Children of God

by Lars Petter Sveen

  These two young men we’d killed had paid us to offer them safe passage to Jerusalem. They’d been sent by a group that was fighting an armed struggle against the authorities. They had a plan to go up to the Temple and kill priests. I’d heard about others like them, hiding in the mountains and moving from village to village so as not to be captured. They said they were fighting for the ideals of our people, but who isn’t? Nadab had spoken of Jesus and his followers, and how they were something different. They were peaceful, according to Nadab, and they weren’t fighting a battle against the Roman forces or the authorities. They were leading a struggle for the Kingdom of God and for justice, and whenever Nadab said this, I always found myself wondering whether or not Nadab was still one of us. Reuben was annoyed and had asked me several times what we’d become, and how much longer he’d have to listen to that prattle. Still, there was something about Nadab, something that could make us believe in what we no longer dared to believe. Maybe that was why I’d transformed us into mercenaries, until I finally realized what we were.

  Both Reuben and I had seen that the two men we were accompanying to Jerusalem were hiding money in small leather pouches beneath their tunics. I told myself that I didn’t want to be dragged into their plans, but neither that nor the money was the reason why we killed them. When all’s said and done, I agreed with Reuben. There was a time for everything, and the time when we served other people had come to an end. Nobody would buy or hire us anymore.

  Maybe Nadab thought we would end up doing something else. I’d taken him in, made him into one of us. I liked to see him and Jehoram together; he was good to my little brother. And as I’ve already explained, there was something about Nadab, as if a fire that had been extinguished in us was still burning in him.

  Sometimes we do things I don’t even try to understand. Reuben says it’s something inside us. When I gave the others the signal, it was over for those two very quickly. We are what we are, we do what we do.

  “I thought they’d be tough,” said Reuben, “but they were as soft as overripe fruit.” He was standing behind me. “What are you doing?” he asked. “There’s nothing left.”

  I looked down at the sand and the stones I was raking up with the sticks in my hands.

  “There are four of us,” I said, “and two of them.”

  “They were soft,” Reuben insisted. “I could feel it. They were believers, the sort who kill for their beliefs. But they can’t believe in killing like we do.”

  “I don’t believe in anything,” I said, “and you’re talking crap.”

  “We’re craftsmen,” said Reuben. “They were soldiers without an army.”

  “Where’s Jehoram?” I asked, throwing away the sticks. It would soon be dark.

  “He’s over there finishing off with Nadab.” Reuben stared at the trees, the bushes, and the heights off to the west. “I don’t like Nadab’s talk,” he said.

  “We’ll make a bonfire over there,” I said.

  “He didn’t join in,” Reuben went on. “When one of us doesn’t join in, it breaks us apart. He’s been different lately.”

  “Leave him alone,” I said.

  “I don’t like any of them,” said Reuben. “Lesser knifemen, rebels, that Jesus Nadab talks about, or all the other prophets popping up like weeds after the rain. They cause chaos. None of them can be trusted.”

  “Like weeds after the rain? You’re talking as if you were one of them,” I said, walking over to a small thicket nearby. “We need wood for the fire. Come and lend me a hand.”

  Reuben spat, muttered something about prophets and animal dung, and headed back over to where Nadab and Jehoram were digging.

  “We do what we can,” I said to him as he left. “We take what we can get.”

  The two men who were being buried and covered with stones had been younger than us. Both seemed ready for their mission, and both seemed surprised at how quickly it could all end. One of them was missing a finger on each hand, and the other had no facial hair, and there they were talking about killing priests at the Temple in Jerusalem. “No one who collaborates with the foreign occupiers, no one who’s a Roman puppet is safe,” they said. “God is with us,” they said. “Whether we fail or whether we’re triumphant, God is with us.” They spoke about traitors against the people; they were going to surprise them, create chaos, spread fear, and get away. I’d heard similar talk from other people. There were several organized groups rebelling against the authorities. Some were suppressed and persecuted, their leaders nailed to crosses. Other groups dissolved, probably having become disillusioned, and went back home again. There were also several unarmed groups, and the followers of Jesus of Nazareth, whom they call a prophet, were among these. Nadab had told us several times about this carpenter’s son.

  But the two men whose lives we’d taken now, there was something about them that made me feel uneasy. They were willing to sacrifice their lives for their cause without getting anything out of it for themselves. They were so full of everything they believed in, but at the same time they seemed cold and distant. They’d discussed with Reuben how they were going to make a kill with their first blow.

  When I gave the signal that we could do it, they didn’t understand what was going on. One of them tried to say something, but I didn’t catch what. The other flew into a rage, all to no end: he was cut into pieces before he hit the ground.

  There was a golden light in the firmament above, as if a king’s cloak had been draped over us. Along came Jehoram with Reuben and Nadab. They’d finished digging. My brother, Jehoram, was covered with red marks, but only a few of them were open sores. He’d been like that for as long as I could remember. I covered him up and put oil and ointment on his skin if it began to chap or split. Nobody wanted to look at him, nobody wanted to speak to him, nobody wanted to touch him. He was already an outcast, so he was made for the life we led. One time we came across a leper colony. Jehoram killed two of the victims before I could pull him away. Another time, outside the Temple in Jerusalem, a man of riches thought that Jehoram was one of the unclean, a leper begging for help, so he gave him some silver coins. Jehoram followed the man, and when night came, he broke into where the man was sleeping and took his life. Jehoram didn’t take any money. He told me it was unclean, with a grin. Always grinning. His gums shining out from behind his ragged lips and his chapped face. Nadab once said that Jehoram was no different from us. When I asked him what he meant, he said something about how Jehoram might be falling apart on the outside, while the rest of us we were falling apart on the inside.

  “Let’s go and get washed,” said Reuben, but Jehoram sat down by the fire.

  “Jehoram,” I said. “You too.” Jehoram shook his head.

  “Go and get washed,” I said, but he didn’t move an inch. I went over to him and slapped him on the head.

  “Go and get washed, you’re dirty,” I said again. He stayed there, sitting still. I raised my hand again, but Nadab bent down and helped Jehoram get up.

  “Come on, Jehoram,” he said. “We’re all going to get washed, it’s for our own good. If anybody comes past here this evening, we want to be clean.” Just as he said that last word, Jehoram twitched. “No,” said Nadab, “not like that, we’ve got to wash off the blood, that’s all.” He put his arms around Jehoram, around all his wounds, all the cracks in his skin.

  When they came back, I noticed that Jehoram’s hands and face were bleeding. It looked as if his skin had burst from the inside out.

  “He was scratching himself,” Nadab said.

  I took out the blanket and the small pot. Jehoram sat down, and I put ointment on his hands before wrapping them up. I tried to grease the wounds on his face. His tall forehead and crooked nose. When we were small, he looked like me, but we each grew up differently. He became bigger, and his skin split. We’d always stuck together, even when he didn’t understand, and even when I couldn’t stand the sight.

  “Are you bleeding anywhere else?” I asked, but J
ehoram said he wasn’t.

  “When we get to Jerusalem, we’ve got to try and get some oil and some more ointment, maybe some more blankets too,” I said. Jehoram nodded weakly. His eyes were dark and red in the firelight. He mumbled something, but all the saliva in his mouth made it sound like noises made by a reptile.

  “We should go somewhere where nobody will look for us, take the road to Sychar, go into hiding,” said Reuben, poking the fire with his knife.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe something will turn up in Jerusalem.”

  Reuben put down his knife.

  “We can’t stay there long,” he said. “It’s full of soldiers and guards.”

  “Nobody knows anything,” I said. “Nobody’s looking for us. And I need some decent food and pussy. I’ll need at least one night, maybe two.”

  Reuben muttered something about the girl he’d had in Sychar, but then Nadab cut in. His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat before trying again.

  “I want to go there,” he said. “I have to do it.”

  Jehoram lifted his head and stared at Nadab. “Do what?” he asked.

  “He’s here, in me,” said Nadab. “I can feel it, he’s working through me. I have to go there tomorrow, I must do what’s right. I have to speak out.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “What little light I’m carrying,” said Nadab, “it mustn’t go out.”

  I got up and told him to shut up.

  “He won’t let anybody be put out,” said Nadab. “I’ve seen the lights flashing in the sky, we were in the storm. I’ve been waiting to do some good.”

  His voice was low, as if he were speaking to somebody in the shadows and the darkness around us.

  “Shut up, Nadab,” said Jehoram.

  “Jesus is working through me,” said Nadab. “Look, we’re going to Jerusalem, and if it’s the only thing I do, I have to speak out, I have to tell them about the savior.”

  I was on top of him at once. I struck him on the cheekbone, and his head jerked backward. I punched him once again and struck him near the hairline. My knuckles cracked, and it looked as if his head detached from his body. Reuben took hold of me. I tried to shake him off, but he held me tightly. Jehoram joined him now, and together they pushed me down. Jehoram let go of me, got up, and stared down at me.

  “Get away,” I said. “Go and help him, I hit his head.”

  Jehoram took a few steps, crouched over Nadab, and knelt down.

  “He’s all right,” he said.

  Reuben spat. I looked over at him.

  “I’ll have none of it,” I said. “We stick together. He’s out of his mind.”

  I got up, and Reuben laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “If you want, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said.

  I nodded, and Reuben turned, walking out into the darkness. Jehoram looked at me with wonder in his eyes. Night had fallen around us. Jehoram had rolled Nadab over onto his back and had Nadab’s head between his feet.

  “It’ll be all right, he’s awake, he’s fine,” Jehoram said.

  I stood there. We were lit by the dying embers of the fire. Soon we’d be enveloped in the blackness that reached across the world and up to the great space above us where everything comes from.

  Two days later, we were near Jerusalem. After passing Bethany, we stopped by the great gardens to rest. Nadab’s face was discolored. The morning after I’d knocked him to the ground, he’d woken up with a smile and asked me if my hand hurt as much as his head. Jehoram grinned and jostled him.

  “You’re in perfect health,” Jehoram said to him. “What the hell were you drinking yesterday?”

  Reuben had gone ahead to Jerusalem to see if anything had changed and if anybody was expecting the two men we’d killed. I knew that he thought we should keep going when night fell, not stopping there any longer. He wanted to head north to Sychar, lie low, and rest for a while. He wanted to be sure that nobody was out looking for us after what we’d done.

  “I’ve got Anna in Sychar, I want to meet her again,” he said over and over again. “I promised her, she’s waiting for me.”

  But I wanted to head to the coast, to Jaffa. The sea air would do Jehoram good, even though Jehoram always said he didn’t like the sea. He said it smelled like a woman’s piss.

  Reuben came back, and he’d brought some food, bread and oil, grapes and olives. The sun was a piercing white glare. We sat in the shade of a tree.

  “Everything looks normal,” Reuben said.

  “That sounds good,” I said.

  “Not necessarily,” he said.

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said. “Remember that we’re special, we’re God’s chosen thieves, isn’t that right?”

  “Go to hell, Jehoash,” said Reuben.

  We smiled, ate, and prepared to enter the city. I helped Jehoram to cover himself up and wrapped his face so that only his eyes were visible. Nadab went over to Jehoram and took one of his hands.

  “What is it?” Jehoram grumbled.

  “I’ll go alone,” Nadab murmured, “but when I see you again …”

  Jehoram pushed Nadab away before he could say any more.

  “Stand still,” I said. “I can’t tie this up.”

  “I can go alone too,” Jehoram said behind all the rags. “I don’t need you to look after me.”

  “The two of us will go together, Jehoram,” I said. “If anything should happen, we’ll deal with it together.”

  Jehoram said something unintelligible from beneath his dressings.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to stay too long in the sun,” he said. “It itches like hell.”

  Jerusalem was a hive. Whatever could walk or crawl or buzz or hiss was moving about. We split up: Jehoram and I went to look for oil and ointment, cloth and blankets, while Nadab went off with Reuben. We were to meet again in the evening.

  Jehoram cursed the heat and all the people walking around him. We went into a dark tavern, got something to drink, and came back out into the light and the heat. Animals roamed about, bleating and letting off smells that wafted about, mixing with everything else there. Some of the soldiers and the guards pushed anybody who came too close, shouted at them, grabbed young men and took knives from them that could barely shear the wool off a lamb. Some children came running up asking for money, and I waved them off before Jehoram could start tormenting them. An elderly lady with gray hair and gray eyes, and a mouth with nothing but a tongue inside, grabbed on to me and said she could pray for us. All possible worldly things were squeezed into this city: we even saw a cage of snakes, in the most peculiar colors.

  As we stood in the shade by the colonnades in the temple square, Jehoram asked how they’d managed to get everything so straight, and who’d taken the trouble to build it all.

  “What are we doing here anyway?” he asked.

  “Be quiet, Jehoram,” I said. “Look around you, this is something you can take with you in your dreams when we leave here.”

  Jehoram smirked. “I can’t see any girls,” he said. “All I can see is a damn big building.”

  I wanted to see what it all looked like. I’d been there before, but it was some time ago, and I couldn’t remember much. It wasn’t the Temple itself I was interested in, a house of God, as if anybody was listening, as if anybody with such power would bother with such insignificant beings as us. Still, those two men we’d left back there, I couldn’t understand what they were thinking. How would they have got away? There were walls, stairs, guards. They were prepared to die, just to take the lives of a priest or two. I couldn’t understand what they were fighting for, or what they were fighting against. Killing a few people wouldn’t make any difference, spreading fear like that. This land is ruled by those who hold sway, so let them get on with it, let them hold sway. What else can we do but hold on to what little freedom we’re given?

  “What are we doing here?” Jehoram asked.

  “Noth
ing,” I said. “We’re just having a look around.”

  Some children in rags sat there begging, and one of them stared at Jehoram and me. Jehoram asked him what he was looking at, and the boy barked at us. Before we could say anything, the boy was up on his feet, running away from us. Jehoram started to follow him, but I got a hold of him and told him to calm down.

  “There are guards everywhere,” I said, pointing. “The soldiers are based not far from here, in the fortress.”

  We walked toward the gate at the end of the open square. I started going up the steps, and Jehoram followed me, mumbling about us not going to be let in. When we’d made it through the gate, I heard someone speaking loudly. Around us, a number of people were starting to gather. Jehoram grinned and said that maybe it was a gladiatorial contest, but he cut off and his face took on a strange expression. The sound of the speaker reached us, a voice that was loud and clear. It was Nadab.

  We followed the others going toward the Holy Temple. Everything had become strange and quiet. The only sound was of Nadab speaking. His words grated, tumbled between the walls, and reverberated back and forth. Jehoram tried to force his way through all the people standing there, but he gave up. Some guards pushed him away, as they were trying to get there themselves. I stretched up and stared at Nadab. He couldn’t see me, and his eyes were full of tears. In his hands he held a sword and a dagger. How he’d got hold of a sword I had no idea. He threatened the guards with the weapons, telling them to stay back.

  “I’m not here to fight,” he shouted to them, before turning back to the crowd. His voice struck us like iron. He spoke of how the Temple was no longer a place for prayer, no longer a place for stories about good. It had become a den of thieves for the rich and powerful, a haven for those collaborating with foreign powers.