Second Touch (14 page)

he told me. I wanted to go home to my parents. Talk to them. Bring them. But they ¬don’t want to come.” Peniel tried to cover his nose from the stench without Jekuthiel noticing. He coughed. “¬I’m going to find him. . . .” “Find? You’ll take . . . take . . . me . . . too?” Peniel coughed again, resisted the impulse to gag. Sitting beside the leper was something akin to stumbling over a dead cat in an alleyway. “Take you?” The thought was like scooping up the dead cat and carrying it in to supper. “So long . . . I’ve been . . . looking. Praying . . .” Guilt. Poor creature. Peniel considered the leper’s words. Did lepers pray? And could the Lord hear the prayers of those who were so stricken by the judgment of the Almighty? If Peniel was seen in the company of a leper, he would be unclean also. Prevented from going to the Teacher. And yet . . . “Where have you come from?” “Mak’ob.” “No one ¬ever leaves the Valley of Mak’ob,” Peniel argued. “I have . . . no other hope . . . to find . . . the one . . . we heard about. Rabbi . . . sent me . . . four months . . . no luck. Will die soon. . . . Will you . . . help?” He leaned closer. Too close. Rancid breath turned Peniel’s stomach. Peniel covered his eyes with his hands as the setting moon slid from behind a cloud, revealing again the horrific visage of the one who had saved him. So this was seeing! As if smelling them was not bad enough! Take him? What choice did Peniel have? He was obligated. And yet, what if he caught the sickness? “I owe you my life,” Peniel agreed. And then, “But, please, ¬don’t come too near me. I beg you. No closer. I fear your disease more than any other thing. I’ve heard the lepers moaning outside the camps and . . . not so close. ¬I’m sorry.” “But . . . you’ll take . . . me?” “Yes.” The leper nodded once and moved away, settling at the base of a monument ten or so paces from Peniel. The creature curled into a lump of rags. Soon the rattle of unnatural snoring filled the air. Peniel did not sleep as the constellations spun away above his head.

9 At dawn the Gennath Gate opened with a shrieking complaint of hinges. Bawling camels and cursing drovers pushed past vigilant, unsympathetic guards. Pilgrims, beginning homeward journeys and anxious to put miles of dusty travel behind them before the heat of the day, chafed at the delay. Leaning across a headstone marking the resting place of the Motola family, Peniel studied the scene.

A few yards inside the gate, Peniel saw the beleaguered sentries still searching for him among departing travelers. New arrivals into the Holy City were waved through with barely a glance. It was possible. Just possible, Peniel thought. He could reenter the city openly, return to his beggar friends beneath the viaduct, and come out after nightfall by way of the hidden culvert. Peniel smelled Jekuthiel before he heard him, knew the leper stood ¬only feet behind him. “I have to go back.” Peniel turned round. The leper’s face was swathed up to the eyes. Shrouded, like a corpse. “You . . . promised . . . take . . . me to Messiah.” “I will. I promise,” Peniel pledged. “But in the night it came to me. There are others inside the city. ¬I’m sent, see? Have to go back for them. Take the cobra by the tail, if you take my meaning. I thought it all out in the night. My dream. I ¬don’t want to go back, but I have to, see?” The eyes of the leper remained locked on Peniel’s for a time, judging what he saw there. “Back? Crazy.” “Yes. Point taken. All the same. I’ve got very good friends living ¬under the viaduct. And now that I can see . . . see? Well, maybe I was thinking of ¬everything all wrong. I thought it was Mama and Papa. But maybe he meant the others. Understand?” The leper shook his head from side to side. “You . . . just . . . going . . . to leave me, eh?” “I’ll come back. Unless ¬I’m nabbed by Eglon and nailed to a tree. But look there. The guards are searching ¬everyone coming out. Nobody going in. They’d never suspect that once I got away I’d want to go back in again.” “They’ll . . . wring your . . . neck . . . like a chicken.” “Point taken. But see, they’ve given up looking for me at Papa’s workshop. That means they won’t be looking for me anymore among the beggars beneath the viaduct. I can go back. Fetch as many as can walk. And I won’t be going back to the Teacher empty-handed.” “They’ll . . . cut . . . off your . . . hands . . . to make you . . . squawk.” “It’s possible. But what else have I got to lose?” “Lose? . . . Everything. You’ll look . . . worse than . . . me . . . if the Temple Guards get . . . hold of you. A rooster . . . changed into . . . a hen.” “Descriptive. Yes. Well spoken. But it all came to me last night. ¬I’m sitting on this gravestone, and I told the Almighty if he would let me live till morning I’d go back for them.” “You go . . . back . . . in there . . . you’ll never come out. And who . . . will help me?” “Stay here. Pray. That’s all. Maybe I’ll come back. If not, it means we’re both going to die and that’s the end of our story.” “Then . . . here.” Jekuthiel produced a canvas sack from beneath his robe and from it withdrew a dark green cloak. “Take this,” he offered. “Disguise.”

A leper’s cloak? How could Peniel even touch it, much less wear it? He drew back as if it were a snake. “No. Thank you very much but . . . no, thanks. But I will come back.” “Scared, eh? Take the . . . cobra . . . by the tail. It’s clean . . . never worn.” “Well, then.” Peniel winced and put it on. He itched, but just maybe a different cloak would save him. “Thanks, friend.” The leper nodded once and did not speak again. He slumped down in the shade of a sepulchre to wait. At the back of the cemetery Peniel slipped over the wall. He emerged from beneath a pair of hills alongside the Caesarea road. No one saw him leave the graveyard. Several wagonloads of barley were en route to Jerusalem, and behind these came a herd of goats being driven to market. Peniel joined the procession between the two groups, able to slip forward or back as circumstances required. Just one more traveler on the highway. Just another ¬Jewish pilgrim arriving at the Center of the World. And then a commotion at the gate: Two sentries pounced on a young man close to Peniel’s age. He resisted. They clubbed him to the ground, trussed him up, and hauled him away. “Halt!” soldiers ordered a merchant. “You there! Unload your stock! All of it!” They opened ¬every container. The searchers rummaged through the contents, as if Peniel might be hiding inside. Madness! Peniel pulled out of the flow and looked over his shoulder. Why did the cemetery seem so much farther away in daylight? A guard atop the parapet stared down at him. Peniel, near panic, forced himself not to run. No choice now. Had to go forward. Goatherds. Peniel faded back to walk alongside them. “What’s all this, then?” one of them complained loudly. “Figure on catching rebels in broad daylight, do they?” “Here, you,” a guard sergeant bellowed. Peniel’s heart sank. Trembling, he pivoted toward the command. “Yes, you!” The sentry pointed to a teenage boy hefting one of the poles of a rich woman’s litter. The matron shrieked, asking by what right he held up the progress of the household of Demetrius of Tyre. “I ¬don’t care if you’re mighty Caesar’s grandmother herself,” was the shouted reply. “This one goes nowhere till I say, got it?” The gate jammed. No one advancing. None turning back. Wagons and carts, foot traffic and horseback, all piled up. A pair of goats seized the opportunity to jump atop the barley wagon. A fight broke out between the carters and the drovers. “Enough!” the guard sergeant barked. “Nobody leaves Yerushalayim till I say. Clear a path there! Clear a path. Now, all of you going into the city,

get on with you! Speed it up! Go!” The sentries at Jerusalem’s northern portal did not spare a second glance at Peniel in his new green cloak. Harried, cursing, and sweating as they searched for a youth trying to escape Jerusalem, they missed their quarry altogether. Peniel nodded and waved as he walked past a trio of guards and back into the den of vipers that was Jerusalem.

The minyan of ten lepers was chosen by lot right after morning prayers. The list was varied. The ¬only requirement was strength and willingness to go. Cantor was the chief delegate. Carpenter was second in command. The two Cabbage Sisters, each of whom had lost ears and joints of fingers. Fisherman, who had no nose and had lost his eyebrows and right ear. Crusher of the vinegrowers was in the early stages, as were the four young Torah scholars from the camp of the boys. And so it was settled. Citizens of the Valley donated various foods and a coin or two where they could be found. In a day or two at the most, the minyan of lepers would be ready to travel. ¬I’m praying again, God Who Knows ¬I’m Afraid. Afraid. Of what? Of being left alone forever? Of never seeing Cantor again? Of losing the dreams I have dared to dream about being his wife? Yes! All those things I fear more than if he never finds the Messiah! I am more afraid of this than I am of finding out we have no hope of deliverance! Do you hear me, God Who Knows ¬I’m Afraid? Do you? What if Cantor never ¬comes back to me? Lily did not share her trepidation as she watched Cantor pack his meager supplies in his rucksack. If he sensed her fears he did not mention it or seek to console her. “I’ll leave Hawk with you.” “I ¬don’t know how to handle him. Not without you.” “Hawk fancies you.” “I ¬can’t hunt with him . . . not unless you’re here.” “You can. You will. It’ll all be fine. He’ll come when you whistle.” “What if he ¬doesn’t?” “He will. We trained him together. He’ll come to you as quickly as to me.” “But . . . the wedding . . .” “I’ll be back before you know it!” “But, Cantor . . . what if . . .” “There’s no what if . . . ¬only when. And when I get back we’ll be married just like we’ve planned. By then the baby will be big enough. Deborah back on her feet. We’ll be married.” He smiled and touched her cheek. His red hair glistened in the sunlight. Eyes seemed feverish. “Are you feeling well?” “Well enough!” “You’re glad to be going.” “Think of it, Lily! What if we find him? What if he ¬really is the one? Think! Lily! You and I can leave this Valley and never look back!”

“You’ll come back for me. I mean . . . if . . . you won’t forget . . . us.” Her chin trembled. He wrapped his arms around her. “Never. Never. Forget you? I’ll be back. One way or the other. I promise I won’t forget.” Just as Jekuthiel had left Deborah, Cantor was leaving Lily for the Outside in search of a dream. Perhaps, like Jekuthiel, Cantor would never come back. For the second time in her life, Lily was terrified.

Peniel was hungry. He made his way to the foot of the causeway leading onto the Temple Mount. Silver trumpets inside the Temple signaled the procession of Levites, choir, and high priest. The roar of worshippers swelled up and rolled over the walls that enclosed the platform. Resisting the urge to ascend the bridge and enter the Temple grounds, Peniel drew aside into a shadow and considered his next move. Beneath the viaduct was the colony of the outcasts. Would he be recognized? Coming through a crowded gate ignored by harried guards who’d never met him was one thing, but how to approach those who knew him? What if they reacted like Mama had? threatened to turn him in? Peniel examined the open palms of his hands. Long slender fingers. He wondered what his face looked like. Other people might recognize him easily enough, though he could not recognize himself. He kept the tail of the keffiyeh wrapped around his head. He gazed longingly at the Temple Mount. How often had he sat outside Nicanor Gate and held up his begging bowl as men entered the Court of the Israelites? “I would have liked to see the Beautiful Gate just once more before I leave.” He shrugged. “But I ¬don’t fancy dying for it.” Sun glinted on the gold-capped pinnacles of the structure. Peniel shielded his eyes from the glare. It was so much bigger, so much grander than he had imagined. But the glory of Herod’s construction had not healed Peniel. Nor had priestly benedictions. Not the sacrifices. Nor the trumpets. Not processions, nor priests, nor alms. Yeshua wielded a power more glorious than could be contained in the white stone and gilded cornices of Jerusalem. Such might was never meant to be hoarded, but must be shared. “Lord, I gave my word. How can I follow you unless I bring someone else? But who?” Behind him, from the causeway, came the familiar bump and scrape of Gideon, the lame. “Peniel!” An old friend. “Peniel! Brother beggar!” Even from the back and dressed in the green cloak Peniel could be recognized? A new wave of fear swept over him. Gideon had been good company, though they had fallen out because Peniel called Yeshua Et Ha-or, “the Light,” after it had been forbidden by the Sanhedrin’s edict. What did Gideon think now? Peniel turned to face him. Gideon was young. Perhaps a year or two older than Peniel. Not much. The perfect mendicant. Skinny. Underfed. Ridiculous tangle of dirty blond hair. Beard wild and wiry. Teeth yellowed with a gap

in front. Wide forehead, large ears. Ragged, dirty clothes. Smooth, twisted walking stick. The right leg spindly and useless. Foot turned inward. Peniel put the face with the familiar voice of Gideon. Everything matched perfectly. Peniel held his breath to see what would follow. Would Gideon call for the guards? Gideon gawked then stammered, “B-bless me, I thought you was somebody else! You look enough like him to be himself. I see now you’re not blind. I see you’re not him at all. I mean no disrespect.” “Gideon!” Peniel cried out, rushed to him, and embraced him. “Sure! Gideon! Brother! I am myself! I am Peniel! Like you thought I was!” Gideon took some convincing. “If you’re Peniel, then how did we last part company?” “Badly. A religious disagreement.” Gideon’s cheek muscle twitched. “How . . . how . . . do you know that?” “How else?” “But . . . a fine pair of brown eyes. How?” They sat together on the parapet of the bridge as Peniel explained from start to finish what had happened between last Shabbat and today. “The Temple Guards came snooping about. Looking for someone named Peniel. And I heard about a miracle and someone named Peniel, but, bless me,” Gideon said, “I never thought it was you! I mean, miracles ¬don’t come to the likes of us now, do they?” Gideon examined his face and whispered conspiratorially, “You’re a fool for staying in Yeru¬shalayim after they’ve passed judgment on you! They can gouge out those new eyes of yours, you know. Easier to make you blind again than to have to explain away what Yeshua did for you! Not safe for you here!” “¬I’m leaving Yerushalayim. I am! Come with me!” “Where?” “The Galil. He’s there.” Gideon glanced cautiously up at the Temple edifice. “They won’t take kindly to it. You know what they say around here.” “They’ll never miss you.” “That’s true enough.” “I’ll take you to him! Gideon! He’ll fix your foot.” “Even after I tossed you out?” “Sure.” “After what I said about you being a fool for speaking out in his defense and all?” “Forgotten.” “They’d like to keep us poor folk in line. Hush up the ones like you.” “He’ll straighten your leg right out!” “Make us march to their drum. A Roman drumbeat it is.” “If he can give me eyes to see, then he’ll give you straight legs to walk on!” “The people of Yerushalayim are afraid to openly declare he’s a prophet.