The Dog Who Was There

by Ron Marasco

  It was Samid.

  It was Barley’s master.

  His master, who he had lost, was in front of him. And yet what Barley saw before him was a human being, nailed to a piece of wood, in a place from which Samid had no hope of ever being saved.

  Barley stared at his master.

  Samid’s arms were wrenched wide, his head hanging low, his eyes half closed, his breathing raspy and audible to Barley even from several feet away.

  Every instinct inside of Barley compelled him to let his master know that his dog had found him and was here. Barley ran a few feet in front of the soldiers, planted his four legs in Samid’s direction, and boldly let out three quick, full-throated, unapologetic barks.

  Barley had hardly finished his third bark before he felt himself hoisted up sharply under his haunches, lifted by a soldier’s heavy lance and hurled through the air. Barley landed with a thud and slid a few feet before crashing against the side of a large rock.

  As the soldier returned to formation and Barley recovered himself, he lifted his snout up over the rock to look at Samid.

  Barley hoped his master had heard him bark.

  But Barley could see Samid had not moved at all. He was in the exact same position, his breathing still raspy, but now a little slower.

  Barley walked a few paces down the knoll to put some distance between himself and the soldiers. He laid his belly on the ground but kept his head up and looked out across the clearing toward his master and the Kind Man.

  All Barley could do was watch and wait.

  The minutes and hours of his watch hung heavier than the bleak clouds overhead.

  Samid’s head drooped even further. His eyes remained closed, and his face was strained with pain. He seemed to have no awareness of his surroundings.

  And then there was the Kind Man.

  As Barley looked at the Kind Man, he noticed that a group of people stood far forward of the soldiers, very near the foot of the cross on which the Kind Man hung.

  A younger man was standing there, just a few yards away from the Kind Man. Barley thought this man must be one of the Kind Man’s friends.

  Barley saw two women standing just a few feet in front of the Kind Man’s friend. One woman was younger, the other older. Both of these women seemed worried and very sad, but they held their heads high as they gazed into the face of the Kind Man.

  Barley saw a third woman. She stood closest to the Kind Man, just a few feet from the foot of his cross.

  This woman’s back was to Barley, and she was standing very still, looking up at the Kind Man, her head tilted at an angle that touched Barley, even seeing it from behind.

  And the robe she wore also absorbed Barley’s attention.

  It was blue.

  Not a bright blue, but a blue that seemed vivid and beautiful, a blue that reminded Barley of the color of the wooden bird Duv had made that had come to life and winked at Barley.

  Barley knew that the lady in blue was the Kind Man’s mother.

  He could tell by the way she looked up at her son.

  Barley could also tell she was his mother by the way the Kind Man looked back at the lady. He looked at her as though she was the last person in the world he could bear to see hurt. Whenever the Kind Man’s eyes met his mother’s, Barley saw that he would work to ease the pain on his face, to protect her from seeing his agony. Barley could also see her eyes trying to tell the Kind Man not to worry about her, that she wanted to be there, by her son, at his feet.

  Barley lay down and resumed his watch of his master and of the Kind Man and his mother. After a long while, Barley’s eyes began to drift up at the sky overhead. The clouds were shifting and swarming and making restless movements and ugly shapes over Golgotha.

  Suddenly, Barley was startled by a sharp cry.

  “You . . . !”

  The terrible voice cracked through the silence in a way that made even the soldiers look up with a start.

  The voice belonged to the dark-featured man who was hanging on the cross on the other side of the Kind Man.

  The man had turned his head and was looking angrily at the Kind Man. His face was weary with pain, but his eyes were fiery with bitterness and rage.

  “You . . .”

  Then the man’s voice softened to a rasp. He drew a huge breath and spoke with such a seething roar that his voice echoed over the hill.

  “If you be the Christ . . .”

  There was silence as the agitated man tried to draw another large breath. By now, most of the people who were watching from the knoll—especially the soldiers—had their eyes fixed on this raving man.

  But Barley’s eyes were pulled elsewhere.

  He saw that Samid had lifted his head.

  Barley got up off the ground to all fours—paws poised, ears lifted, every muscle in his body alert.

  Samid was very weak, but Barley could see that he was awake and aware enough to turn his head in the direction that the startling voice had come from.

  Barley and Samid listened along with the crowd as the prisoner spoke to the Kind Man, trying to finish the scornful sentence he had begun several gasps before.

  “Aren’t you the Messiah?”—his voice now fuller, stronger—“save yourself and us!”

  The man’s plea resounded through the dusky sky before trailing into silence.

  Then Samid spoke.

  He leaned his head forward with difficulty and looked over at the man who had just spoken.

  Samid said to the man sadly, “Don’t you fear God?”

  Then Samid’s voice grew stronger as he slowly continued. “We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve.”

  Samid rolled his head back against the wood of his cross to better look into the face of the Kind Man on the cross next to him.

  Samid continued, “But this man has done nothing wrong.”

  Then Samid’s chin began to shake, and his whole being collapsed into weeping. He spoke no words as the tears coursed down his bedraggled cheeks. Barley saw in Samid’s eyes the same look he remembered when his master’s strength and voice had cracked, in words once spoken to Prisca.

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

  Now Barley watched as his master’s hardness broke away and the tears of a lifetime poured forth.

  As Samid wept, Barley saw the Kind Man turn and look at Samid with compassion.

  Then Barley saw Samid lift his weeping head and look directly into the eyes of the Kind Man.

  “Lord?” Samid called softly to the Kind Man.

  The Kind Man looked deep into Samid’s eyes as Samid paused to gather his strength.

  “Jesus . . . remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

  The Kind Man gave Samid a look of such radiant kindness that Barley was transfixed. Then Barley heard the Kind Man speak to his master.

  “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

  At these words, Barley saw his master’s pained face begin to ease and then brighten ever so faintly into a droopy grin, just enough for Barley to see a bit of Samid’s broken teeth.

  Samid had changed. And Barley saw it.

  Now Samid lowered his head and his breathing became calmer. He sank into a quiet unconsciousness, his eyes half closed as he continued to breathe more peacefully.

  But Barley still needed to let his master know that he was there.

  As the minutes hung heavily, Barley kept alert. He would wait.

  He would know the right moment to let his master know his dog was there.

  Soon Barley began to notice that the clouds were getting darker and lower. Everything was quiet and still and gray and cold.

  All three men were now breathing very slowly, and all three of their heads were lowered.

  Then, a sudden motion.

  It was the Kind Man.

  He lifted his head—not weakly, but with a quick burst of waning strength. Barley watched intently as the Kind Man looked ar
ound, moving his head very slowly. The Kind Man did not look at his friends or his mother. Instead, he looked at the soldiers, some of whom were keeping watch, some sitting at leisure after having done their duty of nailing men to crosses. Another small group of soldiers sat off to the side, playing dice to alleviate the boredom of this routine deathwatch, and one or two were actually looking up at the Kind Man with, if not sadness, then a touch of shame.

  After looking at all of these people for several moments, the Kind Man lifted his eyes upward toward the cloud-filled sky and spoke.

  “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

  The Kind Man lowered his head once again, breathing softly, then looked up into the sky and spoke in a loud and anguished voice.

  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

  The agony of the Kind Man’s words reached Barley’s sensitive ears, and Barley sensed that the clouds themselves were hearing and feeling this man’s agony.

  Barley’s eyes moved instinctually toward the Kind Man’s mother. He saw that she was standing at the foot of the Kind Man’s cross, still and graceful. She neither turned away nor winced but looked at her son and let her eyes tell him all he needed to know.

  Barley realized the lady in blue was now being separated from her son. He turned to look up at the Kind Man, who was very still. Barley understood what this meant.

  The Kind Man had died.

  CHAPTER 16

  Within moments, a terrible, slow rumbling began. At first it was a low, rolling hum that grew rapidly. Soon it felt to Barley as though some deep abyss inside the hill was going to open up and cry out at all it had witnessed.

  Barley dug his paws into the earth to try to steady himself as he looked up into the sky. The clouds raced overhead, buffeted by strong gusts of moaning wind. Soon their sodden shapes began to billow down and out, filling the low sky above the Kind Man’s cross, and a deluge began to pummel Golgotha with a gray torrent.

  Barley stood, gazing at his master through the rain.

  Samid’s chest moved slowly up and down as he struggled to draw breath, his eyes half open and dazed, his lips pursed with pain. Barley remained there, unfazed by the heavy downpour that soon drenched his scraggily white fur until his pink skin showed through. Barley blinked repeatedly to keep the pelting drops from obscuring his view of his master.

  As Barley peered through the blinding rain, he could see Samid’s body coming to the end of its long struggle.

  But Barley still needed his master to know that he was there and to understand that he had found him and would stay by him to the last.

  Time was running out.

  Barley looked around and noticed that a number of soldiers were milling about anxiously. He could tell that some new concern had all the men on edge. The soldiers were looking up and pointing at the Kind Man, whose deceased body remained on the cross. It was now late in the day on Friday, and tomorrow was the Sabbath. The Sabbath was the one day of the week that those crucified on Golgotha could not be left hanging on their crosses as a warning. Such a display during Sabbath would be deemed an abomination. The bodies of the condemned must be removed by sundown on Friday.

  Barley could tell by the way the soldiers were now looking and pointing that they were no longer discussing the Kind Man. They were concerning themselves with the man hanging on the cross on the other side of the Kind Man. This angry wretch was still groaning loudly and his breathing was not nearly as weak as Samid’s. Soon a few more soldiers came over to stand below that man’s cross and join in the discussion.

  After a short time, two of the soldiers left the group and moved hastily in Barley’s direction as they walked across the center of the clearing to the foot of Samid’s cross.

  As the soldiers approached, Barley huddled his head down into his shoulders, hoping to escape their notice. But Barley heard a fierce slicing sound and looked up just in time to step away from the snap of a whip lashing down onto the muddy ground next to him, missing him by inches and sending a spray of mud several feet into the air.

  Then the soldier reared back the whip again, this time with double the gusto. Driven by a mix of instinct and will, Barley launched into a full gallop, with flying swirls of mud trailing behind. He charged through the downpour until he was well out of range of the soldier and his whip.

  Barley now stood several yards from the crosses and watched.

  The whip-wielding soldier and his superior walked over to look at the man who was writhing and moaning on the cross on the other side of the Kind Man. Then they walked over and looked up at Samid. The men could see that Samid was still breathing, his chest rising and falling in a strong, steady rhythm. Barley watched as the men shook their heads in dismay. Then they turned away and walked to the middle of the clearing to join the other soldiers. The men began to argue with each other so heatedly that Barley could hear their angry voices even through the driving wind and rain.

  The commanding soldier turned and hollered through the rain to a younger—and very muscular—soldier who was standing off to the side near Barley. His words were emphatic.

  “We need to finish this!”

  The burly younger soldier heard this and gestured respectfully to the commander. This man was huge but baby-faced, an up-and-coming underling, the sort of soldier known in the ranks to be eager, able, and deadly. Barley saw that he was carrying a long, heavy pole that seemed to be made of iron. The soldier walked over to the cross that held the raging man, who was, by now, more subdued—his eyes wandering dazedly, his exhales sounding like low moans.

  The commander gave the soldier a businesslike nod. Barley watched as the soldier cocked back the heavy iron bar and, with one brutal stroke, swung it forward, smashing the prisoner’s legs with a deafening crack as the man’s weakened body collapsed, hanging from his nailed hands, swaying back and forth for a few terrible moments to the rhythmic creaking of the wooden crossbar strained by the dead man’s weight, until all motion ebbed to stillness.

  Barley stared up at the man sadly for a moment, until he saw the soldier with the iron bar walking toward Samid.

  Barley ran down from the knoll, charging through the mud toward Samid’s cross as the soldier planted his booted feet in the ground and tightened his grip on the iron bar. Barley kept running even as he recoiled when he saw the blow his master took.

  The sound of the bar landing seemed to shake the whole hill, but Samid did not utter a sound as he crumpled down, his chest still heaving with breath. Their brutal business done and certain the nameless thief on the cross was now breathing his last, the soldiers walked away.

  Barley reached the foot of Samid’s cross just as the soldiers slowly sauntered away.

  Barley remained.

  And then he began to bark.

  He barked full and loud and strong. But Samid did not move. So Barley barked and barked again.

  Barley barked, but Samid gave no reaction.

  There was only silence. And not so much as the tiniest response from Samid.

  Barley tried again.

  Barley barked to tell not only his master but to tell every cruel soldier on the whole evil ground of Golgotha who Barley belonged to.

  But again, no reaction from Samid.

  Now Barley stood there.

  Looking up.

  Silent.

  Waiting for any sign his master had heard him.

  Barley blinked a few times, not shifting his eyes from his watchful focus on his motionless master. Samid’s breath was so slow now that Barley had to strain to discern whether his master still breathed at all.

  Barley blinked and waited.

  Then Samid began to lift his head.

  Slowly . . . slowly . . .

  His anguished eyes were dazed. His mouth hung open, his cheeks quivering in pain. The soldiers watched as suddenly Samid opened his eyes very wide, something the soldiers knew was often a sign of the final moments of life.

  When Samid’s eyes opened, they fel
l directly upon Barley.

  Barley knew his master was looking down at him and was certain he could see what he wanted his master to know.

  That his dog was there.

  Then Barley saw it.

  The lifted jaw, his master’s lips parting ever so slightly. And finally, the broken tooth.

  His master had tried to smile at him.

  Then Samid slowly closed his eyes and died.

  CHAPTER 17

  Barley stood in the rain—a small, sodden figure on the hill of Golgotha. The moment Samid died, Barley had turned his head away. He could feel that his master was gone, but Barley could not bring himself to leave.

  Barley’s eyes were drawn to the activity at the Kind Man’s cross.

  A ladder had been placed up against it, and soldiers were preparing to remove the body. The men used iron tongs to pull off the strange circle of barbs that Barley had seen around the Kind Man’s head, and the now-unfurled braid of thorns was tossed onto the muddy ground just a few feet away from Barley.

  Then came the nails.

  The first one slammed onto the ground near the thorns with such force that a splash of mud flew high in the air.

  They were as thick around as a man’s finger, but twice as long, each with a gnarled point that made the hurtful thorns seem gentle. The soldiers were using a thick, flat metal tool to pry them from the Kind Man’s hands and feet, grunting till they tossed the freed nail down onto the accumulating junk pile of their day’s bloody work.

  Barley had watched the first nail land.

  Then the second.

  Then the third and longest nail, warped by having been pounded through the Kind Man’s coupled feet, landed almost upright in the mud.

  The group of people who had stayed with the lady in blue were gathered near the base of the Kind Man’s cross. There was an older man standing among them whom Barley hadn’t noticed before. He was mostly bald with light gray hair on the sides and wore brightly colored clothes made of rich fabrics. Barley knew he must be important by the way the soldiers spoke to him—less gruffly and rudely than they spoke to everyone else, even to each other.