Eden (16 page)

Still the learned men muttered among themselves, ignoring everything else, clearly confused. And Eden knew why, for there was no simple answer as to whether the wild man of the river had been blessed by the Almighty or not.

Eden with her sharp ears could hear them arguing among themselves.

“If we say God anointed John of the River, then we must answer why did we not follow him or go to the river to be anointed like the others? We must answer for this. Why did we not go like the others who came to take his blessing and saw him and knelt as water touched their heads? But if we say the blessing was human-made, then we might as well say the blessing came from that jackass that John owned. If we say human-made, then all those who knelt before John will be angry with us, and we will be stoned in the streets, for John is their prophet. He who prophesized the coming of the One, this very one who stands before us now …”

At length none of the learned men could settle on what to say. Like the lamb chained to the altar by an iron collar, they had no answer and could not break free. So the lead rabbi among them simply said, “No, we don't know whether the man's words were human or divine, whether his anointing came from God or man or beast. No, none of us can say.”

And you could see his shame for his own answer. For if the Learned Ones could not find it in themselves to trust the man standing before them, why indeed should
anyone
—teacher, rabbi, holy man or mortal—trust
them
?

Eden's master nodded as if he had known as much all along. He quietly replied:

“Then neither will I tell you by what power I do what I do.”

And in that moment it seemed to Eden that her master spoke not in anger, but in sadness and regret, that in this matter of belief and authority, trust must take its own time. For only time itself could wear away the hard pit of doubt in these wise men of the temple.

Eden's master joined Judas and Maryam by the stone altar. The two still tugged at the iron chain and collar about the lamb's neck, unable to free the poor creature. But when Eden's master touched the iron band round the tiny lamb's neck, the collar fell away. And he kicked it into the straw.

“I'm free!” cried the littlest lamb as she shook herself, and the other lambs cried back. “I'm free! It's true! I'm free!”

“Yes,” Eden told the young lamb. “That much is true. You're free.”

Before the companions left the temple precinct, Eden saw the Hollow Man slide out of the shadows. He picked the iron collar off the bed of straw, pondered it for some moments and then looked about the temple compound, searching for another lamb.

I Know Where He Will Be

The streets of the city grew quiet, the stalls packed away and their awnings folded. The shop merchants locked their doors and many returned to their homes to prepare for the feast. In the late afternoon the walls were thrown into shadow while a few stragglers scurried along, trying to find shelter before the sun set.

The group passed through the final gate and beyond the city walls.

“Are we going somewhere?” the lamb from the temple altar asked. “Will they feed us? Is this night different from all other nights? Why do we hurry?”

“Perhaps this night is different,” Eden told the littlest lamb. “We hurry to get shelter before sunset. But do not fear. Our master has never let us starve, no matter how far we wander.”

And when the littlest lamb looked to the donkey, Samson nodded his long gray head. “It is true. We do not go hungry as long as we follow our master's path.”

Half a league from the city walls, Judas, the woman named Maryam and the others halted by a cluster of trees in the shoulder of a hill. Eden watched her master speak quietly to his companions. He bid them go no further, but await his return.

Judas drew apart from the others, sitting under heavy branches. For some moments he muttered to himself, arguing again. Suddenly he rose, hugging his cloak tight about him, his mind made up. Silently he turned from the companions under the trees and headed back to the city walls. Of all the companions only Samson and Eden noticed him go.

Samson looked up from his lambs. “Should we follow him? Do you think he wants company?” the donkey asked.

“He doesn't look lost, but he does look lonely,” Eden answered.

“Perhaps he is seeking more lambs to follow us,” the littlest lamb suggested.

But Eden shook her head. “Nothing down in the city for you,” she told them. “Just empty stone streets and other streets where crowds gather in anger at the world as Romans watch from the walls. If you go back now some soldier will mistake you for the garrison's dinner, and take you away.”

The littlest lamb hid behind Samson's legs, abashed. She did not want to be anyone's dinner.

“Don't fret,” Samson told her, “nothing will happen to you as long as you do not stray.” And Eden thought this the wisest thing she had ever heard the old gray donkey say. Now it was safe enough to leave Samson and his lambs in the stand of trees.

Silently Eden followed Judas down the wooded slope and back to the city.

No one missed them.

The man did not speak but seemed to welcome Eden's company, his loneliness like a heavy cloak. Every few steps he looked down at her as if his final companion might tell him the way. Yet his troubled mind was locked tight against her.

Eden could tell him nothing.

As the late-afternoon shadows crept along the ground before the city gates they came upon an angry group shouting at the Romans on the parapets above. Eden saw the Hollow Man scuttle from the shelter of the city walls to the safety of the angry rabble. Egging the mob once more, going from one person to another, whispering in their ears or prodding them, urging them, his soft words driving them like animals down the stone streets:

“To the temple!” he hissed. “To the priests! If they don't fear the Romans they should fear you! If they don't fear the Messiah, they shall fear you!”

Judas and Eden fell in among the throngs. At first man and animal were elbowed to the walls. Again someone stepped on Eden's paw and she yelped. But they reached the gates of the temple compound once more. Suddenly Judas veered off, dragging her by the collar. Free of the dangerous crowds he let Eden's collar go, still she hugged his side.

They darted down an empty alley, footsteps echoing off the cobblestones, then turned a sharp corner and halted before the temple compound wall.

No way forward, no way back.

An iron door with an iron grill stood in the stone—a postern door cut into the temple, where those who did not wish to be seen could come and go. Its grill was only wide enough for one face to peer out and one to peer in.

Judas paused. He touched the metal door.

His fingers entwined about the grill and he seemed to hang there for a moment, struggling to breathe.

A few feet away a figure sat cross-legged in the shadows, a beggar. The poor wretch uncovered the rags from his head and stared at Judas by the door. A few coins clinked in his begging bowl.

“You came just in time,” the beggar said. He nodded to the high temple wall. “They're waiting. They're expecting you.”

Judas stared hard at the creature squatting on the dirty paving stones, then looked away just as suddenly. And Eden knew who spoke from the temple wall. He needed no formal introduction, just as when they had first met on the edge of a cliff in the wilderness. The Hollow Man appeared anytime he wanted, anyplace he wanted. He could be in a thousand places, everywhere and nowhere, and no one could do anything to stop him.

The sound of the crowd rang faintly off the walls. At any moment they might charge around the corner. And suddenly Eden feared the mob would search them out in all their anger, trapping her and Judas in this blind stone alley. The dog could feel the man's troubled mind again, a fierce conflict within: whether to flee this horrible place, flee this creature sitting on the dirty pavement, or—

Seek sanctuary.

Judas knocked on the iron door and the blow echoed faintly into the temple corridor.

A dry voice came from within. “It's open.”

Judas pushed the heavy door and its greased hinges made no sound.

The man and the dog stood in a dark stone alcove at whose end stood another gateway whose door was barred like in a prison. Beyond the barred door a single oil lamp burned from a stone niche in a bare chamber, casting more shadow than light. Cloaked priests stood or sat on wooden benches, their faces hidden. Eden couldn't tell how many men, for the shadows beyond the barred gate seemed to hide their number, shifting from one to the next, so that she could not even tell which priest spoke. But she could tell what was true from what was false with each word spoken, as much from Judas as from the men in the bare stone chamber.

“You are from Galilee?” one priest asked.

“Near enough. I have come for the feast,” Judas replied. True.

There was a lengthy pause. Then one of the holy men asked:

“You follow him?”

“First from the river, almost the beginning.” True.

“You witnessed the magic?” another holy man asked.

“I saw what I saw.” True.

Then a third priest cleared his throat:

“Will no one among you, will
any of you
who follow him, save him?
Not one
?”

Judas did not answer.

Then another priest with a drier voice:

“Can you not save him from himself?”

Again, Judas did not answer, but shivered inside. True or false?

Could he? Could anyone save their master from himself?

He did not know.

“I know where he will be,” Judas said at last.

True.

A long silence groped across the dark chamber until it found a resting place.

“That's all we needed,” said the dry voice within.

True.

Then after an even longer pause:

“We only wish to save him from himself …”

False.

The empty voices in the stone chamber only wished to save themselves.

There was nothing more to say. Judas retreated out the metal door and Eden heard it shut with a soft metal clang. They stood once more in the blind alley. At their feet lay a small drawstring purse. She sniffed it. Coins.

“Go on,” the beggar said. “The ones inside left it for you. Pick it up.”

Afraid to touch the ugly purse, Judas took it by the drawstring.

“Bring it here,” the poor wretch said. Judas dangled it before the face of the beggar, more than ready to give it to him if only the wretch would reach out and take it. The dirty Hollow Man touched the edges of the purse then drew his fingers away as if unclean.

“No, you found it, you keep it.”

Judas hesitated.

“Give it to the others if you want,” the beggar man urged. “Your friends need it too.”

Judas clutched the body of the purse.
Yes, keep it
.

And the wretch smiled, more satisfied than ever. He presented his begging bowl with a toothless grin. Two stones knocked hollowly in the wooden bowl, a white stone and a black, but neither showed their insides.

“The purse has to be worth more than these,” the Hollow Man said with a low chuckle:

“More than my two stones …”