People around us turned to see who was speaking in such a way. I think few people would have been able to join the broken words together into sentences, but Naomi heard Jacob’s words. She lifted the cloth from her face.
The things we do to each other.
Her nose seemed to have been crushed, appearing as small broken pieces under her skin. Her mouth was swollen, with her lips covered in scabs. Her eyes were red and white where their light crept out through two narrow slits. Her hair was missing on parts of her head, and her forehead was like sheepskin, pale and flayed.
Obed covered her up, and Naomi let him. I saw tears run out from the slits where her eyes were.
“Don’t cry,” I said, sensing Jacob staring at me. “If he’s what everybody here believes he is,” I continued, “then he’ll heal you.”
My own voice left a bad taste in my mouth, as if I’d dipped my words in stagnant water.
Neither Obed, nor Naomi, nor Jacob said anything for a while. The sound of other voices drifted over to us. I tried to listen, trying to hear what everybody around us was talking about, what everybody had brought to show him, what everybody was asking to have cured.
I don’t know how long we sat there. Naomi fell asleep and slumped over into her brother’s lap, but she moaned when her head came into contact, and Obed helped her to crouch back up again. Jacob drew numbers in the sand. I yawned, bowed my head, and closed my eyes.
“My dear,” I heard somebody whisper. The voice was familiar, so familiar, and I opened my eyes to see Sarah. She crept toward me between the people around us. I closed my eyes, then opened them again, and Sarah had gone. Jacob laid his hand on mine and asked if I was all right. I turned toward him and asked if I’d fallen asleep. Jacob said no, that I’d been awake. I got up and felt that I was shaking. My feet were hurting, my back was aching, and there was a faint buzzing drone that reminded me of flies. Then I noticed that the sound was coming from the crowd I was standing in. The voices rose like the buzzing rises from a flowering shrub when the sun reaches it. And then I realized that Jesus must be on his way. Everybody around me was facing the same direction, all their eyes following a towering, young, bearded man with large eyes, a slight underbite, and hair hanging down loosely over his shoulders.
“They’re going,” I said to Obed, who was standing next to me. He seemed anxious. With his hands, he shaded his eyes.
“Is he going to see us?” I said.
Jesus and his followers were dressed in shabby clothing. What was supposed to be white was dark, and what was supposed to be dark was stained. Faithless women walked among them, and around the women I saw children. People were pushing, shouting, and begging, but Jesus walked past all of them with a soft smile on his lips. He looked tired; his eyes were flickering back and forth. For a moment I thought he winced, which reminded me of Jacob, but then there was nothing there, just that flickering gaze and aquiline nose. As he came closer, I could see the pores in his skin, small, dark scars over his nose and cheeks.
Jesus came, and walked past us.
A sigh went through Obed, Naomi, me, Jacob, indeed through every one of us standing there. Obed’s hands fell down by his sides. Naomi crouched back down again. Jacob stood there with his mouth open, his gaze resting on me. I turned toward Jesus and his followers and called after them: “I’ll give you a talent to heal my son.”
Jesus stopped.
“Come here,” I called, “and you might get even more than that.”
Obed had put his hands on me now, his voice low and nervous, but I pushed him aside. I was about to shout out again and promise even more, but then I saw Jesus walking back toward us. Naomi was still kneeling down, but she was chanting something or other. A soft, wheezing sound rose up from her. Jacob stood next to me.
“Father,” he said, but I hushed him. “Be quiet, boy, he’s coming.”
The crowd parted in front of us, and into this opening stepped Jesus. He looked at me, at Jacob, at my people, who were keeping close to me.
“Who are you?” he asked. Before I could answer, he went on: “What are people like you and your servants doing out here with us?” When he spoke, it was as if he were singing on his own. There was a soft rhythm in the way his words came out. It’s hard to explain, but when I hear Jacob talk now, there’s something similar in his manner of speaking.
“There are always people seeking to test us,” Jesus said. “Are you one of them?” His voice sank with each word, and a short pause crept in before the last word. It was almost as if he were murmuring now.
“I want my son to be healed,” I said. “I have no other wish here today than that, and I was told that you were somebody who could help him. But now you’re leaving too without having done anything. You won’t speak to my son either. I came here in good faith, I’ve been sitting here all day, I’ve been strong in my faith in God, in the Lord, but all I’ve seen is you walking past us when you’re done for the day.”
Some of the others in his retinue began to speak; they scolded me and moaned at me about everything I owned and all that I was asking for, but Jesus raised his hand at them.
“Lord,” said the tallest one, with fiery eyes, “let me speak to this stranger.”
“Not now, Peter,” said Jesus. “We’ll stay here tonight. Maybe we can carry on this discussion later in the evening or tomorrow when day breaks. But now I must rest, I’m tired.”
I wasn’t happy about sleeping out there in the wilds with all those people. I didn’t wish for Jacob and me, or all our group, to be seen together with rebels, with the unclean and others of their sort who were present there. I put my servants on the lookout to guard the food we’d taken with us, and to keep an extra eye open for anybody who came too close.
Darkness had fallen. I wrapped Jacob and myself in a few blankets and asked him to follow me. Our servants followed at a distance. The stars twinkled above us, and I asked Jacob if he could name the ones I pointed at, but he stared at the ground and didn’t say a word.
Through the light of the bonfires around us, I found the way to where Jesus and his retinue were camped out. It seemed as if people had left them in peace for the night. The women and the men sat together, talking quietly with each other. The one they called Peter was sitting with Jesus. It looked as if they were brothers, they were so close and spoke with such familiarity. I couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying, but there was something about the way they looked at each other, the way they each listened when the other spoke. But there was also the other side of brotherhood: competition, fighting, brotherly love under a cover of jealousy.
I don’t know why I think I saw all this. It might be that there was something making me look for rifts and fractures. Jesus was sitting there, only a few yards from us, but he wasn’t doing anything.
Still, the strangest things can happen.
Once, when I was younger, I was digging for water when I found the bones of a gigantic creature. It couldn’t have been anything from this earth. Those huge bones, dirty and white in the soil, frightened me, so I put them all back and covered up the hole in the ground.
Another time, I saw something large, flashing, and bright move across the night sky. It looked like a leviathan with wings, and I fell down on the ground in amazement.
And now, on that strange and fantastical day, I saw my eldest son walk up to Jesus, without saying a word. I didn’t move but let my son go. His feet were so strong, I could see it then. His hips, straight back, and long arms.
Some of the men got up to stop Jacob, but Jesus raised his hand at them and kept his gaze fixed on Jacob. Peter and Jesus spoke, and Peter got up, walked past Jacob, and went to sit with the others.
Jacob stopped in front of Jesus, and I saw his face begin to squirm and wince. His hands clenched and opened again in convulsions. His whole body was twitching and shaking, and I could hear the brief sounds all the way from where I was standing.
I thought then that it was all empty. I thought that Jesus was just
another Hananiah, yet another person who could see how afflicted Jacob was but who wasn’t going to lift a finger. It felt as if I was about to collapse. Come night, come darkness, I give up.
But it wasn’t over yet.
Jesus got up. He stood there quietly, listening to Jacob. When Jacob had finished, Jesus laid one of his hands on his chest and the other on top of his head. Instead of speaking, Jesus closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, they both stood there facing each other, motionless. It was a sight that might have made me laugh, or perhaps shake my head, but there and then I almost stopped to hold my breath. That stranger had his hands on my son. Jesus was touching another person, one who was at his weakest, and the way he laid his hands on Jacob, it looked as if he were crowning my son. I have no other words for it: he put a crown on my son’s head. Ever since then, Jacob has never lost his strength or his faith.
Jesus let go of Jacob. He lifted away his hands, and Jacob was left standing alone. He opened his mouth, and even though I still couldn’t hear what was being said, I could see that words were coming out of him. Words that were no longer stuck fast. My son wasn’t wincing or writhing. He stood there calmly, only his mouth moving, and I think I saw him smile.
We left the next morning. I can’t remember much of the trip home. I know that when Jacob had become a man and was independent, he later went back up to Galilee to meet some of the followers who lived in Nazareth. He’s spoken to me of Obed and Naomi, and others I don’t wish to mention here. Once he told me about Sarah, who came to him in a dream.
“There was a lady,” he said. “She called me her son and said she’d sent the light of goodness to shine on me.”
I told him to treasure that dream and to keep it safe. It’s all he has left of his mother.
I still don’t know what it was that Jesus did to Jacob. Perhaps it was just a small piece of salvation Jesus put into my son. Perhaps he took away the evil like other people might brush a fly out of their hair. I’ve tried to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never know. His brothers don’t want to know. They saw a healthy Jacob return and didn’t ask any other questions. Jacob never talks about that meeting out in the wilds either, as far as I know. But I’m old, and I don’t have enough time left on this world to let myself be fooled by everything that people keep hidden. We live in a world that’s evil, and when my time’s over, I’m letting Jacob take over everything. He’ll maintain our wealth and salvation and will take care of the family.
This is the story of my son. It’s the only story I wish to leave behind. My son, my firstborn, is the last leaf on the last branch of the great, tall tree that is our family. But I believe in the small things, and I believe in the great things, and who knows whether or not another branch will shoot out. Maybe my first son will lead our family to new heights, so I say that, when I leave and make my way to the Lord, this is all I’ll ask of Jacob: to carry on working on the great monument we’ve been building so far. May the Lord keep you.
II
After my father died, I gave my half brothers everything they wanted. I bade them farewell, took the clothes I was wearing, a donkey, some food, and my name: Jacob. Even though I miss what I grew up with and shared with my father, it’s over now. None of it will return. Only new memories will grow, and I don’t want them to destroy the good things I still remember. In the same way I’ve treasured in my heart what little I have of my mother, I wish to treasure all the memories I have of my father.
Naomi was waiting for me in Nazareth, and we were united. Obed was there too, and he gave his consent. Many had departed, but others had joined the fold. We were scattered. The rain was rolling in from the vast sea, and it had become cold. We remembered Jesus, his deeds and words. We prayed for freedom from the occupying powers and those who collaborated with them; we prayed that the forces of darkness would give way to the light of goodness. And finally we sang and danced to celebrate that I had come. All I saw were Naomi’s eyes. They were what kept me sure and steady. If I should ever lose my way, I’ll look for those eyes.
The sound of the rain on the ground, the smell of our bodies, it all swayed softly and tasted sharp and sweet on the tongue.
I kissed Naomi that evening. I slipped inside her and held her beautiful, battered face between my hands while she moved on top of me. I was free in this world.
It was a new beginning, and we knew what was coming. Some of us had been persecuted and beaten, and a couple, John the Younger and Mary of Sepphoris, had been taken by the Romans, and nobody had seen them since. I was one of the eldest now, and my bald head and Naomi’s disfigured face made us stand out. We left Galilee and traveled down through Samaria, remembering Jesus’s words about the Samaritans. When we’d gone as far as Bethel, we both longed for the fertile area around the Jordan. I told Naomi about the trips on which my father took me.
“My father did everything for me,” I said.
Later on, I told her about my mother and how I remembered her from a dream. Naomi put her arms around me, and in the shade of a tree, by a spring where nobody else could be seen, she kissed me.
In Bethel, people welcomed us. I wasn’t able to find the family with the old woman whom my father and I had visited, but the people who opened their doors and invited us in were kind and friendly. Some of the children were frightened by Naomi’s face, but once we’d explained that she wasn’t ill, that there weren’t any open wounds or infections, none of them were afraid to touch her.
“I had problems breathing and speaking,” Naomi told them. “My previous husband tried to kill me. But the Lord Jesus healed me. You can hear me now, and you can see me.”
I spoke to the men. They listened to my story, and I heard what they had to say. Their taxes were high and were difficult to pay, and they were afraid of what would happen if the occupying forces found rebels among them. But they all straightened up to listen when one of them told the extraordinary and mysterious things he’d heard about Jesus. They wondered if it was true, and who he was. I tried to answer, I tried to sketch a picture of the Master and of everything that had happened.
We left Bethel after a few days, heading for Jerusalem, but it was full of soldiers in the area, so we went on to Jericho and crossed the river Jordan. We spoke with people we met, and set up camp for the night with another group of travelers. I got speaking with an elderly man who spent the whole time sitting there with his eyes closed and a walking stick in his hand. He seemed odd, and Naomi kept away from us. The old man told me that he’d been looking for followers of Jesus, and that he’d once spoken with somebody who’d been close to the Master.
“But he was strong,” the old man said. “Stronger than anybody I’ve ever met. He beat my doubting ways hands down, can you believe it? I’ve lost control of it now, it’s growing bigger and bigger. The story your master created will be everywhere sooner or later. But I’ll always be there by his side, like I am here. Faith and doubt, me and him.”
I noticed a black creature sitting on the ground next to him. The animal’s claws tapped against the man’s stick, and the sound kept making me look back and forth between the old man and the animal.
“Is he making you nervous?” the old man asked. I apologized, but the old man just smiled and whispered something to the animal, which then crept off.
“Was Jacob your name?” the old man asked.
I nodded.
“It’s taken its time,” he said, “but here you are.”
I told him I didn’t understand.
“I promised to free you,” he said.
The old man had now placed his hand over mine and was staring right at me. His eyes were a grayish white.
“I’m blind,” he said, “and yet I see many things.”
He lifted up his other hand and ran it over my face. I felt cold, freezing, and I wanted to pull away.
“I’m what stays in the shadows while the light falls elsewhere,” he said. “Let me smell you, he’s taken it away from you. You no longer carry the mark, you’re l
ike your mother wished now.”
I tried to snatch my hand back, tried to get up. What did he know about my mother?
“No, relax,” he said. “Your master has touched you, he’s taken it away, but it’ll never vanish altogether. You’re part of his story, maybe you’re my way into it. You’re one of his followers, and you could do with something to doubt, couldn’t you? Listen to this. Did you believe yourself when you believed your master? I say that doubting or giving up is natural. I’d like to have a word with you. Could we be alone for a minute? I’m hardly ever alone, I’m doubting even now. Can you believe that? I give you my word.”
That was when Naomi came over to us. She must have noticed that something was wrong, as she took hold of me.
“Jacob,” she said, “what’s happening?”
“Go away,” the old man said. “Get lost.”
“Let go of him,” she said.
“Get away, woman-creature,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Naomi hit his face, her nails scratching him. The old man began to hiss and spit, but he didn’t seem old anymore; he seemed younger.
“In Jesus’s name, get away,” said Naomi. The man began to laugh as he backed away from us, away from the firelight and into the darkness.
“Have a pleasant journey,” he said. “You won’t remember me, but everything’s stored away in your heart, Jacob.”
And then he vanished.
We asked the others who that creature was, but nobody could answer us. They said they didn’t know who we were talking about. Eventually we stopped thinking about it. Naomi never mentioned him. Everything he said, how he looked: sometimes I think it was just a dream.
That night we slept in shifts, and as soon as day broke, we headed north and crossed the river Jordan. We were careful about whom we talked with. I felt tired; I slept badly and had terrible dreams. We prayed together, but something had taken hold of me and wouldn’t let go.
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