Children of God

by Lars Petter Sveen

  “Meet the King,” she said.

  Anna gets up.

  At first, she’s frightened by the man approaching them. Then she notices that there’s something familiar about him.

  “No,” she says. “That’s impossible.”

  The man stops and lifts up the lantern he’s holding. He’s old, his eyes are a grayish white, and he strokes her face with his hand.

  Anna wants to run out of there, but it’s impossible to move.

  The man smiles slightly, and lowers his lantern, shrouding his face in darkness.

  “I’m blind, and yet I see many things,” he says. “What do you see?”

  Then he raises his lantern, lighting up his body.

  The man in front of Anna makes her quake. He’s found her. He’s lured her in here, away from the others.

  “What do you see?” he asks again.

  “How did you find me?” she asks.

  “I never lose anybody,” he says. “Answer my question. What do you see?”

  “Reuben,” says Anna.

  “Good,” he says. “Now, look again.” Then he lowers his lantern to the ground, leaving it there for a moment before lifting it back up again. Again, he stares at Anna, and again he asks her, “What do you see?”

  Anna gasps and holds up her hands.

  “What do you see?” he asks.

  “No,” says Anna. “No, dear God, help me, go away, be gone.”

  “Silence,” he says. “Silence and answer my question. What do you see?”

  She tries to stand up straight again while looking at him.

  “Baasha,” she says.

  “Good,” he says. “Now, don’t be afraid.” And again he lowers his lantern, again he leaves it hanging down by the ground for a moment, before lifting it back up again.

  “There,” he says. “What do you see now?”

  Anna struggles to stay standing. It feels as if something’s holding her up, something inside there. She stares at the man in front of her.

  “Aaron,” she says.

  And with those words, she falls down to her knees too. Esther remains silent.

  “I’m none of them,” says the man standing there. “I’m not that King David who your little girl thought had come back. I’m not your Reuben or Baasha or Aaron either. You’ll always think that I’m the one you lie awake waiting for. The one you dream about returning.”

  “No,” says Anna. “I’m not waiting for them, I don’t want them back.”

  “You’re not listening,” he says. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what you know will happen, what you know will come. We’ve met each other before, Anna. Do you remember? I was there when Reuben broke your leg. I made that small mark on your leg. I straightened you out, I gave you to Reuben, and Ruth disappeared. Now I’m back. The one you’re with now, your master, likes to tell stories. But they’re not real. They’re not of this world, like mine are.”

  “My master fights against all evil,” says Anna, putting her hands together. She starts praying the way she has been shown, trying to remember the words she and Orpah say with Esther every evening.

  “A prayer?” he says. “Not now, I don’t want things like that here.” Anna feels her hands disobey her, letting go of each other and falling down by her sides.

  “You think that I’m evil,” he goes on to say. “You think that I’m the ruler himself of flames and demons and all those things you come up with. But I’m not evil. I’m just what stays in the shadows while the light falls elsewhere. So don’t come with your prayers, not here. You pray for good, but good and evil are nothing to pray about. You should pray for a story to belong to, one you can believe in, one you can doubt. We’re filled with faith and doubt. 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 sure, I’m doubting even now. Can you believe that? I give you my word.”

  Anna tries to look at Esther, but the little girl is lying there prostrate, not making a sound.

  “She can’t hear us,” he says. “She’s somewhere else.”

  “Are you her king?” Anna asks.

  “No, I’m nobody’s king,” he says. “Esther sees the man who looked after her. The man who gave her a place to belong. That was her king. She’s nothing to me, she’s just here to lure one of you to me.”

  “She’s with us now,” says Anna. “She’s with Jesus.”

  The man turns away, the lantern swaying slightly in his hand. He rocks back and forth with his back turned to them, before turning around again and looking down at Anna.

  “Your master,” he says. “I want to speak with him, that’s why you’re here, Anna. I want to meet him, your master, your lord, your king. If not him, then somebody close to him. I’ve tried to meet Simon Peter, but he’s difficult to turn. Maybe you could be a good place to start. Imagine what a story it would be if you all lost your faith, if you weren’t up to following him. Imagine how such a story will cast shadows and light everywhere. Everything he’s trying to say now will vanish. Something else will be created.”

  He stares at Anna. There’s Reuben, there’s Baasha, there’s Aaron. His face changes.

  “What do you want with me?” Anna whispers. “Why am I here? What do you want with us?”

  “I’m not going to harm you,” he says. “Neither you nor Esther. I won’t touch you, but I have a story, and I think I will sow it in you. A tiny seed, he likes to talk about seeds, doesn’t he? You’ll be the first one to hear this story. I’m going to tell you how it will all end, what will happen.”

  He smiles, opens his mouth, and even the teeth are there, Baasha’s teeth, or are they Reuben’s? But then he falls silent.

  “What’s that?” he says.

  Anna can feel it in her hands, getting warmer.

  “What’s that?” he says again.

  Flapping. Anna hears it and looks up. A bird is flying in there, a black bird.

  “Andrew,” says Anna.

  “Andrew?” says the man. “I didn’t see any Andrew, where did you hide him, who is he?”

  Before Anna can say any more, the bird swoops down toward Anna. Feathers so black. Say “I loved you.” With a gaze so empty and distant. Then Anna gets up.

  “I loved you,” she says.

  “What is this?” says the man. “Has some of his light reached in here?”

  He comes over to Anna and grabs hold of the bird.

  “Do you think you can come here with wings like that?” he says. He closes his hands around the black-winged creature. Anna hears a small snapping sound. Or is it something crackling, a fire catching dry twigs? The man opens his hands, and light comes spilling out of them. Light has come, and it cascades on down to Anna and Esther. It falls between them and the man, and the man steps back. He looks at his lantern, which has gone out. He looks at his hands.

  “This means nothing,” he says. “I’ll return. You can play with your little light as much as you want.”

  Then he turns and starts walking back farther into the cave, while Anna and Esther sit there by the light. Esther falls right over, and Anna picks her up. She tries to find the way out. The light moves, it makes its presence known. The cave narrows. Anna has to carry Esther on her back, with her arms around her neck, while crawling for both of them. The light burns and vanishes, but she keeps on crawling. She thinks she hears soldiers speaking a foreign language and striking swords on shields. Everything’s dark now. Some people shouting, and something rushing in the air, and then it all slams to a stop. Again and again, and it makes her think of animals being driven across a field. She hears banging, as if somebody were hammering nails into wood, and she hears something snap, and there’s laughter and a faint voice begging. She hears animals snarling and tearing at something, and she still can’t find the way out. Then she hears her name.

  Somebody was calling out in the dark, and Anna tried to get up. She put Esther down o
n the ground, and everything around her vanished. The air seemed so sharp and clear, and high above, the stars sparkled through the night.

  “Anna?” somebody shouted, and Anna answered.

  “Here,” she shouted. “We’re here.” A number of their group were coming, and Andrew was the first to find her. He put his arms around Anna, picked up Esther, and gave her to Orpah.

  “Where have you been?” Andrew asked. “We’ve been looking for you. What were you doing out here at night?”

  Anna was about to answer, but just as she opened her mouth, Orpah said that they should get some rest.

  Andrew nodded. “That’s right, we must get back to Nazareth.” He stroked Anna’s cheeks and forehead. Anna tried to speak to him, but he just hushed her. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. We found you both.”

  “Where’s Jesus?” Anna asked. Orpah was sitting with little Esther, who was asleep and stirring gently beside her.

  “She’s hot,” said Orpah. “I’m going to stay awake and keep an eye on her.”

  “He’s gone off on his own,” said Andrew. “He does that now and then. Nobody knows when he’ll be back.”

  “You should sleep,” said Orpah. “You both need some rest.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Andrew asked. He stared at Anna, as if he were searching for a sign, or something that could tell him what had happened.

  “It was nothing,” said Anna. “She wanted to show me her king, but we got lost in the dark.”

  “You should have found your way back,” said Andrew. “Why did you go so far?”

  “Andrew,” said Orpah, “let her get some rest, it’s night. Get some more water, Esther’s so hot.”

  Andrew got up, but he stood there, looking at Anna, then at Esther, and then back at Anna again. It was quiet; most people were sleeping. The meal had finished a long while ago, and the town was resting. An animal plodded past next to them, making Anna turn and stare out into the darkness. Something moved just beyond them, maybe a rat looking for scraps of food. Maybe a smaller animal digging in the sand.

  Anna lay there throughout the night, listening to the world in darkness. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the sounds from the cave, cold and raw, trying to piece together a story she didn’t want to hear. She lay there awake until a glint of day returned, until the light spread imperceptibly across the sky.

  Esther crept over to Anna and lay next to her. The girl wasn’t too warm anymore; she smiled and laughed when Anna asked her about her king. Esther didn’t know what she was talking about. When Anna took hold of her little body and shook it, Esther began to cry, and Orpah lifted her up. “It’s all right, Anna’s just tired, it’s all right, my little girl.”

  Jesus returned. He was thinner, but he no longer seemed tired or exhausted. Anna thought there was something else too, something about him that had changed but that she couldn’t put into words. He went over to Anna, kissed her on the head, and whispered to her, “I’ll tell you, not here, but I’ll tell you.”

  Later that day, in the shade of some trees, and with buzzing from the flowers around them, Jesus sat down with Anna. Andrew hadn’t asked what was going on, he’d just said that he’d wait, that he’d be there when she came back.

  “I know you’re wondering,” said Jesus, “why Esther doesn’t remember anything, but you remember everything. Evil is reaching out for me. It’ll tear some of you away from this world, but it won’t be able to keep you.”

  “What was he?” asked Anna.

  “He’ll come to you in dreams, but he can’t touch you. He’ll try to tell you a story, but you’ll believe in our story. You’ll remember him, but you’ll remember me too, Anna. Call for me if he comes to you again.”

  “It was Andrew,” said Anna. “It was Andrew who came.”

  Jesus fell silent. He sat still, and his eyes were dark and warm.

  “A beacon has been lit,” he said, “for all love that’s lost.”

  Anna closed her eyes and lowered her head. Everything that had gone, everything that was left. She saw Andrew, she saw Ruth. She saw Orpah, she saw Esther. She was back in her small house in Sychar, she was back by Jacob’s Well. It was the bird it started with, the black bird.

  “All I can remember is Jesus, all I can remember is opening my eyes, and there was Jesus by the well.”

  This is how Anna wishes to tell the story the morning she dies under the palms at Ashkelon surrounded by her nearest and dearest. Andrew has been gone for a long time. Anna’s become old, older than many of the others from the group. She saw what they did to Andrew, and she’s heard rumors and been told stories of how others have died. She held some of them in her own arms. She took Andrew down from the cross and buried him.

  Now it’s her turn. Orpah and Esther are there with her. Barely a year will pass before Orpah passes away too. Esther, no longer a child, will sit by both Anna’s and Orpah’s beds. She’ll never mention the King again, she never speaks of the night when she and Anna disappeared. Esther’s story begins when she finds Anna, and Esther’s story ends when Orpah dies. A disciple says that once, a short time after this, he saw a woman with the same devil’s mark as Anna’s little Esther when he was in Jerusalem. She was going around asking for somebody called David, but he’s not sure, he’s so old now.

  There are no other traces. Esther was with Anna, sitting under the palm trees in Ashkelon, listening to Anna telling her story, while Anna holds her hand and Orpah’s hand, telling them that she misses Andrew.

  “I miss him so much,” she says.

  Andrew was always there. Not as a mark on her body like Aaron or Reuben. He wasn’t a name threatening her in the coming evening dark. Andrew stayed there, just like light doesn’t go out and only goes on rumbling around the world, until one day it comes creeping back, beneath a door, through a curtain, stroking the skin with the touch of gentle fingers.

  6 WE ARE ALONE, YOU ARE HERE

  I

  “I know you’re here,” he says softly. “I’m hardly ever alone, am I?” His fingers answer him, stroking his cheeks, his chin, before wrapping themselves around his warm neck. “I’ve got a story for you,” he says. “Do you want to hear it?” The fingers crawl up from his neck, up over his chin, and start pulling at his lips. “That’s what I thought,” says Peter. “That’s what I thought.” The fingers creep down, the hand wrapping itself around his neck again, and Peter tries to see through the dark. A hyena howls; it’s the sound of the cold night. “Hush,” says Peter. “We must be quiet, so quiet.” He puts one hand on top of the other, and for a few seconds he doesn’t know if he’s standing up or if he’s falling, if the night means he’ll keep falling until he’s surrounded by the light of day again.

  “There was a man,” he whispers, “whose whole body was on fire. Every day he woke with the flames burning, every night he went to bed with the flames. He wondered what he should use the flames for. What could this fire do? He became a fisherman, but he scared all the fish away. The other fishermen didn’t want to sit in the boat with him. So he started building houses, but the houses collapsed, the flames having made them so fragile. He made one last attempt, trying to grow fruit and vegetables and sell them in the markets at Capernaum and Gennesaret, sometimes even as far away as Tiberias. But the food shriveled up; it was all dry and scorched. When the city guards saw what he was trying to sell, they beat him and chased him away. He came back the next day, and then they chopped off his right hand. But no blood came from the stump, only smoke. The smoke came pouring out of his arm, the soldiers’ eyes filled with tears, and he got away. The man sought shelter in the mountains, where he joined other men who’d gone seeking shelter. They saw his flames, they saw the smoke coming out of him, and they asked him to join them in their struggle against the occupiers. They gave him a sword, they gave him a spear, and they took him with them into battle. The battle came, and the Romans cut them down, every single one of them. The man was left lying in the grass, and he saw th
e flames go out, everything turning to smoke. When the children found him later that day, the man was just a charred piece of coal, like wood burned away beneath the sun.

  “What did you think of that story?” Peter whispered.

  The fingers let go of his neck, hanging poised in the air in front of him.

  “You change it every night,” a voice says from behind him, and Peter turns around, but there’s only night there too.

  “Do you really remember what happened to Father?” the voice says.

  “Be silent,” says Peter. “You have no business following me.”

  Somebody reaches out a hand and hesitantly grabs Peter’s clothing.

  “I’m keeping an eye on you so you don’t get lost,” says Andrew, trying to hold on to his brother. Peter takes his hand and pushes it away.

  “Are there others here? Has anybody come with you?” he asks. Andrew calls him a fool and tells him all the others are sleeping.

  “It’ll soon be morning,” says Andrew. “Can you see it?” Peter turns around but can see only the same darkness everywhere. “I can feel it,” says Andrew. “It’s like a silent rumbling.”

  Peter’s cold. “It’s still night,” he says. He hears Andrew breathing, a faint sound of something warm.

  “Have you spoken with him about it?” Andrew asks. Peter crouches down. His hands pat the ground. His skin is dry, the grass is dry, the soil is hard and the stones cold. Once he believed that water could change everything.

  “Look,” says Andrew, and Peter looks around him. A faint glint far away, as if something were opening up, but it’s still night where they are.

  “Did you get some sleep?” Andrew asks, and Peter can hear him rubbing his hands together.

  “Sleep?” says Peter. “Who gets any sleep?” Andrew stays quiet for a moment, and when he starts to say something about the Lord, Peter interrupts him. “It’s only a matter of time,” says Peter. “He can’t stop them. They’re going to hang him. They’re going to hang us all, none of us will be buried, we’ll be fed to the dogs.”