Premonition

by R. S. Ingermanson

  Ari stopped drawing. Yes! That was the solution. The new crane required more rope to lift the same distance, because of the extra pulleys. Therefore, the rope wound farther to the left. And the crane was taller but not wider. When the rope wound too far to the left, the forces became unstable. With any small perturbation, the crane would tip to the left. Ari smiled and put the paper in his belt.

  “You are happy?” Gamaliel said.

  “It is solved. Can you come with me this afternoon when I confront Hanan? His designs are dangerous.”

  Gamaliel’s face tightened. “You are asking much. Hanan ben Hanan is not a man to trifle with.”

  “I promise to be careful.”

  “It is still much. I must think on this.” Gamaliel studied Ari for a moment.

  Ari met his gaze without blinking.

  Gamaliel narrowed his eyes. “Are you looking for Mashiach to come?”

  The question caught Ari like a slap. For most of his life, the only people he knew who looked for Mashiach were the Haredim, like his stepfather, who had made his life a misery. Here in old Jerusalem, many looked for Mashiach—a hero to destroy Rome.

  Sadly, there would be no such messianic figure. The Romans would come instead, and all this city would burn. This city Ari loved above all other cities on earth. He blinked twice, feeling his throat squeeze his breath.

  “I see that you do,” Gamaliel said. “I also look for Mashiach. When he comes, he will destroy the dragon and purify the Temple of the wicked priests and—”

  “Wicked priests? Who are the wicked priests?”

  Gamaliel looked around cautiously. “Men such as Hanan ben Hanan and the high priest Hananyah ben Nadavayah. HaShem will deal harshly with them in the Day of the Lord.”

  “You are correct,” Ari said. “The wicked priests will be destroyed.”

  Gamaliel’s eyes gleamed. “You know this for a certainty?”

  Ari nodded.

  “Did your woman tell you this? Rabbi Yohanan says she is a ro’ah.”

  “Yes, she is a seer woman. HaShem has given her to know the future for many hundred years.”

  Gamaliel blinked. “That is a terrifying thing.”

  Ari capped his pen. “My friend, all knowledge is terrifying, but ignorance is worse. It is an evil thing to see power in the hand of an ignorant man. Men of knowledge are on the side of Mashiach. HaShem has given me knowledge of the deep secrets of cranes, and with this I must battle Hanan. I will ask you one more time—will you help me? Or will you stand aside and wait?”

  Gamaliel’s forehead gleamed with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes shone bright like a polished sword. “You are named well, Ari the lion. I ... I will stand with you against the wicked priests ...”

  Ari breathed deeply. Most excellent. He had an ally.

  “... when Mashiach comes. But today? My friend, you ask much. The time is not yet for me to stand openly against Hanan ben Hanan. You come from a far country, so perhaps you know nothing of this man. Hear my warning. Do not become an enemy of Hanan ben Hanan. He is a tiger, the son of a tiger. The House of Hanan has an evil name.”

  Cold fear washed over Ari’s scalp. He staggered back half a step. How could he face Hanan alone? But how could he not? Yaakov’s words of yesterday ran through his mind. Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.

  Ari shook off his disappointment. “I thank you for the help you have given me. HaShem will reward you for it.” He turned and headed for the western exit. There remained some computations to work through, and he required privacy for that.

  “Ari the Kazan!” Gamaliel shouted after him. “You will do nothing to make this man your enemy, correct?”

  Ari kept walking.

  Yes.

  No.

  I do not know. May HaShem be with me.

  Chapter Six

  Hanan ben Hanan

  * * *

  HANAN WALKED DOWN THE STEPS of the inner Temple and past the partition that marked the boundary of the goyim. The afternoon sacrifices were completed. For another day, the needs of the living God had been met.

  And for once, Hanan did not care. The wild black beard and piercing eyes of Kazan filled all his mind. Reports told that Kazan had come asking questions this morning. The men had not answered, of course. But clearly Kazan intended to answer Hanan’s challenge. Kazan knew something, or thought he did. He would bring some magic today. Some surprise.

  Hanan would bring a bigger surprise—three dozen surprises. Some time ago, he had recruited a cadre of zealous young men, loyal to the Temple. All were priests, and their leader was the son of the high priest, a wild young horse named Eleazar, a giant of a man who could break Kazan with his little finger.

  Kazan would come and be broken. Hanan had looked in Kazan’s eyes yesterday and seen fire. Fire and ice. Kazan feared nobody. He would learn to fear Hanan ben Hanan.

  Hanan strode the length of the southern court of the Temple in the shade of Solomon’s Portico. Every dozen paces sat another self-proclaimed sage. Teachers of Torah, so-called. In truth, they were frauds—in their own way as dangerous as Kazan. True teachers of Torah would teach Torah only. But these men, these Pharisees, taught an esoteric wisdom far from Torah. If it were possible, Hanan would throw them out of the Temple. But the people would not stand for it, and even Hanan could not control the many ten thousand common folk. So he tolerated the Pharisees, so long as they did not teach revolt against Rome.

  But he did not have to tolerate a magician like Kazan.

  When he reached the fallen crane, Hanan saw Kazan standing in the center of a silent circle of priests. He had come alone, which meant he did not know his danger.

  Hanan stepped through the circle of men and walked around in front of Kazan.

  Kazan looked at him. And smiled.

  Something cold slid down Hanan’s neck. Had Kazan prepared some devastating magic? No—that was not possible. There was no magic under the sun. No magic, no angels, no elemental spirits of the universe, no prophets, no visions, no resurrection, no World to Come. All were lies. Only Torah was truth, the plain word of Moshe, the one true prophet.

  Hanan studied his enemy for a moment. “So, Kazan. You have returned. Will you now reveal to us the secrets of the crane?”

  Kazan reached inside his cloth belt and withdrew something. It was impossibly thin—some substance Hanan had never seen before—and cut with perfect precision in the shape of a rectangle.

  Hanan stepped forward, his eyes locked on the thing in Kazan’s hand.

  Kazan held it high, letting it flutter in the afternoon breeze. It crackled in a way that papyrus did not. “I have brought a magic papyrus with the secrets of the crane which have been revealed to me by HaShem.” Kazan held the papyrus in front of Hanan’s face. Dozens of light blue lines had been scribed on its surface, perfectly straight and finer than any reed pen could draw.

  Hanan gaped. His heart fluttered. He reached for the papyrus with nerveless hands. Was it possible that Kazan had ... real magic?

  Kazan waved the magic papyrus aloft at the circle of priests. “Have any of you seen papyrus of this fine quality? I come from a far country where such papyrus is common. A dinar will buy many sheets, and children make toys with it. In my country, we have cranes a hundred times the size of this poor construction.”

  Hanan felt sweat running down his sides. Kazan knew something. Knew many things. Many secrets. With such knowledge, what could he not do? He was more dangerous than any of the pious frauds—the sages, the prophets, the messianic pretenders.

  Kazan was real. The enemy of all who loved the Temple.

  Kazan began speaking. He pointed out the weak points in the crane—at the joints, the pulleys. He spoke of the poor design which required a stay rope to keep the crane from falling over, and why such a design was inherently flawed. He spoke of strange and ethereal matters—mechanical advantage, force, torque, static and dynamic instability, compressional and tensile strength. Hanan did not know what any
of these words meant, but he saw that Kazan knew their meaning.

  Kazan had access to some secret knowledge, an inner fund of magical wisdom that gave him power. Hanan hated him for it.

  At last, Kazan finished speaking.

  Hanan waited. Now Kazan would show the magic. Now he would repair the crane. Would show them all the meaning of his secret words.

  But Kazan did no such thing. He merely stood there, smiling at Hanan.

  A terrible and wonderful thought whispered in Hanan’s mind. Quickly, it grew into a certainty. Kazan had no skill to back up his words.

  Hanan stepped forward and snatched the papyrus from Kazan’s hands. He crumpled it. The papyrus made a noise surprisingly loud and unpleasant. “Show us the meaning of the words.” Hanan threw the ball of crushed papyrus to the ground. “Rebuild the crane. Now.”

  The first hint of uncertainty crossed Kazan’s angular bearded face. He hesitated.

  “Show us the magic of the crane.” Hanan took a step forward, jutting his chin at this ... fraud, this magician. “Any liar can talk about his magic. Words are not deeds. Show us your magic.”

  Kazan cleared his throat. “I ... have explained the matter to you. Order your workmen to build the machine as I said, and you will find—”

  “No.” Hanan felt the joy of the hunter. “You, Kazan. You show us. Now.”

  The circle of excited faces around them grew taut. The faces of wolves, eager for blood sport. Hanan would give them sport.

  “Can you not perform the magic?” Hanan said. “Is it perhaps because the magic is mere talk? Words without substance?”

  Kazan’s forehead gleamed, and he licked his lips. “The words carry their own intrinsic truth. You will provide the workmen and—”

  Hanan shook his head. He snapped his fingers and gestured toward the edge of the circle.

  A towering young man with a black beard and the arms of a giant stepped through the circle. Eleazar ben Hananyah—a man zealous for the Temple. From all around the ring, other young men appeared, their faces grim. They surrounded Hanan and Kazan in a tight noose.

  Hanan smiled. “Kazan, you are found guilty of teaching magic in the jurisdiction of the Temple, contrary to the Torah of the living God.”

  Kazan’s jaw fell open and his eyes opened wide so that the whites gleamed large in his sweating face.

  The giant Eleazar stepped up behind him and seized both arms.

  Hanan balled his left hand into a fist and smacked it into his open palm. “Eleazar, you will take this false magician to the Hinnom Valley and beat him.” Hanan turned and walked away.

  A hiss of excitement raced around the circle.

  Hanan strode through the circle of priests.

  The abject terror on their faces told him he had won a great victory.

  The rage of the living God burned in his heart.

  Rivka

  * * *

  Rivka pounded on the thick wooden door of the large house. The last time she had come to this house, six months ago, she had made a royal fool of herself. Luckily, Marta had forgotten.

  No answer.

  Rivka knocked again. She never took no answer for an answer.

  The door jerked open. Midwife Marta peered out. “You! What do you want with me? Did you not cause enough trouble yesterday?”

  “I came to apologize,” Rivka said. “I did the best I could, but I didn’t know what to do for the little one. If you’d been there, the child would have lived.”

  The old woman scowled at her. “So what do you want with me? I cannot bring the child back from the dead.”

  “I want you to teach me to be a midwife.”

  Marta shook her head. “A fool like you? I would be twice a fool to try to teach you anything.” She began closing the door.

  Rivka stuck her foot in the doorway. It was time to gamble. “I know somebody who is the nephew of Renegade Saul.”

  Marta yanked the door open, her eyes wide, scanning the street. “What do you know? Tell me!” She stepped backward. “But inside, not out here.”

  Rivka followed her in.

  The old woman shut the door and led the way into the kitchen. She pointed to a wooden stool at a round one-legged stone table. “Sit.”

  Rivka sat.

  Marta sat down across from her and scowled. “Speak.”

  “I know a man, Saul, who comes from Tarsus,” Rivka said. Which was a stretch. She had met Saul for about five minutes last summer. But she had read every word the man had ever written. In koine Greek. She knew Saul.

  “So?”

  Rivka leaned forward. “Renegade Saul is in prison in Caesarea. In eighteen months, he will speak to King Agrippa and the governor. From there, he will be sent to Rome to speak before Caesar. He will die in Rome.”

  Marta leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Only HaShem knows the future. Your tale is idle.”

  “You will remember my tale and when it comes to pass, you will know that I have been given to know the future. If you need evidence now, you may speak to Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai, who teaches a young man named Gamaliel, the nephew of Renegade Saul, who lives in this house. Rabbi Yohanan will vouch for the truth of what I say.”

  Marta’s eyes narrowed. “Have I seen you before yesterday?”

  Yes, but since you don’t remember, I’m not going to remind you. Rivka didn’t blink. “I have told you these things so you will know you have misjudged me.”

  The old midwife shook her head, looking doubtful. “You have told me things you cannot prove. What do you want?”

  “I want ...” Rivka hesitated. “I want you to teach me to be a midwife.”

  Marta’s face showed nothing. “Do you think I am a fool?”

  Rivka sighed. This was crazy, to come to this brusque old woman. She could find another midwife, one who wouldn’t find fault with everything she did. And yet ... something told her that Midwife Marta should teach her. Was it HaShem telling her? Or was she riding off on another whacked-out hobbyhorse? “Please?” Rivka said. “I am begging you.”

  Marta stood up and made a shooing motion with her hands. “The answer is no. Now go.”

  Ari

  * * *

  Fear burned in Ari’s veins as he watched Hanan ben Hanan walk away. His arms ached under the tight grip of the huge priest named Eleazar. Eleazar was nearly as tall as Ari, but outweighed him by a good fifty kilos, all muscle. Ari had not seen such a large man since coming to this century. Eleazar wore enormous tefillin, proportionate to his body. That was comforting. If he was a murderer, at least he was a religious one.

  Ari pondered his options. Perhaps he could talk his way out of this. “My friends, please, I wish to say something—”

  “You will move, Kazan,” said Eleazar’s deep voice behind him. “The time for talk is past.”

  Ari moved.

  Eleazar pushed him roughly through the circle of workmen.

  Ari looked wildly around. What had he done? He was only trying to help! Why could Hanan not see that?

  Many young priests closed in on all sides, their faces closed, their eyes dark.

  Ari tried to think. These thugs would take him out and beat him. And he had no escape. No wonder Gamaliel had refused to stand with him. Nobody could stand against Hanan ben Hanan.

  In a tight silent knot, they marched toward the nearest exit, a hundred meters away. Many hundred people turned to stare at Ari, but nobody tried to stop them. At the exit, they plunged into the darkness of a long stairway that led down through the belly of the Temple Mount to the Huldah Gates on the south side. The stony tunnel smelled of mildew and wet rock. Far too soon, they reached the level below and emerged into daylight.

  Ari was breathing so fast, his head felt light.

  You brought this on yourself, Kazan. You could have said nothing. Could have stayed away from Hanan ben Hanan. Could have let him save face. But you had to tell the truth, the whole truth. If you survive, perhaps you will learn tact.

  But how
could he have kept silent? Ari shook his head. Because of Hanan’s ignorance, a man had lost the use of his legs. Who could hold silent in the face of such injustice?

  The men stopped on a long platform that ran the length of the southern edge of the Temple Mount—three hundred meters of teeming humanity, eager worshipers heading into or out of the Temple. Many hundred strangers. None of them knew or cared that Ari Kazan was about to be beaten. Steps led down to a crowded public plaza below. The worst part of Jerusalem stretched out south before them, the Ophel district, the original city of David.

  The iron grip released on Ari’s arms. Eleazar stepped around in front of Ari wearing a mysterious smile. “Men, where shall we take him?”

  “To my house,” said a familiar voice.

  Ari’s head whipped around.

  Gamaliel gave him an enormous grin. “You are a brave man, Ari the Kazan.”

  Eleazar took Ari’s hand in his massive fist and they clasped hands halfway up the wrist, holding the grasp for several seconds before releasing. It was both like and unlike the handshake Ari had known in the modern world. “Ari the Kazan, my name is called Eleazar ben Hananyah, son of the high priest.” A broad smile creased his face. “You have a powerful enemy and a most persuasive friend.”

  Ari gaped at him.

  The priests closed in on Ari, laughing, smiling, pounding his shoulders, all talking at once.

  “Well done, Ari the Kazan!”

  “You put the fear of HaShem into ben Hanan today!”

  “I could smell the sweat of his fear!”

  Ari wiped his forehead. “Perhaps you smelled me instead.”

  Eleazar bellowed with laughter. “You were a true lion, Ari the Kazan. Nobody ever stood up to Hanan ben Hanan as you did. Such courage must be rewarded.” He turned to the men around him. “An hour from now, you will report to ben Hanan that the magician Kazan has been beaten twice as hard as he deserved.”