Necessary Heartbreak

by Michael J. Sullivan

  The crowd grew suddenly, impairing any attempt he made to move, like standing in the path of a mass of people swelling off a subway car during rush hour. They pushed up against Michael as he tried to turn and look back to see the source of the commotion.

  His view of the street was entirely obstructed. After trying in vain, he glanced around behind him until he found a discarded basket. He grabbed at it before anyone could unintentionally crush it and placed it beneath him. Standing now half a foot higher, he made out a man riding a donkey from the east. Michael could see bands of people, eight or nine at a time, dropping and bowing in front of the man, who sat motionless as he passed between them.

  Shouts of “Messiah” came from the excited crowd. Michael froze, watching the back of the man’s head as he traveled farther away. What is this?

  As the man made his way up the street, a group of soldiers moved toward the procession. They swatted several people with the backs of their spears, knocking a child and a woman down. Despite the violence, the crowd rose up, blocking their path.

  “Is that him? It can’t be . . .,” Michael murmured, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

  Turning to his left, he could see the bank of sewer grates just thirty yards away, and yet, Michael found himself running toward the man on the donkey. Throngs of people were behind him as he made his way down the street. Michael weaved in and out of the crowd. He could see clearly now that many were placing palms in the man’s path.

  Michael was moving farther and farther away from the tunnel and closer to a group of soldiers. But the excitement of the crowd engulfed him, overshadowing his fear.

  “Jesus?” The word sprang to his lips, surprising him. It was as if some part of his being could make sense of this chaos before his mind could rationalize the reason. Somehow he knew this was Palm Sunday, described so precisely, yet inadequately, in the Bible. Now that he was experiencing this moment, he knew that the Bible didn’t do justice to the powerful, raw emotion of the crowds. He finally understood the act itself: Jesus’ nonconfrontational response to the devastating show of force from the Romans, parading with their endless supply of gilded military might, in step with the drumbeat from the west. It began to dawn on Michael in a way that he had never fully understood how this moment truly defined Jesus’ amazing character. He was so human and yet so divine in the same breath. It swept over him like a cresting wave. Before he knew it, he, too, was yelling, nearly screaming to get his voice heard above the roar of the crowd. “Jesus! Can you help me? Is Vicki okay?”

  Michael found himself pushing harder between those around him. He was now within only a few yards of Jesus’ humble advance.

  “Halt,” yelled a disconnected voice from farther down the line.

  “There he is, the one who ran from me before,” Marcus bellowed. Michael reeled around, recognizing the voice of the malicious Roman soldier. He was only a few yards away.

  “Help me, Jesus,” Michael yelled, turning away from Marcus in terror.

  “I will find her!” shouted Marcus, his advance clearing a wide path through the masses. “Grab him!”

  Michael opened his eyes, seeing Jerusalem swirling around him. He looked down at his hand, where the piece of Elizabeth’s T-shirt was cradled. In a moment of bravery, he sprinted wildly across the street, crudely tying the cloth to the sewer grate. Not wanting to leave, but feeling exulted that he had at least left a marker for his return, he scurried back across the street and in the opposite direction of the procession. He moved swiftly, but randomly, without any purpose or knowledge of direction.

  And he didn’t look back.

  Leah glanced over, noticing how the ladder was casting a long shadow on the floor. It was getting dark and still he had not returned. They had never eaten lunch, certain that they should wait for him. But soon the sun would set. She must feed the girl and find some way to calm her.

  “Elizabeth,” she called out into the courtyard, “we’ll set up an early dinner so that we’ll be ready when your father returns.”

  Elizabeth turned around, looking over at her from where she had been sitting under the fig tree. “It’s dinnertime already? Where is he? We should have stayed there until we found him. We have to go back and try again.”

  “I know. But it’s not safe for you to go out alone. You saw how the soldiers treat us.”

  “Then come with me,” Elizabeth said sharply as she walked into the house. “I won’t be alone then.”

  Leah smiled, remembering how independent she was at Elizabeth’s age. “Your father may think you are just a girl, but in many ways you are a woman.”

  “Then you will go with me?”

  “No,” Leah said, wondering where he could be.

  “Could he have been at the same parade we were at?”

  “I don’t know. But if he was, it’s over by now.” Leah paused. “Your father feared for you and asked that we stay here. If he found out I let you go to town to find him, he’ll be very upset.”

  “Why would you listen to him?” asked Elizabeth, trying to work every angle she knew. “You don’t even know him.”

  “I don’t know you. . . but I do care about your safety.”

  Elizabeth stood quietly against the wall while Leah began preparing food for dinner. She offered Elizabeth a drink of water. She accepted, turning back to go into the courtyard.

  “Would you like to bring the lamb as company for you?”

  “What? I guess so . . .”

  Leah moved past Elizabeth, opening the gate to the lamb’s corral. She handed Elizabeth a basket of grain. “The lamb is probably hungry. Can you feed her? I need her to eat as much as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m preparing the lamb for sacrifice. The Passover is coming this week, and I’m offering her up for the feast.”

  Elizabeth was horrified. “You want me to help fatten up the animal so you can kill and eat it? I can’t do that.”

  Leah put her arm around Elizabeth. “I know you can. Please take care of the lamb while I finish dinner.”

  Holding the basket, Elizabeth reluctantly lured the lamb out to where she had been sitting before under the fig tree. Here she could see the gate to the road. She sat looking out to the road feeling apprehensive that her father was lost and would not know the house when he passed it. Maybe I should go now ? He could be waiting for me near the tunnel. What if he’s been caught? Then what will I do?

  Elizabeth stared a few more moments until the lamb’s cries disrupted her thoughts. She turned and faced the lamb, extending her palms. The lamb nibbled away at the grains in Elizabeth’s hands while she whispered secretly to it, “Do you know where my dad is? He’s been away so long.”

  The lamb nuzzled up against her, its soft wool brushing against her arm.

  “Oh, you’re so soft,” she said, watching the gate for any movement. Elizabeth placed her head on the lamb’s back, rubbing the animal affectionately.

  She continued to stroke the lamb’s back, redirecting it back to the food when it tried to turn away. “No, no, little lamb,” she said through a giggle, “stay over here and eat.”

  Seeing Leah in the kitchen, Elizabeth called out, “Are you sure you want to kill this cute lamb?”

  Leah smiled tenderly before turning toward the back wall of the house. She picked up a second basket and placed it inside the lamb’s stall.

  “Elizabeth, could you bring her over here, please?”

  Elizabeth gingerly pulled the lamb in from the courtyard and directed her over to this new bucket filled with scraps. The lamb ate intently.

  It’s so cuddly, even though it’s just another dinner for this woman.

  “Put the gate in front of her.”

  Elizabeth patted the lamb on the head, whispering softly, “Let me know if you see Dad, okay?”

  As she closed the gate, she asked Leah, “When are you killing her?”

  “We sacrifice the animal, not kill it.”

  “It’s the same thing,”
Elizabeth replied, struggling with the leather-hewn latch.

  “No, it is not,” Leah said, raising her voice slightly. “My husband was killed. I know when someone is killed.”

  Elizabeth stepped away from Leah and leaned against the wall, never taking her eyes from the lamb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Yes, I was, though not at your age. In many ways I was fortunate that I wasn’t able to marry then, but had to wait until my family was able to arrange it.”

  Leah turned back to the pot she was stirring. “Although I was older, it was a very good union, and these past two years have been difficult without him.”

  “How did your husband die?”

  “It’s not important how it happened, but it did happen.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Elizabeth heard the soft breathing of the lamb, but thought she detected muffled sobs from Leah as she leaned over the pot. She couldn’t tell for sure, so she looked at Leah, seeing that her hands were crossed over her heart.

  “Are you praying?”

  “Yes,” Leah said. “I am praying for your father’s safe return.”

  The streets were emptying, and Michael was beginning to relax. The threat of danger seemed less ominous. Before he was aware of any pain, he glanced down and saw that his sandals were torn and his heels were ripped and bleeding.

  Panting, he looked around and spied what appeared to be an abandoned building. He pulled at the broken gate, walking quietly through the littered courtyard and into a dark corner in the rear of the house. Slumping down, he tugged at his sandals, but his fingers were too tired to unbuckle the straps.

  On the back of his right heel, a blister had popped and a gash had developed, but this didn’t concern him. He thought he might just rest for a few moments. He had barely slept the night before up on Leah’s roof, and so now, without planning it, he closed his eyes.

  A brisk wind pleasantly chilled his face as the ocean waves sprayed over the makeshift barriers protecting the boardwalk. He saw a tangled flag wrapped tightly around the tall metal pole in front of the vacant snack shop. Seagulls tried to navigate safe landings below as the gray winter sky threatened with a sweet smell of snow.

  As he and Elizabeth walked under the pavilion, a blast of wind hit them.

  “Hold up a sec, kiddo.” Michael pulled Elizabeth’s hood up over her head and zipped her jacket to her chin.

  “I’m not a baby, Dad. I’m going to be fifteen next year.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re always going to be my baby.”

  They walked down the steps to the boardwalk. “Which way are we headed today?”

  “Let’s keep the wind to our backs,” he said, turning east.

  As they strolled along the wooden planks, the whistling wind obscured the sound of their footsteps. The sea grass danced around them and carried the spray from the crashing waves up onto the shore. He pulled Elizabeth close to him.

  Alone in the distance a woman was struggling to maintain her pace against the changing direction of the wind. Elizabeth shuddered when a sudden flurry of snow struck her face.

  “I thought you said we were moving with the wind to our back?”

  “I guess it changed. Let’s keep walking anyway.” His eyes were focused on the figure ahead.

  As he tried to move more rapidly, the wind’s power seemed to increase. He could see the woman had stopped and they were gaining on her. She looked familiar.

  The fierce wind caused him to squint. Although it was difficult to see her, he was mesmerized by how the woman’s scarf was dancing in the wind. It seemed to be unraveling, snapping like a snake trying to fend off a predator.

  Elizabeth pulled tighter on his coat jacket. They were nearing the woman, but as they did so, the wind swirled around them, whipping at their pant legs. Elizabeth moved behind her father, burying her face into his back.

  “Daddy, let’s turn around.”

  “No, no, just a little further.”

  A fury of freezing air knocked them backward and propelled the lady’s green-and-black scarf over their heads into the air. It dropped behind them on the ground. Elizabeth reached down instinctively and picked it up.

  “The lady lost her scarf,” she said, handing it to him.

  Michael recognized it immediately. He brought it up to his face and took a deep breath. It smells like home.

  He became energized as he took those final few steps toward her. He touched her shoulder gently, enchanted when she slowly turned to him.

  It was Vicki. He loved the way the wind moved through her brown hair, swirling its curls back inside her hood. His eyes fell upon her soft cheeks. He had forgotten how rosy they would look during a winter walk. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she wanted to tell him something. He desperately wanted to lean over and kiss her.

  He looked up into her eyes, now misty with tears. “You always had the most beautiful eyes, Vick.”

  With her scarf gone, he could see the gold chain around her neck. In this cold, it had left red marks on her skin. She reached up, placing her delicate hands over the pendant hanging from it.

  Michael was surprised to see how small her fingers were and how the frigid weather was making her hands raw. He reached over to touch them, but a jolt of air punched his face, causing him to wobble back against Elizabeth.

  “Dad, please . . .”

  He looked down at the scarf in his hand. He couldn’t let go.

  “I can’t do this anymore.” Michael looked up one last time at Vicki.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” she whispered regretfully.

  7

  WARM AIR

  “Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth?” Michael called out, staggering to his feet. His senses were foggy from the dream and he had lost all sense of time. He wasn’t sure whether it was dusk or dawn. His stomach ached from hunger, and his feet were stinging. He looked down and saw his bloodstained right sandal. He flexed his legs a few times to generate some circulation.

  As he fumbled his way outside, he could see the sun was climbing over the horizon, a new day—was he right to think it could be Monday?

  I hope Elizabeth’s okay. I have to get back . . . I gotta get back now.

  Michael looked back at the vacant building. He noticed that the right side of the structure was entirely collapsed. Remnants of what he theorized were household items lay beneath the rubble; none of it was anything he would ever use back home. The feeling of complete displacement and isolation beleaguered him as he scratched at his dusty scalp. He knew he had to move forward, and finally his legs complied.

  As he started down the street, still nothing seemed familiar. He could hear the ruckus of a marketplace ahead with people already noisily negotiating prices. As he drew closer, the smell of fruit surrounded him, instantly making him feel hungry and thirsty.

  He reached into his pocket. “What am I thinking?” he muttered to himself. “I don’t have any money.”

  The aroma of smoked meat soon floated in the air, making it even more difficult for Michael to maintain focus. He headed east, certain that Leah’s house was in that direction. He measured his steps, moving much more slowly than on the previous day. He noted with growing impatience how long it seemed to take him to get anywhere.

  Each stand of fruits and vegetables he passed seemed to multiply his hunger. He stopped in front of a stand selling bread and watched. Michael wondered if he could muster up the nerve to steal a loaf. He knew that if he got caught, he would probably face severe punishment. His sense of history gave Michael an idea of the kind of justice he would be served; if he really was in Jerusalem, it wouldn’t be the kind found in Northport.

  He froze again, watching an old lady grapple with her change, exchanging some of it for an enticing loaf. The storekeeper turned his back to put away the coins.

  Michael inched closer to the stand. One flatbread up front was small enough to carry but big enough to appease his hunger. He drew nearer, his hand outstretched in fron
t of him.

  He stepped back in disgust. My Lord, what am I doing?

  The storekeeper turned around and sneered. “You need something?”

  “I think he does,” said a bearded man behind him, slapping Michael on the shoulder. The man pulled a couple of coins from a bag and handed them to the storekeeper. “Give him whatever he needs.”

  “Um, thank you,” Michael said, catching a glimpse of friendly brown eyes.

  The man smiled. “You look like you could use a good meal.”

  Michael pointed to the bread in front. The storekeeper, still suspicious, cautiously handed it to him. As he did so, Michael noticed the man had departed.

  “Thank you, sir!” he called out over his shoulder.

  Without turning, the man put his hand up in acknowledgment.

  “You can leave now,” the storekeeper said in a menacing tone.

  Michael nodded and started to walk south, anxious to get back to Elizabeth. He still felt like a failure: he was no closer to getting home than he was yesterday.

  Tearing at the bread, Michael looked upward and became captivated by the bright, clear blue sky dazzling above as the sun reached for its peak for the day. A small child raced past him, chasing a leaf dancing in the light breeze that seemed to glow in the morning light.

  “Beautiful,” Michael said under his breath as he looked over the dining room. He had chicken roasting in the oven, two candles flickering on the table, champagne poured into their wedding flutes, and Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind” spinning in the CD player. He was ready to romance his beautiful bride.

  Okay, so we’re not honeymooners anymore, but we can still live like them.

  Where is she? Becoming edgy, he looked over again at the clock. She took the same two trains in and out of the city each day, yet her hour-and-a-half commute never seemed to be as perfectly timed as he would like.

  Michael was fretful. He had something special to share with Vicki tonight, and he wanted to talk to her right away. He thought he had set the perfect mood for the discussion, but now she was late. Sulking, he walked back and forth in front of the picture window in the living room. Just when he was ready to sit down again, he heard the sound of the key clicking in the front door.