I stood on the dry grass beneath the vault of Heaven. I was small. I was isolated and weary. "Lord," I said aloud to the faint breeze. "How long?"
Chapter Seven
TWO LANTERNS WERE BURNING in the courtyard and that was cheerful. I was glad to see it, glad to see my nephew Little Cleopas and his father, Silas, at work on cutting a series of planks. I knew what this was, and it had to be done by tomorrow.
"You look tired, both of you," I said. "Stop now, and I'll do this. I'll cut the wood."
"We can't let you do it," Silas said. "Why should you finish it all alone?" He gestured ominously towards the house. "It has to be done tonight."
"I can do it tonight," I said. "I'm glad to do it. I want to be alone just now with something to do. And Silas, your wife is waiting for you in the doorway. I just saw her. Go on."
Silas nodded and he went off home up the hill. He lived with his wife in the house of our cousin Levi, who was his wife's brother. But Silas' son, Little Cleopas, lived with us.
Little Cleopas gave me a quick embrace and went into the house.
There was plenty of light from the lanterns to see what had to be done here, and the lines drawn had to be perfectly straight. I had the tool for it, the bit of broken pot to mark it. Seven lines to be drawn.
Up came Jason walking into the yard.
His shadow fell over me. I smelled wine.
"You've been avoiding me, Yeshua," he said.
"That's nonsense, my friend," I said. I laughed. I went on with my work. "I've been doing whatever needs to be done. I haven't seen you. Where have you been?"
He paced as he talked. I saw his shadow sharply on the flagstones. He had a cup of wine in his hand. I could hear him take a drink.
"You know where I've been," he said. "How many times have you come up the hill and sat on the floor beside me and insisted I read to you? How many times have I told you the news from Rome and you've hung on every word?"
"That's in summer, Jason, when the days are longer," I said mildly. I carefully drew a straight line.
"Yeshua, the Sinless, you know why I call you this?" he insisted. "It's because everyone loves you, Yeshua, everyone, and no one can bear to love me."
"Not so, Jason. I love you. Your uncle loves you. Almost everyone loves you. You're not hard to love. But sometimes you're hard to understand."
I moved the plank and laid down the next.
"Why doesn't the Lord send rain?" he demanded.
"Why ask me?" I replied, without looking up.
"Yeshua, there are many things I've never told you, things I didn't think bore repeating."
"Perhaps they don't."
"No, I'm not talking about the stupid gossip in this village. I'm talking about other stories, old stories."
I sighed and sat back on my heels. I stared forward beyond him, beyond his slow pacing in the flickering light. He wore beautiful sandals. His sandals were exquisitely made and studded with what appeared to be gold. The tassels of his robe brushed me as he turned and moved like an anxious animal.
"You know I lived with the Essenes," he said. "You know I wanted to be an Essene."
"You've told me," I said.
"You knew I knew your kinsman John bar Zechariah when I lived with the Essenes," he went on. He took another drink.
I decided to try to draw another straight line.
"You've told me this many times, Jason," I said. "Have you had any news from your friends among the Essenes? You'd tell me, wouldn't you, if someone had word of my cousin John."
"Your cousin John's in the wilderness, that's all anyone ever says, in the wilderness, living off the wild things. Nobody's seen him this year at all. Nobody really saw him last year. A man told another man who told another man perhaps he'd seen your cousin John."
I started to draw the line.
"But you know, Yeshua, I never told you everything your cousin told me when I was there living with the community."
"Jason, you have many things on your mind. I scarcely think my cousin John has much to do with it, if he has anything at all." I was trying to draw the line. The line wasn't straight. I took a rag, knotted it, and rubbed at the mark. I'd cut a little too deep, but I kept at it.
"Oh, yes, your cousin John has plenty to do with it," he said, stopping in front of me.
"Move to the left, you're in the light."
He reached around, picked up the lantern by its hook, and set it down right in front of me.
I sat back again, but I didn't look at him. The light was in my eyes.
"All right, Jason, what is it you want to tell me now about my cousin John?"
"I have a mind for poetry, don't I?"
"Without doubt." I rubbed gently at the mark, and watched it slowly fade from the wood. The wood took on a slight luster.
"This is what makes me pick at you," he said, "the words that John entrusted to me, the litanies that he carried in his heart - about you. These litanies he had from his mother's own lips and he recited them each day as he recited the Shema with all Israel, but these litanies were his private prayers. You know what these words were?"
I thought for a moment. "I don't know that I do," I said.
"Very well, then, let me tell you."
"Seems you're determined to do that."
He crouched down now. What a picture he was with his beautifully oiled black hair and his large scowling eyes.
"Before John's birth, your mother came to his mother. She was near Bethany then, and her husband, Zechariah, was still alive. They didn't kill Zechariah till after John was born."
"Yes, this is the story," I said. I went back to trying to draw the line, correctly this time, no mistakes. I cut into the wood with the sharp bit of pottery.
"Your mother told John's mother of the angel who'd come to her," Jason said, leaning close to me.
"Everyone in Nazareth knows that story, Jason," I said, and continued to draw the line.
"No, but your mother," he said, "your mother, standing there in the open space, with her arms around John's mother, your mother, your quiet mother who says so little so seldom, at that moment, she broke into a hymn. She looked beyond to the hills where the prophet Samuel was buried, and from the ancient words of Hannah, she made her hymn."
I stopped my work. I looked up slowly at him.
His voice came reverent and low, and his face was open and kind.
" 'My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior. Because He has looked upon the lowliness of His handmaid. Behold, from now on, all ages will call me blessed. The mighty One has done marvelous things for me; and holy is His name. His mercy is from age to age to those who fear Him. He's shown might with His arm, scattering the arrogant of mind and heart. He's thrown down rulers from their thrones but lifted up the humble. The hungry He's filled with good things. The rich He's sent away empty. He has had mercy on Israel His servant, remembering His mercy, according to His promise to our fathers. . . .' "