by V. M. Franck
Raven
Class had already begun by the time I entered the room. Jessie was seated in the second row. Sue smiled at me as I slipped in next to him.
"Go ahead, Jessie," Sue said.
The man in cutoffs, tank top and leather sandals gave me a look that seemed apologetic and began to read.
Dust swirled along streets of packed dirt. In the marketplace customers haggled with farmers and merchants. Gnats hovered over fresh produce. The smell of animal excrement was pungent. Stepping from beneath the shelter of a booth, a woman with dark hair, dressed in a tunic and robe, kneeled in front of a three-year-old boy.
"Hold my hand tight and don't make a sound. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," said the boy with the chubby face and thick black hair.
All the world was too serious for him. He loved to laugh and make his mother laugh. Lately, she cried too much. He planned to make it better. This was his big purpose. When he was little his uncle Yeshua had told him everybody had one.
"It's the soldiers. They sometimes hurt people," his mother said. "We have to be quiet and walk fast."
"Yes, Mother."
She knew they would be safe except on one street. The others had doorways to pop into, apartments where they could take refuge. On the dreaded street there were no doorways, no apartments opening into it, only a long stretch of contiguous, solid-backed buildings on both sides.
The child said, "'It'll be all right, Mother. I'm a big boy. I'll take care of you."
Hugging him hard, she said, "Oh, Daniel, I love you so."
He was a cherub in a world of ghouls, all she had left of her truest love, all that remained of the one they called The Prophet.
A basket of produce tucked under one arm, she firmly held her son's hand, leading him passed shops and apartments. Approaching the thoroughfare which edged a residential district, she paused. Fear prickled up her back. The dreaded street was vacant. She hurried as quickly as her son's legs could manage.
Hold on, she told herself. Hold on. We can get through this.
Just a little longer and they could duck into the home of a friend where they were staying. In minutes they would be safe. They had to be. There had been too many deaths, too much pain.
Halfway into the stretch she heard harsh laughter and the coarse words of soldiers. Terror tingled over the top of her scalp. Without glancing back she hurried on, praying they were too drunk to notice her and Daniel.
"Ah, boys, there's one now," said a slurring male voice.
She abandoned the basket, gathered Daniel into her arms and ran. Tripping on the hem of her robe, she stumbled forward, managing to catch herself. Frantic, she jerked up a handful of fabric and dashed over the dung-infested street. The soldiers' raucous voices overlaid her own erratic heartbeat and gasping breath. Thudding feet and clanking swords moved closer. She ran faster.
Hot, rotten breath scalded her neck. Filthy hands ripped her son from her arms and slung him to the street. One of the men kicked him in the head. Daniel yelped. Two greasy, unshaven men grabbed her shoulders and thrust her to the ground, wrenching an arm from the socket. Screaming, kicking hard, she struggled to break loose. She had to save her baby.
The eyes of the man looming above the child were glazed, gleaming. He raised his sword and plunged it through Daniel's chest, popping bones and gristle.
"Bull's-eye. I'm getting good at this. What say we have fun with the wench? They are all whores, you know."
Two of them pinned her to the dirt. The child's murderer ripped her clothes up over her breasts. Unsheathing his fleshy saber, he thrust it deep between her thighs, ripping her skin all the way in. She screamed, directly into his ear. A fist connected with her jaw and eye-socket.
Thrust into oblivion she saw a blanket of darkness followed by a wave of light, drawing Daniel into it. Sensing her presence he turned, spotted her and began running from the light.
"Mother, Mother, I don't want to go. Don't make me go."
A man appeared on the edge of the tunnel of light. As he came closer she recognized him.
"It's okay, Daniel," the golden man said. "You'll be safe with me."
"Can Mother come, too?"
Ruth awoke in a room with white-washed walls and a window-slit near the ceiling. Someone was beside her. Her eyes foggy, she couldn't make out who it was.
"Where am I?" Her shoulder ached fiercely.
"Ruthie, you're awake. Thank God," said a deep male voice.
Squinting, she managed to see that he was extremely tall with short dark curly hair. His robe was made of cloth with a familiar weave. James. He was her brother, James.
"Mother," he yelled, "Ruth is awake."
Trying to sit up she discovered she was dizzy. Her head throbbed. Pain in her shoulder was almost beyond bearing.
"Take it easy, Sis," James said. "They hit you pretty hard."
"Who did?" A memory waited to surface, one she did not want to remember.
James hesitated, wondering if he should tell her. Still, there was no way to be ready for something like this. A practical man, he made the decision.
"You and little Daniel were coming from the market. Some men attacked you." His voice broke. He could still see Daniel sprawled on the dirt, blood puddled around him.
A woman with long brown hair, wearing a white tunic and a blue flowing vest, carrying a basin of water, entered the room accompanied by a man of foreign origins. His name was Demetrius, Ruth remembered suddenly. They were staying in his home.
Gently sponging her daughter's face, the woman said, "My sweet Ruth."
"How is she?" Demetrius asked.
"I'm not sure," Mother Mary answered.
The gruesome images returned, erupting into an inner wail.
"Daniel," Ruth choked out, "they killed Daniel."
The wail penetrated the centuries. Seated next to Jessie in a room of familiar strangers, I began to shake. I could see Daniel. I could smell the dirty soldiers. I could feel the ripping flesh. I clutched my hands over my lap and stared at the floor.
After several more minutes Jessie finished his piece.
"Was that set at the time of Jesus?" Sue asked, sounding fascinated.
"Yes," Jessie said, "shortly after his crucifixion."
"How did you come by this information?" a male class member asked.
"I've done a lot of research. There are texts few people know about, scrolls that have been hidden for centuries because they contradict what we've been led to believe."
I clamped my lips to stop the quivering.
The class discussed Jessie work for some time. When the session was over I stepped into the hall and leaned against the wall for support.
Jessie hurried after me. "Are you all right?"
I nodded.
"Can you wait here? I need to talk to Sue. I'll be right back."
Mute, I complied. Emotions ricocheted through me. Jessie's story unleashed something I somehow knew to be true. Deciding to leave before he could return, I pushed away from the wall.
Jessie popped through the doorway. "I caught you."
He guided me through the lobby and outside to the front of the gift shop.
"Can I take you to lunch?" he said in a kind voice.
"I guess." It was grief I felt, suddenly recognizing it. Grief for Ruth and Daniel.
My companion led me across the street to the row of cars parked next to the sprawling laurel hedge. Stopping beside a sporty aqua-blue convertible, he unlocked it and folded back the white top.
"There's this place I like with a spectacular view," he said.
"The blood, all that blood. I can see it."
"It was gruesome."
Once we were underway he drove slowly toward the center of Santa Barbara. The breeze felt good in my hair. I longed for the freedom it represented.
"Did you really find a text about that?" I asked.
He glanced over at me. "Ye
s, but it's not that simple."
"What does that mean? You weren't one of the soldiers?" Of this I was certain.
"No."
"The brother, were you, uh, Ruth's brother, James, the one in the room when she woke up?"
We followed a street bordered by hacienda-style shops with red tile roofs. It was a pleasant city. I wished I could appreciate it.
"No."
"You weren't Demetrius or Daniel." Somehow I knew this.
"No."
We passed an old Spanish mission and drove along winding streets up the hill.
"Where were you? Who were you?" What I suspected wasn't possible.
"Watching."
"And you didn't try to stop it?" What kind of guy was he? Maybe I should have him stop so I could get out. Maybe I was with some kind of sadist who enjoyed watching the pain of others.
"I saw it in a vision. I was traveling. I'd been severely injured and was trying to get away from those who were responsible. I was in a berth of a sailing vessel. I was out of my head when I saw it. It shook me for months." His voice reflected sadness and remorse.
"Maybe it was just a vision."
"No, it actually happened."
"Did you know Ruth and Daniel?"
"They were family."
"How awful. Were you ever able to contact her to see if she was all right."
"Eventually I found out from an uncle."
"Did she ever get over the loss of her child?"
"As much as one can." He pulled into a parking lot filled with expensive cars. "This is El Christo. I first came here twenty-five years ago with my parents."
He climbed out, came around to my side of the vehicle, opened my door and walked with me, an arm around my shoulder to the building. His arm comforted me. It belonged there somehow. So many things about him, about his presence and how it affected me, were a puzzle.
We entered a spacious lobby with a ceramic floor and Spanish decor and followed the hostess to a table by the window. Below was the site of an early Spanish presidio, beyond a bay of satin-blue.
"Lovely, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes." It should have been mesmerizing.
A waiter brought a carafe of wine and poured two glasses. I sipped it, hoping to dull the ache.
"You're a good writer, Jessie. You made me feel like I was there." I chugged all my wine and held the goblet toward my companion.
He poured me another. "Thank you. The prime rib is excellent here."
"I'm not hungry."
"How about salad?"
"Thanks, no. Eating salad is as satisfying as munching the lawn. It's been a long time since I lived a life as a cow."
He grinned. "Baked salmon, maybe?"
"Deep fried fish, fries and onion rings." I suddenly wanted to gorge myself.
"It's not on the menu, but I'll see what I can do." He slipped away and was back in a few minutes. "It's set."
"I suppose you know the cook."
"He was a friend of my dad."
"It must be nice." I gave a soul-deep sigh. "Who are you, Jessie, really, I mean?"
"You already know."
"No, I don't." Annoyed, the kind of annoyance that accompanies grief and loss, I glared at him.
"Raven, have you ever wondered why you know the things you know? Why a course of action comes to you out of the mist or the possible consequences of an action flash into your head?"
"Yes, but I thought it was like that for everyone."
"It isn't, at least not entirely. It's a matter of degrees. It depends on how far along each of us is. You've been learning for a very long time. You've lived through lots of things you don't currently remember. But the lessons are available when you need them. That's why outcomes jump into your mind."
"It happens to you, too?"
He beamed kindness, love of the gentlest kind. It eroded more of my armor.
"It's time for us to begin, again," he said.
"Begin what?"
"We were stopped last time. This time we can't let that happen."
"Last time? What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing and everything. This is so exciting."
"Really," I said with a sarcastic edge to my voice. "So now what?"
"Lunch, and then I have people to contact, things to set in motion," he said. "I've been waiting for this for what seems like forever."
~~~***~~~