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Chapter Eighteen
The Paddling
One morning, several days after the revelations on
that fateful day, our parents gathered us together at our morning meal to
explain the new living arrangements.
All of us, especially Simon and I, sat with bated breath. Uriah and Tabitha were just happy to
have a safe haven. Michael, who
sat next to Jesus, his spiritual advisor, was happy just to be alive. Though James and Joseph were Papa’s
apprentices, they hoped to manage their time between the shop and Samuel’s
estate. We were all eager to hear
Mama and Papa’s decision.
“Here’s what your mother and I have worked out,” he
announced briskly. “Most of us will spend time at both locations, while others
will stay indefinitely in Samuel’s estate.”
All of us clapped with delight. Mama smiled tolerantly as Papa read the
list of those family members that would live more or less full time at the
estate. There was only five
persons in this group: Mama, who would become Samuel’s nurse, which meant she
would have two patients again (Samuel and Joachim); Michael, who would be
hidden away like Reuben in Samuel’s house; and the three girls (Tabitha and the
twins), who, in addition to spending most of the time in the estate, would
return with Mama to our house to prepare the morning and afternoon meals. We would continue working on Papa’s
orders during the day. The evening
meal would be shared with Samuel and his chief steward each night. Reuben and Michael would have their
meals separately and remain secluded in the house. Until Papa clarified our arrangement, James and Joseph
grumbled about the plan’s unfairness.
At first it sounded like we would be corralled in the shop while the
girls spent lives of leisure at Samuel’s house. To our relief, Papa explained that the boys would be
spending half of their days learning the craft and taking care of our home and
the remainder of each day, including the night (during our turns) at the
estate. Papa or Jesus would spend
alternating nights each week with two of the boys, which meant we would still
be sleeping at least two or three nights in our home. The exceptions, Papa explained, would be Michael, Tabitha
and the twins, who, like Mama, would be spending most of their time at the
estate. Tabitha, who wanted to be
near me, didn’t like this a bit, but Mama was worried about her uncle arriving
at the house in a drunken rage. I
promised to visit her on the days I would be staying overnight at our
house. Uriah, Michael, and Tabitha
were overjoyed that they had been included in our long-range plans.
That morning we had a festive breakfast. All of us, even Michael, chattered gleefully,
as we speculated on the days ahead.
Michael promised Jesus he would try to make friends with his mother’s
old enemy, Reuben, who would be sharing his part of the house. Papa reminded the rest of us boys that
we still had to do our share of the work.
When large orders for furniture came in, we might be required to work
extra hours. The girls would also
have to do their share by assisting Mama in her gardening and the preparation
of meals when Papa was busy in the shop.
A great irony was seen by us, especially James and Joseph, that a no
account such as Michael, who had caused our family so much grief, would idle
his days away without a care.
Nevertheless peace reigned in our family as we accepted the logic of
Papa’s plan. Michael, because of his
reputation, was like Reuben, as my Roman friends would say, persona non grata
in Nazareth. The safest place for
him was Samuel’s sumptuous estate.
More importantly for Papa’s peace of mind, it would remove the suspicion
surrounding our house, which had caused Papa to start drinking again. The issue of Uriah and Tabitha’s
future, which depended upon Joachim’s health and Jared’s state of mind,
respectively, would be decided at a later date.
Because
Papa wanted to finish an order for a rich Pharisee in Sepphoris, Jesus, James,
and Joseph, now wage earners, would be working most of the afternoon. Simon and Uriah were allowed to
accompany Mama and the girls to Samuel’s house. Michael would arrive at the estate late tonight, as had
Reuben, to avoid detection. I
volunteered to keep him company and also help Papa in the shop. My real reason, of course, was to sneak
down into the orchard, and finger my gold. To my dismay, Uriah’s conscience prickled him and he turned
back, as did Tabitha, but Mama would only allow Uriah to return. I should have been greatly moved by
this scene, but I wasn’t. It would
be very difficult for me to check on my gold with Uriah following me
around. I did feel a little sorry
for Tabitha. She would be bored to
unconsciousness having only Simon and the twins as companions. That would change after today,
however. Everything would change
when Michael was moved to Samuel’s house.
As Uriah trotted, huffing and puffing, back through
the gate, I waved to Tabitha as she followed Mama, Simon, and the twins.
“Are
we gonna help your Papa?” He asked eagerly. “I’m glad you decided to stay. There’s so much to learn, Jude. Soon you and I will be apprentices,
like Joseph and James. I love
working in wood.”
“What?”
I slapped my forehead in disbelief. “Are you serious? I stayed because of Michael. That’s all.
Tonight we’re gonna sneak him over to Samuel’s house. Tomorrow, we’ll have to work until noon
and then phtt—I’m gone! I’m
heading down the road. Our work period
hasn’t changed. We—you Simon and
I—work until noon. The only thing
that’s different is that we take turns sleeping in Samuel’s house. Papa and my older brothers, who get
paid for their efforts, are working on a special order. Tomorrow, if they’re finished, James
and Joseph will create great dust clouds as they run to Samuel’s estate.”
“You
don’t wanna be a carpenter, do you?” Uriah gave me a disappointed look.
“No,”
I confessed, kicking at the ground, “I never have. Get that in your thick skull. Stop volunteering us for extra instructions!” “Uriah,” I
cried in exasperation. “Why are you trying to get us extra chores? Don’t rabbi’s sons grow up to be rabbis. You should be studying the Torah, not
sanding table legs.”
“I’ll
never be a rabbi—no more than you’ll be a carpenter!” His face flushed and he
stomped his little feet. “Never!
Never-never-never! I don’t
care what my father wants. I won’t
do it. I won’t! I won’t!”
“All
right!” I muffled his mouth. “You’re not going to be a rabbi. I’m not going to be a carpenter. I don’t want Jesus to think we’re
arguing.”
Quickly,
I prodded Uriah through the front door, expecting to see Michael sitting at the
table or moping around the house.
As I looked around at the large room and kitchen area, though, I could
see that it was plunged into lonely shadows. A terrible thought came to me: in a befuddled state of mind,
Michael had wandered off. After
looking into our sick room and finding it empty, I ran to the back door, threw
it open and scanned our backyard and the orchard beyond. All I could see was the distant figures
of Falco and Priam walking up the trail.
Slamming the door shut before I was spotted, I retreated into the
kitchen and began searching the remainder of the house. When I found the back room empty, I
decided to ask Papa and my brothers if they saw Michael lately, a nagging fear
building up in me that he had walked out of the house, as he had before, and
just kept going.
“Where
do you think he went?” Uriah’s eyes were wide with concern.
“I
don’t know,” I exhaled raggedly, “but we gotta tell my Papa and Jesus. We better start looking for him before
he’s spotted near our house.”
“Let’s
go!” Uriah shuffled swiftly across the floor.
Together,
in excited outbursts, we informed the woodworkers that Michael was gone. At a glance, we could see Jesus, James,
and Joseph in front of the shop, scraping and sanding wood. Papa, we assumed, was inside his shop
doing the more serious work of the carpenter. Suddenly, to Uriah and my surprise, my brothers tossed their
heads back and began laughing.
Papa stuck his head out, grinning in his beard, and motioned for Uriah
and me to approach. Jesus gave us both
a pat on the back as we passed by him.
There inside the shop, as Papa stepped aside, sat Michael on a stool,
sanding a piece wood.
“Michael!”
Uriah and I cried.
“Shhh!”
Papa whispered, placing his finger before his lips. “Michael has decided he
wants to be a carpenter.”
“Won’t
someone see him?” I looked self-consciously around the premises.
“It’s
too late to worry about it now,” Jesus called discreetly. “After dinner, when
it gets dark, we’ll spirit our new brother to Samuel’s house.”
“We’re
not eating dinner at Samuel’s house?” groaned Uriah.
“No,
it’ll be too late.” Papa reached over playfully and tweaked his cheek. “You
boys should’ve gone with Mary, Simon, and the girls.”
“We
didn’t want to leave Michael alone.” I motioned with my head.
“You
didn’t have to do that,” he murmured submissively, “I don’t want to be a bother.”
He
doesn’t want to be a bother, I thought, shaking my head in wonder; he just
wants to be a carpenter! I
mentally choked on his show of humility, yet visibly displayed a stout hearted
smile. This was completely out of
character for the Michael I once knew.
I couldn’t help wondering if he was not playing a game with us. It seemed almost inconceivable that
Jesus efforts to cast out his demon had failed or that Michael’s travails in
Jerusalem and escape from death had not changed him from the selfish, reckless
youth he was before, and yet those words “I don’t want to be a bother” seemed
insincere. Perhaps he was just
embarrassed by all the fuss given to him, but if that was the case why did he
journey all the way back from Jerusalem just to collapse at our doorstep in
such dire straights? I had heard
how horseman often had to break wild horses in to make them good mounts. Was it possible, I wondered that afternoon,
that Michael’s wild spirit had been broken in enough that he could be trained
for such a dull task as working with wood? Somehow, I didn’t think so. I am reminded today of how Judas crept into Jesus circle,
only to betray him later. For
Michael this would prove to be only partially true, and yet that day, as he
half-heartedly worked at a piece of wood, my distrust of him was rekindled.
To
my utter disgust, Jesus also gave Uriah and I pieces to sand, so we spent the
remainder of the afternoon, when we normally romped in the backyard or orchard,
helping Papa fill his special order.
As it turned out, Michael was only sanding scrap wood, as Uriah had been
during his training period. All we
had for a late afternoon meal was cheese, uncut fruit, and stale bread. I know the rest of us drank well water,
but I wasn’t so sure about Papa, who smacked his lips a few times as he often
did when drinking wine. During our
dinner, Jesus’ ears pricked up and he motioned for silence at the table. Running to the back door, he threw it
open just in time to see Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz skulking into our yard.
“I
warned you about trespassing!” he called out angrily. “Do you want our guards
to arrest you?”
“My
Papa said your family are collaborators,” we heard Jethro scream.
“Do
you even know what that word means?” Jesus asked.
Jethro,
Obadiah, and Boaz, responded to Jesus warning with foul curses that caused Papa
to slam his mug down and stumble for the door. James, though afraid, felt obliged to make a show of his
outrage, himself, grumbling, “Come on, Joseph, they can’t whoop us all!”
“How
dare they come on my property and talk like that!” Papa shouted. “I’ll give them a thrashing they’ll
never forget.”
“No,
no, Papa,” Jesus counseled, “it’s the wine talking. Let the guards chastise them.” “James and Joseph.” He
pointed to the table. “Sit down!”
As
if Jesus had once again conjured up a miracle, we heard the distant voices
through the doorway of Falco and Priam.
Swiftly, I raced to the entrance to stand with Papa and Jesus. James and Joseph sighed with relief as
they joined our vigil. Behind us,
cringing in the shadows, stood Uriah, while Michael sat calmly at the table as
if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“They’re
gonna get it now!” I whispered excitedly. “Better get the wine ready,
Papa. They’re coming our way.”
When
the three trespassers took to their heels, Priam charged ahead, while Falco,
holding back, called through cupped hands, “You three! Hold on! We know where you live, so halt—stop dead in your tracks!”
Jethro
and Obadiah stopped at once, but Boaz continued running. Priam, with sword drawn, told the two
boys to lie face down on the ground, while his cohort retrieved the third
member of their gang.
“This
isn’t good,” Joseph groaned. “They’ll really think we’re collaborators
now.”
“Come,”
Papa motioned, stepping forth, “let’s diffuse this situation.”
“May
I do the talking?” Jesus asked from the corner of his mouth as we approached.
Papa
grunted his consent. Uriah and I
hung back a few paces, as Jesus chatted with Falco. James and Joseph, who were unpopular with our guards,
watched the proceedings at a distance.
The old Roman, like many of his fellow guards, was in awe of Jesus, the
miracle-worker, but, in spite of Papa’s generosity, considered him to be just
another troublesome Jew. Priam,
the most reasonable of the two, had always seemed found of our father, the more
so for the occasional mug of wine and Mama’s warm bread. Jesus explained to Falco, as simply as
possible, that the three malcontents were friends of his brothers, who had been
arguing over childish matters, but they meant no offense. Nevertheless, despite Jesus protests,
Falco playfully gave Jethro and Obadiah three swats with the flat side of his
sword and warned them, “on pain of death,” never to be caught near Joseph bar
Jacob’s house again. Jesus and
Papa were horror stricken by this turn of events. Because Michael was alone in the house, James and Joseph
sought refuge in the carpenter’s shop.
When Priam returned with Boaz marching at the point of his sword, he
addressed Papa, the head of the house, which was normally the custom of Roman
soldiers, and asked him if this young ruffian might be the ringleader, since he
was the ugliest of the three. Papa
shook his head helplessly, making a feeble attempt to disengage the youth.
Falco moved in front of him, his sword glinting in
the evening sun. “No,” he spat,
glancing over his shoulder, “he’s not the leader. Running from Roman guards makes him the dumbest of the
three. He’s lucky I wasn’t
carrying my bow.”
“Please
stop this,” Papa cried, wringing his hands, “these are mere boys!”
Jesus
stood beside him, arms outstretched, eyes raised to heaven, praying, I fancied,
that God would send a thunderbolt crashing down on these cold-hearted men. Boaz’s little eyes became slits. Even now, as I wept in the background,
he managed to communicate smoldering hatred for me, and yet as he clinched his
fists, his lower lip quivered as if he was about to cry.
“Stop this!” Papa screamed. “Stop this nonsense at
once!”
Unmoved by Papa’s pleas or Jesus’ praying, Priam
singled Boaz out for discipline, ordered him to bend over then gave him a sharp
whack with the flat of his sword.
To be fair to the others who received three whacks, he gave him two more
on the rear and dismissed them all rudely with, “Out of here—all of you! If we catch you around here again,
it’ll be the cross!”
Abject
terror replaced the spitting hatred in Boaz’s face. By the time Jethro and Obadiah had jumped to their feet,
Boaz was running and stumbling in fear up the path beside our house. The insensitive Romans, like children
who just committed some minor mischievous act, snickered at each other, gave us
expectant grins and stood there with arms folded as Papa signaled me to fetch
them some wine.
“Bring
us some of that warm bread of your mother’s,” Priam called.
Uriah
followed me into the house, whimpering uncontrollably. James and Joseph were nowhere in
sight. Michael had been napping on
his arm.
“Don’t
exert yourself.” I glared at him.
I
saw Papa hide his wine in a special place in the shop. After, handing Uriah all the stale
bread I could find, I told him to wait for me while I fetched a flask. When I returned, I picked up some of
the moldy uneaten grapes to compensate for not having fresh bread. Though tempted to spit in the flask and
on the food, I still felt enough wicked delight in our tormentors’ punishment
not to judge Priam and Falco too harshly.
The boys were still alive and none the worse for their paddling. Prodding the frightened Uriah out the
door then down the little path, I felt both numb and light-headed. I could just imagine how my timid
little friend felt. When we handed
the guards the wine and food, they showed their disdain for the stale bread and
grapes by shoving them back to Papa, taking turns with the flask until they had
drained it dry, then, in a complete change of mood, gave Papa and Jesus bear
hugs, afterwards ruffling Uriah and my hair.
“Rules
are rules,” Falco spoke directly to Jesus, the most upset of us all. “Until we
capture the remainder of those bandits and quiet those hotheads in Nazareth,
Jews mustn’t congregate in groups of two or more, especially in this sector of
town.” “Thank you for the wine,” he added with a curt bow.
“Why
the long face?” asked Priam, handing me the empty flask. “Them boys were
troublemakers. I’ve seen their
kind before.”
Falco
and Priam swaggered up the path to reconnoiter with their reliefs, Clement and
Arturius. After guzzling down an
entire flask of wine, they were probably drunk, but now, thanks to the men
relieving them, they could return to camp and sleep it off. I didn’t hate them for what they
did. They didn’t know any better. I knew two noble Romans: Cornelius and
Longinus. That would be enough for
now. My only concern was the three
enemies I had made this hour. What
comforted me, in spite of the excesses of our Roman guards, was the thought of
that pot of gold in the wall.
Perhaps my all-knowing brother knew about it too. For reasons I still find hair brained,
he blamed himself for what happened this evening.
A
notion had flittered through my mind, as I watched Falco and Priam paddle those
boys: what if they had found the gold?
This thought filled me with dread.
“I let it happen,” Jesus murmured, as we entered the
house. “I just stood there petrified and let it occur.”
“No
Jesus,” I said, shaking his tunic. “You couldn’t stop it. When the Romans arrived, it was out of
your hands.”
“Uh
huh.” Uriah nodded. “They always come up the trail at the same time to be
relieved. It was just bad luck for
those boys.”
“Oh,
now it’s luck,” Jesus groaned, grasping his head.
Papa, who was still tipsy, blurted, “Jesus, you
can’t pray your way out of everything.
What’re you supposed to do, strike’em dead? It just happened.
End of story!”
“I’m suppose to be good with words,” Jesus said,
shaking his head, “and yet I was mute.
The one time I could make a change, I didn’t have God’s ear. The prayer in my head was made in anger
so it fell upon deaf ears. I just
stood there frozen, letting matters take their course.”
“It’s the Lord’s will,” Michael said in a deadpan
voice.
“What?” Papa’s head jerked up. “That’s ridiculous,
especially coming from you.
God had nothing to do with it, Michael. He didn’t want that to happen. That little episode outside didn’t help our family one bit!”
James and Joseph re-entered the house just in time
to hear Michael’s pious exclamation and Papa’s response. All of us, except Jesus, ganged up on
Michael that moment. Even Uriah
took issue with him. Sitting
across from Michael at the table, I asked him if it was God’s will that Jethro,
Obadiah and Boaz were going to beat me up the first chance they had.
“Don’t forget their parents.” Papa belched. “If they
show up, I’m gonna point straight at the Romans. This is their fault!”
“I thought they were our friends.” I looked at Papa,
who seemed to be falling asleep.
“Oh, Priam’s all right, for a Roman.” He burped
again. “Falco’s not that bad either.
It’s that Regulus you gotta watch out for. He’s carrying a grudge.”
“I don’t like Regulus.” Uriah frowned severely.
“He’s scares me. I don’t think he
likes Jews.”
“We can’t blame a creature for its nature,” murmured
Jesus. “Is the lamb better than the lion?”
James
and Joseph laughed at his statement.
I don’t think I ever understood what it meant. Jesus was always saying strange things. In spite of their rough treatment of
Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz, I noticed improvement in our guards, especially
Falco and Priam. During our nature
hike with Jesus, Regulus had actually been friendly on the trail. For several moments, as we sat
digesting the latest crisis, I studied Michael’s placid face, wondering if I
had judged him too harshly. Unable
to comprehend his dull expression, I motioned for Simon and Uriah to follow me
into the backyard. There would be
no investigation of my coins this evening, unless I could slip away.
******
That evening, before the sun set, we congregated in
the orchard as we had that day James read us Jesus’ letter from Rome. It was one of those special times in
our childhood that an event, such as the Roman paddlings, brought us together
in solidarity if not fellowship. I
remember feeling a sense of well being that hour, especially with my pot of
gold close by. With the Roman
presence re-established in Nazareth and Jesus’ vigilance, what did we have to
fear? Who would dare sneak into
our yard and steal my gold? I
realized that moment how very special my family was. In spite of our differences, we came together in good and bad
times. It once seemed that the
whole town was against us, yet we had gained a special status in Nazareth. We were the carpenter’s family with
that strange older son, who, it was rumored, used sorcery to make it rain, cast
demons out, and breath life into a dead bird. Legends had grown up around the parents, who once gave
sanctuary to a witch, that Jesus, as a mere child, performed acts of purest
black magic, such as bringing clay birds to life, striking a playmate dead, and
other slanders I heard in my youth, which the unstable Thomas would one day
record in his gospel of Jesus’ life.
Real and made up miracles had increased since Jesus return from his trip
with Joseph of Arimathea, especially after the miracles recorded in Jesus’
letters leaked out of our house.
In later life, as a disciple, I read a copy of Thomas so called gospel
and was shocked to see a written record of our neighbors’ scurrilous lies,
which made other God-sent miracles of his childhood suspect to followers of the
Way. And yet Jesus eccentric
behavior and the stories surrounding his birth and lineage told by Samuel to
his friends had made many of the outrageous claims believable to people in our
town. After all, was not the
raising of his son from death and the quieting of two separate storms witnessed
by Joseph of Arimathea, himself?
Could not such a prodigy, who breathed life into a sparrow, not turn
clay birds into living things and, if bringing back life, not cancel it out?
But I digress.
The plain truth is that our house was always full of secrets and strange
goings-on. We were fortunate that
day Falco and Priam caught my friends sneaking into our yard and gave them the
flat of their swords, that they hadn’t learned about Reuben and the witches son
or, for that matter, my ill-gotten gold.
Even now I shudder at the thought!
This time, as we gathered below the trees, Uriah
instead of Nehemiah was in our group.
He was, as usual, whiny and fidgety, filled with silly chatter, and yet,
for my sake, my older brothers treated him politely as we discussed today’s
events. The main source of our
concern had been Michael’s return and miraculous cure, but today a much more
serious event had occurred.
“Mark my words,” James declared, pointing to our
yard, “that action is going to cause us problems.”
“They’ll tell their parents.” Joseph looked
fearfully around at the group. “Soon that grimy blacksmith and smelly tanner
will be pounding on our door.”
“I’m not so sure,” I said, resting my head against a
tree. “I’ve been thinking about this, Joseph. How are those boys going to explain being in our yard? No one in our family laid a finger on
them. How are they going to
explain being paddled by our Roman guards? Will searching for bandits’ gold be an excuse for trespassing
in our yard.” “Tell me, my brothers,” I repeated, chewing on a twig, “how are
they going to explain any of this?”
“Humph!” James scratched his chin thoughtfully. “An
excellent point! I don’t think
their parents would be sympathetic with them if they knew why they snuck into
our yard.
Was
not Boaz’s father one of the men accompanying Papa to the Roman camp? Jethro and Obadiah’s father is too busy
with preparing Ezra’s hides to make an issue of this.”
“Yes.” Joseph’s dark expression brightened. “. . . .
Even so, who would they complain to—Regulus? Longinus?
Papa?” “No,” he decided, with a great sigh of relief, “The mood of the
Romans isn’t good. After seeing
Papa thrash the rabbi, I can’t imagine them charging up to our house”
“That matter settled,” I jumped up blithely, “let’s
play a game.”
Everyone followed me into the trees, away from the
wall and my hidden pot of gold.
What I had in mind wouldn’t require hiding behind trees or playing tag,
which were games that James and Joseph now found childish.
Pulling the cubes from my pocket, I cried, “Let’s
throw dice and gamble!”
“All right.” Simon nodded. “What shall we gamble
with?”
“Gambling is a sin,” Joseph recoiled.”
“Hiding criminals in our house is a sin too.” I
cocked an eyebrow.
“That was a crime, not a sin,” challenged Joseph. “I
mean a Hebrew sin.”
“Its a matter of definition,” offered James. “What
we’ve been doing would probably be considered a Roman sin.”
Joseph laughed. Uriah crawled around on the ground a moment as I explained
how my game would be played, rising on his knees with a handful of small
pebbles.
“We’ll use these,” he held up his hand.
“All we do is clear a throwing space and take turns
tossing. One player calls out one
of the number equivalents we decided upon just as his partner throws his
dice. If he rolls doubles with the
number on it, he shares the tally with his partner. If he rolls only one of the numbers called out, he wins half
the tally. In this way a large
call can be worse than a smaller number.”
“My head’s swimming.” Simon made a face.
“It’s easy,” I pshawed, “we’ll have a practice
throw.”
“I get it.” Uriah began looking for more pebbles.
“This is going to be fun!”
“And you’re a rabbi’s son.” Joseph shook his head in
wonder.
“Well,” James said with resignation, “Jesus saw no
problem with us using grapes for tender.
I see no harm in pebbles, as long as it’s not money.”
Joseph joined us in our effort to clear a
space. After rolling the dice to
see who goes first, we played until it was almost dark. It was, I confessed to them, one of
Michael’s favorite games. Uriah
did surprisingly well with his tosses, almost winning the game, but it was
Joseph, of all people, who had the highest score, always calling low until his
score was high enough to take chances.
Such thinking, I recall, would benefit him as a merchant and
scribe. Though we did poorly,
ourselves, James, Simon and I were amused by how well our brother had
done. As I looked back at James
and smiled, I saw Michael’s face in the window, perhaps yearning to play one of
his old childhood games. At just
that moment, Jesus appeared characteristically in the doorway holding a lamp.
“Our night guards might take issue with this
congregation,” he announced, motioning us into the house. “We’ll have our
evening meal before escorting Michael to Samuel’s house,” he added as we filed
obediently into the house.
We spent the remainder of our idle time, throwing
the dice on the kitchen table before and after a quickly prepared dinner. Michael joined in but with none of the
wild abandon displayed in the past.
Papa, who seemed to be sober, was nervous about transferring another
wrongdoer from our house. There
were, he explained, pacing back and forth, far more Romans in our town than
before, who were in no mood for groups moving about in the night. Escorting a hooded figure in the
darkness would appear suspicious.
What if a sentry challenged them on the way to Samuel’s house? How could they explain having Michael
in their midst? Ultimately, to
calm himself down, Papa sat down at the table with a mug of wine. None of us, even Jesus blamed him. This single act could ruin his
reputation in the town. It made us
shudder to think what the Romans might do. The wine, added to his weariness from long hours in the
shop, caused his head to droop, until finally, to no one’s surprise, a snore
whistled through his beard.
As his forehead bumped the table, everyone, even the
normally disapproving Joseph, laughed.
Jesus let Papa snooze for a short while, as he held vigil by the window. If we heard hoof beats on the road it
would mean that a night officer is making his rounds. This, Jesus informed us grimly, would be our cue.
Back and forth
from the front and back windows, he paced, until finally, hearing the clatter
of hooves, Jesus roused Papa from slumber. Softly he ordered, “Time to go,” helping him to his feet,
and then guiding him to the door.
It all happened quickly, within one graceful moment. Knowing full well what came next, we
looked down at Michael, who rose more solemnly, as I recall, like a prisoner
being led to his cell. Like Simon,
Uriah, James, Joseph, and I, he had been happy at the thought of living at
Samuel’s house, but he now seemed reluctant to leave. Part of Papa’s plan, to have at least two people staying in
our house, had been scrapped tonight because of his condition. Though he discussed it in a whisper
with James, Jesus said he took full responsibility for the decision. There was no need for anyone to stay
behind. We would all sleep at the
estate tonight. Fortunately, there
would be a lull in his carpentry business, which would allow Papa to rest and
recuperate before going back to work.
Jesus agreed with James reasoning that, technically at least, the Romans
were guarding our house. Our goal
to spirit Michael to the Pharisee’s estate was simple. James would run ahead to check the
traffic on the road, while we led Michael’s hooded figure up the road. We would also have to lead Papa, who
would get lost in his current condition.
Because of the Roman rules of congregation, we spaced our trek, two by
two: James guided Papa, Jesus led Michael, and Joseph, Uriah and I straggled
behind to avoid being seen as a crowd.
It was an unjust rule, but, after what happened in our backyard, none of
us complained. We had learned a
grim lesson today. With the
exception of Cornelius and Longinus, the Romans were not really our
friends. I wanted to believe that
Priam and Falco were not like the other soldiers in town, but we had seen a
dark side of them today. In James
words, “They had molested visitors (albeit intruders) on our property and
treated us with great disrespect.”
Because of the rumors that would spread after today, our family’s
standing in town might suffer a setback, but at least we could temporarily find
a sanctuary in the big house. With
these thoughts weighing heavily upon me, I followed the others into Samuel’s
estate. The sweet burden of my
treasure had offset my concern for my reputation in Nazareth.
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