Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt (32 page)

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Authors: Anne Rice

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But it was not this that I wanted to see.

I went to Solomon's Portico to hear the Teachers.

There were many there, some with larger crowds than others. But I was looking for a very old man, a man who was frail with years as well as white hair.
Finally I came upon the very oldest, a man who was gaunt, with deep glowing eyes, and no hair on the top of his head beneath his shawl, but gray hair flowing down over his ears. He was well dressed and he had his blue threads sewn in his tassels. He had a fair crowd of young boys around him, some much older than me.
I watched him and I listened to him.
He threw out questions to the eager boys. He looked carefully into the face of each boy who answered him. He had a quick laugh that was friendly and kind; but there was a sharp authority in him. He said what he had to say. There were no wasted words with him. And his voice had the quickness of a young man.
His questions were questions our own Rabbis might have asked us. I came in close and I gave back answers. He was pleased with my answers. He gestured for me to come closer. The boys made room for me to sit at his feet. I didn't even think about James. I offered answer after answer to the questions. Rabbi Berekhaiah had trained me well. And soon, the Rabbi passed me over with a smile, to let the other boys have a turn instead of me.
When the horn was blown for the evening sacrifice, we stopped to say the prayers.

Then came the moment for which I'd been waiting, and I hadn't even known I was waiting for it. My heart was beating fast. The boys went their way into the rooms where they slept, or to their homes in Jerusalem. And the Rabbi was making his way into the library in the Temple, and I followed him, along with one or two of the other boys.

The library was very big, bigger than that of Philo, and full of scrolls. There were scribes at work there, at tables, copying, with their heads bent, and they rose out of respect for the old man.
But the Rabbi passed through these rooms into his own place of study, and he let us come with him, one of the other boys talking to him, questioning him on the Law.
I heard all this, but it didn't go deep into my mind. I had but one purpose.
At last I stood alone before the Rabbi. He had taken his seat at the desk, and a cup of wine had been brought to him. The lamps were lighted, and all around him were the scrolls. The scents of the room were of the parchment, the papyrus, and the burning oil. If my heart had not been pounding in my chest, I would have loved this place.
"What is it you want of me?" he asked. "You've waited a long time for this. Say what it is."
I waited for a moment, but no thought came to me, no design. I matched his words with my own.
"Eight years ago, a child was born in Bethlehem. Angels sang to shepherds when he was born. The angels called him Christ the Lord. Days after that three men from the East came, Persian magi who offered him gifts. They claimed a star had led them to this child."
"Yes?" he said. "I know this tale."
"What happened to this child?"
"Why must you know this? Why do you care about this at all?"
"I beg you to tell me. I can't think of anything but this night or day. I can't eat or drink until I find out about this child."

He thought about this. He took a drink of his wine.

"I'll tell you," he said. "So that you may put it out of your mind and be done with it. And study as you should."
"Yes," I said.
"These magi, as you call them, these wise men, they came to Jerusalem. They came to Herod's palace just south of Bethlehem. They claimed to have been following a star. They said they had seen signs in the Heavens that told of the birth of a new King." He stopped for a moment, then went on. "These were men of wealth, richly dressed, with a caravan and servants, advisors to their rulers. They had gifts to present to this child. But now close to Jerusalem, the star hovered over a vast collection of settlements. They could find no one place where the child might be. Herod had received these men, pretended that he wanted to know who this King might be himself." He smiled a bitter smile. He took another drink of his wine.
I waited.
"He called us together, the elders, the scribes, diose who knew the Scriptures as to where the true King of Israel would be born. The Christ. He was full of pretense as he always was in such matters, putting on quite the show for these magi, begging that we tell him what the Scriptures foretold."
He shook his head. And he looked away, his eyes moving up the walls and then slowly back to me.

"We told him Bethlehem would be the birthplace of the Messiah. It was the truth, no more than that. Would we had told him nothing at all. But we didn't know then that a child had been born in Bethlehem surrounded by miraculous signs! We hadn't heard the stories yet because the child was only a few days old. We didn't know yet the talk of angels, or the virgin mother. All that we learned later, much later. We knew only the Scripture, and we thought these men from the East were Gentiles on a foolish quest, really. So we answered, not with cunning, but with the truth. As for Herod, we understood perfectly that the very last thing the man would ever want was to find the true King, the Christ."

He bowed his head.
When he said nothing, I couldn't bear it.
"Rabbi, what happened?" I asked.
"The magi went there. We learned that afterwards. They found the child. They presented their gifts. But they didn't return to Herod as he'd asked of them. They went away, homeward, by some unknown road. And when Herod discovered this deception, he went into a rage. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, he sent the soldiers down from his fortress and while he watched from the parapet, they went through every house in Bethlehem and slaughtered every child under two years of age!"
I put my hands up. I felt the sob rise in my throat.
"They dragged the children from the arms of their mothers. They bashed their heads against the stones. They slit their throats. They killed them all. Not a single little one escaped."
"No, this couldn't have happened!" I cried out under my breath, the words almost strangled. "No, they didn't do that!"
"Oh, but yes they did," he said.
The sob in me rose higher and higher. I couldn't move. I tried to cover my face but I couldn't move.
I began to shake and to cry with all my body and my soul.
The Rabbi's hands tightened on my shoulders.
"My son," he said, "my son."
But I couldn't stop.

I couldn't stop and I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone!
This had
happened because of my birth!
I began to scream. I screamed as I had that night when I saw Jericho burning

and this horror that gripped me now was a thousand times that fear, a thousand times. I couldn't stand upright.
People held me. The Rabbi spoke gentle words to me. But the words were lost in my terror.
I saw the babies. I saw them dashed on the stones. I saw the throats slit. I saw the throats of the lambs slit in the Temple at Passover. I saw the blood. I saw the mothers screaming. I couldn't stop crying.
Around me, people whispered. Hands lifted me.
I was put down on a bed. I felt a cool rag against my forehead. I was choking in my sobs. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't stop seeing the babies dying, I couldn't stop seeing the lambs slaughtered, the blood on the altar, the blood of the babies. I saw the man, our man, in the Temple with the spear through his chest. I saw him turn over. I saw Baby Esther, Baby Esther bleeding. Babies on the stones. Lord in Heaven, no. Not because of me. No.
"No, no ..." I said this word over and over if I said any word.
"Sit up, I want you to drink this!"
I was lifted.
"Open your mouth, drink this!"
I choked on the liquid, the honey, the wine. I tried to swallow. "But they're dead, they're dead, they're dead!"

I don't know how long it went on until it became an easy crying, a full-throated crying, and I said, "I don't want to sleep. I'll see them when I dream."

25

I WAS SICK. I was thirsty. The voices and hands were so kind. I was given the wine and the honey to drink. I slept, and the cold rags on my head felt good. If there were dreams, I didn't remember them. I heard music—the deep smooth voices of the Levites. I drifted. Only now and then did I see the babies, the murdered innocent ones, and I cried. I turned my head into the pillow and cried.
I have to wake up, I thought, but I couldn't wake up. And once when I did, it was dark, and the old Rabbi was asleep in his chair. It was like a dream, this, and I slid back into sleep without being able to stop it.
Finally, there came a moment when I opened my eyes, and I knew I was well.
I thought at once of the murdered children, but I could see it without crying. I sat up and looked about. The old Rabbi was there and at once got up from his table. Another man was there and he came to me as well.
The younger man felt of my forehead and looked into my eyes.

"Ah, it's over," he said. "Little nameless one. You're yourself again. I want to hear you speak."

"I thank you," I said. My throat hurt but I knew it was only from not talking. "I thank you for tending to me. I didn't want to be sick."
"Come, I have fresh clothes for you," said the younger man. "I'll help you."
I saw as I got up that I was in a new tunic and that kindness touched my heart.
When I'd returned from the bath, much refreshed and dressed, the old Rabbi dismissed the man and told me to sit down opposite him.
There was a stool there. I don't think I'd ever sat on a stool before. I did as I was told.
"You're a little boy," he said, "and I forgot that you were a little boy. A little boy with a heart."
"I wanted to know the answers to my questions, Rabbi. I had to know the answers. I would never have stopped asking."
"But why?" he asked. "The child born in Bethlehem has been dead for eight years, as you said yourself. Now don't begin to cry again."
"No, I won't."
"And the virgin mother, who could believe such a thing."
"I believe it, Rabbi," I said. "And the child's not dead. The child escaped."
For a long moment, he looked at me.
And in that moment, I felt all my sadness, all my separation from those around me. I felt it so bitterly.
I felt that he was about to dismiss what I had said, about to say that even if the child had somehow escaped Bethlehem, it was all just a story, and Herod's butchery was all the more a horrid thing.
Before he could speak, however, I heard voices that I knew very close by.

My mother and Joseph were there.

My mother called my name.
I stood at once and turned to greet them as they came in, quickly saying to the scribe that yes, I was their son.
My mother put her arms around me.
Joseph kissed the hands of the old Rabbi.
Much was said quickly. I couldn't follow all of it. Joseph and my mother had been looking for me for tiiree days.
The Rabbi praised my answers to his questions, when I had been with the other boys. As far as I could tell, he was saying nothing about our talk of Bethlehem, and nothing about my being ill.
I went to him and I kissed his hands and thanked him for all the time he had spent with me, and he said,
"You go now with your mother and father."
Joseph wanted to pay for my keep, but the Rabbi refused this.
When we were out in the bright light of the Great Court, my mother took me by the shoulders:
"Why have you done this?" she asked. "We've been in misery searching for you!"
"Mother, I must know things now," I said. "Things I'm forbidden to ask you or Joseph. I must be about what it is that I have to do!"
It was a blow to her. I could hardly bear to see it in her face.
"I'm sorry for it," I said. "I'm so sorry for it. But it's the truth."
She looked at Joseph and he nodded.

We went together out of the Temple and down into the old city, and through the narrow streets until we came to the Synagogue of the Nazarenes, and there up to a small room. It was there that they had been staying as they looked for me.

There was a window in the room, covered by a lattice and the light was good. The room was clean.
My mother sat against the wall, with her legs crossed. And Joseph quietly went out.
I waited, but he didn't come back.
"Sit here and listen to me," my mother said.
I sat down across from her.
The light was full on her face.
"I've never told this story," she said. "I want to tell it one time."
I nodded.
"Don't say anything to me as I tell it."
I nodded.
She looked away as she spoke.
"I was thirteen years old," she said. "I was betrothed to Joseph, my kinsman, as was always the custom with us, distantly related, yet part of the same tribe. Old Sarah had given her approval to my mother and father of him even before I came down from Jerusalem where I'd worked on the Temple veils. I hardly remembered him. I met him. He was a good man.
"I was strictly brought up. I never went out of the house. The servants went to the well. Cleopas taught me what little I know of reading. What little I know of the world. I was to be married in Nazareth, as my parents had come there from Sepphoris to live with Old Sarah. And it was the big house in which you live now.
"Now one morning, I'd awakened early and I didn't know why. It wasn't light yet. I was up and standing in the room. My first thought was that my mother needed me. But I went in to her and she was asleep and well.

"I came back into my room. The room completely filled with light. It happened instantly. It happened silendy. The

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