Second Touch (5 page)

Wary of being spotted and arrested, due to Yeshua’s warning, Peniel followed the most obscure route from the Lower City to the Sheep Gate quarter. His face concealed except for his eyes, Peniel wandered through corridors he had never seen. It took hours to reach the street of the potter’s shop. The alleyway between the fishmonger’s stall and the cubicle occupied by the

tripe seller was cramped, smelly, and heaped with things better left unexamined. It was also in exactly the right location for Peniel to approach his father’s house unseen. A man’s voice spoke in gruff, no-nonsense tones of authority. Pauses were punctuated by Mama’s shrill protests. Balanced precariously on cobbles slimy with fish guts, Peniel closed his eyes to listen. “Why ask us?” Peniel’s mother argued. “We ¬don’t know where he is.” “He’s your son, ¬isn’t he? Don’t try to deny it,” the man’s voice challenged. “You admitted it yesterday.” “Yesterday! Yesterday he was; today we have no son. Peniel’s dead to us!” Peniel winced. Best to turn and run! But Peniel needed to see who was after him. Sight was a powerful new tool, not to be ignored. Bending low he peered around the corner from behind a heap of bones and scales. There were two Temple Guards. Peniel recognized them from yesterday’s interrogation. The third man, the one speaking, wore a different uniform. Brutish of face and body, he announced gruffly, “Now you listen to me. This ¬isn’t about who ¬hasn’t paid the Temple shekel or something. We’re talking prison, see? ¬I’m Eglon, chief officer of ¬Tetrarch Antipas. My lords Antipas and Caiaphas put me in charge of finding your son, and find him I will. Once more! Do you know where he is? Listen: It’ll go hard for you if you lie to me!” Peniel’s father stood with his arms folded across his chest. His chin tucked low. Face contorted with pain. Mama’s voice grew even more strident, matching Eglon’s in intensity. “If we knew? If? We’d be first to tell you! Isn’t that right, Yahtzar?” Peniel’s father mumbled something. Mama prodded him and he gave a jerk of his head. Peniel’s heart burst with the grief of it. Dead! Papa! Papa! Oh, Mama! He wanted to slink away but remained rooted to hear the rest. “Good, loyal citizens we are!” Mama added. “We’ll send word at once if there’s any news of his whereabouts. We’ll turn him in.” Eglon sneered. “Just the same, we’re posting a guard here to keep a lookout for him. You—” he said to one of the Temple Guards—“you stay here. And you —” he ordered the other—“go door-to-door. Stop ¬everyone close to the right age. Check their stories. Ask ¬everyone about the boy. Mention the reward.” Before the instructions were finished, Peniel shrank back into the shadows. How could he ¬ever go back home again? And yet if he had a chance . . . one more chance . . . to talk to Papa and Mama alone. Explain to them. He’d try again later.

3 It was midafternoon, still on the day of Shavuot. Cicadas hummed in the brambles beyond the well of Mak’ob. Cantor pulled up the bucket and poured the water into Lily’s jar. She felt his eyes lock upon her.

Her worried gaze followed the progress of a lone woman descending the switchback into the Valley. “So. Sarai’s coming down,” Cantor said sullenly. “After a night at the gatehouse with the Overseer. He’s an animal, that fellow.” “Yes.” “You want to talk about it?” “It’s nothing.” “Tell me what’s bothering you, then.” “I spoke to Sarai yesterday evening as she was on her way to the top. I asked her where she was going. Invited her to come eat supper with us. She spit on me.” “The Overseer’s harlots. Five of them. All separating themselves from those of us who are already separate. Outcasts among the outcasts. It’s almost laughable if it ¬wasn’t so pathetic. But you know how it is with that sort.” Lily sipped a cup of cool water. “I ¬don’t know what sort they are. They go up to the Overseer in the evening. Come down in the morning with extra things. Presents. ¬I’m sorry for them. So much I ¬don’t ¬understand.” Cantor was scornful. “What’s to ¬understand? They’re young. Their bodies still mostly intact. They stay the night with him. He ¬doesn’t care what they are if he’s drunk enough. All cows are black in the dark. He buys their bodies with food. Trinkets. They’ve sold their souls. Lowest of the low.” What did Cantor mean? How could a soul be bought? Lily did not pursue the discussion. Cantor clearly ¬understood what happened in the stone cottage at the gate of Mak’ob, but Lily did not. Lily felt sorry she had brought it up. “Sarai was such a frightened little girl when she first came to the Valley. And now? So hard. Suffering has made her so hard. She told me she hates God for making her a leper. And ¬I’m sorry for her, Cantor. And now ¬I’m angry that you judge her so harshly!” He fell silent at her rebuke. Then, a minute later, he began, “Yes. You’re right. You are. And I do pity her when I think about it. We’re all lepers. Growing numb, then breaking off bit by bit. But this disease ¬isn’t just about what happens to the outside of a person. No, Lily. A leper is the visible picture of what the human soul looks like when sin takes over a life. When a person becomes numb to sin, he is eaten alive by it. That’s why Outside people fear us so. Our bodies are the external image of corrupt souls. And yet I look at you and know it’s possible for a beautiful soul to live in spite of physical suffering.” “But ¬I’m not suffering, Cantor. Except, you know, my heart. When I think about Sarai and the others. And all the ones around me who are so lonely. So desperate that they’ll do anything . . . anything for a little happiness.” “Their souls are like their bodies.” “Can a soul be tsara? Can a heart have leprosy? Can the inner man be so

numb he no longer feels and so increases his injury day by day? God’s mercy could heal such a heart. I believe it. Forgive and heal. Restore the feeling. Bring back what is eaten away in us.” Cantor placed the jug on his shoulder, and they walked together back toward the cave. “Ah, Lily. My Lily. I should listen to you more often. Yes. You’re right. I was thinking about it last night. You know how we’ll die here one day. Fade away inside this Valley with the other outcasts. How our headstones will crumble. Our laughter and tears and worries will all vanish in the air. No one on earth who ¬comes after our time will even remember our names. Or care. Or know our stories. Believe we ¬ever existed. But here we are, walking away from this well. Lily and Cantor. Lepers of Mak’ob. Our stories will never be told. But it ¬doesn’t matter. Because ¬everyone . . . ¬everyone . . . who lives out an ordinary life in the outside world will also die. Each person’s physical body will become, in the grave, as we are now.” She said quietly, hoping, “Yet El Shaddai knows our names. Knows our stories. Lily. Cantor. He hears us when we cry to him.” Cantor agreed. “And one day we who have suffered in this Valley of Sorrow will stand alongside those who drove us away. Those who might have helped but turned from our suffering.” Lily imagined the moment. “They will see our souls, shining. Those who stoned us and hated us. Those who declared that we must deserve to suffer. Those who accused God of causing suffering! Accused God of causing the suffering of the children in the dying cave!” Cantor shifted the weight of the water jar. “Those who were blessed with whole and healthy bodies. Then they will be judged by how they used their gifts on earth. Their health and wealth.” Lily frowned. “Oh, Cantor, there are so many here who hurt worse than me. ¬I’m nothing in all this. All the little ones. Calling for their mothers in the night. ¬I’m nothing.” “You are ¬everything, Lily. Oh, that I could be more like you! Because when they cry out, you go to them and hold them as they die. Weep for them as if you were their mother.” “Because I hurt too.” “Yes. You feel. No leprosy in your heart, Lily. And think of this and be glad! You and I and all the little ones . . . our souls will stand as equals with ¬everyone who ¬ever lived. Yes! Stand before the Lord of heaven.” “I believe ¬every knee will bow before him. Every voice will proclaim his name. It’s all I have left to hold on to.”11 “Soul to soul. Yes. Equal. We will stand without these corrupted bodies. Our accusers will stand without their possessions or wealth or success or any of the things by which an earthly life is valued. Then the lives of all mankind will be reviewed by the One, the Righteous Judge.” Lily smiled. It was good to talk of olam haba, the life of the world to come. “Rabbi Ahava says on that day the Knower of Secrets will reveal

¬every secret thought. Every good deed will be rewarded and ¬every neglected kindness will be clearly seen. Beneath the gaze of the Lord, darkness will become light.” With his gentle hand Cantor touched Lily’s shoulder. “And we’ll know the truth of who among mankind was merciful and whole. And also whose half— eaten hearts were beating inside trivial existence. We’ll know who secretly blessed others. Helped the helpless. Touched the untouchables. No, more than that . . . who embraced the untouchables. Ah, Lily. My Lily. You will be the most beautiful soul of all . . . shining. I know I will see you on that day. And I am glad I came to this place and was allowed to love you.”

Late-afternoon shadows deepened in the Valley of Mak’ob as Lily made her way slowly toward the cave she shared with Deborah and Deborah’s seven— year-old son, Baruch. The shelter faced west, capturing the last rays of the sun. Cabbage soup simmered in a clay pot over the open fire. Deborah sat nearby. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, lips and face distorted by new sores. She squinted across the Valley toward the opposite slope of the cliff. A steep switchback snaked up a thousand feet to the Outside. She seemed not to notice Lily’s approach. Lily guessed that Deborah was slowly going blind. Deborah’s clawlike left hand rested on her belly as she murmured endearments to the baby within her. “He’ll come back. You’ll see your papa’s face first of all. He promised he’d come back to us before you are born.” The trail was empty. No one climbing up or coming down. Jekuthiel, absent almost four months, had not returned. “Deborah,” Lily hailed. “Where’s Baruch?” Deborah frowned, displaying some resentment that Lily had interrupted her reverie. “He stayed in the camp of the Torah Boys for the holiday. Last night and today. Midwife brought me soup.” “Did you rest? Midwife says you should rest. It’ll be soon, she says.” Deborah shrugged and half turned away. She fumbled with a stick and poked at the fire. “I dreamed.” Lily did not ask. Did not need to ask. Deborah continued, “I dreamed about Jekuthiel. He came back. He . . . he was . . . just like he used to be. Well. Whole. Handsome. I was sitting at the top.” She gestured upward. “I was Outside at the head of the switchback. Above the Valley. He was leading a procession . . . others with him. Up and up the trail. An unbroken line of people . . . no one sick . . . they were following him. Climbing, climbing. Up to the Outside. To see our baby.” “A good dream, then! Mazel tov! A good dream for Shavuot.” “A dream.” Deborah sighed. “What’s the difference? I woke up and here I am. Awake and living in the nightmare.” “A good dream all the same. Was I there?” Lily sat beside her. “I think so.”

“And Cantor? Was he with me? Were we married?” Deborah lifted her head in an attempt to make the vision clearer. “I ¬don’t know. I ¬can’t remember. Just a dream.” “Good though. Everyone coming up from the Valley. Outside. The old woman who dreamed dreams would have said such a dream means something good. If she was still alive she could tell us.” “Yes. Well. That’s the point. She’s dead. Everyone who lives here dies.” “Everyone who lives anywhere dies. Everywhere. It’s just that the people Outside ¬aren’t smart enough to know they’re going to end up the same as us. Rabbi says we’re God’s reminder, so they hate us.” “They have a life before they die.” “So do we. It’s what you make of it, Cantor says.” Deborah snapped. “Stop! What do you know about it? You ¬weren’t even grown when you came here! What do you know about living? I had a real life Outside. Jekuthiel and I . . . we had a life together. Pleasant. Other people. People with hands. People with human faces.” Deborah touched her deformed face with her claw. “What can you know about it?” Lily fell silent. No use talking. Deborah had sunk into despair since her husband had left the Valley. As time grew nearer for the baby to be born, Deborah’s mood grew darker ¬every day. Her disease progressed further. Lily dipped thin soup into a gourd and offered it to Deborah. “No.” She shook her head in adamant refusal. “You must eat. Midwife says you must.” “No. When he ¬comes back to me, then . . .” This was Deborah’s trick to make Lily speak openly what she ¬really thought about Jekuthiel. Four months since he left. A long time in the life of a leper wandering on the Outside. One day was a long time for a leper to survive Outside. If exposure to the elements and starvation did not kill him, he may well have been stoned for attempting to draw water from a well. Who could say? He had been gone too long now for anyone but Deborah to continue to hope he would ¬ever come back. Still, for the sake of keeping Deborah going, Lily did not say what she and ¬everyone in the Valley believed. Instead she said, “Suppose . . . just suppose . . . you die because you won’t eat. And then the next day Jekuthiel ¬comes back. What then?” Lily placed the full gourd beside Deborah and went inside the cave. When she came back, the soup was gone.

Sundown. With ¬every deepening shadow Peniel grew more confident. More secure. Jerusalem—so hostile, so alien in the glare of day—bit by bit returned to a more familiar feel. Even Temple Guards had to eat supper some time, Peniel reasoned. If the sentry was distracted, however briefly, Peniel would slip in. East of the potter’s shop was the warren of Sheep Gate streets, lanes, and alleys. Peniel’s fingers lightly brushed the fence of the animal pens. He

noted the well-known smell of the sheepfolds holding the Temple lambs. His eyes were open, but touch and scent carried him toward home. The chorus of evening sounds grew as Shavuot ended. Peniel was two streets from where he grew up when he turned a corner and collided headlong with someone leaning against the wall. “Here, you!” The hands that grabbed Peniel’s arm were as coarse as the voice. “Watch where you’re going!” Eglon! Peniel kept his head down, tried to pull away. He mumbled something unintelligible. A grip like an iron band tightened around Peniel’s wrist. “You live around here, do you?” Eglon demanded. “Haven’t seen you here today. Who are you?” Peniel’s wits were frozen. He could neither speak nor move. “Are you deaf or thick . . . or something else, I wonder.” Inexorably Eglon dragged Peniel from the alley into the greater remaining light of the adjacent lane. Jerking upward on Peniel’s jaw he peered into Peniel’s face, looked doubtfully into Peniel’s eyes. “What’s your business here, boy?” “Going to the m-market,” Peniel stuttered. “Markets’re all closed for Shavuot,” Eglon returned, suspicion turning to triumph. “What do you say to that?” “At sundown the baker opens briefly so we can buy bread,” Peniel protested. “I forgot to get enough before the holiday,” he explained. “Please, sir. My master’ll beat me if I ¬don’t hurry.” “Your master, eh? Who do you work for? A potter?” “No, sir,” Peniel argued. “My master is . . .” Peniel’s mind tumbled through all the facts. He was dressed as a beggar, so he could never pass as a household servant or a shop apprentice. The bleat of an unhappy lamb struck his ear. “My master is Zadok the shepherd,” Peniel claimed. “You know him? Chief Shepherd?” Eglon grunted. The boy was the right age and description to match Eglon’s quarry, but he had come from the direction of the pens. Eglon sniffed, apparently judging the fact that Peniel smelled like a herdsman. Taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, Peniel raised his chin and stared back at the officer. Their eyes met, locked. Eglon looked away first. “Your name?” This time Peniel was prepared for the question. “Gershon,” he replied, giving the name of his dead older brother. “Exile, eh?” Eglon said. He shoved Peniel away. “Get on with your business then.” The instant the viselike grip was released, Peniel wanted to run. He forced himself to walk slowly and remembered to turn toward the bakery, even though that meant staying alongside Eglon for longer. At the next corner Eglon turned one way and Peniel the other. They were half a block apart when the wheelwright who lived near Peniel’s parents emerged from his house. “Hey!” his voice boomed. “Is that you,