Second Touch (21 page)

his foot. Just his foot. The tip of his ear. Hardly sick. We just got married . . . last night.” “Yes. Yes.” But the old man shook his head. “He wants to see you. Hurry.” Rabbi Ahava took Baruch’s hand. “Baruch can stay with me. I’ll tell Deborah where you’ve gone. She’ll ¬understand. Stay with Cantor as long as you can. Send for me when . . .” Lily brushed the dust from her cloak and hurried toward the hut. Smoke from dozens of campfires snaked upward to be dissipated in the wind. Like her prayers, Lily thought. Torn apart before they reached heaven. ¬I’m praying again, Merciless One! Not Cantor! Oh! Don’t take him from me now! Not when we have had ¬only one night of happiness! Not when I can live with him and love him and pretend to be alive for a while! Make room in this corner of the world some other way! Don’t take him from me now! Not yet! But when she reached their hut, Cantor’s campfire was nearly out. The Carpenter hunched before the dying embers. He glanced up and then away as Lily came near. “Cantor’s been asking for you, Lily.” Carpenter poked the embers. “The baby was born and . . . and you know how it is.” Not believing, she rushed past Carpenter into the hut. Cantor, whose songs had carried over all the congregation, now spoke in a barely audible whisper. Each word required a breath. “Lily. Been . . . waiting . . . the . . . baby?” Lily sank down beside the sheep fleece. Red hair was plastered to his head. Skin was the color of white ash. Green eyes were bright with fever. “Cantor,” she moaned. Nothing ¬ever turned out the way it ought to. “Sorry . . . Lil . . .” He groped for her right hand. Caressed her fingers, pressed her hand against his fluttering heart. Dying. “Don’t!” “Sorry . . .” ¬I’m praying again, Cruel One! How can you do this? Choose someone else to die today! Not Cantor! Oh, not him! I ¬can’t say good-bye! I saw Cantor with me ¬every time I dreamed about tomorrow! She pleaded, “I’ll take care of you! You’ll get better! You ¬can’t leave me here alone! Not now! I had hope!” “Can’t . . . stay. The baby . . . born . . . you . . . know . . . how . . . it . . . is.” “No! Stay with me! . . . Someone else can fly away today! Not you, Cantor! Cantor!” “Sorry . . . Lily.” “Who will sing for me? Cantor! No! Who will . . .” “Ah . . . look . . .” Some unseen beauty above her head surprised him. Cantor smiled softly. Looked beyond her. Exhaled long and slow. Death

rattled in his throat. Light faded from his eyes. And he was gone.

The Carpenter laid aside his hammer and the Potter left his wheel. Every few yards the file of mourners paused, and new bearers took up the burden. This was not so much because of weakness as to give ¬everyone opportunity to share in caring. Cantor had been a joy, cheerfulness, and hope in their lives. He would be sorely missed. Today they all dropped their tools, stopped their planting, banked their cook fires, set aside their lives to join in the funeral procession. Hobbling on crutches, supported by friends, or even carried on litters behind the bier, the whole community of Mak’ob turned out. In all the Valley no one stayed away from the Cantor’s funeral except in the cave of the dying, where those too ill to come were tended ¬only by two others. Women trudged ahead, wailing their grief. Reed pipes played shrill, mournful airs in minor keys. Among lepers, whose clothes were already in tatters, there was no rending of garments. But something vital had been ripped away from all of them. Lily walked beside Cantor’s body; one hand clutched the woven frame of the basket. Where are you today, Unfeeling One? Wasn’t this Valley dark enough without blotting out the sun? Couldn’t you have just taken me instead? It would have been less cruel by far. There was no color in the Valley. Lily heard words of comfort murmured in her ears but ¬understood none of them. She felt hands grasp hers, pressing love and concern upon her, but none of it registered. Or ¬couldn’t you take me too? Rabbi Ahava met them at the grave. Already there were bundles of bright red anemones strewn alongside the mounded earth, painstakingly gathered from the rocky slopes. Sprays of mulberry branches, whose name baka means “weeping,” were bound with clumps of dark blue lupines. A semicircle of mourners gathered on the dusty tableland. Another tsara to be planted in the hope of raising a crop of whole, clean, unwounded souls when Messiah came.

Soldiers were coming from Jerusalem at a brisk march. The rhythmic click of hobnailed boots and the jingle of harness fittings against mail shirts gave away their profession. At Peniel’s urging Jekuthiel increased his pace from an agonizingly slow hobble to a marginally faster shuffle. At the nearest dry wash Peniel led the way off the highway. Dragging Jekuthiel behind him, Peniel sought the meager shelter of a lone broom shrub’s brushy trunk. The spindly branched tree spread out some twelve feet overhead. Nearer the ground it was no wider than Peniel’s arm span. The leper sat down and leaned his back against the trunk of the tree.

Peniel burrowed into the dirt alongside as best he could. “Elijah . . . sheltered ¬under a . . . broom tree,” Jekuthiel haltingly observed. “Like this . . . but . . . near Beersheba.” “Shhh!” Peniel urged. From a quarter mile away Peniel saw a quartet of Temple Guards overtaking Gideon and Amos. Peniel was stunned at how far this sense called vision supplied information. The leader was heavyset and half a head shorter than his troopers. He was apparently out of shape, since his tunic was dark with sweat. The other guards were the same size and age. All were youthful, with practiced scowls and darting eyes. Peniel gulped, certain the fugitive they sought was him. And he had ¬only this pitiful, scrubby broom tree for cover. After a few more paces closed the gap, Peniel saw their eyes! It was impossible that they did not see him. Surely they could not miss seeing him! The four soldiers reached Amos and Gideon. Peniel heard the demand for his friends to halt. He was grateful the other two beggars turned round and went back toward the troopers. Several feet of distance might be the difference between discovery and escape. Fear rose in acrid waves from Peniel’s trembling frame. For the first time since leaving Jerusalem, Peniel no longer noticed the foul stench coming from Jekuthiel. The leper seemed too exhausted by his exertion to care. Perhaps a man already ¬under an irreversible sentence of death had no reason to care what else could be done to him. The officer of the squad gestured as he spoke. Gideon waved his crutch. The fickle wind had died; Peniel could no longer hear well enough to decipher the conversation. What was happening? He had to know! The expanse on which the road was built was elevated, Roman fashion, above the surrounding landscape. There was a narrow berm along the rim. Peniel thought he could wriggle near enough to overhear the conversation. “Stay here, keep still, and keep quiet,” he instructed Jekuthiel. With that Peniel belly-crawled back to the road. God grant that no one strolled close enough to the edge to look over; he’d be right ¬under their nose! Creeping in the dirt took forever, but eventually Peniel could make out the conversation. Neither the captain’s words nor the scraps of commentary offered by the others matched any voices Peniel had heard in Jerusalem. How many soldiers were out looking for him anyway? How many more searchers had the price on his head motivated? Had all the Temple Guards turned out in quest of one person? Maybe even the Galil ¬wasn’t far enough away! “You two seem remarkably dense,” the leader of the patrol observed. “Even for beggars.”

“Your worship is no doubt right,” Gideon agreed jovially. “We heard he left Yerushalayim with a dwarf and a cripple.” “A dwarf and a cripple, you say,” Gideon repeated, as if pondering the words. “Don’t try to lie to me,” the officer warned. “How many dwarfs and cripples do you think there are on the Jericho Road?” “I know this one,” Amos croaked. “Let’s see if I can remember how to work it out. It’s something to do with being on the road and not—” “Shut up!” the captain bellowed. A lash whistled through the air, but there was no corresponding yelp. He must have aimed too high and swung over Amos’ head. “Now listen very carefully,” the officer tried again. “Have you seen a blind boy—that is, one who used to be blind but now can see?” There was a painfully protracted silence. Then Amos observed in his unreasonably deep, gravelly voice, “I ¬don’t ¬understand. Is the one you seek blind or not? Or is he blind ¬only in one eye?” “Let me bounce him on his head,” offered one of the soldiers. “I ¬don’t think either of them is as dumb as they pretend.” “Oh, yes we are,” Gideon argued. “You can ask anyone.” “There’s a hundred denarii offered as a reward,” the captain wheedled, as if coaxing a reluctant child to eat his porridge. “Four months’ wages for a working man. The prize of a lifetime for a beggar. How about if we offer to split it with you? Think. His name is Peniel.” Peniel’s heart beat in his throat. Would Gideon betray him now? A hundred denarii? A beggar might not earn such a sum in years of huddling in blistering sun, driving rain, withering dust storms. Gideon whined, “I saw a blind boy named Peniel in Yerushalayim. Begged at Nicanor Gate, he did.” “That’s the one.” This was getting too near the truth! Was Gideon wavering? Should Peniel take off running right now? What would happen to Jekuthiel? What about Peniel’s promise to take the leper to Yeshua? The youth commanded his breathing to slow down and his trembling body to remain static. “Peniel,” Amos contributed. “The face of God? Stupid name for a blind boy.” “Well,” the captain demanded again, “have you seen him?” Another silence. Were Amos and Gideon conferring with a look? Deciding to exchange Peniel for a hundred silver coins? Amos mumbled, “Haven’t seen him.” “We’re wasting our time,” the captain concluded abruptly. “If these two are lying, they’ll change their minds soon enough. Hear me: The high priest wants this beggar boy, dead or alive. Dead or alive,” he reiterated. “If we find out you lied, it’ll be just too bad for you, won’t it?” “Of course, your worship,” Gideon concurred. “Most ¬everything is too bad for us, except when folks say something is too good for us.”

This time the lash did not miss, and Peniel winced at Gideon’s cry of pain. But the soldiers marched away, on toward Jericho.

Peniel was drained. Even after the immediate danger was past, he was spent physically and emotionally. All he could think to do was get away from the view of any other travelers and rest for a while. When Peniel returned from the highway with Amos and Gideon following some distance behind, Jekuthiel still reclined against the broom tree’s trunk. The leper showed no concern over Peniel’s near escape; in fact, he did not speak or move at all. Had he died? Had Peniel’s urging him to greater speed brought on the man’s end? While the other two beggars waited some distance off, Peniel bent close to check the leper’s breathing. “Is he dead?” Gideon called. “It’d be a mercy if he is.” “Can’t be much more dead than he was already,” Amos pointed out. “Save us all a lot of bother.” “Look there. The embroidery on his cloak. He must have been rich once.” “The best horse is still a carcass when it dies.” But Jekuthiel was not dead, just asleep. Peniel approached his friends to relay this information. “You’re as contaminated as he is,” Gideon warned. “Breathing the same breath!” “More than that,” Amos added. “Don’t come near us or any decent folk until you’ve burned your clothes, bathed, and put on something else.” “I ¬don’t have anything else,” Peniel protested. “Then stay back,” Amos concluded. The conference Peniel insisted on conducting took place while the participants were half a city block apart. “Thanks for not giving me away,” Peniel said. “What kind of friends would we be?” Amos inquired. “Turn you in to torture or worse?” Gideon sniffed. “Idiot of a guard captain! Fooling them is so easy. Expects beggars to be stupid, does he? So we just let him keep thinking that. Thieving vulture! Must think we were born yesterday. Offering to split a hundred denarii when he knows the offer is for three hundred.” Peniel wondered if this was reassuring or not. How much of Gideon’s loyalty would remain if the officer had not tried to cheat him? How long would his allegiance to Peniel last if he were offered the whole sum? Amos rounded on the cripple. “Who’re you to talk about smart? Thought you said you sent the Temple Guard off after a wild hare. Off to Ashkelon, I think you said.” Gideon looked aggrieved at the accusation. “Did I talk to ¬every squad of soldiers in the city? These were different guards. Can I help it if the high priest wants Peniel so much he sends patrols out in other directions?” Amos processed this information. “Well, Peniel, you’re blessed indeed. Only one God, but so many enemies.”

Irritation reared up in Peniel. “Even a small man can have a big mouth!”

PART II Yet we considered Him stricken by God, Smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; The punishment that brought us peace    was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed. Surely He took up our infirmities And carried our sorrows. ISAIAH 53:5, 4

114 Lily could not weep. Tearless eyes were the first sign of approaching blindness. She sat with the council at Rabbi Ahava’s hut. The original nine of the chosen minyan were there as well. All downcast. Grieved. Frightened by Cantor’s swift demise. Carpenter stuck his lip out. “With Cantor flown away? Well, it’s like this, Rabbi. Those of us with a few years on us—mind you, not these four youths, but the rest of the party—well, we’re thinking maybe it’s a sign. Maybe we’re meant to stay Inside.” Other voices broke in. “Aye.” “That’s it.” “Thinking it’s a sign we ¬shouldn’t . . .” “Never was too keen on the idea of leaving the Valley.” Carpenter broke in, “So, if your honor agrees with what we’re saying? Well, Rabbi, we’d rather just . . . you know.” Rabbi Ahava frowned. His head bobbed as he considered their reasoning. The old man studied Lily. She knew he saw the redness of her eyes. “What do you say, Lily?” Lily’s heart wept silently. They could not hear her sobs or taste the salt of streaming tears. “I ¬didn’t want Cantor to leave the Valley. But it seems to me he ¬wouldn’t have wanted the rest of you to give up the quest just because he’s not here to lead you.” Carpenter shifted uneasily. “¬I’m not as young as I used to be.” The four hawking boys sat forward eagerly. Their leader proclaimed, “But we’re young! Still strong! Ah, Rabbi! We’ve never been Outside since we were small. Since we entered. Let us go! We’ll go! Let us go Outside on our own! If there’s a Messiah, we’ll find him!”