Yahshua's Bridge

by Sandi Rog

Still nothing.

  How could her spirit no longer be in her beautiful body? She had to be sleeping.

  Head still on her chest, he lay there, remembering when he was young, when she’d pull him to her breasts and hold him there in their soft comfort. She was still warm. He slid his arms beneath her and hugged her as she would do when he needed her.

  Surely, she would hug him back, tell him all was well, tell him he misunderstood. Muss his hair. Flash him one of her beautiful smiles.

  But her arms remained lifeless at her sides.

  “Mamma.” He hugged her more tightly as his tears wet her hair. “Don’t go, Mamma.”

  That’s when he knew.

  She was gone.

  He’d never hear her call his name again. Never see her smile. Never hear her laugh.

  A deep wailing cry crawled out of his gut and tore itself from his throat.

  “No!” Sobs racked his body with grief, strangling him, holding him in their fierce grip as he held his mamma. He lost himself as the torment and anguish ripped through his soul.

  Movement by the door brought his attention to the peristyle. Several slaves gathered there, some crying and dabbing their eyes. Why did they cry? None of them ever came to her rescue when the master beat her. And now, Alexander wept before all their prying eyes. He wanted to leave, to go somewhere safe. To take his mamma away from here.

  Laying her down, he kissed her cheek, whimpers bursting through his puckered lips. He gathered the sheet around her, and with all his strength, he lifted her off the bed, feeling the eyes of the slaves burn into his back. The weight of his mamma’s body bore on his arms, his chest and legs, but that wouldn’t stop him. He’d take her away from here, far away, and never come back.

  He carried her through the door, pushing past all the slaves. To his surprise, genuine sorrow reflected from their eyes as they watched him leave. Some of the women wailed. None of them tried to stop him, and he’d fight anyone who dared—including the master. He pushed through the curtain into the atrium, half-expecting to find Demetri there. But it was empty.

  Empty like his new life. No one to love him, no one to hold him.

  And now, no one’s son.

  As he walked along the impluvium, he could still see his mamma sitting elegantly on the edge of the fountain. The atrium was where he last spoke to her. When she said she didn’t want to be free. He choked on a sob. “You’re free now, Mamma,” he said. “Whether you want to be or not.”

  Alexander left the house as if in a dream, a nightmare, and lumbered down the street in a hazy blur toward safety.

  His arms grew numb, but he plodded on. Everyone around him drifted by like fog. Some stopped to look, some pointed, some moved away. He was a regular spectacle on the street. Hadn’t these strangers seen him before? All wet or with blood on his face and arms, or yanking a half-clad woman along with him? Surely they would have been used to seeing him in such a wild state?

  He shook his head, unable to clear the fog from his mind. A woman brushed by, tugging her child. He could remember his mamma doing the same with him, hurrying to get back to the master after buying goods from a nearby shop or staying too long with the church. Another woman knelt before her child because he’d scraped his knee. She kissed the boy on the forehead. Just like his mamma did with him.

  Alexander was surrounded by mothers. Never had he noticed so many mothers on the streets, several carrying their baskets to buy goods. A puppy whined on the nearby corner. Where was its mother? Was the animal an orphan? An orphan like him? He felt just like that puppy. Like he could sit on the corner and whine, howl—cry.

  He climbed the hill, trudging along, and just as exhaustion set in and he wasn’t sure if he could take another step, he came to Manius’s gate.

  Alexander stopped and stared at the closed gate. Did it have hinges? He looked. Of course it did. On the inside. Why were the hinges on the outside of the door to his mother’s bedchamber? They should have been on the inside like this gate.

  Oh, God. Why did you show me how to open the door?

  Why hadn’t he just opened the door and gone in, even when he didn’t hear anything? He should have when he had the chance.

  He pushed open the gate and lumbered into the courtyard. His arms protested the weight of his mamma, but he held on, not daring to drop her.

  Alethea stood outside with Galen and Manius. They looked in his direction as he came in.

  “Bahiti!” Alethea’s hands flew to her chest. “What happened?”

  “No!” Alexander recognized David’s voice. That voice of comfort, of safety, of … family. He stopped.

  David pushed through the others to get to him.

  Alexander’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, his arms stiff as boards.

  David knelt before him, grief darkening his features. Alethea’s cries broke through the clamor of voices. David reached out toward Mamma, silently asking Alexander if he might take her. Despite the weight in his arms, Alexander clutched her to him.

  “Let me help,” David whispered, his eyes wide, pleading. He placed his hands beneath Mamma.

  Alexander nuzzled his face in his mamma’s hair, taking in her jasmine scent. He leaned forward and allowed David to lift her from his weary arms.

  Ω

  Alexander lay in a pool of tears, his cheek on the tiled floor. How long he’d been there, he didn’t know.

  The door creaked open.

  Prying his eyes open, he saw the feet of two men as they entered the room.

  “Are they ready?” David’s hollow voice carried through the chamber. Had he been in the chamber with Alexander all this time?

  “Yes,” Galen said.

  Alexander closed his eyes, too weary to lift his head. One of the men stepped over him and went around to the other side of the bed. Was that Manius?

  The men lifted his mamma’s body, and Manius stepped over him again as he carried her. They laid her on a stretcher and carried her to the door.

  “No!” Alexander shouted, but it came out as a broken whisper.

  He crawled after them, his face so swollen he could hardly see. He climbed to his feet, pulling himself up by the doorjamb, and watched as Manius and Galen carried his mamma’s body down a long hall. On the other side of the atrium, a slave woman pulled the curtain and the men moved to the other side of the thick fabric. The folds fell, his mamma disappearing behind them.

  Alexander stumbled after them. He ripped the curtain open as they lay his mamma on a table near the impluvium. Alethea and female slaves crowded around her and removed her stola. A clean stola was draped over one of the slave’s arms. Alexander found it difficult to watch.

  David came to stand beside him. A young slave sniffled not far from where they stood. Others wiped their eyes as they helped the women clean his mamma, redress her, and comb her hair.

  Alexander turned back on wooden legs, trudged into the hall, and staggered into the chamber.

  The bed. Empty.

  His life. Empty.

  He dropped onto it and buried his face into the pillow, taking in his mamma’s scent. He knew what would happen next. They would leave her out for a viewing and for people to say goodbye. Then they would take her outside the city gates and burn her body. The thought racked him with grief. Wails and sobs seized him. Did he have tears left after all he had shed? He wouldn’t go. He couldn’t go. He couldn’t say goodbye. Clutching the sheets in his fists, he cried.

  As he wept, he turned his head and saw David sitting on the floor not far from him.

  He sniffed. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since I brought her in.” David watched him, concern in his eyes.

  That meant David had been there from the time he laid Mamma on the bed. He’d been there by Alexander’s side the entire time. Alexander never even noticed his presence. Was it the same with Yahshua? God felt so far away, but had He been here the whole time through David? Just sitting, waiting? That thought made Alexander cry all over aga
in.

  Ω

  “He wants her back?” Alexander couldn’t control the cracking of his voice, shocked by the audacity of his master.

  David knelt before him as Alexander sat against the table where his mamma lay. David’s jaw clenched repeatedly, a sign that anger simmered beneath the surface.

  “Messengers are at the door, not Demetri.” David took in a deep breath. “They’re here to retrieve her body.”

  Alexander pressed his fingertips hard against his forehead. The man murdered Mamma and now he demanded her body. Of course she would still belong to him in her death. Alexander shook with rage.

  He got to his feet and stared at his mamma. She was beautiful, even now. She looked as though she could be sleeping.

  “She was supposed to be free,” Alexander said.

  “She is free,” David whispered.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Alexander turned. Claudius and two large men came into the peristyle, led by Manius.

  “I’m sorry, Alexander.” Grief and anguish pulled on Manius’s features.

  The men shoved by Manius and went to the table. One on each end, they lifted the stretcher with his mamma on it.

  “No!” Alexander charged at one of the men to stop them, but David grabbed him from behind. Alexander struggled against David’s powerful arms, unable to break free. “Don’t let them take her!” Tears blurred his vision as he watched his mamma quickly disappear on the other side of the curtain.

  Claudius stopped at the curtain, turned and walked up to Alexander, his chest heaving. “He loved her.”

  “You don’t kill someone you love!” Alexander’s voice shrieked as he watched Claudius retreat and disappear behind the thick fabric. “No!” Alexander crumpled in anguish. If only he could put his face in her hair one last time. Just kiss her cheek, hold her. He tried to run after the men, but David held him, jerking him against his chest.

  “I’ll kill him!” Alexander’s words reverberated off the walls in the peristyle, off the statues and trees in the indoor courtyard. “Do you hear me!” he shouted to Claudius. “I’ll kill him!” The closing door echoed through the house and Alexander knew Claudius heard him. The idea of wrapping his fingers around Demetri’s neck and choking the life out of him as he had his mother fueled Alexander with rage. He twisted in David’s arms. “Let me go!”

  “No.” He held Alexander away from him, tightening his grip on his arms.

  “Don’t stop me!” he shouted between furious tears. “He deserves to die.” Alexander pushed against David, desperate to get away, desperate to crush Demetri. He twisted to break free, but David locked his arms behind him. “I thought you would understand.” Tears scorched down Alexander’s cheeks. “You wanted to kill Aulus. You would have!”

  “If you do it, you’ll hate yourself.” David’s words were calm, not quite a whisper, but the depth of their despair pierced Alexander’s soul. David’s grip loosened and he released him.

  Alexander faced him, panting. He raked his hands through his hair, pulling on its ends. “I want him dead!” Gritting his teeth, he pushed over the empty table then kicked it, and kicked it again. When that didn’t satisfy, he kicked over a statue, but it fell too slowly and the thud wasn’t hard enough. “I want to see his blood!” He attacked one of the plants, but that was too easy. “Help me!” he cried out to Elohim. He didn’t want to shout out the words. He wanted to give in to the fury. But nothing would satisfy the rage burning in his mind.

  Alexander sprinted to the door. Glancing at David, he caught the understanding in his eyes. He bolted through the courtyard and kicked open the gate. He tore up the street, raced past the lion statue and through the portal of the Esquiline Gate, leaving the city of Rome behind. He flew down the road and veered off toward the left along the Via Tiburtina with no people on its path. He ran along it, blue fields of flax to his left, yellow pastures on his right. The scent of manure pounded his senses as his feet pounded the gravel. He kept running until he was out of breath, and even then, that wasn’t enough to burn the fury out of his soul.

  He pushed and pushed. Finally, he slowed to a jog and then to a walk. Breathless and panting, he trudged along, gasping for air as rage still beat against his temples. By the time he reached the cover of some woods, his strength returned. Again, he ran, but not for long.

  A branch stretching over the path nicked Alexander’s cheek. He turned and snatched it, breaking it. He charged at the tree and punched it, punched it until his knuckles bled. Crying out, he kicked the tree, snapped off more branches, wishing they were Demetri’s arms. He pounded it with his fists, pounded again and again, wishing it were Demetri’s chest and face. Blood dripped down his fingers and wrists and the feeling in his hands disappeared.

  “Why!” Alexander cried out to God. “Why!” His knees buckled. He clawed at the tree as he slid to the ground. Then, he wept against its rough bark.

  The sky darkened as the sun lowered, and the cold settled over Alexander like an icy hand reaching down through the trees. He continued his trudge away from Rome, pushing forward in his efforts to leave it far behind.

  After breaking through the dark woods, he came to a villa in the distance with rolling hills of vineyards on the left lit up in the moonlight. Surrounding the villa was a large stone wall with guard towers. He wanted to sleep. The pine forest he just passed might offer shelter. But he couldn’t make himself turn around, so he kept moving. The villa drew him in as he edged along its wall so as not to be seen by the guards. If they saw him, his short, beige tunic would give him away as a slave, and they might think he had escaped his master, which in a sense, he did.

  The winds died down near the wall, and the cold wasn’t so bitter anymore. He kept walking, curious to see where the wall would lead. He trudged through weeds where few people—if any—wandered. As he rounded a distant corner, the moon lit up a high mound of dirt against the wall several feet away.

  Exhausted, Alexander wanted to lie down. But what would happen to him outside the protection of the city? Thieves might find him and sell him. Or much worse. He climbed the mound. He could reach the top of the wall from here. He stretched up his heavy arms. Covered in blood, his hands were stiff and swollen as he gripped the edge. Trembling, he pulled himself up against the stones, his knuckles breaking the dried blood, causing them to bleed afresh. On the other side, a forest of trees spread out before him. Not far along the wall, a big pine loomed within reach, acting as a bridge to the ground. He could rest beneath the tree, safe inside the wall.

  The sharp scent of pine wafted over him as he climbed down the tree and leaped to the ground, keeping a wary eye out for guard dogs. He watched for movement and listened for barking. Nothing but the wind rustled through the trees. Alexander let his body drop to the ground and curled up on a thick bed of pine needles, nestling near a fallen bough for warmth.

  Jehovah-Shammah, help me. Help me not to kill him. Stupid master. Stupid man. I hate him! Sparks of anger flared in his mind, but he had no more fury, nothing. All his strength was used up.

  Ω

  I thought you would understand.

  David could still hear Alexander’s voice. Hear the anguished tone echoing in his mind as he marched through the dark, busy street.

  He’d searched all over the city for the boy, but never found him. David had even gone to Demetri’s to see if he’d returned there, but the slave who came to the door said Alexander hadn’t been to the house since he left carrying his mother away the day before. It took all David had not to push past the slave, find Demetri, and slam his fist in his face.

  David gritted his teeth as he made his way back to the fountain near the Esquiline Gate. He kept coming back to the lion statue, hoping to find Alexander there.

  Avoiding a mule pulling a cart, he studied the statue but didn’t see the boy as the torches sailed by. David trudged to the stone lion and slumped on the edge of the fountain. Ignoring the wheeled carts as they rumbled by, he rested his elbows on his knees and rak
ed his hands through his hair.

  I thought you would understand. You wanted to kill Aulus. You would have.

  And now David wanted to kill Demetri … but he couldn’t. And he couldn’t let Alexander destroy his life—his soul. It made David regret training him to fight. There was something ugly about it now that he witnessed Alexander’s rage. He could cause real damage. But David had pounded it into Alexander’s mind that his skills were for defense only. Never initiate a fight, he could hear himself say. He prayed Alexander would remember all the times David emphasized that.

  Little Alexander wasn’t little anymore. More than likely, Demetri knew that with the skills David had taught Alexander, the boy could easily kill his master, and that was why he didn’t demand the boy’s return.

  David stood and ambled to Manius’s house, careful to avoid the rumbling traffic. He and Alethea wouldn’t go home, because the chance of Alexander coming back to Manius’s house was greater than his showing up at David’s apartment.

  After he entered the courtyard, he trudged into the house. Silence greeted him. Through the shadows he could see that the slaves had righted the statue and table Alexander had turned over, but everyone had gone to their beds.

  David could still hear Alexander’s wails as he raged. Could see the blazing fury in his eyes, the severe set of his jaw. The boy was so much like himself. David shook his head. Hopefully, Alexander would be a better man. David didn’t like the person he had become. He’d never wished death on anyone, let alone been the man to inflict it, but Aulus had changed all that. Aulus. How David despised him.

  Manius had let David and Alethea have their old bedchamber, so David headed down the hall in that direction.

  What would David do if Aulus came back into his life? Would he still want to kill the swine? Or would he see himself through Alexander’s eyes and be a better person? Clenching his teeth at the thought, he knew he’d hurt Aulus again if he had the chance. Shaking his head, he pushed open the chamber door.

  Alethea sat on the bed twirling her long, dark hair. The light from the lamp cast her shadow on the nearby wall.