Second Touch (15 page)

These religious sorts ¬don’t like prophets from the Lord much! Look what Antipas did to the Baptizer.” Gideon drew his finger slowly across his throat. “Come on, Gideon!” “I’ve never been outside Judea. Never been outside Yerushalayim, if you must know.” “Don’t be scared!” “Galil. It’s a long way to walk. Uphill.” Gideon rubbed his bad leg like it was an old dog who might not be able to walk so far. “I’ll help you!” “Galilean pilgrims always have sore feet after the walk from the Galil. I hear them grumble. Makes for good opening conversation. They show me their blisters. I show them my crippled leg. There’s usually a coin or two in it for me. A long walk.” “I’ll carry you on my back if I have to. And after you see him you’ll be able to run and skip back to Yerushalayim if you want to come back.” “They’ll pinch you on the way out the gate. Searching ¬everyone I hear.” “I know another way out. After dark.” “Well then. Another way out? We can rest beneath the viaduct till nightfall.” “Is it safe?” “They ¬haven’t been back in a couple of days. They ¬don’t like to poke around our hovels. Safe enough. Here! That’s a fine cloak you’re wearing. Where’d it come from? Have you turned thief?” “A gift.” Peniel thought about Jekuthiel, decided not to mention they’d be traveling with a leper—not yet. Nor did it seem wise to go in and out again, increasing the risk. This seemed like a sensible idea. “You’re dressed too fine for Peniel. I’ll make up a story about you. You’re not you at all.” “Sure. Then we can set out tonight.” “You’ll have to keep quiet about where we’re headed. The others—the beggars beneath the viaduct—are scared of the authorities. Turn you in for speaking up for Yeshua. You’ll be arrested. Then we’ll never be able to leave.” “Tonight. Then, like a couple of stones from a sling . . .” Gideon jangled pennies in his pocket. “Hungry?” Peniel put a hand to his belly. It seemed a very long time since he had eaten. “Hungry. Yes.” “Good day for alms today. Enough to spare.” Gideon threw an arm over Peniel’s shoulder. The two set out. “Cheese and dates for supper. Apples. Bread. Food enough to take with us on our journey. Come morning I’ll let you guide me to this miracle worker. Then we’ll see if he’s as clever with a dead foot as he’s been with those brown eyes of yours. Solemn and sincere as a faithful dog’s, your eyes! He fashioned them very fine. As fine a pair of matching brown eyes as ¬ever I saw plugged into a face. Are you pleased with the way they’ve turned out?” Peniel touched his index finger to his eyelid and blinked rapidly in

demonstration. “They work very well.” Gideon leaned in close to study them. “He’s added a bit of gold there. Near the center. I saw a horse with eyes that color once.” Peniel supposed this was a compliment. He thanked Gideon as the two set off.

They left the souk with cheese and dates. Peniel sensed the danger, heard it, before he saw the Temple Guard approach. Men on horseback. Men who meant business. Behind Gideon came the tramp of hobnailed boots and iron-shod hooves on the street. A dozen. Two dozen. Marching as if to war. Peniel heard them well before they were in sight. The back of his neck prickled with fear. Gideon hissed. “Peniel? You’ve gone white as a shroud.” Peniel took Gideon’s arm and turned away from the approaching soldiers. “Nothing. They’re just . . . I ¬can’t be seen, that’s all.” Gideon’s eyebrows arched, and his mouth formed a small O of ¬understanding. “Here! Here, then. Lean on my stick. That’s it. Limp. I’ll lean on your arm.” The two hobbled away as the soldiers rumbled past at a clip. The cloud of dust stung Peniel’s eyes. He watched as the troops retreated down the road toward the Sheep Gate. “Yes.” Gideon sucked his teeth. “Doesn’t take a blind man to see what they’re after. If we wait long enough in Yerushalayim, they’ll come back with Yeshua in chains.” “A ray of sunlight, your brain.” Gideon pantomimed the stabbing, the garroting, the slitting of a throat. “After they do whatever they’ve a mind to do to him, they’ll make you blind as a post again.” He finished his play by acting out a knife gouging out eyes. Peniel chewed his lip. “Ah, Gideon. You always were an optimist.” “Well then. Much good it’ll do me to have your Rabbi heal my leg if they break both my legs afterwards on a Roman cross.” “You’re right,” Peniel apologized. This had all been a stupid idea, putting more people at risk than just himself. “I should be alone. Anyone seen with me is in danger.” He saluted Gideon and jogged away quickly in the opposite direction of the soldiers. Gideon called him back. “Wait! Wait! Fool! Come back!” Peniel wheeled around. “What?” Gideon hobbled after him, lowered his voice. “It came to me. See? While you were running off like that. You know. Running off to your Rabbi.” “Just running off.” “Yes. Well, if I go with you . . . after I got my leg fit and strong? I could run. I could run away, see. They’d have a time catching me. I’ve dreamed of running. Maybe it’s worth the risk. Maybe.” “Yes. Maybe.” “So? Will you still take me with you then?”

Peniel would be grateful for the company. “Sure. Yes. Sure.”

It was washday in the Valley of Mak’ob. Water drawn from the well, boiled in enormous cauldrons. Women and children who were able to do the work gathered at the trough with bundles of dirty clothes and bandages and gossiped as they scrubbed. Lily was grateful for a chore to keep her mind off Cantor’s impending departure. She knelt beside the wash stone and pounded Deborah’s shift. Two women, Widow and Old Thing, discussed the minyan’s quest. Widow cast a furtive glance toward Lily. “Tomorrow morning they’re leaving. Imagine! Going Outside!” Old Thing concurred. “Outside, Samaritan mercenaries patrol the top of the cliffs. Looking for the likes of us, they are. Looking for any who might try to leave. Kill the likes of us, they do, if we try to leave.” “Aye. Dangerous for our kind out there. They’ll stone you first and ask questions later. What do you think, Lily? Scared for Cantor, are you?” Though Lily did not want Cantor to leave her, she was cautious in her reply. Old Thing and Widow were the yentas of the Valley, spreading and enlarging on ¬every word until it became unrecognizable. “Those who’re chosen to go were given a choice. Don’t have to go.” “Cantor’s got them all stirred up,” Old Thing argued. “Excited by the thought of the journey. Four of the ten are just boys. Bar mitzvah age. Practically children. Barely old enough to know how to think. He’s got them all stirred up.” Lily added solemnly, “I’d go if I was picked. If I ¬didn’t need to stay here with Deborah.” “Not me,” Old Thing countered. “All nonsense. Nothing Outside for the likes of us. Our ¬only hope is to live here best we can and die when death ¬comes knocking. You get used to it after a few years. I ¬wouldn’t want to leave. Nothing for me Outside.” Lily argued, “But what if . . .” Old Thing slapped a wet shift hard against the rubbing stone. “There’s no what if . . . ¬only them that lives Outside Mak’ob and those of us that live Inside. It’s the Law. We ¬don’t mix with them, and they ¬don’t hurt us. We stay put, ¬don’t cause trouble, and by the charity they send each new moon there’s food enough to live until we die.” Widow worked on her clothes. “And we’re better off for it. Being left alone. Yes. A poor widow’s got better sympathy Inside than Outside. Them as is Outside have no mercy.” From across the trough came a halting question from a young woman whose face had dissolved away. “But . . . what about . . . this Messiah . . . they’re going . . . to hunt for?” Old Thing, who had lived in Mak’ob longer than anyone, cried, “Messiah? Nonsense! What about him? Even if he exists! So what if he heals a blind man? or a cripple? What’s that compared to the likes of us? Living dead,

that’s what they call us Outside. If this Prophet’s a righteous man, he’ll never come near the likes of us. It’s the Law! If he ¬comes near or so much as touches one of us, he’s declared unclean by the rabbis. Then who’d listen to him?” Widow, whose husband had been a scholar, agreed. “True. True. The Law makes it clear. The prophet Elisha, when he healed Naaman the Syrian? Elisha ¬didn’t even come out of the house. Sent his servant to give the instructions. We contaminate ¬everything we come near. When you’ve lived Inside long enough, you forget what it’s like Outside. How the Outside people treat lepers. This Valley’s the ¬only place on earth where we ¬aren’t required to shout our shame at the top of our lungs.” Old Thing probed Lily’s thoughts. “So? Lily? What do you think about all this? Your dear Cantor leading the minyan to the Outside and all? And Jekuthiel never bothering to come back? Deborah, alone up there. Waiting. Waiting.” Lily beat the cloth harder on the stone, attempting to scrub the smell of leprosy from the fibers. Impossible task. The stink would return the instant it touched the leprous sores again. Lily said, “Safety in numbers.” “Why! Them as is Outside would just as soon kill ten lepers as kill one trying to come out,” Widow said. “They’ll think it’s a rebellion!” She cackled. Lily suppressed her anger. “I’d go. If I could. Yes. I’d go back Outside. In a minute I’d go if it ¬wasn’t for needing to care for Deborah and Baruch. Go with Cantor and never mind what happened.” Widow was snide. “Deborah told us you still talk about your mother and father when you sleep.” Lily frowned. “Maybe I do.” Widow shoved the knife deeper. “Not thinking about trying to go back home, are you, girl? You ¬can’t ¬ever go home again once you’re declared tsara.” Lily wrung out the water from the shift as if it were Widow’s neck and shrugged. “Dreaming and planning are two different things.” Widow’s comeback stung Lily. “You know that as well as anyone, dearie. Dreaming and planning, eh? How long you and Cantor been dreaming of being wed?” Emboldened by her friend’s cruel remark, Old Thing said, “Aye. That Cantor of yours is a dreamer who ¬doesn’t know the difference. Ought to stay here and wed you. Have a few weeks or months of happiness before one of you dies anyway. What’s he trying to prove? Isn’t it enough that Jekuthiel’s lost? Never coming back? Shouldn’t have gone Outside. Not with a wife and a baby on the way. Isn’t it enough? Sanity ¬comes by accepting our fate. Accepting the fact that God has no sense of what’s fair. What did I ¬ever do to deserve such punishment? But here I am. Messiah indeed! They’re chasing after shadows.” Lily would not argue further. “We’re all in the hands of El Olam, the Eternal God.” She loaded her wet clothes into a basket and hiked back toward the cave.

Saying nothing, watching ¬everything, Avel and the two other boys followed Zadok on his final rounds. Today they were leaving the flocks and herds of Migdal Eder forever. Zadok, Avel, Emet, and Ha-or Tov spoke little of their loss. The old man was leaving behind a lifetime of memories. His three adopted boys were saying farewell to the ¬only place that had ¬ever been home. The morning had begun like always. Avel was not surprised that Zadok was up before dawn, since that was his habit. But the very ordinariness of the day was surprising. The sun rose over hills and pastures of sheep and shepherds. Where once heavenly choirs had sung to herald Messiah’s birth, now cicadas clicked in the sage. Birds flew overhead in the same sky where archangels had soared and the great star had shone so brightly. How could life go on when it felt as though life was coming to an end? Avel, long-faced, poked at breakfast. He ate without tasting. The bunches of lavender still hung from the rafters where Zadok’s wife had placed them to dry the night before she died. Emet nudged Avel as the old shepherd reached up to break off a sprig and held it to his nose.

For an instant, an image threatened to overwhelm Zadok. He gazed solemnly around the room where they had lived together. Where their little sons had died at the hands of Herod’s soldiers. Where Zadok and Rachel, after they had wept together, had somehow rebuilt a life. How to capture a lifetime in one last, long look? Suddenly conscious of the miserable stares of the young threesome, Zadok cleared his throat, blustered about something being ill packed, and strode from the house. From all that had been his life. And so the Chief Shepherd spent most of the morning in the limestone lambing caverns on the ridge above the Tower of the Flock. Zadok went from stall to stall, with Lev following close behind. “This one’ll do right well,” Zadok noted, indicating a pregnant ewe who bulged sideways as wide as she stood tall. At the next pen he suggested, “This one’ll bear watchin’. Triplets last time, y’ remember. Apt to do it again, I fancy.” Out of the corner of his eye, Zadok saw a puzzled look on Avel’s face. Evidently, Zadok’s attention to detail and obvious concern for the routine matters of the flock were confusing Avel. The Chief Shepherd was issuing orders and handing out advice as if he were not going anywhere. Ordinary. So ordinary. As if his great heart were not breaking. As if the injustice of this expulsion did not eat at his soul and rage within him. When they reached the end of the row of stalls Avel asked him, “Like ¬every other day?” “Tomorrow,” Zadok said, “it’ll be on someone else’s shoulders. It won’t be my lookout anymore. But while I remain in charge here, if it’s ¬only hours, I won’t shirk nor give less than my best.”

At the entry to the cave a deputation of shepherds waited for Zadok to emerge. They had come to honor the old man. To say farewell. “Master Zadok,” offered a shepherd named Joel, “we all come here to say to you . . . well, we want you to know, sir . . . it’s not right what they’re doing to you—putting you out and all. And sending down someone from Yerushalayim to take your place! It’ll never work out. We’ll see to that. We’ll send him packing in a fortnight.” “Aye,” agreed another gruffly. “He’ll leave double-quick, or likely find an adder in his bed.” An ¬undercurrent of approving laughter was smothered when Zadok lashed out. “Never!” he bellowed. “I won’t hear of it! Y’ will serve your new master better than y’ ¬ever served me or I’ll come back and whip you myself!” The shepherds shuffled uneasily. Stared at their feet. Muttered that they meant no harm. No harm. Zadok clapped a broad calloused hand on each man’s shoulder in silent gratitude for their support and then said quietly, “Whose flocks do we care for here? Whose? Not the high priest’s nor the Sanhedrin’s nor any high— and-mighty Pharisee’s, but the lambs of the Lord Almighty himself. It is he alone I have served these two and fifty years. Avel, why do y’ cull the herd before y’ drive them to Temple?” Nervous at being called on in front of all the older herdsmen, Avel took a deep breath and replied, “Because ¬only spotless lambs can be brought to Yahweh. Only perfect lambs will do for the sacrifices.” “Just so,” Zadok agreed. “And tending them is no less important duty than any cohen who burns the sacred incense, any Levite singer, or the high priest himself! If any of y’ think otherwise, clear off now, today! Come with us if y’ cannot do your duty for the Lord.” “But, Master Zadok,” Lev protested, “it’s still not right.” Avel saw a rare thing: A new crease appeared on Zadok’s face, at right angles to the ancient scar from forehead to jaw. It was a smile. “I thank y’ for your concern on my behalf, Lev,” Zadok admitted. “But I am following my Lord no less now in what I am about to do than in all I have done these three decades past. Remember our King David was a shepherd before ¬ever he was king. Hear what he wrote. ‘Commit your way to the Lord,’ ” Zadok quoted. “ ‘Trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.’ 22 He himself will do this,” Zadok rumbled. “It is not for me to show the justice of my cause or complain how I am abused. The sheep are his, my life is his, and what he chooses to do with either is for him to say. My ¬only concern is to commit my way and trust. All else is up to him. “And so, lads, y’ have been like sons to me. I shall not forget y’. No. Nor this place. Nor shall I deny all that I have lived to see here! For this reason alone I am put out. Because I have spoken the truth about the Lord and all the wonders of a single night thirty and two years ago! And I will not say it never happened. I dare to speak his name to those who would deny