THE CHOSEN : The Prophet: Historical Fiction (The Chosen Trilogy Book 2)

by Shlomo Kalo

  “Of course, my gracious Master, it shall be done at once!” In the slave’s big eyes bewilderment was taking the place of fear, though without dispelling it completely. The words of the chief minister, the King’s all-powerful deputy, were incomprehensible to him. Had he really heard it, with his own ears – this Belteshazzar, wearing the gold pendant with the royal cipher about his neck, wielding the power of life and death at will – asking permission of his humble master, the diminutive schoolteacher in the shabby cloak, to be received in his home? It made no sense to him at all.

  Limping slightly the slave hurried into the house, and finding his master engrossed in one of his almanacs, he informed him in a quaking voice of the strange visit and the even stranger request.

  And he answered him off-handedly:

  “Tell him to come in!” – showing no sign of excitement or urgency, not rising from his seat or diverting his attention from the almanac.

  The slave returned to the visitor, bowed down as low as he could without collapsing on the floor, and repeated his master’s words:

  “Tell him to come in!”

  He entered the narrow, low and familiar house of Denur-Shag. The latter rose to meet him, with a firm handshake expressive of warmth and fellowship, and a look of satisfaction that he was unable to conceal.

  “Be blessed, my friend, and may you continue to go from strength!” he cried, adding: “That gold necklace that hangs round your neck is many times heavier than its actual weight! Sometimes – you will have to defend it, defend it at the risk of your own life, and sometimes – hide behind it, and if you fail to conduct yourself properly this necklace will become for you that thick and knotted rope of notorious repute!” Denur-Shag returned to his seat and fell silent. The other began by saying:

  “I came to ask you to participate in matters to which you are not indifferent!”

  Without responding to this, Denur-Shag invited him to sit and called to his slave; when the latter opened the door a crack and peered through it, he asked him to fetch red, kosher wine, dates, goat’s cheese and bread. The slave disappeared, to return moments later with everything that had been requested.

  “How does he manage to get all these things?” he asked, intrigued.

  “He’s a very resourceful man,” the host replied. “He knows what is where, and so he doesn’t waste his time running around and looking for things, to the advantage of his master and his guests, and most of all – to his own!”

  They both laughed, and then, with emphatic solemnity, Denur-Shag poured some of the clear liquid, the colour of the sunset or the ripe cherry, into two thick glass goblets, not of the finest quality, set one of them before him, raised the other in his hand and pronounced the blessing:

  “May your all-powerful God be with you always!”

  He replied with a brief blessing, giving thanks for food and wine, then picked up his goblet and drank from it, as did Denur-Shag, and put it down beside the long-necked earthenware bottle. And then he looked at his former teacher and asked him: “Well?”

  Denur-Shag lowered his eyes, staring quizzically at the table for a while, before slicing the bread and transferring the soft cheese into clay dishes. Finally he looked up and said:

  “There is no service that isn’t the service of God. Even someone who has strayed far from Him and denies Him, in the final analysis is serving Him, even if this is not what he wants. Obviously, the correct and praiseworthy thing to do is serve God willingly, with love, and everyone with a brain should be asking himself if he is really doing this, and to what extent, and how. Your compatriots have the saying, The voice of the people is the voice of God, meaning, in my humble opinion, that anyone who serves the people, any people, faithfully and not with a view to profit, is serving God. And ‘not with a view to profit’ can be interpreted in certain cases to mean ‘not in the bright light of publicity’. And service such as this is perhaps the one and only thing capable of bringing deep satisfaction, true satisfaction, and for this reason it is preferable that I don’t accept an appointment in your office or more precisely – one of the offices allocated to you, as it has already been whispered in my ear that one of them is vacant.” Denur-Shag grinned and added: “But I know for a fact that it wasn’t for this that you approached me, even though as far as I’m concerned, it’s all the same.

  “If I thought that was where I belonged, I wouldn’t have spurned your proposal without first delving into your motives – the overt and the covert ones! However,” he continued, pushing his goblet towards him, “it’s obvious to me that my place isn’t there, and official posts and government offices are not for me, and moreover it’s reasonable to assume that you know this, but to avoid the mistake of appearing heavy-handed, you came to me to hear me say it. Am I right?”

  “You are right,” he admitted to him, and to himself. The motive behind this visit – it was becoming clear to him – had been nothing other than the need to pay his former teacher the honour due to him, and somehow express his appreciation and his gratitude.

  “Nevertheless,” Denur-Shag went on to say with an air of clear satisfaction, “you won’t be getting rid of me as easily as that! I shall stand by you, if the need arises – even if it isn’t what you want. But I won’t be on the sunny side of the street! I’ll be lurking in the shadows, out of sight – and there I shall be at your service!”

  They both resumed their sipping of the light wine, its delicate sweetness turning in the void of the mouth to distant flashes of song and fields of flowers.

  Denur-Shag bit into his slice of bread, chewing steadily and with an air of undiluted pleasure, swallowed and continued:

  “Your sudden rise to eminence has come as a shock to Babylon. Babylonians are by nature excitable, with a propensity towards the sensational, but the excuse for indulging their emotions that you’ve given them is in a class all of its own, virtually unique.

  “It’s reasonable to suppose that the coming days will have more surprises in store for us,” Denur-Shag went on to say, speaking with unaccustomed gravity. “From the moment that Jews come to power in any country, that country will be blessed with chronic turbulence, enjoying ups and downs, miracles and wonders. Yes, it’s a specific trait of your race, the Jewish race. They do very well serving as deputy to some king or other, or senior adviser to a governor, or treasury minister to a potentate. It’s a different story when they take power into their own hands, and become the kings and the governors themselves. That’s when everything falls apart, when the wheels come off the chariot! That’s because the Jews were never meant to do things; their job has always been to have ideas, which others implement. Since the dawn of antiquity they were assigned the role of serving God, and He, God, is their only king, governor and leader and ruler. So anyone who sets out to imitate God, becoming king, conqueror or ruler, will ultimately encounter devastating defeat, and bring disaster upon his people and himself, is it not so?” he asked and he answered him:

  “The role of imitating God was claimed by the power opposing him, the one who tempted mankind saying: “You shall be as God”

  “If imitation isn’t an option, what else is there?” asked Denur-Shag.

  “Revelation,” he declared, “meaning, the discovery of God in your own heart, and waking up to know yourself an inseparable part of Him.”

  “Outstanding!” enthused Denur-Shag, thumping the table top with his fist and setting all the utensils jangling.

  Denur-Shag looked down again, pondering, and finally looked up and said:

  “One way or the other, I have not a shadow of a doubt that the golden age of Babylon, as you predicted to the King, is close at hand and will soon be reaching its zenith, and why is this?” He was not expecting an answer and when none came, he went on to say – “Because Babylon, in these days of ours, is administered entirely by Jews! With the exception of the King himself. No one can compare with the Jews when it comes to conveying the blessing of God – to others, not to themselves. This is their fate
as a race and a nation and a people until the coming of the last days, when God Himself shall rule His chosen people in His own kingdom, the Kingdom of Heaven!”

  Again they sipped the kosher wine which Denur-Shag had thoughtfully provided, concluding their meal with the bread, freshly baked in the royal bakery and still smelling fragrant, accompanied by thin slivers of cheese.

  “This Babylon, of today, is enjoying the festival that it owes to you, and is celebrating the saving of the lives of those wretched magicians, with the display of excessive exuberance and reverence – worshipping you in song and in dance and in procession – that is so typical. Tomorrow, according to the same norms and traditions – you will be envied and reviled, and those naïve and wretched magicians will look at you with jealousy and malice, and some will kindle virulent hatred of you, of which you will be only too well aware, and then perhaps, by God’s grace, I can help you, standing in the shadows as I shall be!

  “This is perhaps the role that God has enjoined upon me, and although I make no solemn vows or pledges, I shall fulfil this role of mine to the best of my ability, in other words – above and beyond what is to be expected and perhaps even – above and beyond what is tolerable and desirable.” He raised his goblet, taking small and frequent sips until it was emptied, then putting the empty goblet before him, he spoke again:

  “It has also come to my ears that you have succumbed to the Chaldean tradition that is linked to the superstitious belief that a bachelor is unfit to serve the State, and you are soon to marry. And of your future wife, it is said she is some fairy-tale Jewish princess.”

  “It is true, she is related to the royal household, but she is no princess,” he replied.

  “According to what is said in your writings, your God gave Adam the prospect of ascending and approaching Him, by creating him in His image and His likeness but not in His spirit, and He set the woman before him as a challenge. And if your first father, who you say is the father of every race and nation, had withstood the challenge of the woman as he should and not been tripped up by her – he would have earned the privilege of discovering the spirit of his creator in his heart and thereby knowing himself. Instead of this – he slipped and fell and showed the flesh to be as it is today – corruptible matter.”

  “It follows then that the penitent will regain his prospects, and he is the one who will find the spirit of his Creator in his heart,” he completed his host’s peroration.

  “And how can man repent, and approach his Creator, and repair what he has spoiled, and know divine love?”

  “By following the divine way that says: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your might and with all your soul, and your neighbour as yourself!”

  He stood up from his seat and bade Denur-Shag an amicable farewell. The host accompanied him to the door of the house and said to him as they parted company:

  “Don’t forget, my Lord and deputy to the King – I am your servant!”

  Without Making A Sound

  His hands were spread on the top of the broad, oblong table, constructed of polished oak in its natural colour and heaped with rolled parchment scrolls and clay tablets, some separate and others strung together, alongside a selection of high quality styli and pens, and red and blue ink in phials of ivory.

  Before he could begin the routine of the day, he heard a knock at the door, the light knock of his office slave.

  “Enter!” he cried and the latter, a bright young lad from the northern isles, with a film of soft downy hair on his cheeks, dressed in blue livery, his Chaldean name Oshrich – opened the door and stood on the threshold.

  Oshrich bowed to him, stepped inside, closed the door behind him, bowed again and on straightening up said: “A lady named Adelain is asking to see you, Sir!”

  For some reason this announcement struck fear into his heart. He suppressed it and turning to Oshrich said: “I shall receive her in a little while!”

  “You will call me, Sir?”

  “I will call!”

  As soon as Oshrich had left, he fell to his knees, raised his hands, palms together, and looking up at the sky, through the broad window behind his chair, began:

  “Purify me I pray, my Father in Heaven, my God, guide me I pray, my Father in Heaven, my God. You are in me, my Father in Heaven, my God, and I in you, for ever and ever!”

  The light of joy filled his heart, streaming in the void of his spacious, sumptuous office.

  “For ever and ever I shall give thanks to You my Father in Heaven, my God! I thank You for the abundant grace that You have awarded me, and would that I were only worthy of it!”

  He rose to his feet, took his seat at the table, clapped his hands once, twice, and the door opened. Oshrich stood on the threshold, bowing.

  Rising to his full height he glanced at him, and for a long moment froze where he stood, motionless, his eyes reflecting utter astonishment, bordering on panic and veering towards reverence. Without realising what he was doing, the slave bowed down before him once again, prostrating himself at his master’s feet as at the feet of a deity: his master’s face was aglow with ethereal light.

  “Be so good,” he addressed him with an unfamiliar, musical lilt to his voice – “as to call the lady Adelain and ask her to come here!”

  “As you wish Sir, so it shall be done!” Oshrich replied, his voice too seeming to deviate from its normal tone of restraint, and his face flickering with either a strange delight or with reverent fear.

  Adelain entered. On her trim body a white dress, white as the virgin snow on the mountain tops. The dress was gathered at the waist in a broad leather belt of a deep velvet colour, its buckle silver studded with sapphires, and on her head was a turban the colour of her dress, fastened with a pearl brooch.

  She turned upon him her big, deep, subdued eyes, and stood there tongue-tied and nervous, until a strange kind of merriment, excluding all else, took over her entire being.

  “Good day to you, Adelain!” he greeted her, his voice vibrant, as if laden with confidence and hopeful tidings.

  She did not return his greeting, preferring instead to express something of the intensity of the feelings that were making her heart flutter.

  “Your face is radiant!”

  “That’s just the sun,” he said with a modest smile, “the light of the sun on my face!”

  “It isn’t the light of the sun! You are a wonderful sight!” she insisted, the musical lilt of his voice now audible in hers, and her eyes absorbing and reflecting the purity in his eyes.

  “How happy I am to be in your presence, to hear your voice, to be refreshed by the pure light that shines from your eyes!”

  “Please be seated!” He pointed to the chair opposite his in an attempt to stem the flow of adulation, of compliments that were not to his taste, and he asked:

  “What brings you here?”

  “My desire to be, if only for a moment, close to you!” she declared sincerely, without hesitation, with none of the awkwardness that would be expected of a young woman in such circumstances.

  Her candour took him aback. The thought crept into his mind that she was beautiful, and that her quivering voice could set hearts ablaze.

  “I won’t disturb you at all!” she declared, adding by way of explanation: “I shall sit by myself behind your back, without making a sound. You won’t know I’m here!” she concluded, and without waiting for consent or rejection, she found a stool that had been left in a corner and saying not another word, sat herself down behind his back, not too close to him.

  He had to admit that she was right; he was not aware of her presence. Even her breathing, which was not quiet, no longer reached his ears.

  “You must do as you please!” he said without turning to face her. He unfolded a yellowing parchment scroll and settled down to read it.

  Soon after Adelain’s arrival, he called Oshrich and handed him a scroll to be passed on to one of his aides. And the slave was incapable of maintaining hi
s composure or curbing his astonishment at the spectacle revealed to him: a young woman blessed with quite exceptional beauty, of distinguished family, judging by her attire – sitting on a low stool, tucked away in a corner of the office behind his master’s back, and doing nothing and not making a sound, like a spare item of furniture, doing neither service nor disservice.

  The bemusement reflected in the face of his slave made no impression on him, not because of the latter’s clumsy attempts to hid it, but because he had completely forgotten Adelain’s presence.

  She sat without making a movement, as if she were not a body at all but a vapour, dispersing into the void and becoming a part of it. Furthermore, the matters he was supposed to be dealing with were urgent and demanded concentration and focus, and he spared himself no effort in working through each problem, understanding the implications and mastering the details and arriving at solutions, however abstruse and elusive the issues might be.

  An hour passed, perhaps more than an hour. Again, Oshrich knocked on the door, entered and announced:

  “The minister Nashdernach, chief of the King’s advisers, requests an audience with you, Sir!”

  “Show him in!” he cried.

  Oshrich opened the door wide and stood back, bowing and making way for Nashdernach to pass by him.

  The newcomer delivered his greetings and took a seat facing him, a friendly gesture.

  “Did you know,” he began, with a kind of tension in his voice that he was making an effort to conceal – and then Nashdernach noticed the young woman, sitting in silence on a low stool, in a corner, behind the other’s back.

  The chief of the King’s advisers stared at her with his tiny, oily eyes, which were open wide, as wide as the eyes of a man who arrives at his workplace as usual and finds his father, long since dead and buried, sitting there grinning at him.