"You think that's a joke," Jason railed. "Those ensigns? I tell you those soldiers are marching on Jerusalem right now and they will put those ensigns in the Temple itself if they want to. It's come to that."
"Stop, we do not know any such thing," said Joseph. "We wait on news of Pontius Pilate as we wait on the rain. An end to this, both of you."
"Go back to your uncle," said James. "Why do you follow us and bother us? No one else in Nazareth will talk to you. Go back. Your uncle needs you now. Aren't there pages to be written, to report these hideous goings-on, to somebody? Or is this country lawless as the brigands who live in the hills? What, we just put them in a cave and nothing is recorded of how they died? Go back to your work."
Joseph now gave James a stern look that silenced him, and sent him on ahead with his head bowed.
We went on our way, after him, but Jason followed.
"I don't mean you any harm, Yeshua," he said. His confidential tone was infuriating James, and James turned back, but Joseph stopped him.
"I didn't mean you any harm," Jason repeated. "This place is cursed. The rain will never come. The fields are drying up. The gardens are withered. The flowers are dead."
"Jason, my friend," I said, "the rain always comes, sooner or later."
"And what if it never does? What if now the windows of Heaven are shut against us and with reason?" A torrent of words was about to break from him. But I put up my hand.
"Come later on, and we'll talk over a cup of wine," I said. "Now I have to be on my way to this family."
He fell back, ambling towards his uncle's door. Then I heard him behind me from a distance,
"Yeshua, forgive me," he said.
He said it loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Jason," I said, "you're forgiven."
Chapter Four
YITRA'S MOTHER had the whole family packing everything into bundles. The donkeys were loaded down. The little ones were rolling up the rug off the dirt floor, the fine rug which had been perhaps their most important single thing.
When Yitra's mother saw Joseph she rose up off her knees and flew into his arms. But she trembled with dry eyes and merely clung to him as if she feared drowning.
"You travel safe to Judea," Joseph said. "Even the journey will do you good, and by nightfall, your little ones will be far away from the whispers and stares of this place. We know where Yitra lies. We'll see to him."
She stared off as if trying to make sense of this.
Then in came Nahom, the father, with two of his hired hands. We could see the hired hands had forced Nahom to come home, and he fell back against the wall, his eyes vacant.
"Never mind those creatures," said Joseph to him. "They've fled. They know they did wrong. Leave them to the mercy of Heaven. You go on to Judea now, and shake the dust of this town off your feet."
One of the hired hands, a gentle sort of man, came forward and nodded as he put his arms around Joseph and Nahom. "Shemayah's going to buy your land, and he'll send you a good price," he said. "I'd buy it if I could. You go on. Joseph's right, those creatures who accused the boys are far away now. They'll probably find their way to the brigands in the mountains. That's where trash like that often goes. What can you do to them anyway? Can you kill every man in this village?"
Yitra's mother closed her eyes, and her head dropped. I thought she'd faint but she didn't.
Joseph drew them both closer to him.
"You have these little ones now. What will happen to them if you don't stand up to this?" asked Joseph. "Now, listen, I want to tell you . . . I want to tell you. . . ." He faltered. His eyes were welling with tears. He couldn't find his words.
I came close and put my arms on the two of them, and they looked to me suddenly like terrified children.
"There was no trial, as you know," I said. "That means that no one will ever know what Yitra did or the Orphan did, or how it was, or when it was, or if nothing ever happened. No one will know. No one can know. Not even the little boys who accused them knew. Only Heaven knows. Now you mustn't have a trial for the boys in your heart. There can't be one. And that means there should be none. And so you mourn for Yitra in your heart. And Yitra is forever innocent. He has to be. It can't be otherwise, not this side of Heaven."
Yitra's mother looked up at me. Her eyes narrowed and then she nodded. Nahom gave no expression, but slowly he moved to pick up the bundles that remained, and sluggishly he carried them out to the waiting animals.
"We wish you a safe journey," said Joseph, "and now you must tell me if you need anything for the journey. My sons and I will get whatever you need."
"Wait," said Yitra's mother. She went to a chest that lay on the floor, and undid the fastenings. Out of it she took a folded garment, what might have been a wool mantle.
"This," she said, as she gave it to me. "This is for Silent Hannah."
Silent Hannah was the Orphan's sister.
"You will take care of her, won't you?" the woman asked.
Joseph was amazed.
"My child, my poor child," he said. "So kind of you to think of Silent Hannah at a time such as this. Of course, we'll take care of her. We'll always take care of her."
Chapter Five
WHEN WE CAME INTO THE HOUSE, we saw Silent Hannah there at once with Avigail.
Now wherever Avigail went, Silent Hannah went, and wherever the two went, there was always a gathering of children. James' sons, Isaac and Shabi, my other nephews and nieces, there was always such a crowd around Avigail and Silent Hannah. It was Avigail who drew the children, often singing to them, teaching them old songs, how to read bits of Scripture, even now and then rhymes that she made up in her head, and letting the little girls help her with her twine and her needles, and all the bits and pieces of mending she usually had in her basket. Silent Hannah, who did not hear or speak, lived with Avigail most of the time, though now and then, if Avigail's father was very sick, with his bad leg, Silent Hannah might lodge with us, with my aunts and my mother.
But now, as we came in, only the women were there with Avigail and Silent Hannah. All the children had been sent away, it was plain, and Silent Hannah stood up at once for news and looked imploringly to Joseph.
Avigail stood ready to support her. Avigail's eyes were red from crying, and she looked not at all like our Avigail, suddenly, but rather more like a woman in the mold of Yitra's mother. The sorrow of all this had transfigured her face, and she kept her gaze fixed on Silent Hannah and waited.