Here it was a different story.
When bad news came in of fighting in Jerusalem, people gathered in groups to talk about it, and they stared at the soldiers, and the soldiers became hard and they stopped being friendly and stood in bands on the streets. But nothing happened.
As for our family, and many many others, we went right on working no matter what the news. We prayed as we worked, under our breath. As we gathered to eat our little meal mid-day, we blessed the Lord and we blessed our food and drink. Then back to work we went.
I didn't mind all those times. But studying in Nazareth was better.
What I loved the most besides studying were our walks to and from Sepphoris because the air was warm and the harvest was almost finished, and the trees were full everywhere I looked. The blossoms were gone from the almond trees, but so many other trees were full of beautiful leaves. On every walk I saw new things.
I wanted to go off the road and wander in the woods, but we couldn't do this. So I'd run ahead sometimes and wander a little. Someday, I thought, there'll be time for wandering to the little villages everywhere in the little valleys, but for now life was full.
How could anyone ask for more than we had?
Chapter 19
I don't know how many days it was before I began to feel sick.
A fever came on me in the afternoon. Cleopas knew it before I did, and then James, too, said that he was sick, and Cleopas put his hand to my forehead and said we had to go back to Nazareth now.
Joseph carried me the last hour of the way. I woke up thirsty and my throat hurt, and my mother was frightened as she put me to bed. Little Salome was also sick. It turned out four of us, and then five were bedded down in the same room.
I could hear coughing everywhere around me, and my mother kept putting water to my lips. I heard my mother say to James, "You have to drink it! Wake up!" Little Salome was moaning and when I touched her, she was hot.
My mother was talking to me: "Who knows what it is," she said. "It could be from the Romans. They could have brought it. It could be that we've been away and now we're home. No one else in the village is sick - only our little ones."
But my aunt Mary was sick, too. Cleopas brought her in and laid her down. He said her name. He said it as if he was angry, but he wasn't. And she wouldn't answer him. These things I saw but I was half asleep. Old Sarah sang to us. When I couldn't see her clearly in the shadows, I could hear her voice.
My whole body hurt me - my shoulders, my hips, my knees - but I could sleep. I could dream.
For the first time it seemed to me that sleep was a place.
When I look back on it, I know that up to that point in my life, I always fought sleep. I never really wanted to run away into it. Even when I was afraid in the hills and the fires were burning, I wanted the fire to go away, the angry bandits to go away. I didn't want to flee into sleep. Flee into my mother's arms, yes. Flee to our own safe house, yes. But not to sleep.
But now, in this sickness, when my shoulders and legs were hurting me, it felt good to tumble down into deep sleep.
I dreamed while I was still awake. It was the most pleasant dream I'd ever had. I knew I was in Nazareth. I knew my mother was there and my aunt Mary was lying close by. I knew I was safe.
But at the same time I was walking in a palace. It was far larger than Philo's house in Alexandria, and when I came to the edge of the room, I saw the blue sea. The rocks went up on either side, and the coastline curved, and there were torches down below in the garden. So many torches. Columns held the roof over my head. I knew the style of the columns, the carved acanthus leaf capitals.
On a marble bench, there sat a being with wings. He looked like a man, a very comely man. I thought of Absolom, the son of David, who had been comely, and the strangest thing happened: this man on the bench grew longer, fuller hair.
"You're trying to look like Absolom," I said.
"Oh, you're very clever for your age, aren't you?" he said. "The Rabbi loves you." He had a soft musical voice. His eyes were blue like the sea. There was a shine to his eyes. There was green and red embroidery along his tunic, a vine full of the tiniest flowers. He smiled at me. "I knew you'd like that," he said. "What I want to know is ...what do you think you're doing here?"
"Here? In this palace?" I asked. "I'm dreaming, of course." I laughed at him. I heard my laughter in the dream. I looked out over the sea and I saw the clouds piled high in the sky, and on the far limit of the sea, I saw ships moving. It seemed I could see the oars dipping, and the men at the helm. How clear was everything under the full moon.
All was beauty around me.
"Yes, it's a palace fit for an Emperor," he said. "Why don't you live in such a palace?"
"Why should I?" I asked.
"Well, certainly it's better than the dirt and filth of Nazareth," he said in his gracious tongue with his gracious smile.
"Are you certain of that?" I asked.
"I lived in both," he said. His face went dark. He looked at me with contempt.
I looked at the ships again, moving so fast, so smoothly out under the moon, sailing at night when night was a dangerous time for sailing, but so beautiful.
"Yes, they're coming out of Ostia," he said, "those beautiful galley ships. Your Archelaus is eager to be home. And so are his brothers and his sister."
"I know," I answered.
"Who are you!" he demanded. He was impatient. After all, this dream would shortly come to an end. All dreams came to an end.
I looked at him. He was angry and he was trying to hide it. He couldn't hide it. He made me think of my little brothers. But he was no child.
"And you're no child either!" he said.
"Oh, I see now," I said with the greatest satisfaction. "I didn't before. When you're with me like this, you don't know what's going to happen, do you? You don't know what's to come!" I laughed and I laughed. "That's your doom that you don't know how it will end."
He became so angry that he couldn't keep the smile on his face.
But as his smile broke up, he began to cry. He couldn't hold it back. It was a grown man's broken crying, which I'd almost never seen. "You know that I am what I am from love," he said. "This that I am is from love."
I felt sad for him. But I had to be careful. He had his hand to his face, and he was looking at me through his fingers. Crying, yes, but watching me, and it filled me with terrible misery to look at him. I didn't want to look at him. I could not do anything for him.
"Who are you!" he asked again. He became so angry that he stopped crying and he reached out for me. "I demand that you tell me!"