by Tracy Groot
“Amen,” said the brothers. James glanced at Simon.
Simon intoned the second eulogy. “You, O Lord, are mighty forever; you, who quicken the dead, are mighty to save. In your mercy you preserve the living; you quicken the dead; in your abundant pity you bear up those who fall, and heal those who are diseased, and loose those who are bound, and fulfill your faithful Word to those who sleep in the dust. Who is like you, Lord of strength, and who can be compared to you, who kills and makes alive, and causes salvation to spring forth? And faithful are you to give life to the dead. Blessed are you, Jehovah, who quickens the dead.”
“Amen.”
All four brothers offered the final eulogy. “You are holy, and your name is holy, and the holy ones praise you every day. Selah. Blessed are you, Jehovah God, the Holy One. Amen.”
The prayer shawls came off; the phylacteries were removed, kissed, and folded. The tefillin were unwound, kissed, and placed with the phylacteries into the shawls. The shawls were folded into bundles, and the bundles placed in the willow basket on Father’s bench.
A lifetime of going to synagogue was not an easy habit to change. Sometimes James ached to be back. It felt foreign not going. It felt wrong.
“You did not come home until very late,” Simon said, not looking at James, as he took his stool at his bench and picked up the half-carved bowl.
“I had much to think about,” James said as he slipped onto his own stool. He hooked his legs around the stool legs.
“Did you see Nathanael?” Jude asked. James squinted at him. His tone was too casual.
“No. I didn’t.”
“I waited long, James,” Joses said quietly. “We all did. I finally had to go home to Abigail. Where did you go last night?”
James inspected a ragged thumbnail and turned in his seat to look at his hanging tools. He took down the rasp and went to work on the nail. “After I spoke with Raziel, I went for a walk.”
Simon put the bowl back and folded his arms, his thoughtful gaze on James.
Simon was not a tall man, but he had the chest of a wine cask, big as a barrel. His arms were as thick as a metalsmith’s. He was considered the best looking of the lot. He had square, strong lines in his face and brown eyes set in thick, long lashes. Though his eyes were often cold and mocking, the girls in the village still gave him a second look. James supposed they still did.
It was not fair that Simon, even Simon, was denied a normal life. Only Joses and Devorah were married, raising children for an inheritance. Simon and Jude and Jorah were all denied the happiness of married life. Nobody wanted to be united to the family of the Galilean preacher. James had never really wanted to be married, himself. The only one he wanted had wanted someone else. If she even had a wisp of a thought toward James; well, he was second choice. He would not be second choice.
Simon, he could have had his pick. Heaven help the woman who would marry him, but still . . . it was not fair. As much as Simon irritated James, there was the flashing memory, not thought of in a few years, not since late yesterday afternoon. Simon, his broad shoulders protecting. Simon, taking a blow meant for Jesus.
James raised his eyes to Simon. “I never knew you studied Torah with Simeon.”
Simon gave a small shrug. “What of it?”
James went back to his nail. “Nothing.”
“Raziel—” Judas broke off to lower his voice. James could understand, too, his quick if irrational glance toward the doorway. But what Roman or Israelite would be strolling about close enough to hear on the Sabbath? The men of Israel were in the synagogues, and the Roman soldiers stationed in Nazareth considered Sabbath their day of rest too. It left them only the pagans to keep an eye on, cutting their work by half.
“Raziel is leaving at twilight?” Jude asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“Well, James? Why are you so hesitant to speak?” Simon said less quietly. “What did you learn from Raziel? Is there a connection between him and this Judas who runs with Jesus? What about Avi and his friend? Why were they here? What does Raziel know about that?” He lifted his hands and dropped them. “Is there a plot against Jesus? You seem very reluctant to talk about any of it.”
James replaced the rasp on the peg behind him. He straightened a few tools that were not perfectly aligned. He dreaded this moment, dreaded it and was ready for it. Three long years, and he was finally ready. For last night, after leaving Annika’s home, he went and did what Raziel suggested. He sat down to choose a side and fight from there.
He had not walked the ridge at twilight in a very long time. The skies were clear, and the night was a glittering cloak of comfort. With the setting of the sun he was finally at ease, able to relax in the concealing darkness.
He went to his favorite place as a boy, the highest point on the ridge, past his home, past the terraced strips, past Eli’s place, and past the home of Tobias and Sarah, Joses and Abigail. It was a quiet outpost, one of the highest places in Nazareth, with a solitary olive tree near its peak. There James settled down, back against the trunk, and there he gazed on the flickering lights in the valley below. From here he could look to the East and see the mound of Mount Tabor. If it were a clear day, he could turn to the west and see Mount Carmel, near the coast of the sea. There it was that Elijah had engaged in the contest of power with the priests of Baal. The very tree he leaned against was hundreds of years old; perhaps this very tree had witnessed the sight.
Father once told James he thought the tree had been around when King Solomon built the first Temple six hundred years ago. It existed when Nebuchadnezzar sacked Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, and carried off most of the inhabitants to Babylon. It was here when Cyrus the Great allowed the captives to return. And it was here when, south in a place called Modi’im, a man named Mattathias the Maccabee said, No more.
Joseph had taken a peculiar liking to this tree. He came yearly to prune it and had placed a ring of white stones about it. The stones were still there, a few out of place. James knew why Joseph liked the tree. It was representative of Israel—of the Jewish people. It endured; it survived. Half the tree was stunted from an oval scar the size of a cistern cover. Where the trunk suddenly stopped, limbs branched beneath and curved toward the sky. It was a tree that would continue to grow, no matter what devastation had caused the scar. And it was there, with the tree to brace his back, that James made up his mind.
At first he had wanted to convince them. Raziel’s fire, he could feel it burning now within, but now he did not want to convince them at all. He had decided, and that was that; he would leave the rest of his family to their own decisions.
“Simon, last night at some point, those questions did not matter anymore,” James said with a sigh. “They were what drove me to Raziel, but I came away with something different. I was not planning to go up to Passover this year, but I have changed my mind. I will go and speak with Jesus.”
“About what?” Simon demanded.
“We will warn him about the potential plot against him,” Joses broke in, daring James to say differently. “Of course that is why we will speak to him.”
“I want to speak to him about why he is here,” James said, ignoring Joses. “About his gifts. About his obligation to Father.”
“Oh, you know what he will say,” Simon sneered, shifting on his stool. “He will talk about his heavenly Father. You of all people, James.”
It didn’t even bother him. Something had happened last night. In deciding, an unexpected balm had come to his stomach. It had not left.
“What exactly will you say to him, James?” Joses asked from where he sat on the ground near his bench with his back against the wall.
“I will tell him that I am on his side.”
Simon’s stool tumbled backward as he suddenly stood. “What did that Raziel do to you?”
“What do you mean, you are on his side?” Judas demanded. While he and Simon yammered protests, James slipped a glance at Joses. He remained silent, watching James.
“Be quiet, and I will tell you,” James said.
Simon shook his head, muttering, and grabbed the stool to drop it into place. He snatched the bowl from his bench. He selected a small gouge adze, sat down heavily on his stool, and began to chip out the bowl.
“Simon . . . ,” Judas warned, watching the pitch of wood chips.
“Shut up, Judas.”
No one else offered any recrimination about work on the Sabbath. Simon’s back was to James. Fine with James; Simon could hear him front or back.
“Raziel only spoke aloud the things I have long felt. He convinced me of nothing; he merely gave voice to the things of my heart.”
Simon grunted, and the chips flew.
“What things of your heart, James?” Joses asked.
“Oh, the honesty is thick this morning,” Simon sneered. “I think I am going to be sick.”
“Shut up, Simon,” Judas said. “What things, James?”
James did not want to push Simon over. He did not want to throw anything at him. He marveled on this a minute before answering Jude.
“We know him. As no one else does, we know him. What we know most about him is that he is true.”
“According to him, the truth,” Simon muttered.
“The . . . extraordinary gifts he has . . . how he heals . . . and brings hope. . . . I believe that God’s hand rests upon him.”
“Who can argue with that? Snap your fingers and calm a storm. I wonder what would happen if he sneezed.”
“Simon . . . ,” Joses warned.
“He would wipe his nose on his sleeve like the rest of us,” Jude said. “Continue, James.”
“But I think his compassion is misplaced. At least, I think it is premature. He has allowed his heart to get in front of his head, because the issue, as always, is the foreigner. The foreigner, brothers.” James spread his hands. “This land is ours. It was given to us by God. The prophets and the great men who came before us were all about the land—to dwell in the land and to possess it. It’s God’s command. Then Jesus comes, and as they say . . . no one has ever spoken like him before. He says things that, that—strike us within for the truth of it . . . and that is good. But, brothers, he speaks different things. He is not about the land, which to me is not Jewish. And that is not good.”
Simon, at his stool, was shaking his head. James pushed down a ripple of annoyance and continued. He would give them what he felt, toss it into the middle of the workroom, and leave them to their own decisions.
“Deliverance from within must be preceded by deliverance from without. We must do what our fathers before us have not been able to do, what David himself was not able to do. We must fully root out the foreigner. After that, let the kingdom of Israel truly begin. After that, let . . .”
Simon’s shaking his head was more than annoying; it was distracting.
“After that, let Israel flourish and become what God intended Israel to be. This is where Jesus comes upon the scene. Jesus has been chosen by God to be our leader, to liberate with his powers and his words. He must be made to see that his kingdom is indeed of this world. Simon, what do you find so offensive about this?”
Simon looked up, the expression on his face one of mock surprise. “Me? Nothing at all. By all means, continue, James.”
“If Jesus can be made to see that Rome is an interloper, not something to be tolerated, that Rome represents a test of some kind by God to see whether we will unite as one and—Simon, why don’t you take your insolent head shaking and—”
“Better yet, Simon, tell us what is wrong with James’ words,” Joses said from his place at the wall.
Chips flew from decisive cuts. “Why don’t you take yourself to Jesus, James? Let him heal you of your blindness.” Before James could sputter a single word, Simon continued. “You are a fool. You bought into Raziel’s talk, which is nothing more than another distraction from the real issue.”
Joses folded his arms and cocked his head. “And the real issue is . . . ?”
Simon turned in his seat to glare at James. Anger made his face harder than ever. He was so full of it the words came out between tight lips.
“You are a coward, James. Like Raziel. The only honest people around here are some of the Pharisees and Sadducees, because they hear what Jesus says, and they are not afraid to confront him. People like Raziel would seize him and make him king. The am ha-aretz, who are thrilled to see someone align himself with them, would seize him and make him king. The leaders are not happy with what Jesus says about himself, but at least they are honest. They take him to task for the things he says, and that is courageous honesty.”
James rose from his stool. He would not allow this, not when he had finally figured it out. He knew where he stood now; he knew what was right. The fact that the gut pain strained at the balm meant nothing.
“Simon, you are only full of poison because he ruined your chance to serve at the Temple,” James said evenly.
Simon looked him up and down, nodding, his lip curled. “You would believe that.”
Anger oozed from under the lid, coating James’ stomach, breaking a sweat on his brow. No! He would not let Simon goad him. He would not go back. “It’s over for me. I have chosen which side I am on.” He looked to Joses. “You were the one who said we had to decide if we were for him or against him. I have decided—I am for him. I am on his side. There it is; you can take it or leave it.”
Simon gave a long, mocking laugh. “You are on his side, though you want what he does not? Sounds like you are on your own side. Why can’t you look something in the face instead of always running away? The issue, James? The real issue? He says he is the Light of the World. He says horrifying things like ‘My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.’”
James made his hands into fists to prevent himself from clapping them over his ears. His decision threatened to unravel, when finally he had firm footing, and James hated Simon for it.
“The issue, James—”
“Enough!” James screamed.
Simon rose and tossed the bowl and the adze onto his bench. “The issue, James? Jesus said, ‘Before Abraham was born, I am.’ The people see his miracles; the leaders hear his words. And what they have heard is blasphemy.”
Black and silver spots skittered on the periphery of James’ vision. No matter how much he gave, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how far he allowed himself to go, it always came back to this. Blasphemy, blasphemy. And so it was.
Simon looked at each brother, then turned and walked out the doorway. Odd how James noticed he did not kiss the mezuzah. Such a little thing to notice.
After a moment, Judas followed Simon, kissing his fingertips and touching them to the small metal plate. Joses drew his knees up and rested his arms on them. James slowly made his eyes look into the eyes of his brother, who was already looking at him but not at his eyes. James looked down to where his hands clutched his stomach.
It was blasphemy. That was the accursed misery of it.
10
“NONSENSE. Why, I have not heard such a tale spun from—”
“Who is telling this story? Stop interrupting me. So we were standing in this pantry, this huge pantry, the size of my mother’s entire home, and Bargil is looking in jars, and Theudas is saying, ‘Come look what the baker made—anyone want pastries?’ and I’m nearly on the floor laughing, and Ephrem is stuffing his pockets with anything he can find—figs, dates, pistachios, you name it—and all of a sudden Zadok comes racing into the pantry, face white as linen, and he whispers, ‘It’s Pilate!’”
“No!” Annika pushed back from the table, her mouth agape in horrified delight. She immediately pulled herself back. “Then what happened?”
“For the worst moment in our put-together lives, we just stare at each other. Then we all dive for the nearest hiding place. Bargil ducks behind a wine cask; I jump behind a huge sack of barley; Zadok throws himself onto a pile of skins and pulls one over himself. Theudas, who lo
st his mind for a moment, first crawls onto one of the shelves, then realizes it’s no good and throws himself next to Zadok and covers up with a skin.”
Nathanael took a moment to press his fingertip to the crumbs on his plate from Annika’s spiced nut pie. He luxuriated in Annika’s astonishment while he licked the crumbs from his finger. Wasn’t he better at telling stories than Zadok ben Zakkai? Timing was everything. He had to allow his listener—listeners, since Raziel was in the back room and probably listening—time to imagine any number of ghastly outcomes.
“Well?” Annika demanded. “Did Pilate find you?”
Nathanael brushed his mouth and shook out crumbs from his tunic. He set the plate on the table and leaned back in his chair. Then he grinned.
“No. But we had to listen to him scold the cook for half an hour while we basted in our sweat. Then Pilate’s chief secretary, Orion, comes and takes up where Pilate left off for another half hour. We thought we would die.”
Annika sat back, shaking her head as if scandalized. Then her plump frame began to shake gently with chuckles, and then she laughed out loud.
Nathanael laughed too and reached for the pitcher of watered wine. He topped off Annika’s cup and refilled his own, then settled back and looked appraisingly at Annika. He swirled the wine in his cup and said, “Do you miss him?”
Still smiling, she took a sip, then pressed the cup to her cheek, squinting at him. “Miss who? There are a lot of hims for me to be missing.”
“Which ones do you miss?”
Her gaze drifted to the window that looked out on the common courtyard, darkened with twilight. She sighed, and her tone grew soft. “I miss them all. Simeon the most. I miss him when I’m not even thinking about him. I miss my boy; he lives too far away. I miss Joseph, the Lord love me. And that Jesus.” She shook her head. “He carved a hole out of this old heart when he left. And I miss James and Simon. The way they used to be.” She smiled at Nathanael. “You see how blessed I have been? A person is blessed to be missing so many.” She set her cup on the table, and her brisk tone came back. “And whom would you be missing, Nathanael?”