Everybody knew the Essenes didn't come for the Feast. Essenes kept themselves apart in a life more strict even than Pharisees. Essenes dreamed of a renewed Temple. I'd seen a group of Essenes once in Sepphoris, all of them in their white garments. They were a people apart. They believed themselves to be the true Israel.
Finally I left the boys, even though I wanted to play, and I found Joseph. It was getting dark, and the city below was full of light. The lights of the Temple were great and beautiful. But I couldn't search the whole town and all the camps, and I couldn't even find my uncle Cleopas.
Joseph was looking at the city, and maybe he was listening to the music because there was music, and the beating of cymbals from somewhere close. He was sipping a bit of wine from a cup, and no one was near him for the moment.
I asked him right away,
"Will we ever see our cousin John again?"
"Who knows?" he asked. "The Essenes are beyond the Dead Sea, at the foot of the mountains."
"Do you believe they are good people?"
"They're Children of Abraham like the rest of us," he said. "A man could do worse than be an Essene." He waited a moment, then went on. "This is a way it is with Jews. You know that in our own village we have men who don't believe in the Resurrection on the Last Day. And we have Pharisees. And the Essenes, they believe in many things with their whole hearts, and they try very hard to please the Lord."
I nodded.
Now I knew that everyone in our village wanted to go to the Temple, and the keeping of every Feast in the right way was important to them. But I didn't say this. I didn't say it because there seemed truth in what he said, and I didn't have any more questions.
I was full of sadness. My mother loved her cousin so much. I could see them in my mind, the two women hugging each other when last we'd been together. And I had been so curious to talk to my cousin. There had been a seriousness in my cousin - that was the word, I found it at last - a seriousness, that drew me.
The other boys in the camp were very friendly, and the sons of the priests spoke well and said good things, but I didn't want to be with others.
I left Joseph. I was forbidden to ask him all the things that weighed down my heart. Forbidden.
I lay down on my mat, and wanted to sleep even though the sky was just filling with stars.
All around me the men were disputing, some of them saying the High Priest was not the right man, that Herod Archelaus had been wrong to put him in place, and others that the High Priest was acceptable, and we had to have peace, no more rebellion.
Their angry back-and-forth voices frightened me.
I got up, left my mat, to walk off alone, out of the camp, and into the hillside under the stars. This was good to be away on the slope.
There were camps out there, too, but they were smaller - little gatherings covering the slopes and the fires giving off a little light while up above the moon shone very bright and beautiful over all, and I could see the stars broken and spread out in their fine patterns.
There was grass under my feet and it smelled sweet, and the air was not too cold now, and I was wondering if John saw these same stars tonight out in the desert.
James came up to me. He was crying.
"What's the matter with you?" I said. I sat up. I got to my feet. I took his hand.
I'd never seen my older brother like this.
"I have to tell you," he said, "I'm sorry. Sorry for the mean things I've said to you. Sorry for ...being mean to you."
"Mean to me? James, what are you saying?" No one could hear us. It was dark. No one noticed us.
"I can't go into the Temple of the Lord tomorrow with this on my heart, that I've treated you so badly."
"But it's all right," I said. I put my hands out to hold him, but he drew back. "James, you never hurt me!"
"I had no right to tell you about the magi coming to Bethlehem."
"But I wanted you to," I said. "I wanted to know what happened when I was born. I want to know everything. James, if only you would tell me everything that happened - ."
"I didn't do it because you wanted it. I did it to be strong over you!" he whispered. "I did it to know something that you didn't know!"
I knew this was the truth. It was the hard truth. It was just the kind of hard truth that James always said.
"But you told me what I wanted to know," I said. "It was good for me. I wanted it," I said.
He shook his head. He tears got worse. This was the sound of a man crying.
"James, you're sad about nothing. I'm telling you. I love you, my brother. Don't suffer for this."
"I have to tell you," he said in the same whisper, as if he needed to whisper. There was no one here but the two of us on the slope.
"I've hated you ever since you were born," he said. "I hated you before you were born. I hated you for coming!"
My face burned. I felt my skin all over.
I'd never heard anyone say something like this. It took me a moment and then I said:
"It doesn't hurt me."
He didn't answer.
"I didn't know," I said. "That's not right. I think I knew but I knew it would pass. I didn't think about it if I knew it."
"Listen to your own words," he said. He sounded so sad.
"What am I saying?"
"You're wiser than your years," he said, he who stood so tall at thirteen, a man. "You have a different face than you had when we left Egypt. You had a boy's face then, and your eyes were like your mother's eyes."
I knew what he meant. My mother always looked like a child. What I hadn't known was that I was any different.
I didn't know what to say to him.
"I'm sorry for hating you," he said. "Truly sorry. And I mean to love you and be loyal to you always."
I nodded. "I love you as well, my brother," I said.
Quiet.
He stood there wiping his tears.
"Will you let me put my arms around you?" I asked.
He nodded, and we held each other. And I hugged him tight and could feel him trembling. That was how bad he felt.
I drew back slowly. He didn't turn or go away.
"James," I said. "Why did you hate me?"
He shook his head. "Too many reasons," he said. "And I can't tell you all of it. Someday you'll learn."
"No, James, tell me now. I have to know. I'm begging you. Tell me."
He thought for a long time.
"I'm not the one to tell you the things that happened."
"But who is to tell me?" I asked. "James, tell me what made you hate me. Tell me that much. What was it?"