The Dog Who Was There

by Ron Marasco

  Prisca looked into his eyes. “Samid . . . did you steal it?”

  Samid stared back at her, and his eyes showed a fleeting glint of guilt before they turned up at the corners.

  “No,” he said with a broad and reassuring smile.

  At this Prisca’s face lit up as well. “Then this is wonderful!”

  “So let’s get you some food!” Samid cheered, filled with the mix of relief and shame liars feel when they’ve been believed.

  Just as Samid and Prisca stood and began to walk through the plaza, with Barley close behind them, a man came running past them, heading toward a spot on the far side of the plaza where a crowd was beginning to form.

  “The Teacher from Galilee! He’s coming!”

  The words were whispered, but they issued from the stranger’s mouth with intense passion. And Prisca heard them.

  “Samid, wait!” she said with such intensity that it startled Samid and made Barley put his ears up.

  “Here,” she said, trying to put the coin back into Samid’s hand. “I can’t let you use that to buy me some sort of . . . feast.”

  “Why not?” Samid asked, refusing to take the coin from her.

  “Instead of buying expensive food for me”—her eyes lit up with an idea—“let’s use the coin to buy food to bring back to the camp to share with the people there.”

  “The camp?” said Samid, surprise in his voice. “Why would we use our money to feed the people in the camp?”

  “Because they are hungry,” answered Prisca. “And because we both know how much hunger hurts everything—our stomachs, our hearts, our dignity, our souls. And the Teacher from Galilee knows this as well. He has said that we should love our neighbors as we love ourselves.”

  “Well,” Samid sneered, “this Teacher has never met our neighbors. He’d change his mind.”

  “Don’t mock, Samid,” Prisca said. “I’m serious.”

  Then she looked away, toward the gathering crowd.

  “Samid, the Teacher from Galilee is the reason I came to the city today. To see him with my own eyes.”

  Then she swallowed hard.

  “And maybe . . . to follow him.”

  “What?” Samid was stricken by her confession and said feebly, “But . . . why?”

  “His words,” she said simply. “They haunt me. What I’ve heard has given me a little hope that . . . perhaps . . . I can change the wretched life I’ve been leading. That may be a lot to ask for someone like me, but people say this Teacher can do miracles.”

  Samid could not believe his ears. Hearing something like this come from the mouth of the usually sensible Prisca shocked him.

  “I don’t believe in miracles,” he said.

  “But I do, Samid. And I am weary of the ugliness of our lives and want mine to change. I believe it can.”

  “Life doesn’t change much for people like us, Prisca.”

  “Oh, Samid,” said Prisca, near tears, “that is so hopeless.”

  Insulted by her reaction, Samid said dismissively, “Well, that’s what I believe.”

  “So,” she said, smiling knowingly, “you believe in despair, but not in the miracle that could save you from it.”

  Samid had no response.

  “Do you think I am a fool to want to change?”

  “No,” he said bluntly, “but I think you’re a fool to believe that someone like me can change.”

  “Samid, I think that in your heart, you are a good man.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I have faith that you are.”

  “Then your faith is wrong. I’m not a good man, Prisca.”

  Then he took a deep breath and turned away. When he finally began to speak again, his tone was softer than usual, and sadder.

  “I’ve done bad things in life, been mean and drunk and stole . . .”

  Samid stopped abruptly to swallow back the wave of feeling that, to his surprise, had found its way into his voice.

  Barley stared up at Samid. It was his first realization that his master was not always strong.

  “I’m not a good man, Prisca,” Samid said gently. “I’ve wanted to be good, and sometimes even tried. But always gotten it wrong.”

  Prisca reached up and took Samid’s face in her hands.

  “Just a few moments ago,” she said confidently, “I watched the man that I am looking at right now stand up to a brute who was hurting a broken old lady.”

  She smiled. Samid lowered his eyes.

  “And just a few moments before that,” he said, “the man you’re looking at right now took a coin from a baker he left bleeding in the street.”

  Prisca was silent for a moment.

  “Oh . . .” she said sadly. And then she withdrew her hands from his face, took Samid’s hands in hers, and pressed the coin into his palm.

  Samid lowered his eyes.

  “Go, Prisca. Go find your Teacher.”

  Prisca touched his shoulder gently, then turned to walk away. As she did, Barley’s wagging tail gradually wound down to near stillness.

  Prisca suddenly turned back toward Samid and Barley.

  “Don’t you know what a miracle is, Samid?” And with her pretty smile, quivering now with a touch of sadness, she said, “It’s the opposite of despair.”

  And with that, Prisca disappeared into the swelling crowd.

  CHAPTER 9

  Wine,” muttered Samid. “I must find wine. Where is Hog when I need him?”

  Samid looked around as if in a daze, then looked down at Barley. Barley’s eyes had followed Prisca until she disappeared into the crowd, and now he looked up at his master quizzically, his head cocked to one side as though he simply couldn’t fathom why Samid wasn’t following her.

  Samid’s gaze wandered toward the far end of the plaza known as the stables, a place where lowly workers and merry drunks hung about amid a stink of animals and rubbish so rank that even the soldiers stayed away. He started to walk in that direction, but the crowd in the plaza had suddenly swelled to such density that his view was quickly obscured. The emotion of the citizens seemed so heightened that Samid knew something unusual was taking place. And he and his small dog were now in the middle of it. Samid reached down and hoisted Barley up, resting his dog’s belly on one of his strong forearms.

  It was a perch Barley found to be both a comfy seat and a fine vantage point from which to take in the excitement of the swarm of people around him. A rather odd-looking fellow stood next to Samid and Barley. He had long, thin cheeks, an even longer and thinner nose, and jutting front teeth that made his whole face look like it was in a perpetual half smile. When the man noticed Barley, the half smile became a full smile. He kept looking down at Barley and then back up at Samid in the way that some strangers do when they want to initiate a conversation.

  But Samid was the wrong target for a friendly chat, especially right now. Upon noticing the man’s obvious interest in Barley, Samid returned his solicitous smiles with a scowl. But the man was not deterred in the least by Samid’s disinterest. Glancing down at Barley again and then back up to Samid, he said with a toothy grin, “Is this your dog?”

  “No, it’s my camel,” Samid muttered.

  The intrepid man put his face close to Samid’s, looked at his forehead, and said, “You have a wound. Were you in a fight?”

  Samid replied curtly, “That’s none of your concern, now, is it?”

  The man merely smiled amiably and said, “The Teacher from Galilee has told us, ‘If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.’”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like very wise advice,” Samid replied, and walked deeper into the crowd.

  The mass of people was now surging forward toward the thoroughfare connecting the plaza to the city’s main entry gate. Some people were pushing merely to get a good view of whatever was about to happen, but others looked as though they knew what they were going to see and moved toward the road with a sense of intense expectation.
<
br />   Barley’s senses were highly alert as he gazed at the scene in front of him.

  The crowd pushed from behind until Samid and Barley were now near the edge of the thoroughfare. The eyes of the thronging citizens lining the road were all pointed intently at the city gate, and Barley felt swept up in the anticipation. There was a gust of noise up near the gate, and Barley got so excited that he began to pedal his little legs in the air from his perch atop his master’s arm, his nails scratching Samid’s waist. Samid—with half a laugh and half an ouch—said, “Calm down, boy! We don’t know yet what we’re about to see!”

  Barley looked up the street excitedly as a huge cry erupted from the crowd. As the sea of people parted respectfully to let the procession through, Barley finally saw what was heading his way.

  He did, indeed, think it was a remarkable sight—but only because of how unremarkable it was, considering the crowd’s ardent anticipation.

  Barley saw no ornate carriage, no colorful garments, no majestic horses, nothing at all grand or fancy in any way. All Barley saw was a very kind-looking man riding a small donkey.

  It was a sight so simple that Barley could have seen it any day of the week in the neighborhood where he lived with Adah and Duv. However, the people who had gathered around this man on the donkey seemed awestruck by him. They were looking at him with the sort of love that people might have for a king or a hero. Many people were carrying huge, bright green palm leaves, and some were waving the leaves in a way that made it look to Barley like the whole crowd was moving as one. As the man on the donkey rode down the street, many of the citizens ran into the middle of the road and laid the leafy fronds on the stone road for the donkey to walk on.

  As soon as Barley could see the man’s face, he felt the same way about him. This was someone to honor.

  He didn’t know exactly why, except that an instinct—a new one, which felt to him like it came from somewhere very deep inside him—told him so.

  The Kind Man’s eyes were very gentle, and they looked around at the crowd as if he knew everyone in it—even their secrets. And when his eyes moved toward the part of the crowd where Barley was, Barley felt as though a warm wind were blowing right into his chest—a feeling he’d had only one other time in his life, when his mother looked at him on the last day he ever saw her.

  The Kind Man’s dark brown hair was long, but his beard and eyebrows were neat. His nose was strong and thin, and his lips were soft and content. He wore a thin cloak made of unremarkable material that was off-white—similar to the color of Barley’s fur. But the garment was so clean it seemed to glow in the afternoon sunlight. The Kind Man seemed a bit taller and perhaps a tad thinner than the average man, and it looked as though the donkey was having no trouble whatsoever bearing the Kind Man’s weight.

  The donkey was a brownish gray and young enough that the hair on his haunches still looked soft. He had a white splotch right between his funny eyes and flaring nose, and he looked to Barley like he was a little scared or perhaps worried he wasn’t doing a good job. But Barley could also tell that the donkey felt tremendous pride. The donkey held his head high, and even with his awkward gait, Barley thought he looked—and must have felt—like a beautiful, important horse.

  It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture that did the most to show Barley the depth of the Kind Man’s kindness. It was the way he touched the donkey. Every so often, the Kind Man would gently pat the beast’s sweaty haunches in a reassuring way. And once in a while, he would touch the spiky, patchy hair that ran down the beast’s back. The Kind Man touched the mane with his long fingers, tousling the tufts gently, twirling some with his index finger, letting the donkey know he loved him and thought he was doing a very good job.

  As the Kind Man and his donkey progressed down the thoroughfare, the street began to fill up with so many palm leaves that the stones of the street became invisible beneath the festive green carpet. Citizen after citizen came forward to lay down their tributes to the Kind Man, many of them whispering in reverent tones as they did.

  Barley was transfixed by the warmth of the Kind Man, the pride of the donkey, and the joy of the people that seemed to fill the air with a powerful sense of hope.

  By now the donkey and the Kind Man were within feet of Samid and Barley. Barley craned his head back to look up into his master’s face. As Samid stared at the approaching Teacher, his face flushed with enough feeling that Barley could sense by what he saw in his master’s face that he’d been right to sense the Kind Man was important.

  How fine a master must this Kind Man be, to be looked at in awe by masters?

  Samid was silent and still as the Teacher and his donkey passed in front of him. Barley looked up toward the Kind Man. No moving, no wagging, just looking up. And somehow Barley could feel that that was enough, that it wasn’t what Barley did that mattered to the Kind Man; what mattered was that Barley was there. And for a few long moments, it felt to Barley as though time had stopped. In a good way.

  Barley was snapped out of his reverie when his master suddenly let out a quick gasp. Barley looked up to see that his master’s eye had been caught by something he saw up ahead on the other side of the street.

  It was Prisca, her face looking out from amid the jubilant crowd across the street.

  Just as Samid spotted her, Prisca pushed her way from the crowd and ran into the middle of the road. Samid watched as she laid a large palm frond on the street with a reverent flourish—just in time for the donkey to tread upon it as Prisca lifted her head, putting her almost face-to-face with the Kind Man.

  Barley let out a few quick yaps, but Prisca couldn’t hear his barks over the deafening cheers. Then Barley looked back up at his master and saw he was craning his neck to catch another glimpse of Prisca. Samid even jumped up into the air a few times to try to see over taller heads, as Barley jostled about in his arms.

  As the Kind Man and donkey progressed down the thoroughfare, the people lining the path behind them began to disperse. Some onlookers who were there only for the excitement walked back to the market after having glimpsed the passing curiosity. But many others—those who seemed moved by the Kind Man—began following him and his donkey down the road.

  Since the crowds around them were thinning out, Samid was able to put Barley back on the ground again. After Samid stood back up, Barley heard him call to someone.

  “Wait, sir . . .”

  It was the funny-looking man with the smiling teeth. Barley wagged his tail.

  “Yes, my friend,” the man said as he stopped and turned toward Samid and Barley.

  After an uncomfortable pause, Samid asked shyly, “Are there other words of the Teacher’s you remember?”

  The man looked at Samid, and his eyes seemed to shine.

  “‘Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.’”

  Samid looked back at the man feebly. “I don’t have a door. Where I live, no one does.”

  The man laughed gently. Then he reached out and touched Samid’s shoulder in a way Samid never allowed strangers to do. “The Teacher has told us: ‘Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find.’”

  And then he walked away.

  Samid stood there for a long time while Barley waited, looking up at his master and wagging his tail. Finally, Samid scratched his beard, rubbed the bruise on his head a few times, wincing as he did, and then whistled for Barley to follow him.

  Dusk was settling over the city. The merchants in the marketplace were packing up their wares beneath the soft orange halo of the setting sun, which cast a magical glow over Samid and Barley as they made their way across the plaza. Samid remained lost in his thoughts and walked slowly and contemplatively, perusing various areas of the plaza searchingly.

  At first Barley thought his master was looking for Prisca and Hog, so he too kept an eye out for them both. But then Barley began to sense that Samid was looking
for something else. His master kept loitering near the food tables and watching the carts as they rumbled by.

  Finally, Samid stopped in front of a particular bread stall. Barley couldn’t understand why his master was so interested in that particular one, because it didn’t emit quite as delicious an aroma as many of the others. The table was small and rickety, and the loaves were formed in simple shapes, unlike the bread from the fancier tables closer to the temple.

  Samid caught the eye of the lady sitting on a stool next to the table. She was an old woman, and she sat smiling genially at the passersby.

  The old baker woman stood up and said, “Very good bread. I don’t go in for all the showy kinds they do today. This is just good bread, same as my mother made and her mother before that. Try? And some for your little dog?” And she broke off a piece from one of the loaves and tossed it to Barley—who was happy to get right to the business of gnawing the hard, crusty bread that was surprisingly tasty.

  “Can I speak plainly?” Samid said to the woman.

  And she nodded kindly.

  “I am going home to a place with many hungry people. I want to try to bring them back as much food as I can. But this is all I have to spend.” And Samid opened his hand and showed the old lady the coin.

  “I wondered if you could try to give me as much bread as you can for this amount of money. It’s not much, I know. If you can’t, then I’ll take what you give me. But . . . that is what I wanted to ask you.”

  The woman looked at him for a long time before doing anything.

  Then she turned briskly and walked behind her table. From under it she took a large, rough sack. As Samid watched her, with a slight, tender grin on his face, the old woman filled the sack with as much of the bread as could fit into it.

  When she was done, she lugged the sack over to Samid and put it down at his feet.

  He looked at her, smiled, said nothing, and politely handed her the coin. She took it, nodded warmly, put it in the pocket of her old tunic, and then looked into Samid’s eyes.