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Chapter Three
Secret
Places
James and Joseph had found their own friends among the
older youths in town, but, unlike my companions, their friends, Isaac and
Jeroboam, visited our house only once or twice a week. Perhaps because of lingering
hostilities, they seldom came inside our house. Because they were big and awkward for their age, Jethro and
Obadiah, the tanner’s sons, didn’t fit into our group. Like my brothers and I, who suffered
because of our family’s peculiarities, they were outcasts in town, too immature
for James and Joseph’s age group yet too old for mine. No one was really certain how old Boaz
was, and yet he was, for a different reason, an outcast too. He said he was twelve years old, but I
think he was older than that.
There were already whiskers on his chin, and yet he was child-like in
his behavior and had an infantile face.
It was difficult to know how old Jonah, the fourth outcast, was, since
he looked like a girl, and yet, despite the embarrassment his presence caused
Simon and my friends, he was the least trouble of them all. Like my previous gang, they were, as a
whole, a collection of diverse personalities and outsiders, drawn together with
nowhere else to go. But they were
all I had.
Jesus, who didn’t have any close friends, himself,
sometimes joined my gang when we were hiking in the hills. With Jesus popping up unexpectedly and
Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz to intimidate them, James and Joseph and their
friends rarely harassed us. A
drawback to having Jesus’ added protection was that he would not allow any sort
of mischief on our exploits. With
him around, we couldn’t spy on the Romans or shepherds or set traps for James,
Joseph and their friends. In his
presence, our games had to be civil, which also meant that we had to respect
furry and feathered creatures and not place our lives in peril. Because of the lingering threat of
bandit bands in Galilee, our parents’ greatest worry was that we might venture
too far into the hills. With Jesus
along, this meant we had to play our games between the property line of our
front yard and the boundary line of the orchard below our house—a small area
for a group of unruly youths.
One
day, not long after Papa and his friends visited the Roman camp, when he and
Jesus were busy repairing the potter’s roof across town, Simon and I decided to
share one of our secret places with our new friends. No one else knew about this, except perhaps Jesus, who knew
everything. To avoid detection by
our Roman guards, who, like Papa, forbade us to venture too far, we waited
until Falco and Priam wandered over to chat with Regulus on the road before
sneaking into the orchard and our hidden trail. We also had to keep alert for the appearance of Gratian and
Leto, who watched over the Nazareth hills, although these lazy fellows were
probably asleep that day or drunk on Odeh’s resinous wine. Many years later I would learn about
their sloth from Odeh himself, but for now we skirted the hill fearfully, bush
by bush, darting from tree to tree until we snuck up to the head of the narrow
trail.
“You expect us to go down there?” Obadiah looked at
me in disbelief
“Yes, it’s easy,” I said, moving sideways between
cactus and thorns
“Are you sure,” groaned Jethro, “those plants look
awfully prickly.”
Simon was next, with Jonah, Jethro, and Obadiah
following reluctantly behind. Boaz
was too big and clumsy to avoid being scratched and refused to follow us
down. As our group descended the
forbidding trail with hands held high to avoid contact with the thorns, we
could hear him whimper forlornly in the orchard.
“Boaz,” I called back, “hold up your arms, suck in
your gut, and walk sideways. Our
guards will hear you if you carry on like that.”
Fearful of being caught, Boaz forced himself to
endure a few bristles and thorns.
By the time he had reached the carved steps leading down to the
sanctuary, we were all standing in the shadows looking around at the writing
and symbols on the walls. There
was a rustling sound in the dark recess untouched by sunlight. Simon and I thought it might be a small
animal, but the other boys began scrambling back up the trail.
“What is this evil place?” Obadiah called out.
“Move aside Boaz!” Jethro screamed.
Boaz was scratched and torn by the bushes as he
followed Jonah back up the trail, but I was still half convinced it was a mouse
or hare. When Simon began to scramble
up the side of the sanctuary, however, I was filled with misgivings and began
backing away. What if a poisonous
snake was slithering my way or this was the lair of a wild beast?
“Who goes there?” I croaked, continuing my retreat.
“Help me,” a voice broke the darkness.
“What was that? Did you hear a voice?” I heard my friends mutter.
“Hel-l-lp me!” the ghostly stranger cried out in a
ragged voice, as I scrambled frantically up the trail.
When I reached the top, prickled with cactus needles
and scratched by thistles and thorns, I looked down the narrow path into the
black sanctuary below. Once again
I heard the specter groan, whimper, and call for help. My brother Simon and my friends had
abandoned me. I hesitated only a
moment before running through the trees.
When I broke through the woods, I expected to see my friends waiting for
me, but only Simon stood waiting on the path. Regulus, with Falco and Priam accompanying him, was just
that moment making his rounds.
Slowing down immediately, I fell in step with Simon just as the three
Romans trudged down the trail beside our house.
We were both bleeding slightly from various cuts on
our arms and legs, but the wounds were mostly on our knees and the tops of our
arms. We moved forward, without
looking back, as the Romans tramped down the path, having just escaped, by mere
moments, from being caught in the act.
In spite of this realization, the most important issue for me was the
voice I heard in the dark. The
call of the optio, though startling, was a reassuring sound. For a brief moment, I was tempted to
tell him about what I heard, but something held me back. It was as if another voice in my head
shouted “Jude, don’t say a word!”
“You boys stay out of the hills,” Regulus barked.
“Falco told me about your exploits.
The Shepherd’s Trail is the back door to Nazareth. Until we catch Reuben and Abbas’ son,
these hills aren’t safe!”
“Yes sir,” I called back, hoping he wouldn’t see the
scratch on my nose, “we’ll tell all our friends.”
“Should we tell them about the noises we heard?”
Simon asked from the corner of his mouth.
“No!” I whispered, placing my finger to my lips.
“There’s something very strange about this. We’ll ask Papa and Jesus what we should do.”
We could hear Falco discussing our town’s security
with Regulus that moment. Behind a
pomegranate bush near the back door, we stopped to hear Falco’s complaint.
“I wish Cornelius didn’t have to cut our forces in
Nazareth. We don’t know how many
of those bandits escaped into these hills. Without those men reassigned by Longinus, we’ll be short
handed. We should’ve caught them
all when we had a chance!”
“Longinus is just following orders,” snorted
Regulus. “Gratus, our new governor, is upset with Cornelius for wasting so many
troops. I just hope they don’t
have us pull out of Nazareth altogether now that he’s in control.”
This talk might have upset me once, but their
discussion was old news to Simon and I.
Papa had already told us about the soldiers pulling out of town. Fortunately for us, Papa and Jesus were
working on Malachi the potter’s roof.
James and Joseph were visiting their friends, and Mama and the twins
must have been working in the garden or she would have checked up on us by
now. I felt proud that Simon,
cowardly by nature, had waited for me on the path, but I was troubled that our
friends had ran off like scared sheep.
When we entered the house, Mama had just arrived
from the garden with a large basket of vegetables, the twins cavorting
behind. Almost immediately, she
noticed our scrapes and torn clothing, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Simon!
Jude! What happened?” She shuffled over to inspect our
wounds. “Did those boys running from our house beat you up?”
“No, Mama,” I said, shaking my head, “they’re are friends. We just ran into some thorns.”
“Thorns?” She looked at us in disbelief. “You both
have cactus needles in your clothing.
Your clothes are shredded and torn. I see puncture wounds on your skin. Where have you boys been?”
“We fell down a hill near the orchard,” Simon told a
half truth, which was, of course, also a half lie.
Mama thought about this a moment as she retrieved
her medicines and bandages and began cleaning and dressing our wounds. Our tunics were pulled off of us and
pants rolled up far above our knees.
Simon yelped as she cleaned his wounds then applied her special
potion. Before wrapping some of
our wounds in bandages, she gave me the same treatment. After seeing how Simon carried on, I
tried to be brave but found tears rolling down my cheeks. As Mama turned to washing the dirt from
our faces, arms, hands, and legs, delicately working around our scrapes and
cuts, her tender touch belied the angry edge to her voice.
“What is the rest of your story?” She seemed to
address us both. “I haven’t seen cactus
plants anywhere on our property or in the nearby trees. You boys where roaming the hills again,
weren’t you?”
“No, Mama” Simon answered honestly this time, “we
didn’t go into the hills.”
“Why are you lying to me?” She gave him a wounded
look.
“He’s not lying,” I said, wiping my eyes. “We didn’t
get scratched up in the hills.”
Mama held up her hand to silence me, but I knew I
had to tell the truth.
“We found a trail near the olive orchard,” the words
flew out of my mouth. “The trail led to a dark place with funny carvings on the
wall. Today, we heard noises. There was someone in the darkness
calling out “help me,” but we all ran away like frightened lambs.”
Mama’s eyes widened with fear. Within a short interval of time, the
expression on her gentle face had changed from alarm, to scorn, to panic, and
now seemed to register all three emotions at the same time as she considered
what I had said.
“You foolish children!” She shook her finger at us.
“Why didn’t you tell Regulus about this?
What if its one of those bandits they chased into the hills?”
“We weren’t in the hills,” insisted Simon. “There
was,” he searched for the words, “someone in our special place.” “Tell her more
Jude.” He turned to me.
“He was wounded,” I explained carefully. “He must
have crawled down there sometime in the last few days. I was afraid to tell the Romans because
I knew they would kill him.”
“Did you recognize his voice?” She asked, walking
over to the back door and looking out.
“No, his voice was like a groan or a whine, as if he
was in great pain.”
“Dear merciful Lord,” she mumbled, shutting then
re-latching the door.
That moment, with her face constricted with emotion,
Papa lumbered wearily into the room.
Jesus, who was arguing with James and Joseph, was not far behind.
“It’s none of your business,” James was saying.
“It’s not our friends’ fault that their parents don’t like our family.”
“But you’re ashamed of your family,” scolded Jesus.
“Don’t blame their parents. I
think your friends are acting like snobs and they don’t want to come into our
house.”
“Jesus is right,” Papa said, collapsing onto a
stool. “I’ve done some repairs for Isaac and Jeroboam’s parents. They’re not bad folks. Those friends of yours, James and
Joseph, have been influenced by the rabbi’s sermons. I’ve heard Joachim is back to his old ways. While everyone else in town are coming
to their senses, they still think Jesus is a blasphemer and heretic.”
“Hatred and intolerance die a hard death,” Jesus
replied grimly.
“But how can a rabbi act like that?” Joseph clenched
and unclenched his fists. “If it
wasn’t for Joachim, hatred and intolerance for us would not have been born.”
Jesus slapped Joseph’s back with approval as they
all sat down together in the kitchen.
What they were talking about was an old and tired subject. Jesus is a heretic. Jesus is a blasphemer. No one, except Rabbi Joachim, James and
Joseph’s silly friends, and crazy Old Ethan cared about that issue
anymore. Simon and I were waiting
fearfully for Mama to blurt out our discovery. Mama’s expression had softened, but she was still
frowning and holding her bag of medicinal paraphernalia in one hand. Papa smiled as she emerged from the
afternoon shadows, the sunlight breaking through the window to give her a
saintly glow.
“What’s wrong Mary?” he finally asked.
Before she could answer that question, the words
poured out of my mouth: “There’s someone below the orchard in a dark hole who’s
hurt. He might be dying. He called ‘help me! help me!’ but we
ran like scared sheep—”
I had almost got to the part where Simon and I
didn’t tell Regulus and Falco what we discovered, when I noticed Papa, Jesus,
and my brothers quickly filing out of the house. Mama stood in the kitchen, with Abigail and Martha on each
side of her, smiling tolerantly at Simon and me as we followed them out of the
door.
“Come on boys,” Papa called, “I want to keep an eye
on you.” “James, Joseph—go fetch
one of the guards.”
“You can’t do that,” I screamed at my brothers,
“they’ll kill him. Falco and Priam
will run him through.”
“He’s right Papa,” Jesus reached out gently. “If
they show up, they’ll drag him out.
He might already be dead.
As Jude has said, he called out for help. Let’s go down there and have a look.”
Papa thought for only a brief moment before calling
James and Joseph back. Before
going any further, Jesus ran into the house to fetch Papa’s sword. The sword, we all knew, would not be
used as a weapon but to cut away brush.
As we congregated at the edge of the orchard, I called down into the
dark recess “Hello! Are you
there?”
There was no answer, so I called again. While we waited for the stranger’s
response, Papa sent Joseph back to the house for a lamp. By the time Joseph had returned with
the lamp, I had called several more times without a reply.
“Maintain a safe distance back there,” Papa instructed. “I’ll
go down first. Keep the lamp clear
of the brush to avoid setting it ablaze.”
“He must be dead,” Simon declared, as Papa stepped
forth brandishing his sword.
“No, listen everyone.” I cupped my ear. “I hear
someone groaning and making grunting sounds.”
“That would be me,” said Joseph, following behind
with the lamp.
Papa cut a wide path with his ancient sword. It could be used as a formidable weapon
if trouble waited below, but it seemed to me that if the trespasser had been a
dangerous fugitive he would have dragged himself off to a new hideout by
now. Motioning for Joseph to pass
the lamp forward, Papa instructed us to stay behind him. The exception was Jesus, who followed
him fearlessly into the shadowy pit.
As a precaution, the rest of us grabbed handfuls of rocks from the path
to use as missiles. James, who brought
up the rear, had found a limb, which he brandished as a club.
When we had all collected in the hollow below, Papa
gasped aloud at what was carved on the walls. Simon and I gave each other sly smiles as James and Joseph
made the sign to ward off the evil eye.
Jesus studied the inscriptions with curiosity and understanding.
“This is familiar,” James muttered to himself, “to
the markings in Jesus’ cave.”
“Yes, and in Mariah’s house.” Joseph’s eyes were
wide with horror.
It’s
the old religion,” Papa explained, searching the dark, “the remnant of a
civilization our people destroyed.”
“Remember the Evil One we saw in the orchard?” Jesus
whispered in my ear.
I nodded, shuddering at the thought. It was one of the many secrets Jesus
and I would share. At that point
as if to accentuate the presence of evil, we heard a rustling sound, followed
by a moan and a gurgling groan.
Raising the lamp up high and moving cautiously toward the noise, with
his sword clutched in one hand, Papa sounded the darkness “Who goes there? We’re here to help.” Suddenly, as the lantern’s radiance
highlighted the depths of the abyss, Papa stepped aside with an intake of
breath. Handing the lamp to James,
he crouched down into a warlike position. There, looming in the eerie glow,
disembodied in darkness, was the bloodied head of Reuben, the
tanner-turned-bandit. Below the
familiar face and grimy red hair, the dark outline of a broken body was
outlined against the rock. By now,
James, Joseph, Simon, and I had begun a hasty retreat. Glancing back as I scrambled up the
carved steps, I half believed Papa would run his old enemy through, until I
realized that we had nothing to fear.
Reuben was, as the carvings, a remnant of what he once was. Cautiously, we rejoined Papa and Jesus,
as they stood appraising the fugitive below.
Papa knelt down to inspect Reuben’s wounds. “He’s
close to death,” he whispered, setting down his sword.
“If his injuries aren’t treated,” Jesus replied
gravely, “he’ll soon die.”
Reuben was grimy with dirt and blood. A long cut, probably from a sword
slash, ran from his cheek to the side of his neck. An arrow shaft protruded from his shoulder. The lamp was now
passed back to Joseph. In the
lamplight, we saw no movement whatsoever, except a gurgling sound from his
blood spattered mouth. Papa and
Jesus agreed that he couldn’t stay in this dark place.
As they discussed how we would transport Reuben back
to the house, James wailed, “We must tell the guards. We’ll be punished for helping this man!”
The light shook in Joseph’s hand as he shouted, “Let
him die! Let him die!”
“Keep your voices down!” Jesus shushed, waving his
arms.
“Since when do you walk away from a dying man?”
Papa’s voice trembled. “Shame on you James and Joseph. He’s no threat to anyone now. You’ll both help us carry Reuben back
to the house.”
“But that’s Reuben,” Simon muttered to himself, “he
wanted to kill us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I whispered in his ear, “Reuben
asked for our help. I just hope
it’s not too late!”
While Simon and I, as sentries, pretended to play in
the orchard, Jesus was sent back to the house to fetch a large blanket. Papa would remain with Reuben, as James
and Joseph stood by nervously wringing their hands. For several moments, as we waited for Jesus to emerge from
the house, we scampered madly beneath the trees throwing dirt clods at each other
in anticipation that Falco, Priam or one of the other guards would walk up or
down the path. Because the Romans
had become unpredictable lately and grown lazy with so little to do, we didn’t
know which direction they would come from. For all we knew, they might all be napping or lying drunk
under a bush or tree. Just when
Jesus emerged from the house, Simon and I saw Priam walking lazily up the
trail, without a care in the world.
Jesus ducked back in before being spotted. Simon fled deep into the woods, leaving me standing alone by
the trail.
“Ave, little Jude,” Priam called out cheerily.
“Haven’t been romping in the hills, have you?”
“No sir,” I grinned foolishly. “I was playing hide
and seek with Simon.”
“Where is Simon?” He looked at me suspiciously.
“Why don’t you give him a call.”
“Simon!
Oh Simon!” I called in a quivering voice.
Simon broke through the shadows of the trees, a look
of abject fear on his face. With
my back to Priam, I mouthed the words “Calm down!” Then, when he was close enough to me but far enough away
from Priam, I whispered, “Stop acting like a coward!” When he was standing by my side, a snarl played on Priam’s
stubbly face. I was certain at
that point that Simon was going to give us all away, but then Jesus appeared in
our midst, carrying a mug of wine in one hand and a loaf of freshly baked bread
in the other.
“Mama wanted to show her appreciation,” he declared
calmly, handing the food and drink to the guard. “My brothers are only allowed
to go within earshot of the house.
They’re not supposed to go into the hills.”
“Well, I could see that they’re good boys,” he said,
munching on the bread and sipping on his wine. “Excellent,” he added, raising
his mug. “I love Greek wine. Your
father’s business must be thriving!”
“It is, it is indeed,” Jesus gave the Roman’s
shoulder a pat.
“A fine day to you Jesus.” He grinned. “And to you
boys.” He winked knowingly at Simon and me.
As always, Jesus managed not to lie. It was true that we weren’t suppose to
go into the hills, but in the mind of the guards what we were doing now would
be considered much worse. We
didn’t know where Priam was headed that moment, but all three of us heaved
great sighs of relief. We had
learned that the surest way to dupe a Roman guard was to give him bread and
wine, but not all of the Romans we knew would have fallen for that trick. Before he had a chance to tell his
superior about his suspicious encounter near the woods, we had to get Reuben
into the house. Jesus raced back
to grab the blanket. Simon and I
ran ahead to tell Papa about our close call. If one of the other guards just happened to be strolling up
or down the trail during our transport of Reuben, we would have been considered
collaborators helping an enemy of Rome.
With this realization burning in our minds, we managed to place the
unconscious Reuben in the blanket and carry him speedily back to the
house. He groaned continually as
we attempted the awkward climb up the steps and up through the ragged trail,
until we reached the orchard and lapsed into what seemed deathly silence. As we gripped the blanket and stumbled
hurriedly up the path to our back door, Jesus prayed aloud, and James, Joseph,
and Papa looked fearfully around for guards as Simon and I fought back the urge
to cry.
Even
with the path cleared by Papa’s sword, we couldn’t avoid the prickly
bushes. All of us received minor
scratches that Mama would treat when the time was right. She was waiting for us at the door, so
that when we brought Reuben in, she immediately shut and bolted it behind
us. Reuben was laid on the table,
the blanket remaining below his seemingly lifeless body. Everyone stood back as Mama came
forward with her bandages and bag of medicine. Jesus was praying again, as Papa walked over to close the shutters
of the kitchen window. Two large
lamps were lit at each end of the long table. It took only few moments for Mama to realize just how
serious Reuben condition was.
“We
need Abner.” She looked up expectantly at Papa.
“By
the time we find the physician, Reuben will be dead,” Papa said, sinking
wearily onto the bench.
“Why
should we care?” James spoke my own thoughts aloud.
“Because
the Lord would have it so!” Jesus shot back irritability.
“Then,
by all means,” James challenged, snapping his fingers, “make him better!”
“Yes,”
sneered Joseph, “you brought a sparrow back to life. Reuben’s still alive.
Make that arrow in his chest disappear!”
I thought Mama would rear up as she had before when
Jesus had been insulted, but this time she saw unanimity in four of her
sons. This man had been our
enemy. We had suffered because of
him. Our family had felt threatened
and forced to rely on the protection of Roman guards. Instead of rebuking James and Joseph, she turned to Jesus,
who had been tempted by James and Joseph’s challenge.
“No, Jesus,” she whispered, clutching his trembling
hand, “it’s not your time. I shall
remove the arrow, and then we shall pray for Reuben as we have prayed for
Samuel, Elizabeth, Nehemiah, and Uriah.” “Joseph, my husband,” her voice rose
gently, “you must forgive this man enough to pray for him. Jesus is right; it’s the Lord’s will.”
“Wife,” he said, shaking his head, “you test my
will. I don’t know what I was
thinking in going along with Jesus and Jude. This time an act of kindness will bring down more than the
town’s anger against us. If it’s
discovered that we’re harboring this man, it will bring down the wrath of
Rome. We must let him die of his
mortal wounds then place him back into in the abyss in which he was found. If you pull that arrow out, he will
probably die from injuries caused by its barbed tip. If you leave it in, as you should, the wound will continue
to fester so that he will die naturally, probably very soon judging by his
shallow breathing. If it had just
been a sword thrust or other wound that could be cleaned and dressed, he might
have had a chance. As it stands,
though, our old enemy will probably draw his last breath today or tonight.” “Let this lost soul be,” he waved
resignedly. “I wish to God, they had never found that dark hole.”
Mama
now comforted Simon and I, as we wept after Papa’s words. “Now, now, children, your father’s not
blaming you. He’s worried about
our safety, but Jesus and I are worried about our family’s spirit. It’s not our way to turn away the least
of God’s children, even Reuben who has been our enemy all this time. Is it right that anyone should die
alone and in the darkness, after calling out for our help?”
“No,”
James said reproachfully, “he called to Jude, Simon and their dumb
friends.”
“It’s true,” Joseph pointed at me accusingly, “Simon
said your friends thought that place was haunted. So did he. Why
did you have to take us down there?”
“What?
What did you say about his friends?” Papa jumped up from his stool.
“Did you forget to tell us something?” Jesus looked
tolerantly at me.
Mama shook her head in dismay. “This isn’t good,
Joseph. They heard his call for
help. We have only just recently
won over Jethro and Obadiah’s father and mother and Boaz’s parents too. What if those children tell their
parents about hearing Reuben’s voice?”
“Mama,” I reached out to calm her, “they’ve never
heard Reuben before. It didn’t
sound like Reuben to me either. I remember
the way he talked: gruff, deep, and unfriendly. What I heard was a moaning, groaning voice, without pride.”
“Is that the only way down into that pit?” Jesus’
eyes widened with concern.
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “It’s the only way I know.”
“There could have been a back way or other
entrance,” Jesus declared, rising up and pacing around the room. “Reuben was
unconscious when we found him.
What if someone else brought him to this hideout, a fellow bandit or
friend—”
“There were several men who escaped,” Papa pursed
his lips in thought. “It’s possible. Why not?”
“There’s other bandits in our hills?” Joseph slapped
his forehead.
“We should have told the Romans,” James groaned.
“What if they come looking for Reuben?
Why didn’t we leave him where he was?”
Papa looked around, the notion Jesus implanted in
his head growing. While his
brothers wrung their hands in despair, Jesus did as he always did during a
crisis and prayed. Drawing upon
her inner courage, Mama now set about the task of removing the arrow shaft from
Reuben’s chest. Papa stopped
pacing and Jesus ceased praying and, while Mama gripped the broken shaft, held
Reuben firmly in place to prevent further injury, as the arrow tip was pulled
free of his chest.
“What if our friends’ parents tell the Romans,”
Simon muttered, as I grew mesmerized by my mother’s strength.
“This is madness!” James looked around in disbelief.
“Let’s run away from this house, ” Joseph lurched
toward the door. “Samuel will give
us sanctuary. Come James, Simon,
Jude, before our enemies storm our house!”
Something inside me, perhaps the Spirit of the Lord,
made me fearless that moment. I
could not believe my eyes as I witnessed the shaft and barbed tip emerge from
Reuben’s chest. Papa seemed about
ready to faint, but Jesus didn’t flinch.
Mama calmly set the dreadful missile aside and, sprinkling a white
powder on the wound, began winding a bandage around the area, tying it securely
at the shoulder. The cut on
Reuben’s face was cleaned with a rag, sprinkled with the same powder, but
covered with a smaller dressing.
Awakening from the vision of my parents and oldest brother ministering
to our enemy, I ran across the floor.
Joseph was struggling with the board latching our door shut when I
placed my smaller body in front of the door. To my great wonder, Simon joined my blockade and, coming to
his senses, James attempted to bar Joseph’s exit from the house too.
“Stop it!
Stop it!” James wept, gripping his brother around the waste.
“What if they find him in our house?” Joseph
muttered hysterically. “The Romans may cut off our heads. The townsfolk might burn our
house. His friends could attack us
in our sleep.”
“Let us pray,” Papa called hoarsely to his sons.
“Reuben’s still alive, but not for long without God’s help.”
“We’re having a prayer circle for Reuben, the
bandit,” I announced light-headedly as we gathered hand-in-hand around the
table.
James led Joseph into the circle. Simon took my hand without making a
joke of it this time. I felt
Mama’s warm, comforting fingers in mine.
There were not enough supplicants to encircle the table, so Papa reached
across awkwardly to grab Mama’s hand and James had to bend forward, with a look
of utter distaste, to join with Simon at the other end. This time, because of the patient’s
gory appearance, the twins were told to stay in the back room. Papa opened with an introductory prayer
that essentially asked God to spare Reuben’s misspent life or at least be
merciful upon his soul if he died.
Jesus, who stood between Mama and Simon, added a long-winded petition to
God for Reuben’s health but also asked for special protection now that the
Romans were pulling out.
My prayer was simple: Lord make our enemy well. I don’t know if God listened to my
half-hearted attempt or how well my brothers did, but I knew that my parents
and oldest brother were praying very hard. When I finally opened my eyes, I could see no change in
Reuben. His eyes were half open
and pupils fixed. There was no
rise or fall of breath or movement from his parted lips. He looked quite dead to us, until Mama
performed the test applied to Nehemiah to confirm life or death.
The mirror misted just enough to cause her to gasp,
but the rest of us, even Jesus, looked down at our patient with disbelief.
“He’s alive?” Papa’s mouth dropped wide.
“Thank you Lord,” Jesus whispered huskily. “Your
wonders never cease.”
“Yeah?
What about the sparrow and the Pharisee’s son?” I said, pulling on his
robe.
“That was different.” A rapt expression had fallen
over Mama’s face.
To this day I don’t see how it was really
different. The sparrow, I’m
certain, had been quite dead.
Jesus curing of Levi in Gaul was documented by himself; it seemed obvious
during the reading that Levi had at least been in the dark sleep, that
threshold where the soul hovers between life and death. Perhaps, now that I think about it, it
was a matter of degree in Mama’s mind.
Levi was merely sick, while Reuben had an arrow in his chest and had
been slashed by a sword. Yet I saw
the sparrow, a crumpled mass in Jesus’ hand, brought back from certain
death. Reuben, it should be
obvious to everyone, was still in the dark sleep. In my own heart, because of Jesus teachings on our walks in
the hills, I held all life as sacred.
I recalled a moment when Jesus words “the breath of God is in all living
things” implied to me that the sparrow had a soul just like Jews and Gentiles,
which meant that his resurrection was every bit as miraculous as keeping a
wounded man alive.
Without uttering a command, Papa led us all from the
candle lit table into the greater room where he motioned for James and Joseph
to set stools around the newly tiled floor. As weary soldiers sharing a hard won victory, we sat around
in our circle looking vacantly at the floral mosaics below. Light from the newly constructed back
window streamed into the room, casting Jesus’ shadow across the floor, which,
now that I reflect upon it, seemed like a remote prelude to the impact he would
one day have upon the world. That
moment, however, he was a sixteen year old youth, still struggling with his
Godhood, at odds with the family of Joseph and his adopted sons.
Mama was the exception this hour. Though it might be small, another
miracle had happened in this house today of which she played an integral part.
“Where shall we eat dinner?” grumbled Simon.
“I don’t know.” Papa sighed. “We’ll just have to
make do,”
“I know,” Mama tried to sound chipper, “let’s bring
our old table back into the house. I’ll rustle us up something to eat. Papa can have a mug of wine.”
“Mark my word,” Joseph muttered to James, “harboring
this fugitive is a big mistake.”
“The Lord will watch over our house,” came Jesus
refrain.
******
Reuben remained on the table throughout the evening,
more dead than alive. Papa promised
us that, as soon as he expired or his condition improved enough to move him
some place else, we would be able to use the new table again. Since our patient had bled profusely
after Mama pulled out the arrow, however, it would require a great deal of
scrubbing and sanding to return the table to its original state. Papa tried to hide his disgust, but
I’ve never seen him show less concern for another man. Until then, the old table stored in
Papa’s shop was placed in a corner of the large room as far away as possible
from the kitchen, which stank from pending death. Already, Papa had selected a secluded spot between the house
and shop to bury our guest. Except
for Mama’s ministrations and Jesus’ prayer, there was nothing else we could
do.
It had been a tiring day for everyone, but we were
allowed to go into the front yard before sunset as long as we stayed close to
the house. Roman sentries riding
past our house could keep an eye on us as we sat in the garden. There, in muted voices, Simon and I
discussed the crisis in our home.
It wasn’t the first, we agreed.
Our protection of Mariah, the town witch, had been worse. Everyone in town knew about that. It had taken a long time for townsmen
to get over the drenching Jesus’ prayer gave them. Then there was Michael, Mariah’s’ delinquent son, who
brought back the town’s animosity after defiling the synagogue. Papa’s drubbing of the rabbi hadn’t
helped nor the continuing actions of out oldest brother. But that was then, I reminded Simon,
when our neighbors knew what was going on in our family. So far Reuben was a secret, and we
wanted to keep it that way.
Papa, whose nervous energy was best spent working in
his shop, kept a close eye on James and Joseph after they were given
chores. Occasionally he, Jesus or
Mama checked on us to make sure we stayed put where we were. Simon and I had been badly shaken
today. As the sun set in a
moonless night, we peeked over the window ledge. To facilitate our eavesdropping, only a crack existed
between the shutters, just enough for us to steal a glance. Mama sat at the head of the table, her
hands folded and head bowed in prayer.
As I write it now, “a nearby lamp cast its eerie glow on the face of the
mother of God.” That moment,
however, all I saw was a kindly, worn-out woman, who never stopped helping
someone else, whether it be her beloved Aunt Elizabeth, Reuben, a sworn enemy
of our family, or one of the orphans taking refuge in our house.
The sound of galloping on the road was reassuring
that moment. It meant that the
Romans were still watching over our town.
Simon and I had been forbidden to romp in the orchard and even the
backyard in case an inquisitive guard passed through, and yet we needed their
vigilance more than ever now.
“Come inside Simon and Jude,” Mama tried to sound
cheerful, “daylight has fled. It’s
time for dinner then bed.”
“All right Mama,” I said, heaving a sigh.
“Here goes,” Simon muttered, holding his nose.
The smell was so bad inside our house we would
rather risk loitering outside than suffering the stench. Dreading the interior of our house, we
entered reluctantly, bombarded by the smell of incense overlying the
distinctive odor of feces and blood.
Mama had put burners in various corners of the house, which helped
camouflage the smell of pending death.
I tried not to look into the kitchen, closing my eyes tightly a moment
as the aroma from a nearby burner dulled my senses. What I really wanted, the thought came to me, was a mug of
wine. Out of the shadows, Jesus
appeared with Abigail and Martha in tow.
It appeared as if they were more frightened by what was going on than
us. Jesus, who was as weary
as my parents, had been entertaining them as Papa finished up an order in the
shop. James and Joseph had brought
the old table and its stools back into the house, placed a lamp on the
tabletop, and sat staring at the flickering light. Today’s discovery had taken its toll on them too. Fearful and anxious, ourselves, Simon
and I joined our brothers at the table, each of us holding one of the twins’
tiny hands, while Papa and Jesus began preparing the evening meal. By now, I gathered, our parents had
begun worrying about the sanity of Papa’s namesake Joseph. His face was contorted in fear. James had a haunted look, himself, as
he looked around the room.
“Is them Romans gonna get us, Jude?” Abigail’s
freckled face was streaked with tears.
“No, the Romans are here to protect us.” I looked
down with a frown. “Don’t listen to Joseph and James. Regulus, Falco, and Priam are our friends.”
“I’m not so sure.” Simon heaved a sigh.
“You’re not to play with your new friends until this
matter ends,” Papa called from the kitchen. “I don’t want them snooping around. You’re not to let them in our yard!”
I wanted to protest his decision, but I dare not
argue with him that moment. The
truth was, I didn’t trust them either.
What if the guards stopped to ask them questions, and they led them to
our secret place. For several
moments, as Papa served up dinner and Jesus poured juice into our mugs, James
and Joseph sat motionless—the first time I could remember them being so
quiet. Simon and I calmed our
sisters, who were frightened about the strange man in our house. Mama rose up from her vigil, washed her
hands thoroughly, and took her place at one end of the table.
“Simon, Jude,” Papa said, his hands on his hips,
“your disobedience may have been unintentional. After all, you didn’t leave the orchard and enter the hills
as I instructed, but you ventured onto a forbidden path. Do either of you understand how all
this might look to the townsfolk and our guards?”
“Yes,” we answered meekly.
“What would the elders think if they knew we were
harboring another evildoer?” He asked, reaching down to pat our heads. “How
could we explain that our patient is none other than Reuben, our archenemy, who
has been such a threat to our town?”
Tears
rolled down our cheeks as we considered the danger our family faced.
“My sons,” Papa included James and Joseph in his
glance. “Our fair-weather friends, yours and mine, will turn against us if they
discover our guest.” “But more important than the elders or our friends,” his
voice rose solemnly, “is how this would look to Regulus, Priam, and Falco, our
protectors. The Romans would not
take lightly to this new act of charity.
To contain the terrible secret in our house will require staying close
to home and out of sight as much as possible.” “Let them think we have the plague,” he quipped grimly,
bending over to embrace the twins. “If playmates come up to the house,” he
looked squarely at Simon and I, “simply say ‘we’re not feeling well.’ That won’t be a lie. Let them draw their own conclusions. You must not tell anyone that there’s
someone in our house!”
As his eyes traveled around to each of us, we all
nodded vigorously. Papa had made
his point, but Jesus took issue with his last words.
“You would have them think we have the plague?” He
inquired gently. “That would be a lie.
Since when do we have to lie to our neighbors and friends?”
“You would tell the Romans the truth?” Papa shook
his head in wonder. “Sometimes, Jesus, I think you should come down to
earth. The truth would destroy our
family this time.”
“The truth shall set you free,” Jesus muttered
dubiously.
I felt that I understood my brother’s dilemma. Jesus, who couldn’t lie, was being
instructed to do just that. This
time I fully agreed with Papa and yet I left my stool and ran to Jesus to
receive his blessing on my head. I
wanted to believe that he, if not the Romans, would protect our house. What would he do if he was put to the
test? How wrong I was, though, to
think so shallow of him. I would
learn from him one day that this conflict had triggered something in his
mind. Revelation flashed on and
off momentarily in his head, leaving my sixteen year old brother confused with
what would one day shake the foundations of the world.
For now, he was left with the terrible dilemma of
having to join our deception against the Romans, inquisitive townsfolk, and our
fair-weather friends. In a most heated
conversation, Papa and my brothers ganged up on Jesus, who appeared confused by
his own words. Jesus could not
defend his position about not telling a lie, but he questioned the subterfuge
of pretending that we have the plague.
“Do we have to tell our friends that?” His gave us a
troubled look. “Our house would be quarantined. This could backfire on you Papa. What about your business? We will be outcasts again, but this time under a cloud of
deceit.”
“Cloud of deceit?” Papa was astonished. “This will
be temporary Jesus. Reuben will
either live or die, and then we’ll go on with our lives.”
“If its God’s will,” replied Jesus grimly, “Reuben
will die. But deception lives on
like a curse. It becomes a habit
to hide adversity. We must trust
in the Lord.”
“What do you suggest?” James spat. “Pray the problem
away?”
“No,” grumbled Joseph, “prayer is prolonging
this. If we’d let him die in the
first place, we could’ve buried our secret in the ground.”
Papa looked at Joseph in shock. “Shame on you!” his voice shook. “I
can’t believe you said such a thing!
I’m not happy with this either, but we have given Reuben sanctuary. The deed is done. It’s a miracle he survived at
all.”
“Perhaps God sees a purpose in all this.” Jesus
turned palms heavenward. “Who are we to question His will?”
Joseph mumbled an apology, but he wasn’t
contrite. Papa’s half-hearted
scolding was understandable, since he had already picked out a likely grave
plot for Reuben in the yard.
Reuben was our enemy.
Joseph had merely spoken all of our thoughts, except for what was in
Jesus’ mind. A sudden inspiration
filled me that came out of my mouth almost as a jest.
“If we want to keep our secret,” I spoke up blithely, “we must hide Jesus too. Jesus can’t lie.”
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