“You know enough to protect yourself,” Katrina said, beaming. “Just remember, average response time by the cops—here or in Rome, I bet—is about twenty minutes. Response time of a nine parabellum is about eleven hundred feet a second. Make sure if an attacker gets to you, he’s comin’ through a hail of bullets. If he kills you, it better be with your gun empty.”
1:00 P.M.
At the hospital Augie’s mind was already in Rome, but over lunch his mother wanted to talk. “I should have told you about your father,” she said. “It would have made your life a little easier, at least.”
“I just don’t get why he didn’t want help,” Augie said. “Smart man, well-read, he had to know a professional could help walk him through this. He couldn’t have enjoyed living the way he did. Is he still mad at God?”
“I’m afraid so. There’s no question of his faith. He believes what he studies and teaches, but I know the little boy in him still resents feeling like his prayers were ignored. Truthfully, August, I don’t understand that myself. To allow a defenseless child to be abused ….”
“I can’t make it compute either. I know God is mysterious, but I believe He’s omniscient and omnipotent. I can’t pretend I accept what God allowed.”
“Trusting is the hardest part of my faith,” his mother said. “All I could do was be someone to love your father and care for him in spite of it all.”
As Augie walked her back up to ICU he said, “You know I’m leaving tomorrow morning. No idea when I’ll be back.”
She nodded. “I’ll be all right. Just take care of Roger.”
18
Bewilderment
FIRST-CENTURY SYRIA
The rugged mountain pass called the Syrian Gates may not have been the longest part of our journey, but it proved the most arduous. Father said the Romans should have built the road in a serpentine fashion so it wouldn’t be so steep, but apparently they saved materials and money by making it as straight as possible. The men and the animals leaned into the inclines and huffed, pushing themselves onward. It was as if someone warned them that trying to stop, even for a breath, might send them tumbling back down.
“They seem so eager to get there,” I said. “And yet they still have so much farther to go after that, from Antioch to Damascus.”
“And we have to go almost that far again to reach Jerusalem,” Father said. He pointed far into the distance to explain how the more than five thousand acres were fed by fresh water from the south by what was called the Plateau of Daphne.
“I heard some of the masters talking about going there,” I said.
“You and I will stay away from that plateau,” Father said. “They hold ceremonies there to worship Apollo.”
“But we worship the one true God.”
“That’s right, Saul. Apollo is a myth, and I daresay most of the Greeks know that. Yet they worship him anyway. You know the commandments. It is a dangerous thing to worship any god but the God”
I could hardly keep my eyes open when we finally arrived outside Antioch in what seemed to me the middle of the night. I felt safe as long as I knew Father was awake, but when it was clear he had fallen asleep, I lay staring at the dark walls of the tent, shuddering at every strange sound in the night.
We had recited our prayers that evening, but still I longed to converse with the God of the heavens and the earth, the one true God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The great men of Scripture walked and talked with Him. Why couldn’t I?
It seemed strange to address Him without the formality of our daily recitations, but somehow I believed He would forgive a child. I dared not even whisper for fear of waking Father, but from my heart I prayed, Great Creator God, I am afraid. Give me courage like Jacob and strength like David. And please answer me. Show me You hear me and are with me.
God did not speak to me, but I took my drowsiness as His answer. That I could slumber in spite of my fear meant that perhaps God had granted me courage. I didn’t feel bolder, but I did drift off.
When the morning sun forced its way through the tiny slits and openings of the tent, Father remained still, snoring quietly. I crept out and relieved myself in the privacy of a thicket, then wandered back to where the watchmen sat around a small fire, toasting bread and roasting small strips of a meat I did not recognize.
One gestured toward the pot and said, “Enjoy!”
I hesitated, so he tore a chunk off his loaf and sopped some juices from the pan, handing me the bread with a bit of the meat atop it. I must have been hungrier than I knew, for I found it mouthwatering. The man ignored my thanks and turned back to chatting with his mates, so I strolled off to a bluff overlooking Antioch.
As the great city came into view and the sun fought the chill of the morning, I stepped up on a rock and was suddenly overcome. I had no idea what was affecting me so, but as I stared over the walls into the shimmering town, I felt something I could not describe then and still find difficult to put into words. It was not the sheer size of the city, though I knew only Rome and Alexandria were larger. No, it was something else, something personal.
From my vantage point I could see the common wall that encompassed the entire metropolis, and beyond that Antioch’s four quarters, each with its own wall. Father had promised that we would visit and get a look at its aqueducts and baths, race courses, and temples.
I couldn’t wait, and yet neither could I move. Something about this place seemed to invade my soul. It was as if God Himself was impressing upon me that this would not be the last time I saw Antioch, that regardless of how much of it I toured with Father today, that would be only an introduction. I cannot explain it. I simply knew deep within that Syrian Antioch would become an important place to me.
I started at a voice behind me, Father whispering, “Antioch the Beautiful.” We made our way down the hillside and into the city, quickly finding ourselves on the main street, lined on both sides with covered colonnades. I was so tempted to tell him of the strange feeling the place gave me, which only increased with every step. What was it about this city that so drew me? I couldn’t imagine why it would play a role in my future, especially when I would be studying in a rabbinical school in Jerusalem. Was God trying to tell me that this was where I would one day be assigned?
Father pointed out various carvings and statues to the city’s deity, the goddess Tyche. “It means luck in Greek,” he said, “Fortuna in Latin. It seems all anyone here cares about is prosperity. The God of our fathers has no place here.”
Was it possible I was meant to one day bring the truth of the Torah to Antioch? Its sights and sounds and smells stayed with me for days as our caravan slowly made its way south toward Damascus. My attraction continued to grow as the city faded from view. My young life had centered on the Scriptures, ancient texts and teachings and laws. Now something visceral called to me. What it was I had no idea.
Strangely, many days later as we slowly came upon Damascus, the same deep feelings rolled over me. What was happening? Was God calling me to something? I couldn’t bring myself to mention it to Father. He was one of those who, along with our own rabbi, had told me to concentrate on my studies and not worry about becoming personal friends with the Creator. “That was for those great men, the patriarchs, at that time. Our job is to learn and to know the truth of the law and to practice it daily.”
For weeks I had felt alone with my deeply emotional thoughts about Antioch. I was curious about Damascus and enjoyed learning all Father knew about the city, but in no way did I expect it to have the same effect on me that Antioch had.
I could not have been more wrong. We had been peering at Damascus for hours that hot morning, but when we were nearly upon the great city, I was overwhelmed. It lay some fifty miles inland from the Mediterranean on the south bank of the Barada River.
Father said it stretched about a mile by a half mile, surrounded by a wall that from a distance appeared dotted with ramparts on its northern and eastern sides. As we drew nearer we could see how ma
ssive these ramparts were.
When the caravan settled just outside the city, Father and I quickly set off. I stayed close to him and stared at the looming ramparts. “How does bread and fruit sound for our meal?” he said. I just smiled and nodded and followed him to a street called Straight.
The same deep stirrings that had overcome me above Antioch came rushing back. In a strange way, while I felt separated from the God I knew about from the Scriptures, it didn’t seem this was my fault. I didn’t know what else to do to get close to Him. I loved the stories of His speaking to my heroes. All I could do was believe my elders that God did not work that way anymore and take some solace in the fact that neither my father nor my rabbi, nor anyone else I knew of, had enjoyed the experiences described in the sacred texts. But not until years later did I attribute to God Himself my feelings about the city.
Father must have noticed. “Something on your mind?”
I shook my head, immediately riddled with guilt for my lie of omission. “I’m a little homesick, I think. I miss Mother and Shoshanna.”
“So do I. But we are to be guests of my buyer, Samuel, this evening. Maybe we’ll feel better in his home.”
Father’s customer proved to be only slightly younger than my father and, I could tell from his fringed tzitzit, he was also Jewish. In a Jewish home the rituals and practices would be familiar, and I wouldn’t feel conspicuous. Samuel’s eyes lit up and he asked if I was of age and had had my bar mitzvah.
z“Yes, sir,” I said.
“My David—the eldest of our five—will have his just two months from now, and I fear he is hopelessly behind in his studies. Maybe you can encourage him.”
Father laid a hand gently on my shoulder and said, “Saul will very much look forward to that.”
When all the business was done, we walked with Samuel, guiding our horses, to his home less than a mile away. David, taller and thicker than I despite being a little younger, introduced himself and his siblings. His handsome mother told us dinner would be ready in an hour.
David asked if I wanted to go exploring in the city.
“I’d better ask my father.”
“You have to ask?” David said.
“I have to at least tell him,” I said, and again I was stabbed with guilt. I never told my father anything. I sought his permission. But I didn’t want to admit that, even though I hated myself for this. Father’s quick approval made me feel even worse. I determined to not let this boy influence me in such a way again. I was so shaken, by the time I walked back to David I had told myself that this was about me, my character, my resolve. Maybe I was thinking too deeply for a boy my age, but whatever had pushed me past my peers intellectually was now working on my behavior. Every decision I made from that time on would be my own, influenced by no other. Was I growing up too quickly, taking things too seriously? Perhaps. But this was an important moment in my life.
I followed David into the street and toward the heart of the city. Soon he stooped to pick up a rock and gave it a mighty heave over the top of an apartment building.
I stopped. “Won’t that land in the street beyond?”
“That’s the plan. But it didn’t. When it does you hear screams or shouts or—the best—curses. That’s when you know you’ve hit a donkey and a cart is out of control.”
“And you think that’s funny.”
“It’s hilarious. Try it.”
“I would never risk hurting someone.”
“No one would know who did it.”
“But someone could even be killed.”
“I’ve been doing this for years, and nobody’s ever died that I know of.”
When David bent for another rock, I charged him. “Drop it!” I said.
He shoved me, and I stumbled and almost fell. When he raised the stone as if to throw it again, I lunged at him again, knocking him to the ground. “Do that again,” I said, “and I’ll drag you home and tell your father.”
David struggled to his feet. “Relax, Saul! I was just playing! You’ve got to remember, I was named after a guy famous for throwing rocks.”
“That’s not funny. You were named for a hero, a man God chose because of his heart for Him.”
David shook his head. “You want to climb the city walls, or do you want to go back and ask your father?”
I had been eyeing those walls all day, fascinated by the ramparts and wishing I could get a closer look. Sure enough, as we drew near, several people were walking along the top of the city wall, and children were climbing the sides, carefully positioning their sandals or boots in the cracks between the bricks.
I studied the wall, and the places for my feet and hands seemed to form a pattern. I leapt into action and scampered up the side as if I had done this all my life. I followed David across the broad top of the wall to the other side, where he told me to take hold of the side of one of the ramparts and look down. The outside of the wall had been sealed with something that made it smooth, impossible to climb up or down. It made sense that Damascus authorities would make it impossible for their enemies to climb the walls. I couldn’t imagine a way in or out of Damascus if the gates were locked.
From this vantage point I could see for miles, the surrounding area dotted with rocky outcroppings and flowering jasmine bushes.
That night, after a tasty meal, Father and I were directed to a small room off the kitchen where we would sleep. After our prayers, we lay on mats, and I whispered, “I need to tell you what happened this afternoon, but only if you promise not to tell Samuel.”
He stared at me in the low light. “I’m not sure I can make that promise, Saul. If it’s something egregious, I might be forced to.”
I wished I hadn’t even broached the subject. But now I was stuck. I told him of David’s rock throwing.
Father sat up and sighed heavily. “I can’t believe you allowed that, Saul.”
“I didn’t! I knocked him down and threatened to tell on him if he did it again. And he didn’t, so that’s why I hate to go back on my word.”
Father shook his head. “You please me when you do the right thing merely because it’s the right thing. But if I were Samuel, I would want to know about this. Are you confident David won’t do it again when we are gone?”
I shrugged.
“That is not a good answer, Saul. If you are to become a rabbi, truth must always be your hallmark. You must be brave, courageous, devout, and unafraid to expose wrongdoing. It’s not enough for you to obey and be righteous. You must ignite a lamp in the darkness, bringing sin into the light.”
“Are you going to tell his father?”
“I will pray about it.”
I had little doubt that Father would tell Samuel. My misgivings quickly passed. Rather than dreading David’s reaction when he learned I had exposed him, I found myself looking forward to it.
Might I grow up to be one who is unafraid of hard, even harsh, truth, bold enough to call people to holy living? Surely that would be a noble pursuit, and I might gain more of God’s favor if I became His instrument to keep people on the path to following His laws.
19
Napoli
PRESENT-DAY ITALY
SATURDAY, MAY 10, 7:55 A.M.
One thing Augie Knox had learned from his taciturn father was how to travel. Much as the old man had hated it, and happy as he was to turn over the bulk of it to his son, Edsel Knox knew all the tricks of the trade. Besides keeping his passport and visas up to date, he never checked a suitcase and carried on just one leather shoulder bag. It contained just three of every piece of clothing he needed. While having one cleaned he could wear the second and have one in reserve. He’d washed enough of his own shirts, underwear, and socks to get by in a pinch. He was wearing the one pair of shoes he would need for every contingency.
All his reading had been downloaded to his phone, with its nearly unlimited capacity, and his toiletries were the smallest, most compact he could find.
The only extra bulk on this trip w
as the dozens of blue books, but he had discarded each as he graded it and electronically stored his evaluation. Except for a brief layover in Atlanta, Augie had devoted about three-quarters of the ten-hour flight to plowing through the finals.
He had catnapped, and now as the plane taxied to the gate, Augie felt remarkably refreshed. He would grow drowsy by early evening, but finally finding out what was going on with Roger kept his mind off his own fatigue.
As Augie hauled his bag out of the overhead bin and slipped his passport into his pocket, he transmitted grades back to the seminary, then speed-dialed Sofia. It was an hour later in Greece, and she would be on her way to work.
“Glad you called,” she said. “You haven’t tried Roger yet, have you?
“Soon as we hang up.”
“Don’t. He still sounds petrified, Augie.”
“My phone is secure.”
“He’s afraid his new one has already been hacked.”
“Yet he called you?”
“He’s talking only in code now, Augie. Told me to tell you to go to the exact spot where you and he met to discuss the cruise to Malta. Said you’d remember.”
“I do, but that’s—.”
“Don’t be specific, Augie. He’s frantic we not give anything away by phone. He doesn’t think anyone knows you’re coming, but don’t bet on it. He’ll be in disguise.”
“Disguise?”
“He made a big point of the exact spot.”
“I know the place.” Problem is, it’s in Naples.
“Augie, keep in touch, will you? I’m dying to know what’s up, and I’m worried about you both.”
“Just wish I knew what he wanted from me.”
“I know you’ll do whatever you have to do, love.”
Fortunately Augie knew his way through Fiumicino Aeroporto and instinctively followed the crowd through Terminal 3 to Customs, checking his phone for trains to Napoli. One was to leave a few minutes after nine for the 110-mile trip and would cost him eighty dollars.
I, Saul Page 12