stared him down. I
wasn’t Jesus. What was I
doing? What made me think that
James and Joseph and their friends or, for that matter, any of my brothers,
other than Jesus, himself, would come to my aid? Unless the guards were making their rounds, who else would
help me if I were jumped that moment: Uriah, Tabitha, the twins? It was not hard to stare the
shifty-eyed Jethro down, but Obadiah was another matter. Judging by his scuffed knuckles and
blackened eye, it appeared as if he might like to fight. I said nothing now, though mentally, as
Jesus had taught me, I gave a short, repetitive prayer: “God give me great
strength or send a lightning bolt down on these two.”
In one of my big surprises during this period of my
life, Boaz stepped forward as my protector and shoved Jethro and Obadiah aside.
“Jude’s my friend,” he growled, sticking out his
jaw, “leave him alone. If he
doesn’t want us to talk about it, we shouldn’t talk about it!”
Jethro and Obadiah sneered at Boaz’s words. The subject was dropped for the time
being, but I was certain they would bring it up again. Perhaps the two brothers were teasing
me that hour, and yet, when it came to the subject of the gold, I knew they
were deadly serious. Almost
immediately, after Boaz’s challenge, our group followed James, Joseph and their
friends into the backyard where we all congregated in the shadows of the trees. I’m not certain why James led us so far
away from the house. The thought
dawned on me that perhaps we would all, at James signal, gang up on Jethro and
Obadiah to press the point home, but he and Joseph just glared at the trio for
several moments.
Boaz broke the fearful silence. “Tell us about Joshua.” He looked at me
eagerly.
“Yes.” Obadiah grinned. “Tell us how he and his men
destroyed Jericho. I like the part
where they blow their horns and the walls comes tumbling down.”
I should have been moved by their requests, but
their giggling and snickering at the slaughter of Canaanites was annoying. At first, I wasn’t certain whether or
not they were mocking me, and I grew irritated with Jethro constantly
whispering into Obadiah’s ear.
Nevertheless I dipped into the well of my memory for elements of this
bloody tale. For a solid hour, I
recited from memory all I knew about this dreadful time, consoled only by Boaz
and Uriah’s rapt attention and the fact that a physical confrontation had been
diffused. Strolling into our yard,
while munching on a plum, Priam waved at me from a distance. A strange, inexplicable peace
filled me, as I listened to the resonance of my voice. This was, Jesus tried to convince me
once, my greatest gift. I would
never have admitted it then, but during those moments the Spirit filled
me. The question that would later
define Jesus had already caused me to question portions of the Torah. Who was this wrathful god recorded by
Moses and Joshua? How could the
Lord of Creation and all mankind settle upon one insignificant band of nomads
and give them marching orders to destroy much greater civilizations in their
path?
Uriah, Boaz, Obadiah, and even Jethro were
interested in my story. My heart
leaped as their eyes widened with my words and followed the motion of my
hands. How much of the story I
made up I will never know. The
words flowed out of my mouth. They
wanted battles and blood, so I gave them battles and blood. Simon was falling asleep, and James,
Joseph, and their friends were growing increasingly bored with me and would soon
slip away. Nevertheless, even in
Isaac and Jeroboam’s eyes I saw something I had never seen before on my behalf:
respect. James and Joseph were
certain I elaborated upon the slaughter of the Canaanites. As James would later begrudgingly
admit, however, his friends thought I might one day become a great Pharisee or
scribe. Hah, if only they knew!
As I wound up my story about the conquest of Canaan,
we could hear distant commotion: the sound of horses’ hooves on the road. Sound carried very well into the
hills. It had to be a courier, I
told my audience. It seemed just
as likely that it was Longinus, the Centurion, making his rounds, but my first
thought was correct. Word came to
my parents from a legionnaire that John and Uriah’s mother and sister Rhoda
were this moment on the road into town.
Their arrival, Mama relayed the message to us by shouting herself
hoarse, was imminent.
Unlike times before, as when Jesus returned from
abroad or when the Romans galloped passed on parade, we didn’t dash to the
roadside to see this event. It was
an important occasion to see our eccentric cousin again, but the baggage he
came with, Hannah and her daughter Rhoda, filled us with gloom. Everyone in town had heard about
Joachim’s wife and daughter. Their
reputations had preceded them like an ill wind. According to a relative in Sepphoris, there was no place for
Hannah and her daughter to go. In
the words of Papa, Hannah’s relatives had given them both the “boot.” Since Elizabeth was very sick, her
house was not an option, nor would Joachim’s relatives, who lived in far away
Tarsus, welcome the ill-tempered pair.
“What’s so terrible about this girl?” Isaac asked as
we trotted up to the house. “Is she not the rabbi’s child?”
“Was is the operative word,” corrected James.
“There’s a new rabbi in town.”
“It appears,” explained Joseph sourly, “that Hannah
will return to her husband’s house, but Rhoda might very well be staying here.”
“It’s terrible,” James groaned, “an absolute
disaster!”
“Joachim’s household is that bad?” Jeroboam frowned.
“Uh huh,” Uriah nodded grimly. “Mary’s been taking
care of my father. Now she’s going
to have to keep an eye on my mother too.”
“Where have you been for the past two years?” James
scolded his friend. “It’s a miracle, thanks to our mother, that Joachim’s even
alive.”
Because of this special occasion, Papa and Mama
allowed our estranged friends into the house, though they had not actually said
as much. Jesus warned Jethro and
Obadiah to mind their manners, and I kept an eye on Boaz as he sized up
John. Meanwhile, John walked
boldly amongst us, embracing all of us cordially and equitably, even our
friends. I was greatly impressed
with our cousin. With his fine
clothes and bearing, he moved and talked in a regal manner. Papa laughed with delight. Isaac and Jeroboam bowed deferentially
to the tall, sandy haired youth.
In the midst of this crowd of people stood Hannah and Rhoda, dusty and
travel worn from the trip. As
expected, it was decided by Jesus and our parents after Mama returned from
Joachim’s house this morning, that the rabbi’s health had improved enough for
Hannah to return to her home, but unfortunately, Rhoda would stay here for a
while. Groans and curses were
uttered in the room. With the
exception of Jesus, and perhaps John, we were united in our disapproval. I was certain Papa felt the same. Mama, who couldn’t hide her own
misgivings, shushed us, and Jesus held up his hands. Papa, though he grumbled to himself, reminded us all of the
Lord’s commandment to take care of the stranger, and yet I saw he and Mama
exchange worried looks. Very
subtly, I believe, Papa had slighted Joachim’s daughter. Rhoda, though our neighbor and Uriah’s
younger sister, was, it was true, a complete stranger to us. Her mother had, James summed up later,
a dumb cow’s look, but the ten-year-old girl exhibited a crafty, mischievous
expression on her freckly face. A
permanent snarl played on her tiny lips.
Her small, pig-like eyes darted this way and that, while her fingers
moving restlessly at her sides.
Like the fox entering a hen house, she looked around at the bodies
pressing in much like a predator.
I understood why Uriah feared his sister and her relatives cast her
out. Here, sizing us up, was one
more reason why Hannah was mad.
In muted voices, as we retreated to the backyard, we
discussed this “creature” to be sheltered in our house.
“Your parents are making a big mistake!” wailed Uriah. “That girl’s not right in
the head!”
“Is she mad?” Isaac asked.
“Yes,” nodded Uriah, “mad as a bat.”
“Surely,” Jeroboam offered, “they can control one
young girl.”
“Who’s they?” Joseph turned to his friend. “My
father? He doesn’t have time to
watch Rhoda. My mother? She’ll be too busy taking care of her
parents to watch that girl.”
“Mama will expect Tabitha and twins to show Rhoda
around.” James said gravely. “I feel sorry for them. If what Uriah says is true, Rhoda’s going to run amuck!”
“It’s true.” Uriah nodded grimly. “I’m lucky I’m
still alive.”
“Calm down, everyone,” John called out through
cupped hands. “Let’s give the girl a chance.”
“A chance?” Uriah cried. “You don’t know my
sister. She doesn’t need
chances. She needs to be locked
up, under guard!”
“Oh come now.” John playfully punched his arm. “She
was silent the whole time during the trip—not a word. How could that frail child be a threat?”
Uriah looked at him in amazement. “Silent? Rhoda was silent? Did the Roman guards drug my
sister? You just wait until she
gets started. That girl won’t shut
up.”
“All
young girls chatter.” John waved dismissively. “I suspect Tabitha and the twins babble like geese.”
“In more than one voice?” Uriah asked solemnly. “Do
they recite nonsense? Do they spit
like a cat? Do their eyes roll in
their heads?”
For some reason, John thought this was very
amusing. Not for a moment could
any of us accept the fact, as Uriah suggested, that Rhoda was possessed. That would be just too horrible a
reality. Rather would we believe
simply that she was a mean, little brat.
In spite of our disbelief, we studied the fat little youth, as John gave
us all a rundown of Aunt Elizabeth’s health.
“I’m confident of our physician,” he chattered in
offhand manner. “Her health has improved since he gave mother his special
potion.”
“Oh, what is that?” Isaac asked politely.
“A mixture of wild goat weed and pomegranate seeds.”
John idly mussed my hair. “Aunt Mary also uses potions to cure ills. I have faith in Micah. He will bring Mama around, and we’ll
all have a proper celebration. I’m
certain of this!”
“Why is he talking about this?” Uriah whispered in
my ear.
“He’s changing the subject,” I murmured from the
corner of my mouth. “Do you really believe your sister’s possessed?”
Our cousin, the last one to emerge from the house,
had entered our conversation intrusively, downplaying our dilemma as Jesus so
often did. He was judging Rhoda’s
behavior merely on the trip home.
He had, I thought then, a self-righteous air like our oldest
brother. For Jesus, everyone was
good, we must give them a chance, and no one was totally bad, especially a
child. This philosophy had always
rankled my brothers and me. Now
that we were becoming educated, James, Joseph, and I understood the passage “an
eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”
Nowhere in the Bible, that I could recall, was Jesus philosophy
practiced. If you stepped out of
line, especially if you were a Canaanite, you were dead—subject closed. John sounded ludicrous pandering this
sentiment, and James told him so.
“Who are you to preach tolerance to us?” He
challenged his cousin. “You have no brothers and sisters. You’ve been isolated in your big house
too long to know the business of the world.”
“So,” John replied, tossing his head, “you think
Rhoda’s has a demon as your adopted brother claims?”
“I might,” James bristled. “She certainly addled in
the head.”
“She’s evil.” Uriah folded his arms.
“Bah,” John grew argumentative, “I saw no such
thing. Her mother was surly
enough, but Rhoda was quiet and well behaved. When the guards assisted her and her mother onto their
mules, she acted rational and polite—nothing like the deranged demoniac you
suggest.”
“What’s that mean?” Simon scratched his head. “Does
that mean she’s possessed?”
“No, that she’s not possessed.” John rolled
his eyes. “I’ve heard about demon possession. It’s not turned on and off like a lamp. When your possessed, your possessed!”
“Nonsense, John.” Joseph shook his head. “It’s
unpredictable. Have you actually
seen someone who’s possessed?”
“Well, no... not really,” he confessed, the frown
fading from his face, “not in person.”
“I think Michael was possessed,” I said in a small
voice.
James, Joseph, Simon, and Uriah nodded in
agreement. Our fair-weather
friends, after a pause, did the same.
John looked around the group, as if he saw a consensus, his eyes
widening with illumination. “Jesus
will cure her ills,” he addressed Uriah personally. “I felt the Spirit when
Jude spoke.” “Tell me,” he spoke to me, though his eyes were shut, “have you
had any more dreams?”
“No,” I sighed, “not for a long time.”
“Dreams?…What dreams?” My brothers muttered to
themselves.
“Oh, I’ve heard about his dreams,” Uriah blurted.
“Once he told me about his nightmares—bad, scary, dreams—”
“They’re just nightmares.” I growled, clamping my
hand over his mouth. “I told you
that in confidence. I don’t want
to talk about my dreams!”
I was upset with Uriah. Like Simon, he had a big mouth. I was certain James and Joseph would think I made that
up. I had told some wild tales as
a child. John, however, gazed into
my eyes, his dark pupils penetrating and unwavering, as were Jesus’ blue
eyes. Once again he had changed
the subject, a habit my brother practiced which irritated us all very much. This time the subject had been switched
to me, and it backfired. Joseph
had never heard about my dreams.
As Simon, Uriah, and I eavesdropped by the window one day, we heard Mama
mention my dreams to James, but she told him even less than what I told
Uriah. In Mama’s case, it was
because that’s all she knew. Other
than Jesus, the only person I confided my dreams to was Uriah (a big mistake),
and, for him, I omitted the most frightening parts. Though Jesus believed me, the details would have been too
fantastic for Uriah to accept.
This was true for James, Joseph, Simon, and our friends. I was in no mood to defend my
‘visions,’ as Jesus interpreted one of them. That moment, I folded my arms and just stood there, jaws
clinched, and staring at the ground.
Fortunately, before one of them might ask me a question, our attention
was diverted by the appearance of Regulus and Falco in our yard.
The two soldiers marched right up to us, saluted,
and stood there studying our group.
The glint of dark eyes in the emerging shadows sent chills down my
spine. I was sure the others were
terrified too. John placed his arm
around my shoulders as Uriah cowered behind my back.
“You do know the prohibition against unlawful
assembly.” Regulus clipped, motioning for Falco to take down our names.
I had thought Falco, as most Roman soldiers, would
be illiterate. Since Falco asked
us to scrawl our names on his tablet, I was confirmed in this belief. I sensed correctly that Regulus was
teasing us. We were too close to
our own property to be called an unlawful assembly, especially since we had
supplied Regulus and his men with free food and often given them flasks of
Papa’s wine. Simon still had
trouble with his backwards vision, but James, Joseph, Uriah, and I signed the
tablet quickly. Isaac and
Jeroboam were frightened by this jest, scrawling their names in the clay with
hesitation. When Regulus turned to
Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz, however, the three youths shook their heads.
“I can’t write so good.” Boaz’s lips quivered.
“Me neither.” Jethro and Obadiah chimed.
“What are these rogues doing here?” He looked
squarely at me. “Are they still looking for that gold?”
At this point, I remembered a Roman officer’s
warning: Rome is watching. It was,
through Regulus and his shiftless guards, watching Nazareth this very
hour. I wondered if they really
suspected that Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz were looking for the gold. They had been caught trespassing once. Why was Regulus still pressing this
issue if they had given up on the search?
Then it dawned on me as I studied the three Romans, causing me to gasp:
they hadn’t given up! They
would never give up. Yes,
this was another thing I had heard about Rome: they never gave up. Reuben and Michael would always be
fugitives as long as Longinus and Regulus lived. The Romans in Nazareth would continue, as long as they were
stationed here, to look for the gold.
I wasn’t sure about Boaz, but Jethro and Obadiah’s
motives were plain. Just one nod
and they would be punished even more severely than before. As I considered this action, however, I
let the Romans drive the point home.
“All right, I know the code among youths,” Regulus
acknowledged my silence, “but if these rogues are seen on your property without
permission or caught in the hills so help me, I’ll string them up on the first
stand of trees.”
When Regulus and Falco were out of earshot, Joseph,
in true form, cursed the Romans instead of Jethro and Obadiah. It mattered not that the two brothers
were conniving jackals, Joseph still hated Romans, including our own
guards. Half-heartedly, James
joined in the tirade, but Uriah, Simon, and I were glad the guards protected us
from their mischief. Isaac and
Jeroboam resented the Romans always interfering, and yet admitted that Nazareth
needed the Romans to protect us with the banditry and unrest in Galilee. I had noticed this trend in Nazareth
ever since the Romans wiped out most of Abbas’ gang. It was give and take: the Romans took away some of our
liberties yet gave us protection.
I was heartened to hear James finally agree with
Isaac. The subject was changed
completely when Mama called us into the house. As our friends lagged timidly behind us, my brothers and I
exchanged worried looks. What
could Mama want? Had my parents
had second thoughts about Hannah living with her husband? Would they now tell us that she would
be living with us too? Our
concerns for Jethro, Obadiah, and the Romans were replaced by anxiety about the
new houseguest. Even now, nothing
was as disturbing as what Uriah told us about his sister. Isaac and Jeroboam prudently bid us
goodbye, knowing full well they were not welcome in our house. As Jethro and Obadiah slipped away
without a word like two jackals, big dumb Boaz followed us into the crowded
house. After being called to the
house, we half suspected to find Rhoda in an agitated state and foaming at the
mouth. What we found—a calm,
sullen faced child, staring into space—reminded me very much of a mood I had
seen Michael in when he wasn’t acting strange. Had Uriah been wrong about his sister? It seemed as if John had been correct,
all along. Rhoda appeared to be
empty of emotion—addled rather than possessed. My brothers and I looked questioningly at Uriah. The rabbi’s son had spoken ill of his
family before, yet it seemed unlikely he had made all this up. Had Mama given her one of her potions,
or was this her normal state? When
I thought about it, Rhoda’s dull expression reminded me more of Mariah than
Michael. I recalled how Jesus had
prayed over the unconscious Michael after he staggered into our yard, yet he
had said only a two words to Michael’s berserk mother: “Be silent!” I glanced at Jesus, wondering if he
cast out her demons, as he had for Mariah and Michael. It seemed unclear, because of his
caginess, whether or not he did any such thing. At that moment, Jesus was talking to Papa in a subdued voice
as Papa sipped from his favorite mug.
With a tired smile on her face, Mama asked us to greet our visitor. Something was not right about this
scene, but everyone, except Uriah, gave Rhoda a proper “shalom.” Noticing that Boaz was in the house,
Papa gave him a snarl and pointed to the front door.
Papa was tipsy again. Boaz fled without a backward glance.
“Come now,” Mama coaxed the rest of us, “let’s
gather around the table.” “You,
Jude, stand here next to me.
Jesus, Papa, all of you, let’s pray for our friend Rhoda as we have in
the past.”
“A prayer circle?” Papa groaned.
“That’s a good idea.” Jesus said, a frown belying
his words.
Immediately, as we exchanged glances, it became
obvious that no one, except Mama thought that this was a good idea. Uriah was greatly agitated. Papa was drunk. It almost seemed as if Jesus had told
his first lie. The oldest brother
had always tried to put a good face on matters. I should have known then, as we joined in a common prayer,
what he had in mind. It often
seemed that Jesus and I were of one mind.
Unfortunately, as he so often did, he would wait until the critical
moment, when matters seemed out of control, for my suspicions to be confirmed.
Our prayer circle began with a preamble by Jesus, in
which he outlined Joachim and Hannah’s misfortune and the resulting effect on
Rhoda. I suppose he was trying to
make a point, but I kept thinking that Uriah had turned out all right. In what I now understand as a
discussion between God and his son, I recalled that moment the many times when
Jesus seemed to be chatting with the Lord. This time, though, he was also making a point that this was
not Rhoda’s fault and we should open our hearts to poor Hannah as we had for
Joachim. Mama and Jesus might have
opened their hearts to Joachim, but the remainder of us despised the
rabbi. He had turned the town
against us and continued to slander Jesus and our family in the synagogue. When Papa came to make peace with him,
he spat on his efforts. The only
reason that awful man was contrite was because he needed Mama now. Until we had heard about Hannah’s
mental breakdown and flight we had no opinion about Joachim’s wife nor had my
brothers and I knew that Rhoda was apparently insane, until Uriah informed us
today. Now we were suppose to open
our hearts to them. As we
attempted to say our prayers for Rhoda and her parents, I realized that Mama
had known about Rhoda’s state for a long time, but Uriah’s revelation to us was
the first my brothers and I had heard about her condition.
Our prayer circle, which I considered a waste of
time, gave me time to think about our friends. Did they regret their behavior in the past? I had my doubts. I’m certain that Jethro and Obadiah
could care less, but I remember seeing an element of contriteness in Isaac and
Jeroboam’s demeanor. For Boaz, who
tried to act civil, I could never be sure. In many ways this over-sized yet mentally deficient youth
was the most dangerous of our friends.
I would never trust him after the way he acted before. When I thought about it, as Papa said a
hasty benediction to end our circle, other than my own brothers, Uriah was my
only true friend.
“Let’s go spy on the Romans,” I whispered, as we
charged into the yard.
“We were told to put away childish things,” Uriah
quoted Papa.
“Spying on the Romans is not childish,” I said,
heading for the trail. “I want to find out if they’re still looking for
Michael’s gold.”
“I wanna go work in the shop.” Uriah whined.
“Uriah,” I called over my shoulder, “Papa was drunk
when he told you that. You’ve got
your entire life to be a carpenter!”
“This
is stupid, Jude. We’re not
supposed to tease the guards.” He hung back further and further, until I could
barely his voice.
Soon, I was so far ahead I couldn’t see him on the
trail. He was, I was certain,
still huffing and puffing on the other side of the hill, which was part of my
plan. After looking down the
Shepherd’s Trail and seeing nothing, I decided to check out the prickly path we
had taken to find Adam’s treasure.
In order to do this without arousing suspicion from Regulus and our
guards I wanted, of course, to make sure they were nowhere in sight. So far, after looking down the main
path, I felt safe. Other than a
few Bedouins idling at the foot of the hills, no one else was afoot. The guards in our sector of Nazareth
were nowhere in sight. This was a
hopeful sign. I didn’t want to
believe they were still looking for the gold. I told Uriah this to keep him from following me into the
hills. Right now he was probably
lingering in the woods or shuffling back to the house, which was the other half
of my plan. Knowing Uriah’s loose
lips, he would tell my parents about my childish game, which was better than
them thinking I was looking for Michael’s stolen loot. All I wanted to do was scan the hills
myself for freshly dug dirt. The
first place I checked was the spot on Adam’s treasure map between the tree and
large rock—X marking the spot. As
I expected, it had been dug up and, judging by the dried dirt clods, remained
uncovered since we had found the treasure. What a wondrous day that had been for me! I thought, looking glumly around the
base of the rock and trunk of the tree.
Moving on carefully along the narrow footpath, I looked right and left,
catching sight of freshly dug holes in the hills, all empty and, in many cases
in places too prickly for my sensitive skin. When I reached a point on the side of the hills facing away
from the Bedouin camp, a dreadful spectacle loomed into view. Ducking into the underbrush, the
imprint of what I saw flashed like a beacon in my mind. A small group of bandits, led by Adam,
himself, where moving up the back of the hill, probably hunting for his
gold. The quick though cautious
way they crept through the bushes should have been encouraging for me, since I
would not have to run for my life through the brambles to reach the Shepherd’s
Trail. I rose up, head down below
the tops of the bushes, and carefully yet persistently trekked up the footpath,
praying for deliverance from my folly.
Why had I done such a foolish thing? Though I hadn’t seen a Roman this hour, one of them might
show up at any time. If the
bandits didn’t catch up with me, I would be caught in a place I wasn’t suppose
to be.
Suddenly, from the south, the opposite direction of
the bandits, a Roman sentry appeared, galloping along the edge the footholds,
sword in hand. Climbing off his
mount, handing the reigns to one of the Arabs, he began talking them in a
hushed tone. I couldn’t tell who
he was. It might be Leto or one of
the other hillside or perimeter sentries or Regulus, himself. In spite of how this might look, I was
tempted to call out to him. The
bandits were not merely a short-range threat to me. This was a chance for the Romans to nab the remainder of the
gang, removing them as a threat to my family and the town. I was certain I could make a dash for
it now. When I was almost to the
path, however, I looked askance and saw something shining in the afternoon
sun. A gnarled old thorn bush I
had failed to see before had sat there a short ways from the trail. A bag of treasure might very well be
sitting in its shadowy interior, but it would require sneaking unseen into the
prickly underbrush and forcing my hands through the thorny branches to drag out
the loot. It seemed once again
that the Lord was tempting me, but this time circumstances prevented me from
failing God. I was terrified. Instead of calling to the guards and
possibly get the lone guard killed, I decided to run home and tell my parents
what I saw. I need not tell them
the whole truth. I would do as had
I always done and only tell them the most important part: Adam and his men were
in the hills.
As I passed the
footpath leading to the shrine, I heard a familiar voice. I was stricken with fear when I heard,
“Jude, Jude, come inside quickly!”
“I can’t Michael,” I answered shakily, “I promised
Jesus. It’s a pagan shrine. I can’t go in there!”
For a moment I thought I would faint dead away. A bedraggled, wild-eyed Michael emerged
fleetingly into the sunlight then skittered back like a phantom into the
darkness. “Just follow me into the entrance,” he called faintly. “You don’t
have to enter the cave. Hurry
Jude, we must talk.”
“You can’t be here Michael,” I called back.
“Ple-ease Jude,” his voice grew hoarse, “there’s not
much time.”
When I thought about what might be on the trail behind
me, I forgot my oath to Jesus and ran like a frightened lamb into the
shadows. Just when we thought
Michael was out of our lives, here he was in worse shape than before. A thin shaft of light from the top of
the gorge caught his blazing red hair and grimy features. Once more I felt pity for my old
friend. This time it was tempered
with irritation and fear and also disgust. I could tell by his demeanor that he was in dire straights,
but he had brought this upon himself.
I followed Michael to a larger shaft of sunlight, gasping as he sat down
upon a nearby stone.
“What happened to you?” I asked, shuddering at the
sight.
“…. I was caught by a band of thieves,” he answered
slowly, looking nervously up at the light. “…. They think I know where the gold
is. Someone must have seen me hide
it.”
“I knew it!” I lunged toward him. “You stole my
gold!”
“It wasn’t your gold, Jude,” he said, shaking his
head. “It’s your friend Adam’s
gold. He was coming back for
it. He was just biding his
time. He was right, of course: I
hid his gold, but he’ll never find it in a thousand years!”
I was too stunned to speak. My heart sank into my chest as I
listened to him explain how he watched Mama dig a whole next the pomegranate
bush and bury my gold. Of all the
harebrained stunts, I thought, biting my lip—in broad daylight, right next to
our house!
“Michael, you thief,” I spat angrily, “give me back
my gold!”
“Shush, keep it down,” he motioned feebly.
“So help me!” I stomped my foot. “You’ll give it
back—right now or I’ll tell the Romans you’re here!”
“Go
ahead and call the guards.” He shrugged wearily. “I’m tired of running and
hiding. I should never have spied
on your mother. The temptation was
too great.”
“It was too heavy to carry, wasn’t it?” I said,
temporary relief overtaking me.
“Caught in a web of deceit!” I quoted Jesus’ words.
It occurred to
me that moment that the gleam of metal I glimpsed on the hills was probably my
coins! Just as quickly, however, a
realization dawned on me. Why
would Adam and his band only be looking for the coins and not the treasure he
and I stored in the shrine?
“You-you buried both treasures!” I
stammered.
Gripping the sides of my head, I reeled around in
the dark in disbelief after Michael nodded his head.
“How
did you know about the shrine?” I shook him angrily. “Who told you? How could you possibly know about
that?”
“I discovered the shrine a long time ago,” he
boasted in a ragged voice, “when I was exploring the hills by myself. I didn’t know there was treasure in it
until recently. I found it quite
by accident as I held my lamp up in the dark. When I watched your mother place the coins in that hole in
the yard, I decided to add it to my goods.”
“You thieving
scoundrel!” I growled.
“I’m no more a
thief than you,” he chuckled hoarsely. “Because of me,” he added, grinning
slyly, “you can have a portion of both treasure—If I decide to share them with
you!”
“What?” I sputtered. “If you decide to share
it with me! That’s my treasure,
Michael. I found it. It’s all mine!”
At that point,
I attacked Michael with a force I didn’t know I had. I didn’t seriously believe I would retrieve the treasure in
the shrine. My first concern had
been my pot of gold, but the fact that Michael had taken both treasures shook
me greatly. All the years of
disappointment and pent-up fury I felt for him burst forth in a flood of curses
and sheer physical energy as we grappled there in the dark.
“Even if I was half dead I can whip you Jude,” he
taunted.
I hit him, and then hit him again. Soon I was throttling him with both
fists. With surprising agility in
his condition, he fought back and uttered blasphemous oaths at me, but I had
the advantage. I was on top, and
he was on the bottom. I was puffed
up with anger and he was acting like a grinning ape—a trapped target for
me. For a moment, as he grew
quiet, I thought I had knocked him out, maybe killed him. I felt blood trickling down my chin and
my right eye stung. My conscience
prickled me: What have I done?
I’ve killed my old friend. Then
suddenly, as I let down my guard, he hit me so hard in the face, I fell back
onto the hard ground. Darkness
fell like a cloak over me. I don’t
remember dreaming, and I had no idea how long I lie there in an unconscious
state until being shaken awake. I
looked up through blurry eyes, after hearing muffled voices, and saw two
hulking shadows. One was in the
foreground, a strong odor of garlic on his breath, and a second man, arms on
his hips, stood in the background, silhouetted ominously in the light streaming
into the cave.
“Where’s that other fellow?” The first man asked. “What were you lads doing in this
cave?”
I had been shaken gently awake. Now I awakened to a thunderclap. I recognized Falco’s voice and knew
that the stern-faced Regulus stood there silently, awaiting his turn.
“Jude, you’re in big trouble unless you tell us
where that rascal is,” Falco warned me severely. “He was seen by shepherds with
stolen gold. We’re aware that his
mother was a witch and he’s caused great mischief in town.”
I remained speechless for several moments, after
Regulus called to someone on the trail. “Search the perimeter and the hillside
again!” Squirming under their
scrutiny, I began to panic. I was
right: they were still looking for the gold. They would never give up, especially if they knew Michael
was still in the hills.
“I don’t know where he is,” I said weakly. “He did
this to me. If I knew where he
was, I’d tell you. Abbas’ son and
his gang are looking for Michael too.
I saw them in the hills.”
“Bring him out into the sunlight,” the optio ordered
crisply. “It appears as if he and his friend had a falling out.” “Are you certain about Abbas’ gang?” He
asked, as Falco lifted me up and carried me to the trail. “We killed
Abbas. I didn’t know there were
many of his men left.”
“There’s not.” I grimaced, as Falco inspected my
wounds. “I saw Abbas’ son and three other men. They looked filthy and half-starved, nothing like the old
gang.”
“Did he tell you where he hid his loot?” Regulus
probed. “Did you ask him? Is that
why he beat you up.”
“No, I didn’t ask him,” I answered truthfully. “I’m
not a thief (which was a lie). If
I hadn’t dropped my guard, I would’ve killed him.”
Regulus nodded curtly. Falco patted my head.
Suddenly, with these small gestures of trust and the realization that
the gold was forever out of my reach, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was a sigh tinged with sadness. At last, the temptation had been
removed from me. If Michael was
caught and tortured until he told them the location of the gold, the guilt
would be his, not mine. The gold
would belong to Regulus and his men.
Michael had buried it—both treasures. There was no way he could implicate me. If, on the other hand, he escaped, the
gold would be safe but, because of the dangers of retrieving it, be
indefinitely lost, unless he returned.
I had no desire to test Regulus’ will. I couldn’t help feeling melancholy about my loss, but the implications
of what had just happened weighed more heavily on my mind. Michael could have killed me, and yet
he fled the scene. Once again it
was Regulus, with his trusty guard, who came to my aid. I didn’t blame Michael for hitting me. I was out of control. It’s the fact that I could have been
badly hurt and he hadn’t cared enough to at least call for help. Of course, that could have been
foolish. I didn’t know how long I
was unconscious. It might have been
an hour or only a few moments. I
didn’t feel any worse afterwards, but I knew the optio and Falco would have
physically carried me back to my house if I were injured seriously.
It didn’t matter that they were still looking for
the gold or that they would deal harshly with Michael if the found him hiding
in the hills. I knew from
listening to Papa that the same Romans who crucified their enemies would often
reward their friends. In the end,
when it seemed obvious I was telling the truth, their carefree natures overcame
their base instincts. Not for a
moment did I doubt Regulus’ motives; he was a deadly serious about the
gold. Yet, after my experience
with the scorpion, I trusted him.
Even now I detected concern in his black pupils. I had always suspected that Falco, like
Priam, favored me over the other Jews in Nazareth, but lately Regulus had
seemed to avoid us. Because of his
suspicions about the gold, I was certain that he hated me until this
moment. I could tell, as he and
Falco escorted me back to my house, that all was forgiven and I was back in
their good graces. Perhaps he
would have me watched more closely, especially with Michael on the loose, but
that was no longer my concern.
Michael had decided upon his path a long time ago.
******
I would understand the Roman mind much more clearly
when I rode struck out on my own.
Back then I was naïve, still thinking as a child—much too trusting. As Paul had written to the Corinthian
church, “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I reasoned as a child. When I was a man, I put childish ways
behind me.” Another line “For now I see through a glass darkly,” also seems
applicable to my state of mind.
Paul was a strange fellow, often self-righteous but he clearly saw the
wrong in hording worldly goods and having poor values, such as covetousness and
greed. In many ways it was the
same as when I was younger, when I made sure I had pocketed the most sweet
meats, picked the most berries or drank the most pomegranate juice. During our exploits, I tried to outdo
my friends and brothers at games and foot races and demanded the largest share
of Papa or Jesus’ approval at work and play. Now that I was far ahead of my brothers and classmates at
school, I often felt puffed up with pride, another one of the cardinal sins my
brother spoke of during his mission.
All of the childish pranks that Paul had in mind, I had committed. The vanity I had for my memory and
intelligence only got worse. My
lust for gold, however, was much more serious than childish pride or
greed. That hour, in which Michael
knocked me out and fled, I was still the same self-centered, greedy youth. I had merely been humbled that
day. A disquieting sense of peace,
now that the treasure seemed lost, filled me as I was led up to the house. Through glass darkly, I had been
viewing the world then.
As Regulus knocked politely on the door, I
straightened my shoulders and held up my head, for in deed I was a guiltless
victim in Michael’s attack. Thanks
to my onetime friend, the taint of gold was behind me. I should be happy about this state of
affairs, since I could stop scheming and go on with my life. Perhaps, after all, I reasoned
heavy-heartedly, I would continue as a dutiful son in the carpentry business
until Jesus set out to make his way in the world, which I was certain he would
one day do, at which time I would either follow him in some endeavor or find
employment with the Romans or a wealthy merchant and travel the world…. What
need did I have for gold when I had my wits and a brother who had great power?
With these ideas in mind, I listened light-headedly
to Regulus report on what had happened today. According to the optio, I was found where I shouldn’t have
been: a cave not far from the Shepherd’s Trail. Papa shook his head at me, upset by this confrontation.
“Humph, I’ve
know about this spot,” he replied gravely. “It leads to an ancient Canaanite
temple.” “Jude.” He looked at me with concern. “I hope you didn’t go inside
that cave. Their priests
sacrificed Canaanite children to their gods.”
Regulus gave me a guarded look. “Oh, he wasn’t
inside the cave, he was unconscious.
Perhaps he was trying to prevent his friend from entering the cave. ”
“Michael?” Mama’s mouth dropped.
“None other.” Falco removed his helmet and shook his
head. “We’ve been chasing him for several days.”
Papa took a long swig from his cup, as he thought
about this. Mama brought me to her
bosom in a protective embrace.
James, Joseph, Uriah, and Jesus were nowhere in sight, probably in the
shop working on one of Papa’s orders.
The first person, other then my parents, I laid eyes on was cousin John,
who gave me a sympathetic smile.
Since John was staying with Samuel, his visit wasn’t a complete
surprise. It was good that he paid
us another visit on this special day.
I was glad Regulus had exonerated me in his hearing. Soon John would return to
Sepphoris to help take care of his mother. I had this feeling that I wouldn’t see him for a long time,
and his good opinion was important to me.
I could see Tabitha, the twins, and Rhoda in the shadows of the
room. They were also smiling at
me, but then they were always smiling.
It seemed that our prayers had helped Rhoda. She had been quiet and unresponsive since our prayer circle,
but at least she was well behaved.
She had no expression whatsoever.
There was a blank look on her pale face. I had never seen the monster that Uriah had described, but
she had only just arrived. I
shivered as I studied this strange girl.
She was, framing it in my current knowledge, a sleeping volcano, like
those strange mountains I saw in my travels. Simon’s grinning face loomed into view, as he entered the
through the front door, his smile quickly fading to a frown when he caught
sight of the Romans behind me in the yard. Without being asked, Tabitha ran to fetch the Romans mugs of
juice. I knew they would rather it
was wine brought to them, but they bowed graciously as Tabitha handed them the
cups. Regulus laughed softly, and
Falco reached in the doorway to pat Tabitha’s dark curls. I felt very small again—a mischievous
child awaiting punishment. I was
glad Papa was a little tipsy and Mama had not cuffed my ears, but I deserved no
less.
“Uriah told us
you were in the hills,” she exhaled wearily. “Why were you with that dreadful
boy?”
“He called from
the shadows,” I answered honestly.
Then, as I looked up at the Romans, I bit my lip. I would tell Mama about Michael’s theft
of the hidden coins but now was not the time, so I told them all a big lie.
“He was out of
his mind,” I answered carefully.
“…. The way he carried on, I could barely understand him. I can’t remember anything after I
blacked out.”
“Well, he did take a knock on the head.” Falco
winked at them.
“Don’t you worry,” Regulus said, ruffling my hair,
“we’ll catch that rascal. He won’t
get far!”
There was a time when such a boast would have
worried me. Not for a moment did I
doubt the optio. Michael was
clever, but the Romans never gave up.
Despite my disappointment with him, I didn’t want Michael captured. He would be tortured and forced to lead
them to the gold. All my noble
thoughts of putting gold fever behind me and changing my values were based upon
my belief that Michael would never be caught and tortured so they could find
the gold. Either way—Michael
escaping or Michael being caught—meant no treasure for me. Yet if he made a permanent getaway and
the Romans pulled out of Nazareth once more, the thought flashed into my mind,
I might find the gold!
Though he said little to my parents, Regulus was
friendly toward me. He seemed fond
of little Tabitha too. Before he
and Falco returned to their watch, he counseled me to stay around the house
awhile until they caught Michael and the bandits roaming the hills. Falco good-naturedly promised to give
me the flat of his sword if he caught me on the Shepherd’s Trail. It wasn’t a bad idea right now to
remain close to home. I agreed eagerly
with my protectors, giving them both a winning smile. Simon smirked at my fawning attitude. I was feeling light-headed. As James and Joseph entered the room
through the front door, they frowned severely at the Romans but said nothing to
me. Jesus exchanged polite
greetings with them as did Uriah, who flashed me a worried look. Inexplicably, I began to tremble and I
wanted to bawl. Tabitha grabbed my
hand on one side, Abigail on the other—two women who one day serve the risen
Christ.
I was filled with great love for my adopted sisters,
Martha included. Everyone in the
room, in fact, even my brothers James and Joseph seemed dear to me. I was, I was certain those moments, a
wicked and willful youth. It was
no wonder my revelations had ceased.
The Lord’s blessings had been wasted on me. I was unworthy to have such a family or the apparent destiny
Jesus told me I would one day have.
I felt ashamed yet filled with great love. Was this that phenomena Jesus called the Spirit of the
Lord? I thought this blessing was
given only to righteous souls.
Thoughts raced in my head unrelated to ambition or my lust for
gold. I remember turning to wave
at Regulus and Falco, whom I also had great fondness for. For those moments, as I grew faint, I
loved the entire world.
Mama uttered “Shalom” to the guards before shutting
the door. Papa turned to me as the
girls led me to the table, one eye shut, an empty mug dangling in one hand,
blurting, “What have you been up to Jude?
Up to your old tricks, eh?”
On that note their voices blurred and the images around me dimmed like a
candle flickering in the wind. The
room spun around me that moment. I
had that feeling I once had when Papa was questioning me, when guilt flooded my
mind like a great shadowy wave. A
darkness followed, much blacker than the interval when I lie at the mouth of
the cave. When I awakened I looked
up to see all of their faces, including the two Romans, who, I learned later
had heard Mama scream.
“He has the falling sickness,” Regulus announced
dryly. “Caesar had this, as did many great men. Jude is meant for great things.”
“Here,” Falco said, jamming a stick between my
teeth, “this will keep him from swallowing his tongue.”
“Dear sweet Lord,” Mama wept, “what’s wrong with
Jude.”
“He just told you.” Joseph’s voice dripped with
sarcasm. “Jude is meant for great things.
What nonsense!”
“From God’s lips,” Jesus declared. “I said as much
myself.”
As I was lifted up and laid on the table, Papa
murmured, “This had happened before.
It’s a wonder he didn’t choke to death.”
“Where had that stick been?” fussed Mama. “It looks
dirty, like ones we use to scrap dung off sandals.”
“This
one hasn’t been used yet,” Falco winked. “I don’t think he’d mind.”
I heard it all. I will never forget what Regulus and Jesus said. The caring group around me seemed to be
part of a dreamscape. Here were
some of the very people who were shaping my life: my parents, my brothers and
sisters, and two of the Roman guards I had grown to admire. When the stick was removed from my
mouth, Mama wiped my face, brought forth her medical kit and a wet rag and
began tending to my wounds, exclaiming as she dabbed ointment on my cut lip,
“We must make a circle and give thanks to the Lord!”
“Moses bones,” groaned Papa.
“Come on,” Jesus called, clapping his hands, “let’s
make our circle.”
“Is this really necessary?” grumbled Simon. “Mama
patched him up. Can’t we just pray
to ourselves.”
“This is where we take our leave.” The optio turned
away.
“Yes, my good friends,” laughed Falco. “Regulus and
I are pagans. Already we’ve
defiled your house.”
“Good riddance,” muttered Joseph after they exited
the house. “What do the Romans
know about our brother? Great
things indeed! Jude has a terrible
ailment. We should summon Samuel’s
physician.”
“No,” Mama said grimly, “I recall one of the
townsmen having this ailment.
There’s nothing Abner can do.”
This
information caused a collective gasp from the group. When I felt the urge to confess my sins, Jesus placed his
rough, calloused hand over my mouth. “There-there little Jude,” he whispered
faintly, “all those thoughts in your crowded head are flooding forth like a
great torrent. That’s why you
blacked out.”
“Let us pray,”
came his refrain.
“Come, take my
hand Papa,” Mama called gently, “let’s make a circle around our stricken
son.”
“He
needs medical help, not prayer,” James sounded genuinely upset.
“Yes,”
cried Uriah, “Jude was foaming like a rabid bat. We need Samuel’s doctor!”
Belatedly, Simon echoed his sentiment, as did
Tabitha and the twins. Though he
had denied my specialness, even Joseph was concerned about my health.
“James and I shall fetch him,” he piped. “There’s no
time to waste.”
“Go get him!
Go get him!” The girls wailed.
“You heard Mama,” Papa said with a belch, “make a
circle.”
“I’m happy that everyone cares about Jude,” Mama
declared, giving Joseph a kiss on the check, “but Abner will tell me that this
illness is temporary and will pass.
There is no lasting remedy, unless God wills it. Let us pray that the Lord removes the
falling sickness from Jude.”
“Poor Jude,” Joseph said softly. “Why did God curse
him with this?”
“Jesus thinks it’s a blessing, and so does Regulus,”
Uriah replied in my defense.
“Uriah,” Jesus replied irritably, “I would never
wish such a thing on my brother.
Regulus thought Jude was special because of this malady. I was simply agreeing with him that
Jude was special. If God chooses
to afflict men with the falling sickness to mark them out from other men, then
this is even more proof in my mind.
I’m not so certain the Lord would be so cruel.”
“Why do you think Jude’s special?” a jealous tinge
returned to Joseph’s voice. “He’s sick, not touched by God.”
“Let’s not dredge this issue up,” groaned Papa. “For
pity’s sake Joseph, even James admits he’s special. Like his oldest brother, Jude, after learning to read and
write Hebrew and our own Galilean tongue, has, with Aaron’s help, nearly
mastered Greek. He will probably
learn Latin someday too. He can
quote from memory whole sections from the Torah and Prophets and, when called
upon, can recite every detail of his life, just like Jesus can. Yet I would trade all that to rid him
of this handicap. This curse comes
without warning and will effect his entire life.”
“He’ll never be a soldier now,” Uriah said with
great sympathy. “With all his gifts, God has given him a curse.”
“Papa never said that,” Jesus heaved a sigh. “I
would rather trust Regulus’ instincts.
It might be that God put those thoughts into the optio’s head.”
“But he’s a pagan!” Joseph cried.
“Joseph, my brother,” I objected in a thin voice,
“Papa’s right. I’d give it all
away to rid myself of this darkness.”
No one knew my real meaning except Jesus. Perhaps, Jesus and Regulus were both
correct: my black thoughts had overwhelmed me and caused me to have the falling
sickness. Surrounding me now were the loving members of my family, my shield
from darkness. I felt tears in my
eyes. I could hear Uriah and the
girls faintly weeping.
Joseph responded by gently gripping my hand. “I’m
sorry Jude,” he whispered huskily.
“You’ve done in a short while what I might never accomplish, but that’s
not your fault. Nor is the illness
you are stricken with now.” “Let us pray to ourselves!” He called out in a shaking
voice. “Let’s ask God to remove
his sickness but keep his wisdom and ask Him to forgive me for being jealous of
him all these years.”
Though fearful of my condition, I was greatly moved
by Joseph’s change of heart. It
appeared as if I had already won James respect and I knew that Uriah was my
most loyal friend. Jesus, my
parents, my brothers and sisters, Tabitha, and Uriah must have given a
fantastic set of prayers for I was up and about that evening puffed up by their
love and admiration but also humbled by the punishment God had apparently
dealt. At least there was a name
to it now. Not for a moment,
however, could I believe that day that I was special, especially if it meant
that my condition was a gift from the gods, as Regulus suggested. I agreed with Joseph and Uriah that it
was a curse from God, but only Jesus understood why this might be so.
That evening, after a simple yet festive meal, we
discussed this incredible day: the attack Michael made upon me, the possibility
that bandits were once again roaming the hills, Regulus and Falco rescuing me,
and the fact that my parents seemed to be back in the optio’s good graces
again. Last but not least, we
discussed in guarded voices the peculiar illness I now had. After Jesus and my parents efforts to
make it seem as if God were merely testing—not cursing—me, my sickness was
talked about as being merely strange, even interesting. Although I knew better, words such as
awful and sad were not used to describe my malady. Yet, why did I quiver and thrash around? Simon
inquired. Why, asked Uriah, did my
mouth foam like a rabid bat? No
one knew these things, Mama explained patiently to me. Papa reminded us that Julius Caesar had
the falling sickness, as did many famous men, which should have made it all
right in my mind. What lingered in
my dulled mind, however, after Mama plied me with wine punch, was the awareness
that I was, as Uriah and Joseph believed, cursed…. How could I ride with the
legions if I might fall out of saddle, flopping around like a freshly caught
carp? For that matter, if I became
a merchant or famous scribe, what would happen if, during an important meeting
or event, I fell onto the ground, as I did today, and thrashed around, foaming
at the mouth. How many people were
even aware of the falling sickness?
Onlookers might just as easily conclude that I was possessed by demons
or insane.
I didn’t ask Jesus to cure me after his lofty words, but when the right moment came that was exactly what I planned to do.
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