The Dog Who Was There

by Ron Marasco

  But all that was before that day.

  “Today, dear,” Duv went on excitedly, “I was working at my bench and saw a head sneaking slowly by the window. It was Hazor, tiptoeing up to steal some of our logs. I think he knew you were out gathering wood and thought I wouldn’t notice any missing from the pile with new logs coming. I think he’s done that before.”

  “I’m sure he has,” Adah interrupted, indignant.

  “Usually this would have made me angry.”

  “I should hope so, Duv!”

  “But then I thought of this word forgive. And like a kind of magic, I felt as if a heavy burden I had been carrying a long time had been lifted from me.”

  Adah was stunned. “Fine for you, Duv, but do you know the ‘heavy burden’ I’ve been carrying? Firewood! Lugging it all the way home for that man to pilfer! Listen to yourself—a ‘heavy burden lifted.’ Lifted indeed . . . lifted like our firewood was by that sneaky menace!”

  “Adah. Oh, Adah-la. You won’t believe what I did next.”

  “What?”

  “I hope you won’t be angry.”

  “Whaaaat?” Adah repeated, in that way a wife does when she knows her husband is about to tell her he did something stupid.

  “I picked up the few logs he’d left us in the pile. I walked across the path to his house. I knocked on his door. He opened it. I walked in and handed him the logs and said, ‘These are for you. I forgive you for everything you’ve stolen from us.’”

  There was a pause. Then . . .

  “Oh my word, Duv! What did his large wife say?”

  “She screamed!”

  “Duv, have you lost your mind?”

  “Lost my mind? Yes, dear—but only the part of my mind that made me feel bad.”

  As Adah shook her head, Duv laughed and then began to give Barley a belly rub, which Duv did when he was in an especially good mood.

  Adah was skeptical about the ideas of the Teacher at first, but Duv had a way of being very persuasive—as is true of husbands who don’t talk very much. And soon Adah began to see for herself that thinking and talking about the words of this Teacher helped Duv. Not to be kinder—Duv was always kind—but to be more relaxed, to sleep better, to whistle more, and to smile with true satisfaction after he was done with one of his figurines, as opposed to just looking at it for the flaws in his paint strokes.

  Once, Adah and Duv even went to hear the Teacher speak, traveling a day’s distance to hear him. They had been so touched by all the wonderful things their neighbor Yael had recounted to them about the Teacher that Duv had worked for days to carve as a gift for him the prettiest figurine he’d ever made: a large bluebird perched on a rock, its wings spread slightly. This bluebird had beautifully expressive eyes that seemed to magically follow you no matter what angle you looked at it from—a feature that particularly amazed Barley.

  On the day they traveled to hear the Teacher, they attempted to give it to him, but in the crush of the crowd they weren’t able to get close enough. Then some very serious-looking soldiers and high priests came to find out what he had been saying, and all those important-looking men stared suspiciously at the crowd. Duv had been warned by Yael that it could be dangerous to let people know you were a follower. At one point, a pair of soldiers had turned sternly and looked directly at Duv.

  It was the only time in their long marriage that Adah had seen her husband terrified.

  But he was mainly terrified for her, until the soldiers—notorious for mistreatment of regular citizens, finally looked away.

  “When the soldiers show up, Adah, bad things happen.”

  But Adah and Duv were never people to dwell on the bad things. So, unable to give the Teacher his gift of the bird, they simply brought the figurine back home and Duv put it on the small shelf over their bed, where at least, as they fell asleep under its wing, they would be inspired to think about the Teacher and his message.

  Barley liked having the bird up there on the shelf. Often at night—especially after he’d have the bad dream—he’d wake up and look around to see if Adah and Duv were still awake, but then glance across the room at two comfy lumps under the blanket breathing in sync. On nights like that, when Barley was up alone, he liked looking up at the bird over their bed.

  By now Adah and Duv had recited their dinner prayer together, murmuring softly in rays of candlelight as they held hands across their tiny table. Duv had worked especially hard this week, so there were even more bird figurines than usual to sell tomorrow at the market. But the more figurines to sell, the more work it took to show them off to the customers. This was usually Adah’s job, because Duv was too shy to say nice things about his work. But not Adah!

  On nights like this, before a market day, Adah and Duv went to bed early, right after they had dinner. Merchants—especially the humbler peddlers like Duv and Adah—went to the market before dawn to ensure they got a good spot to sell their wares. Because tomorrow evening was the start of the Sabbath, those who marketed tended to come early in the day so they could be home before sundown. Adah and Duv had to awaken while it was still dark outside to have time to carefully pack up the figurines and ready themselves for the journey up the long, winding road to the marketplace.

  As Barley watched his masters finishing dinner, the house was filled with a sense of peace. Since the Teacher had come into their lives, the small house they lived in—which had always been a snug and happy place—became even more so. It was not so much that Adah and Duv had learned from the Teacher how to be kinder and happier and more appreciative of life. It was rather that the Teacher had put into beautiful and memorable words what this couple already knew to be true about how to live.

  CHAPTER 4

  Barley was a dog who normally liked to sleep late, but today being market day, he had gotten up very early. As soon as Adah awoke to start the fire when the sky was still dark, Barley roused himself and lay by the hearth with his snout on the ground, looking up and following with sleepy eyes all of the bustling activity of Duv and Adah readying for market.

  After his morning walk with Duv, Barley came back in the house to be greeted by Adah, who had filled his bowl with plenty of water to get him through the day. After the usual series of market day rituals, including extra belly rubs and a few treats left over from dinner, Barley’s masters were ready to make the journey up the long road to the marketplace.

  Very carefully Adah and Duv picked up their basket, filled with a colorful flock of Duv’s creations sitting contentedly on a nest of straw. And then they left for the day. Barley hopped, as usual, up onto his perch on the wide ledge of the window to watch his masters amble up the street and out of sight.

  Most of the morning, Barley sat in the window, watching the activity on their small street. Since this was Friday, tonight was the special evening meal before tomorrow’s Sabbath. Neighbors were up early to begin making preparations so they could be home before sundown—as was the custom in all pious households throughout Judea.

  By midday Barley had finally found a sunbeam, which always made him happy, because Barley never had bad dreams when he slept in a sunbeam. And after taking a long drink of water, he curled up in its warmth, enjoying the quiet of his home and thinking about the meal he would have after Adah and Duv returned. In a moment, Barley was fast asleep.

  He’d been like that for hours, but now, with the sun fading and a gloaming wind blowing through the window, Barley began to rouse himself. He yawned a few times and lay in the middle of the floor, content and rested.

  The only bad thing was that he was feeling hungry.

  Hungrier than usual.

  Barley knew that being hungry would only make dinner taste better when he had it later, and that thought only made him happier. He rolled over onto his back to get into his usual happy pose: belly up, paws dangling, tail swishing the floor with intermittent wags.

  But when he did, he caught sight of something that wasn’t quite right.

  It was the sky.

/>   The sky was a certain shade of pink that Barley knew well—a pale grayish-pink color, the soft light of which eased all the day’s cares.

  It was the shade the sky always was when Barley took his evening walk with Duv—the special time he and Duv had alone together each night, when they’d walk to the small pasture at the end of the street and see Namm the goat and his owner coming up the other way to go home to their house.

  It was the shade the sky always was when Duv would find a stick and toss it ahead so Barley could run and catch it. Barley would grab the stick in his mouth and rush back to Duv, and Duv would bend down and pet his head and say, “Barley boy, Barley boy, Barley boy!”

  It was the shade the sky always was when they walked back to the house, able to smell Adah’s dinner cooking as they approached.

  It was the shade the sky always was when Adah and Duv were already back from market and the three of them were together after a day spent apart. Together for a happy evening.

  But none of those things had happened yet, because Adah and Duv were not home.

  On the day of the Sabbath meal, Adah and Duv were always home when the sun was still well up in the sky so that they had plenty of time to finish up the work of the day and keep the Sabbath as holy as it was meant to be kept.

  Barley looked out into the road for someone to help him find Adah and Duv.

  Across the road he could see Hazor in front of his house, drinking from a wineskin. Barley barked to get his attention, but Hazor was too busy drinking and mumbling to himself. Barley looked down onto the ground.

  Should he jump?

  Adah and Duv had trained him only to leave the house through the door and never to jump to the outside from the window ledge.

  Barley had never disobeyed Adah and Duv, but now he faced a terrible dilemma as he stood on the wide window ledge, yearning to go find help—his paws at the rim of the ledge as he looked down and barked at the ground below. Some instinct was telling him, Jump! Go get help! But another instinct was telling him, Obey! Stay!

  After a moment, the first voice won.

  Barley leaped onto the ground below, then ran through their tiny front yard and across the street to Hazor’s house. Barley stopped a few feet away from the man, looked up into Hazor’s red eyes, and began to bark pleadingly.

  Hazor sneered wearily, “Shoo, dog! Go!”

  But this made Barley bark even more—to try to let Hazor know how much he needed his help.

  Suddenly, the front door swung open and Hazor’s enormous wife was there. “Quiet, you wretched beast,” she yelled angrily. “Always making noise! It’s the Sabbath, runt! Don’t make me beat you.” Then she picked up a large stick from their woodpile and tossed it hard at Barley. He could tell by the way the stick flew toward him that she did not want to play fetch.

  Barley ran into the middle of the road.

  He stood there looking around the small street and wondering what to do. Then he began moving in circles, continuing to bark, as Hazor and his wife yelled at him from their yard. The gray of dusk had taken over whatever pink had been in the sky, and the street was silent and empty.

  Barley realized he would get no help from sticky-fingered Hazor or his gigantic wife, that he would have to be the one to help his masters.

  He knew what he had to do.

  He would try to follow Adah and Duv’s scent as far up the road as he could. It had been years since he had gone with Adah and Duv to the market when he was still a pup—too small to be left alone all day. That was over seven years ago, but Barley felt sure he remembered the way.

  He sped to the top of their tiny road and began to gallop as fast as he could up to the bend where the road opened out to the wider street, the very bend where Barley had last seen his masters early this morning as they set out on their journey.

  For the past seven years, Barley’s world had consisted only of Adah and Duv’s house, their short road, the few small houses that made up their humble, quiet neighborhood, and the pasture and forest surrounding their little corner of the world. Crowds, busy roads, journeys, strangers, unfamiliar sights, loud noises—none of these had been part of his life these past years.

  He was scared about where he was going, but he had no hesitation.

  He had to find Adah and Duv.

  Barley journeyed the strange roads at a frantic pace, leaving familiar places far behind him. Eyes, ears, nose—every one of his senses was heightened and keen and working hard to find his masters.

  He felt he could still smell their scent on the wind—so faint it may have been a wish, or his imagination, but it was enough to keep him running in that direction, running and running—running down the long road toward the marketplace.

  Barley began seeing clusters of people walking down the road in the opposite direction, and he ran past them. These were townspeople arriving home late from the market, rushing home to be inside before sundown. Most of them looked as though they had put in a hard day of work, and none were smiling. The people who did not care about the Sabbath were of a notoriously shadier class than those who were home well before sundown. And some of the people he saw walking toward him seemed tougher than those who lived in his neighborhood.

  Less pious, even, than Hazor.

  Some of them seemed almost dangerous to Barley as he ran past them as fast as he could.

  Barley knew he was far from home. The fading light, the unfamiliar people, the confusing twists in the landscape made Barley feel like he was running up the road of a bad dream. But he kept moving, pushing himself, racing uphill, sniffing, looking, listening, and hoping to catch the smell, sight, or sound of his beloved masters.

  Barley followed the road over, around, and through its many gradual inclines and downward slopes through the town. He had already traveled a long way and was becoming fearful he had somehow veered onto the wrong road. He considered the awful notion he might be running far and fast in a direction that was actually taking him farther from Adah and Duv rather than closer to them, all while precious minutes of remaining daylight were quickly disappearing.

  As Barley rounded a bend in the road, he saw two men walking together toward him, each carrying a half-empty sack. Barley had seen these sorts of sacks carried by the merchants among whom Adah and Duv worked and lived, but Barley could tell by the tone of their voices that these two men were not people Adah and Duv would want to know. These merchants seemed nasty and hard, and both men had cruel laughs that Barley did not like. The men were coming down the road, having just walked away from some commotion farther on.

  Barley soon saw what the commotion was. Two Roman soldiers were standing with a small group of citizens at the side of the road under a very large tree. Barley then saw the two soldiers walk away from the small crowd toward their horses.

  To Barley, who had only ever seen the hardworking labor horses who trudged daily up and down Adah and Duv’s street, these massive beasts—with their powerful haunches, flaring nostrils, clanking metal reins, and heavy hooves—were like impressive but frightful monsters. And if the animals themselves were not scary enough, the soldiers mounting them looked even more menacing. They wore heavy armor in large, ominous shapes and large boots made of leather and yet more metal. Heavy red capes hung from their beefy shoulders, and their massive helmets made them stand high as giants. The soldiers carried tall, heavy spears, with tips so sharp and shiny that Barley had to look away from their pointy threat.

  Soldiers like these were one of the unfortunate facts of life for citizens living in Roman-occupied Judea. They policed with a heavy hand and an itching palm. Throughout the region, these men were known for their brutality, corruption, pillaging, and drunkenness—and above all for tormenting powerless citizens as a kind of sport. The punishment they meted out was always swift and often public, and they were indiscriminate in choosing their victims—sometimes riffraff and troublemakers but just as often poor citizens or common laborers and merchants who were unable, or unwilling, to oblige them with bribes
.

  Barley’s every instinct told him that these men were to be feared. And the instant the soldiers dug their sharp spurs into the haunches of their steeds, his instincts were proven correct.

  Thunder erupted! A rumble shook the ground until it rattled every bone in Barley’s body, and he looked up the street to face the monsters heading right for him! The huge horses were charging right toward Barley, with not the slightest indication they would be adjusting their path to avoid squashing the small dog in the middle of the road.

  Barley zigged expertly to one side. But as he did, he saw the horses readjust their path directly toward him. When Barley looked up at the faces of the oncoming soldiers, he understood why. The mirthful look in their eyes and the hateful smirks on their faces let Barley know that running down small dogs was something these men did for fun.

  As the stampede roared down the street toward him, one of the merchants they were about to pass waved up at the soldiers enthusiastically. The soldiers veered from Barley toward the merchants, one of whom shouted jubilantly, “Fine work, strong sirs! Huzzah!” The soldiers gave them nods as they passed, high-stomached with conceit, and kicked up a gale of heavy street dust that pelted Barley’s fur as they flew down the road.

  Barley changed his mind about the two merchants. They were disreputable men, but they had saved him. He passed by the men and headed toward where the crowd was gathered under the tree.

  “Listen to you,” one merchant laughed, mocking his friend’s fawning. “Fine work, strong sirs! You gull!”