Ben-Hur

by Carol Wallace

  “Will he come here to look for us?” Tirzah asked.

  “Not he himself, I think,” Amrah answered. “I believe he will send men. They will not discover you if you choose not to be discovered.”

  “Because we are no longer ourselves,” Tirzah added, and though her voice was not expressive, the words themselves were bitter.

  CHAPTER 42

  THE LIVING DEAD

  Homecoming is so rarely what one expects. In all his years of exile, Ben-Hur had maintained a fixed idea of the Hur palace as it was on the day he left it. And so little had changed in Jerusalem! There was so much that he recognized in its streets, its light, its clamor, its smells, that he imagined his old dwelling would be the same. It was not until he followed Amrah inside that he really understood—the home of his childhood was gone. Only the spaces were unchanged: the same number of steps from a door to a window, the same length of a hallway or height of a ceiling. The silence and the mustiness and the grit on the floors insisted on the truth, though. The Hur palace was nothing but a shell for memories.

  Worse, it was dangerous. The new procurator might not know about the episode with Gratus, but some of the staff in the Antonia Tower would. Ben-Hur could not safely stay so near to the Roman headquarters. Rome had spies everywhere. That was what he told Amrah. It was also true that he could not comfortably stay in a place that made him so sad.

  Yet even the sadness would have to be borne, and one might not perceive it shading off into anger. Anger, after all, was harsh. It prompted action. A man could use his anger as a source of strength, especially when it was allied with years of discipline. A galley slave does not get to do as he chooses. And a mysterious Jew fished out of a burning sea, and presented as an adopted son in Rome, has to earn his way as well.

  So when Malluch arrived from Antioch with messages from Simonides, Ben-Hur already had a plan. He continued to visit Amrah after nightfall, largely out of kindness. She could have nothing to tell him about his family, he knew. But he would arrange to have Malluch keep her provisioned and provide her with a small income, and she could continue as the palace’s caretaker.

  Soon it would be time to take to the desert to build an army for the King who would come. Ben-Hur knew that would be an all-absorbing task. It would also be hazardous. It would be easier to face the danger if he knew he had no responsibility for anyone besides himself. And in his heart, he had little hope of finding his mother and Tirzah.

  Malluch had refused to name a meeting point. He had simply assured Ben-Hur that he would find him. Ben-Hur was skeptical—how could Malluch, a stranger, find one man in such a big city? But the third morning he woke in the khan, he walked out into the courtyard and saw Malluch sitting at a table with a plate of pita, holding his face up to the sun. He opened his eyes as Ben-Hur approached, and smiled. “Peace be with you,” he said, moving down the rough bench.

  “And with you also,” Ben-Hur answered. “How did you find me?”

  “Luck, mostly,” Malluch answered. “I arrived yesterday. I thought you would want to be near the edge of town. And there are not so many khans where numerous strangers come and go. You would have to be in one of those, out of caution. And then I asked for a tall stranger without a beard.” His words were affable, but he was tearing nervously at the pita.

  Ben-Hur put his hand to his chin and laughed. “I just realized today that I would have to stop shaving if I wanted to look like a native.”

  “And there isn’t much you can do about your height,” Malluch added. He looked down and saw the pile of crumbs on the plate and reached to cover it, but Ben-Hur sat down and grasped his wrist. Malluch tried to free his hand, but the grip closed. Like a fetter.

  “You know something about my family,” Ben-Hur said. Malluch shook his head slightly. Ben-Hur tugged on his wrist. “Tell me. Tell me.”

  Malluch hissed, “Not here.”

  Ben-Hur leapt to his feet, dragging Malluch up with him. The dozen men moving around the courtyard—eating, chatting, loading a donkey—froze. It was the kind of place where fights broke out, but usually not so early in the day. The little fellow was going to get the worst of it; that was certain.

  But the tall one glanced around and caught a few furtive eyes. He let the little one go. They sat down again. No one was close enough to see that the big man’s body was rigid and that his hands, lying clasped on the rough table, were quivering.

  “Tell me,” he whispered to Malluch. “Now.”

  Malluch laid his own hand over Ben-Hur’s. Looking directly at the younger man, he said simply and quietly, “They are lepers. They were released from the Antonia Tower several nights ago.” He bowed his head and brought his other hand to cover Ben-Hur’s clasp. There could be no comfort to accompany news like this. But one had to try.

  “Lepers?” Judah repeated softly. His eyes sought Malluch’s. “Lepers?” His voice was just a thread. “That can’t be true.” He shook his head. “No. There is a mistake.”

  “There is no mistake. The new procurator, Pilate, cleared out the prison and found secret cells. Your mother and sister were—”

  “No,” Judah insisted. “Not my mother and sister. It’s not possible.”

  “It is, Judah,” Malluch insisted. “The Hur princesses. Walled up for eight years. There was no record; these were secret dungeons.” He kept his voice even. The words were bad enough.

  Ben-Hur stood up again. “I can’t sit here. I need . . .” He looked around at the modest, dusty enclosure, the shabby travelers, the plate of bread crumbs, but Malluch knew he saw none of it.

  “Come, we’ll walk.” He took Judah’s elbow and steered the big man gently around the table. “We’ll go outside and walk. I will tell you what I have found out.”

  Judah Ben-Hur, the lean and graceful athlete, seemed barely able to control his limbs. He stumbled over a bench on the way out and brushed the gate of the khan so that his robe caught on the splintered wood and Malluch had to free it while Judah stood patiently like a child. “They were in the Antonia Tower,” he said, restating the information. “They were released in the middle of the night. Given robes and some food and sent away. The warden did not want it known that they had been there.”

  “That they had been there,” Judah repeated. “For how long?” He met Malluch’s glance.

  “Eight years,” Malluch answered.

  “Eight.” Judah nodded. “Eight. Three while I was in the galleys. Five while I was in Rome.”

  There was no answer to that.

  They were out in the street now, if you could call it a street. Really it was a wide path with houses here and there. Rocky hills rose before them. A goat was tethered near a long wall, and it watched them with its yellow eyes. Ben-Hur pulled his elbow from Malluch’s hand. He was walking more steadily.

  “They are lepers!” he shouted to the sky. “My family are lepers!” There was no one around to hear and the goat was unmoved. “How can this be?” He turned to Malluch. “Where are they now? Do you know? Can we go and find them?”

  This was the hard part. Malluch trudged onward, trying to be calm and to set a steady pace. As if that would help. “They must be in the Valley of the Dead. That is where the lepers live.”

  “Must be. So you are not certain?”

  “They could be nowhere else. They would be stoned,” Malluch reminded him.

  “All right. Then we will go. Now.”

  Malluch looked at the sky. “We could. But . . . why?”

  “Why? Have you no heart? To see them! To rescue them!”

  “No. There is no rescue. You know that. You might see them, just to look at them, but you can’t touch them, Judah. You cannot. Or you will die yourself. Do you want that?”

  “Yes! At this moment, yes, I do! Why should I live, strong and rich, when those women I love are . . . ?” He shook his head. “You know, I can’t even imagine them. Whenever I see a leper begging, I turn away. I don’t know what they are suffering.”

  “And they did not know
what you suffered,” Malluch replied. “It’s just as well, don’t you think?”

  Silence as their footsteps crunched over the stony roadway. It was beginning to get hot.

  “Yes,” Ben-Hur finally said. “I am glad my mother and sister could never see the galley. But I am ashamed that I lived for five years in Rome while they . . .” He leaned down and picked up a stone, then hurled it against a wall. “While they rotted underground!”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No.” Ben-Hur kicked at a stick. “I know. It’s Rome. Again.” He straightened up. “Again. That heavy hand of Roman justice. Crushing us.”

  Malluch had no response to that.

  They kept walking. They headed southward through the city. Past the Antonia Tower. Past the Hur palace. Ben-Hur pointed it out to Malluch. In the harsh morning light its shabbiness made him ashamed. Past the Temple, looming on its platform. Down into the Lower City. The streets grew more crowded and sometimes the men were separated. Not far from the Pool of Siloam, they stopped. “Do you know the way?” Ben-Hur asked.

  Malluch nodded. “But I must ask: what do you think you can do?”

  Ben-Hur gazed out over the hillsides with an unfocused look. “Nothing.” He looked back at Malluch. “That’s right, isn’t it? I can’t do anything for them.”

  “Very little. If we could find them, maybe ensure they have food and water.”

  “You don’t think we will?”

  Malluch shrugged. “The disease . . . Their faces may not be . . .”

  Judah clenched his fists. “All right.”

  “You still want to go and see?”

  “I need to.” They walked onward. A while later, as if trying to finish his thought, Ben-Hur said, “If I am going to build this army . . .” There was another long gap as they strode down the hill.

  Judah follows Esther (Haya Harareet) to the leper caves where his mother and sister are living in this scene from the 1959 MGM film.

  Finally he added, “This army for the King who is to come . . . this army to defeat Rome . . . I must know that I made every effort to find my family.”

  The Water Gate was quiet during those hours of heat. The Roman guard strolled up and down, his sandals scuffing the dust. Everyone else—vendors, beggars, camel drivers, camels—sat or lay in what shade there was, moving as little as possible. For a few yards beyond the gate the two men walked abreast, but soon the path narrowed so that Malluch had to lead. Over the hills, past the orchards, on toward the valley they trudged. Ben-Hur pulled his kerchief lower over his brow, but that was little protection from the heat and glare. When they paused briefly to drink from Malluch’s flask, the only noises were the rattling of twigs in a little breeze and the buzzing of thousands of insects. Their own footsteps, when they resumed walking, sounded very loud.

  Eventually the path began to wind down into the valley. The air shimmered with heat in the distance, but most of the details were clear: the solid stone structure surrounding the well, the layers of rock and vegetation, the darker clefts that might be cave entrances, the tough little shrubs and trees that managed to cling to the steep hillside without providing shade or greenery.

  They didn’t speak until they arrived at the well, but then Ben-Hur turned to Malluch and said very quietly, “Where should we start?”

  “There, I think,” Malluch answered, pointing to the left. “And go from cave to cave, uphill and down. That way we will see them all.”

  Ben-Hur nodded and began pacing in the direction Malluch had indicated.

  The first cave they came to was uninhabited. Or if there were inhabitants, they were concealed so far back in the depths of the cave that they could not be seen. At the second cave, a pile of rags by the wall turned out to be two separate people of indiscernible gender who just shook their heads at Malluch’s questions. At the third cave a man without a nose told them to get out of his house. “Because it is my house, you know,” he added, following them to the opening. “It is all I have left. You may want news of these women very badly, but you can’t just go into the caves. For one thing, you risk getting sick yourselves. And for another thing, it’s rude.”

  “But have you seen them?” Malluch asked.

  “There may have been a pair of new women over on that side.” He pointed across the valley. Ben-Hur could not take his eyes off the hand, scaly like a chicken’s leg and missing three of its fingers. “In the cave at the bottom. They may not be able to speak, though,” he added.

  “Why not?” Ben-Hur asked, startled.

  The man put his horrible hand to his neck. “The disease sometimes takes your voice.” He took his hand away. “Eventually it takes everything, of course. It’s just a matter of time.” He turned away from them and back into his cave.

  They stepped away from the cave, and Malluch took a few steps toward the other side of the valley, but Ben-Hur stopped him. “Not yet,” he said. “Your plan is good, going from cave to cave. I can never come back here. Our being here, our asking these questions, will attract attention. I need to know that I have seen them all.” So they continued searching.

  They stood at each cave mouth and called out. Sometimes the occupants came out to see them, standing always at a safe distance. “The days must seem endless for them,” Malluch whispered after they turned away from one of these. It was a woman who had kept them standing there for long minutes while she wondered out loud about the various occupants of the various caves. Just as often, though, no one replied to their greetings.

  An ancient water jug

  “When we have finished, I still won’t know if they were here,” Ben-Hur said in frustration as they clambered down a steep rock. “They might be asleep. They might be hiding. They might not have come out at a time when anyone saw them.”

  “The well man will know more,” Malluch answered.

  “We should have asked him first.”

  “Perhaps. But we are here now. And we cannot come back.”

  “Then what good is it to have come?” Ben-Hur snapped. “I am wasting my time. And yours.”

  Malluch said quietly, “You will have done your best. If you will forgive my saying so, I think you are a man who does not shirk a task he has taken on, no matter how hopeless. Surely your mother, if she were aware of it, would be happy at that.”

  Which she was. Naomi and Tirzah had been watching Ben-Hur’s progress ever since the men arrived at the well. “He is here!” Tirzah had said, on an indrawn breath, words her mother could not hear. She scrambled to where her mother lay at the back of the cave. “Mother, he is here! Judah has come!”

  Naomi sat up. “Judah? Here?”

  “We knew he would come, Mother! Or we hoped so.” Tirzah took a few steps and shaded her eyes at the front of the cave. “He has gone into another cave. He is with another man. Oh, wait, they are coming out again. Come and watch.”

  Naomi joined her, then pulled on her shoulder. “Not so close to the front,” she murmured. “They should not see us.”

  Tirzah turned and met her mother’s eyes. Then she looked, really looked at her mother’s ruined face; the long, coarse, yellow-white hair that flowed over her shoulders like a cape; the hunched shoulders and bowed spine. “I know,” said Naomi, who understood her daughter’s gaze. “He would not recognize us. But we must pretend we know nothing. He must not come close; he must have no suspicion at all.”

  Tirzah put her arms gently around her mother. “And he won’t. We will do what is right, Mother. But isn’t it some consolation to know that he followed us this far?” She felt her mother’s head nod against her shoulder. “Thank God we have each other,” she whispered. And her mother nodded again.

  In his years as Simonides’s proxy, Malluch had been to many countries and seen many kinds of people. He had seen the mighty and the miserable. The Valley of the Dead, though, horrified him. He kept having to remind himself, as they went from cave to cave, that these were people. They looked like mobile refuse. Certainly they had been discarded b
y Jerusalem. Some were barely alive, of course, but others, like the man with no nose, were alert. Had ideas. No doubt feelings, as well. And here they all lived, if you could call it that, simply awaiting death.

  He glanced sideways at Ben-Hur, whose face had grown stony. No sign there that he hoped to find his family. He was simply carrying out his intention. And, Malluch thought, finding it far more painful than he had expected.

  It was hard to tell the men from the women because their features were so distorted and because many of them had long, unruly hair. In a few caves, horribly, they saw what must be children, though they could only be identified by their size. The two men worked their way methodically up and down the hill until they reached the wide, shallow cave near the well, where two women had recently taken up residence. Or so the man with no nose had told them.

  They stood at the mouth and Ben-Hur called out, “Peace be with you,” and waited.

  A cracked voice answered, “And with you also. We are unclean. Come no further.” Then came a scratching sound as the two figures against the back wall stood. The cave was quite shallow and nestled into a pale-colored stone, so it was surprisingly bright. And hot. It was difficult to make out the outlines of the lepers. Their robes were white—or had been. And so was their hair. They melted into the pale background like figures drawn with a piece of chalk.

  For Tirzah and Naomi, Judah stood silhouetted, his face dark in the shadows cast by the afternoon sun. They stood close together, hands clasped tight. Tirzah’s heart fluttered in her chest, and she wondered what her mother could possibly feel at this moment.

  “Forgive us for intruding,” Judah said in his deep voice. Tirzah wished she could grasp and hold it, the sound echoing forever in her head. “We are seeking two women of Israel who have come recently to this place. Do you know anything about them?”