Second Touch (28 page)

“Gideon. There goes living proof that the stomach swallows the brains of a poor man.” Amos shook his head. Peniel shrugged. “Come on. Let’s go back to Jekuthiel and wait for him.”

When Gideon did not return to their camp by sunset, Peniel worried aloud. “Arrested, maybe? Somebody saw us together? Maybe they’re torturing him right now! Maybe I should go!” The beggars sat in darkness, fearing a fire would give away their location. Jekuthiel rested some distance away. Halfheartedly they gnawed on wizened figs. Amos, standing alongside where Peniel sat on the ground, slapped him lightly across the face. “Don’t be daft,” he warned. “Gideon tortured? He’d sing any tune they played before the first lash went across his back! No, if he was captured you’d have a soldier boxing your ears right now instead of me.” “Right you are,” came Gideon’s voice from the darkness of the hillside. “Shalom the camp. No fire? How can we roast our chicken then?” Whistling, the cripple strode into the site. Slung across one shoulder was a sack that bulged and squawked to prove the aptness of his inquiry. Tied to the fork of his crutch was another bag, manifestly heavy from the way it hung and resisted moving when Gideon stomped into view. “Bread! Dates! Olives! And . . .” Gideon reached into the wriggling pouch and extracted the promised fowl. “Fasting will be easier now with a chicken leg and a half bottle of wine, eh?” “Are you crazy?” Peniel yelped. “Stealing a chicken will land us in prison and me dead!” Amos took the sack and peered into it. “Tasty is the chicken from someone else’s pot.” “Not stolen,” Gideon replied. “I told you I could get anything we needed. Now, who’s cooking? I did all the work so far.” Later, while the companions let hot chicken grease drip onto chunks of fresh bread, Gideon looked across the clearing to where Jekuthiel leaned against a boulder. “Tell him to stop staring at me,” the cripple demanded. “I ¬don’t like the way he watches me. Gives me the chills.” “He’s hungry,” Peniel replied curtly. “Hungry? Yes,” Gideon grumbled. “Stares at me like a stray dog hoping for a bite of food. Well, he’s not getting anything from me.” Wordlessly Peniel gathered the scraps and carried them to the leper. “Supper. Smell of cooking driving you crazy?” Jekuthiel examined a crust of bread. “No . . . ¬can’t smell . . . anything.” “There’s a mercy anyway.” Peniel almost blurted what he had been thinking: that the leper seemed to smell even worse today than yesterday. “There’s . . . no . . . mercy for lepers.” Jekuthiel took a cautious bite. “No. I suppose not. But try not to stare at Gideon, will you?” “He’s a . . . curious . . . sort. I’ve been . . . watching him. You . . .

trust him?” Peniel frowned. “Trust Gideon?” “Just asking. . . . He’s . . . something . . . something. Can’t put my . . . finger on it.” “I ¬don’t care what he is. Just ¬don’t stare at him. Or I’ll have a revolt on my hands.” “Don’t trust . . . him . . . too much.” “You talk like that, he’s likely to knock off one of your body parts with that crutch of his.” “Just . . . listen. You be the one . . . to decide . . . which road . . . we take, eh?”

Little Baruch went to stay in the camp of children. Deborah thought it best. “No use.” Deborah turned her face away as baby Isra’el struggled in frustration against her breast. “Lily, take him. My milk’s dried up. No use. No use.” Lily took Isra’el from his mother and painstakingly fed him goat’s milk from the tip of a leather glove. An hour later the infant, half filled and exhausted from the effort, fell asleep in Lily’s arms. Only then did Deborah speak again. “He’ll learn. Goat’s milk will keep him alive.” “Tomorrow. You’ll see. Your breasts will be full again.” “He’ll die if he stays with me.” “You must keep trying to nurse him,” Lily encouraged. “The black sores cover me now. My eyes are going. Soon they’ll take me to the dying cave.” “Don’t!” Lily commanded. “It’s true. True.” “You’ll get better . . . you will. Sometimes, you know. If you just rest. That’s all! You’ll get better.” “Jekuthiel is dead. ¬I’m sure of it. Or he would have been back. And unless the baby is taken Outside, he’ll catch this scourge from me and die.” Lily cradled Isra’el in her arms. ¬I’m praying again, Heartless One. Desperate! Desperate! Oh! Do you hear this? Where are you? How can this be? Not a drop left for Deborah to nurse this beautiful baby? “You have to hold on, Deborah! Good food. Rest. Your milk will come in again. You’ll get better and . . .” Wearily, as if she had told herself the same thing, Deborah replied, “No. No. Can’t you see what’s happening, Lily? Cruelest thing I can do is keep him here. Selfish love will kill him . . . no. No. You take him.” “Me? Take?” “Outside, Lily! Carry him home.” “Home? This is my home. What do you mean?” “Your village. Your mother and father! They are kind folks. You said so

yourself. Said you reckoned it nearly killed your mother to give you up. Oh, Lily! Wouldn’t she take him in? My little boy? Raise him?” “The ¬only road out of Mak’ob for us is the road to the grave!” “My baby can have a life . . . if ¬only . . . if you will ¬only . . .” Lily traced the image of the sleeping child with her eyes. “Oh!” she cried, as she imagined placing him in the arms of her mother, yet not being allowed to embrace her. “Oh, Deborah! I ¬can’t! I ¬can’t go back there! Never again!” “He’ll die if he stays with me. Can’t you see the truth of it, Lily? I can. Please. I have nothing left to give him now except life. You must . . . help . . . me let him go.”

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The Galilean villa of Herod Antipas overlooked the Sea of Galilee and the Roman city of Tiberias. Eglon spurred his mount up the long curving road leading to the gates of the tetrarch’s northern palace. Admitted to the grounds, he was taken immediately to the courtyard. Herod and Herodius were entertaining twenty ¬Jewish magistrates of the province. As Eglon entered, Herod rose at once and hurried to meet with him privately in a side chamber. “Well? What news, Eglon?” “We’re proceeding, Lord Antipas.” “Proceeding. Proceeding? What’s taking so long?” “The beggars make slow progress.” “They make no progress at all, it seems!” Herod was clearly angry that Yeshua still lived. “¬I’m in close contact with the one called Gideon.” “The lame beggar?” “That’s the one.” “Can’t he walk any faster?” “It’s the leper holding them back.” “Leper!” “Aye. They’ve picked up a leper along the way. He can barely move. A snail’s pace, the cripple says. And Peniel will not leave the leper behind. Says he’ll take them all to Yeshua or else he threatens to leave Gideon and the other one behind.” “Tedious! Tedious! Why not just storm the camp of Yeshua and be done with it?” “As ¬ever, my lord Antipas, Yeshua is surrounded by a core of loyal followers. Twelve close by him always. About a hundred more men in the outer circle. And thousands of common folk. There’s ¬only a handful of us with swords, counting myself. Without using these beggars to get close to Yeshua, I ¬wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Can’t you get rid of the leper? Baggage! Slowing the whole thing down. I

want it finished! Caiaphas sends me letters from Yerushalayim! The high priest and the Sanhedrin are counting on me to settle this here in the Galil before Yeshua can stir up an army and take Yerushalayim! Do you ¬understand? They’re looking to me to handle it. And ¬I’m depending on you!” “I’ve found a way to separate the leper from the group. The next village. The group’ll move along better without him.” “But, Eglon, how long must we wait before this matter is settled? My wife grows impatient. She will not stop harping on the matter. You would think that by killing the Baptizer she’d have been comforted. But no. Now she wants the head of the Baptizer’s cousin. Women! No matter what you give them, they want more!” “I’ve got to play it carefully. Aye. The one called Gideon says Peniel is dedicated to Yeshua. If Peniel caught wind of what we’re about, no doubt he’d lead us entirely in the other direction. Away from Yeshua.” “Why not just . . . threaten to put his eyes out! That would bring him into line.” “It may come to that. Meanwhile, your honor, leave it to me and my men. We’ll handle it so the matter is over and done with.” “Tell that to my wife.”

It was hot and dusty. The sun was high. The main caravan route followed the Jordan River Valley, where there was plenty of water for thirsty travelers. Not so on the secondary route traced by Peniel and his company. Despite the recent storm, ravines were dry. Springs nonexistent. Hill— country wells were few and far between. The need for water was exaggerated by their pace, excruciatingly slowed by Jekuthiel. The sun’s early rising and relentless, cloudless pursuit, quickly parched moisture out of ¬everything. “Anybody got water?” Gideon inquired as they paused for a noontime break. “Mine’s gone.” Amos turned his waterskin upside down to show that he was also out. He worked his mouth, smacking dry lips as proof that not even a single proverb or a drop of spit was left. Peniel’s jug had about a cup left. He shared with the other two beggars, keeping none for himself. Jekuthiel offered his waterskin. No one accepted. “What’ll you do about it?” Gideon challenged. “Can’t go on without water.” Amos gestured at a camel skeleton lying on the ground. “Don’t see what he’s got to grin about,” the dwarf quipped. “He’s dead.” “He’s laughing because if a camel dies out here for want of water, what chance have three beggars and a leper got?” Gideon retorted. “Ah, Gideon, if your grandmother had a beard, she’d be your grandfather,” Amos said. By the way of stating the obvious, he showed his agreement with Gideon. “So we’re thirsty. What are you going to do about it, Peniel?” Once more Peniel wondered why it was his duty, his responsibility, to do

anything about it at all. He almost said as much, drawing back ¬only when he remembered that his report of Messiah’s ability had started this quest. “Can your Messiah bring water out of a rock by hitting it with his staff?” Gideon waved his crutch in the air. “I’d like to see that.” Amos tugged at his eyebrow. Gideon struck the camel skull with his crutch. The top half of the desiccated, porous bone shattered into powder, leaving ¬only the grin. “Mosheh could. Can your Messiah manage that?” Amos agreed that the challenge was fair. “If there ¬really is a Messiah. Are you even sure he likes beggars? Maybe he’s working for the Romans. Wants to lure us out here to die. That’d be one way to get rid of our beggar army.” What beggar army? Peniel wanted to shout. It ¬wasn’t possible for these two comrades to go more than a hundred yards without grumbling. How could they ¬ever expect to be an army? “Can’t go into a village in the company of that.” Gideon jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Jekuthiel. “Can’t draw water from a public well with a leper within a mile of us. They’ll smell him.” “Leave me . . . here,” Jekuthiel suggested. “Go . . . get water.” As with the provisions obtained from Tappuah, Peniel reluctantly agreed. “Abel-Meholah’s just up ahead,” Gideon suggested, squinting at the remaining lower jaw of the now vanished camel. “Plenty of water there.” Amos shrugged. “It costs nothing to look.” Just how did Gideon know anything about Abel-Meholah? Peniel wondered.

Abel-Meholah, whose name meant “brook of dancing,” was located on a tributary of the Jordan. The creek bed was dirt this time of year, but there was plenty of water in the town well. Olive trees grew on the terraced hillsides. Bees buzzing around the meadow south of the town gave evidence of the honey production for which the area was known. “You wait here,” Gideon suggested. “I’ll go ahead and scout. Make sure it’s safe.” Touched by this offer, Peniel regretted his earlier harsh judgment of Gideon’s griping. “Sure.” “I’ve known Gideon a long time,” Amos pondered when Gideon was out of sight. “He’s a coward to the bone. Meaning no offense. Just a fact. Now look at him. Hobbling up there. Scouting out the place. Like a spy in old Canaan he is. Bold as brass. God watches over fools.” Peniel composed himself behind a screen of elderberry bushes to wait. Gideon returned within minutes. “All clear. Come on! Plenty of water.” The cripple unslung the waterskin from his back to show that it was full to bursting. How did he have time to look around for soldiers, visit the well, and return that quickly? Peniel wondered. “Sure it’s safe?” “You think I ¬didn’t look? Stay here then. Make me do all the work.”

Peniel shook his head. He would not ask a man limping on a crutch to carry water for him. “We’ll go.” The town water supply of Abel-Meholah was in the center of the market square. It was paved around with limestone slabs. Along one side was a deep trough for watering livestock while the well itself was surrounded by a circular stone wall high enough to keep sheep from falling in. A young woman was ahead of the three beggars at the well. She looked with curiosity at Amos. Averting her gaze from the dwarf, she smiled shyly at Peniel. “Shalom. You’ve come far?” “From Yerushalayim,” Peniel replied. “Looking for the Prophet from Nazareth,” Amos rattled. “Earn favor with the Almighty by me. For a coin I’ll mention your name to him when we meet him.” “I ¬don’t have money,” she explained. “But the Prophet’s been here.” Peniel and Amos exchanged startled glances. “Who do you mean?” “Yeshua.” She shifted the burden of the clay amphora of water from one shoulder to the other. “He healed Issachar, my uncle from Abel-Meholah. My mother’s younger brother from her father’s second wife. Born with a crooked spine. Lived in pain for thirty-six years and Yeshua healed him, just like that. Others too. The village was packed. People from ¬everywhere. Never been like this before, my father says. Not since the days of Elisha.” Peniel exclaimed. “When? Yeshua? How long ago?” Thinking for a moment, the girl replied, “No more than three . . . no, that’s it exactly. Three days ago.” Peniel calculated the ponderous progress imposed by Jekuthiel. If they had abandoned the leper, they would have caught up with Yeshua. “Heading north?” Peniel queried. “I need to find him . . . to warn him. Soldiers from Yerushalayim are—” Nervously Gideon jerked his head toward Jekuthiel’s hiding place. “Peniel! Our friend is waiting for us. Can’t talk here all day, eh?” The girl prated on proudly. “We’re blessed by the Almighty here. Abel-Meholah is the birthplace of the prophet Elisha. Pay Father a penny and he’ll show a pilgrim where the foundation of the old meeting house is. The prophet was staying here when he healed a Syrian leper.” “Yeshua?” Peniel inquired. She glared at him. “No, Elisha. Nobody’s healed a leper since Elisha. And nothing exciting’s ¬ever happened here since then. Until now. Now we’ve had another prophet pass through our village.” At that a hawk-faced woman shouted at the girl to hurry. She packed up her jar and, without another word, scurried back into the village. “The prophet Elisha, eh?” Amos mused aloud. “Healed a leper, eh? We can leave Jekuthiel here and—” Gideon thumped him on top of the head. “Keep quiet about that!” The cripple glanced over his shoulder. “If people hear we’re traveling with a leper, they’ll run us all out of town.” Gideon lounged on the rock wall. Peniel did the work of dipping, filling, and hoisting. Amos tied the mouths of the waterskins closed. The streets