Stateless (14 page)

Abram flopped over onto his back and felt the late-afternoon sun on his face, warm and soaking into his skin. He forced his eyes open, saw the sky and drank in the air. How far had he come? Which direction had he been carried by the brown water? Abram let these thoughts wash over him, happy just to feel the sensation of breathing.

And then he remembered the stone seal . . .

It was a long walk but the river was his guide and the stars gave just enough light in the dark for the exhausted boy to find his way back to the road and the Roman milestone. He felt as though he should pray that the seal would still be there where he had hidden it, but he didn't. Perhaps he couldn't face the idea that his prayers wouldn't be answered and it would be a sign of his failure.

Abram stood over the milestone looking down at its foreign markings, marks chiselled into the surface of the stone in clear shapes of lines and crosses. The starlight cast just enough illumination to create contrast in the chisel marks and Abram
reached out his hand to find the ‘X' that he'd identified earlier that day.

With both hands he swept his palms and fingers over the dirt at the base of the short stone obelisk, recalling in his mind how he'd pretended to stumble and pushed the stone seal into the dirt to hide it.

Finding nothing of the familiar shape, Abram pushed his hands deeper and scraped away handfuls of dirt and rocks and sand in his fingers as he felt his heart pound and his stomach sink. Could the seal be lost? Had he failed? His movements became more frantic as he cleared the ground, feeling for the seal, until finally his hand closed around a smooth, hard object and a shape his fingers knew so very well. He didn't even have to look down to know that he had found it.

Abram collapsed at the base of the milestone, held the seal to his chest and sobbed in the darkness.

A week later, even the air felt charged with danger. The closer he came to Jerusalem, the more cautious Abram grew, travelling at night and sleeping in the undergrowth of trees during the day.

As he travelled north-east, ascending the hills on top of which sat the thousand-year-old city of Jerusalem, he was forced to suddenly hide more and more often as he encountered larger and more heavily armed Roman patrols and even the occasional legion marching to their headquarters. When he was growing up, he'd been told the stories of his great-great-grandfather – a gentle doctor called Abraham who'd sacrificed himself by confronting a Roman Century, allowing his wife and children
to escape. It was told that the synagogue in his village of Peki'in in the northern Galilee had been built in his honour. This story was meant to make Abram feel brave and that such bravery was in his bloodline, but as he drew closer to Jerusalem and his objective, his trepidation grew.

From a distance Abram could feel when danger approached and when he should hide because even from far away, his keen senses could detect the creaking of the soldiers' leather and the clanging of their metal armour. At these times he'd hide in the woods, bury himself underneath leaves and branches and twigs, and wait silently. He often mused that if he were armed with a bow and arrow or even a pilum, the javelins that Roman soldiers carried, he might show the bravery his ancestor had, attack the Roman soldiers and escape into the forest like the Zealots without being caught.

But for a Jew to be caught with a weapon was death. So he would lie there, peeking out from his hiding place, watching the soldiers march in tight formation behind the horse on which their centurion was riding.

The Romans, however, weren't his only problem as a traveller in Israel. There was also danger from the Zealots who sometimes wandered these hills, hoping to kill members of a small Roman patrol. And they were known to kill Jews who looked as though they were supporters or collaborators with the Roman army. Such Jews, who usually dressed like the Romans in short togas, might be those who were feeding off the fat of the land instead of suffering like their co-religionists. It was Jewish women who were the targets of the Zealots, women who wore trinkets or jewels, who painted their faces or smelled of perfumes. Any one of these might become a target of the Zealots.

Abram found himself in a valley at the foothills of the city. Exhausted, he lay on the ground, staring up at a city on the hill,
the city about which the rabbis in the cave had spoken with such devotion and awe, the city they called Jerusalem.

He looked at it, and even from here, he could feel its mystery, its other-worldliness. Jerusalem seemed as though it was built climbing up the side of a hill and the gleaming white wall that surrounded it seemed to be stopping the city from falling down into the valley. Abram stood to get a better view, and hid behind a tree, hoping to be out of sight of the men on the wall above. He stared up, wondering how he was going to get past the soldiers who guarded the gates to the city. Perhaps he should wait until it was night and try and climb over the wall and hide himself in the shadows . . .

‘Who are you? Why are you hiding?'

Abram whipped around in shock, his heart pounding, wondering at the failure of his ears to hear someone coming. His eyes darted about to find the source of the voice. In the distance, standing among the trees, he saw a young woman, perhaps a year or two older than himself. She wasn't a Roman, but a Jewess, dressed in a long gown with a shawl over her head and neck. She was beautiful and he stared at her.

‘I asked who you are. And why are you hiding behind a tree?'

‘N-nothing . . .' Abram stammered.

‘Nothing? Is that your name or what you're doing?'

Abram had no answer under the scrutiny of the young woman.

‘Well, if you're called Nothing and you're doing nothing, then why are you on my father's land? And who are you hiding from?'

‘Abram.' His name was the only answer he gave.

‘Abram? So that's your name? But I prefer to call you Nothing, and that's what I'll call you until you tell me what you're doing here.'

‘Nothing.'

‘Don't start that again. You're Nothing from nowhere and you're doing nothing. Stop being silly and tell me who you are and why you're here.'

The young woman's voice was shrill yet commanding. But Abram's heart began to settle and he pulled his senses together.

‘Who are you?' he asked.

‘I'm Ruth. I'm the daughter of Eli and Naomi of the Tribe of Judah who own this land. And one day, when I'm a woman, I'll own it because I have no brothers. So there.'

She walked over to him and seemed to be scrutinising him. ‘You smell,' she said.

‘I fell into a river. I've been walking for two weeks. I've been sleeping in the fields. I'm sorry.' Though, in that moment, Abram had no idea why he was apologising.

‘The Kedron River runs into this valley. Its water is clean. It comes from Jerusalem. You should wash in there. But you mustn't drink the water because the Romans are in the city, and my father says that the Romans are filthy and may even piss down the wells. When you've washed, come back and talk to me. I'll be here tomorrow.'

And with that, she was gone. Abram looked at Ruth's departing back, and wondered why she'd spoken to him like that. She was rude and arrogant. But she was very pretty, and despite her offensiveness, he thought it was a good idea to go and wash in the river. He would then come back to this same spot, not only to meet the girl again, but also to work out which was the best way to enter Jerusalem.

The following day, Abram realised that he wasn't looking up at Jerusalem but rather peering through the trees in the hope that Ruth would walk towards him. Not only had he washed himself thoroughly in the cold water, but he'd also found a private place where the river meandered through fields, and washed his clothes as best he could. He'd then laid them out on
the bank to dry, lying naked in the warm sun and hoping that nobody passed by.

Dressed and no longer smelling of rotting earth and decaying grasses, Abram sighed as he waited, wondering whether it was part of her rudeness to promise to return but then fail to do so. He'd been waiting for quite some time, and was beginning to think that his morning had been wasted when a voice behind him said, ‘You're not much of a spy, are you, Abram Nothing? I've been watching you from behind this tree for a long time and you didn't know.'

Abram spun around, once again dismayed that his ears had failed him. She came out from behind a thicket and walked towards him. Today, she was dressed differently. Yesterday, she'd been in a plain brown gown and a black shawl; today, she was dressed in an iridescent blue dress with what appeared to have different coloured threads running through it. A pure white scarf was pulled over the back of her head and she wore sandals on her feet. Her hair colour was black, but her eyes were what fascinated him. They were a deep and rich purple, the colour of the dyes made from sea shells found on the shores of the Mediterranean. He'd never seen such coloured eyes. He could feel himself staring at her as she walked purposefully towards him.

She stood just the distance of an outstretched arm from him and sniffed at the air.

‘Well, you certainly smell better today than you did yesterday. Have you eaten? You look starved. Come with me now.'

Ruth turned and walked in a northerly direction away from the hill of Jerusalem. Without a word, Abram followed her.

‘Would you like some water or pomegranate juice?' Ruth's mother, Naomi, asked as Abram finished off his second bowl of lentils, wiping the bowl greedily with a large wedge of bread.

The woman was thin and pale but her eyes shone with the same deep purple as Ruth's. Abram had been welcomed into the home by Naomi with warmth and the taste of real food. His palpable relief showed on his face, and Ruth's mother couldn't help but smile.

It was only as his stomach was full and he leant back from the table that he remembered his fears and his experiences with the Christian family who had also shown him kindness at the beginning.

Ruth's father Eli sat at the end of the table. Abram glanced at him from time to time, but his manner warned the young man not to trespass on his mood. He appeared to be cloaked in shadow, an expression of indifference lining his face. He had said little since Ruth had pulled a reticent Abram into the home, but his eyes rarely left Abram's in that time. Even as he looked down into his bowl to finish the last of the lentils, Abram could feel Eli's eyes boring into him.

‘Where have you come from, Abram?' asked Naomi as she set down the water jug.

‘Peki'in.' Abram hoped that his home village was so small that his hosts hadn't heard of it.

‘He looked half starved when I found him, but he looks better now,' said Ruth.

‘Someone must have helped you along your journey, Abram. Surely you didn't travel that far on your own,' said Naomi.

‘I can look after myself,' Abram replied, almost defensively, trying to keep his eyes away from Eli's gaze.

‘But you must have seen many things on the roads; many dangers. These days, nobody is safe travelling, especially a man as young as you. Romans soldiers and Zealots and caravans
and all manner of strange people are throughout the land. And every one of them is a danger to us Israelites.'