didn’t drink up all the wine, Salah, let’s go!” he said, cuffing Salah on the back.
He turned to leave; the others followed unquestioningly.
Barabbas
The notorious Barabbas was sitting among the shadows of the next cell. The only separation between him and the two thieves were thick wooden bars inserted into the floor and ceiling.
After a long silence, a seemingly inconsequential conversation began. In the give and take, each shared the reason he had ended up in prison. Barabbas told them of his encounter with the man called Jesus of Nazareth when the prophet entered the city earlier that week.
“You actually spoke with him?” asked Shem, suddenly interested.
“Yeah,” Barabbas said. “Regrettably, I was under the impression that he would be the Messiah the rabbis talk about in the synagogue. I thought he would establish himself as king of Israel and make us an independent nation again. Crowds followed him everywhere. He was to usher in a new kingdom!”
After a pause of quiet reflection, a look of uncertainty appeared on Barabbas’ face.
“He said that, instead of this, he’d come to give his life as ransom for the world – whatever that means,” Barabbas said. “He’s a good man, mind you. But the ‘He who believes in me shall not perish, but have eternal life,’ part is beyond my understanding.”
Turning his face to stare at the wall, Barabbas continued his subdued narration.
“I was under the impression that I could help him set up this kingdom he spoke of and give these Roman dogs some of their own medicine.”
Barabbas turned to face Shem who stood enthralled, unable to move.
“Some people wanted to make him king because of some food that multiplied when they sat with him. He refused the offer. I then decided to take things into my own hands. The Romans, regrettably, were ready, so when I and my cohorts gathered on the street they swooped down on us before we had a chance.”
Barabbas shook his head and stared at nothing for a while before he resumed talking.
“Regretfully, two friends were killed and a soldier wounded badly. Here I am waiting for my execution.”
Shem was awestruck by this story. His heart leapt when Barabbas mentioned the prophet. The words from the prophet held astounding truths; he was sure of it. In that moment, all his pain, anxiety and despair seemed to wash away.
Crowds
They were surprised to hear shouts from the square on other side of the wall. There must be somebody very significant to attract such a gathering to witness the sentencing of a as condemned villain. It sounded as if the whole world had gathered in Pilate’s courtyard for another trial.
Not every case attracted so numerous a crowd unless it involved someone famous or notorious. The multitude could not be seen from the cell, but could be heard clearly.
Curiosity getting the best of them, the two new prisoners stood by the small window, holding onto the bars, doing their best to hear what the commotion was about. Shem would catch a phrase here and there. It sounded like some were shouting out the name of Jesus.
Shem turned to his companion, “Eber, do you hear that?”
“Yes – but I don’t care,” Eber said. “I’m tired of hanging on the bars just to hear just to hear another guy being judged.”
He walked to a darkened corner and sat down miserably, cursing under his breath.
Grasping ever so tightly the unyielding bars as if trying to pull them out of the stone, Shem listened intently. The racket in the courtyard took a disturbing twist. Apparently, the same people who a week ago had greeted this prophet waving palms and shouting “Hosanna!” were now asking Pilate to crucify the prophet.
What caused them to alter thus? Shem reflected sadly.
As the noise died down some time later, he saw four armed soldiers enter Barabbas’ cell and drag him away.
“Are the Romans going to make an example of him?” Shem wondered out load.
Moments later he heard the crowds shout: “Give us Barabbas! Give us Barabbas!”
Eber called over a guard who was standing at the entrance to ask what happened.
“Pilate, the governor, asked the Pharisees and scribes who they wanted released,” answered the guard. “It being your Passover and such being the custom, they agreed to release one prisoner. I can’t believe they asked for the murderer, Barabbas.”
At that Eber screamed: “What!”
He pounded the doors and walls till his hands bled.
“I didn’t kill anyone, why not release me – why Barabbas? That’s not fair. Why him, why him?”
Shem stood bewildered, not believing what he was hearing. “So, who’s to be crucified?” he asked the jailor, shuddering.
“Jesus, the so-called king of Israel,” the jailer said, “and, you two are going to accompany him.”
“Nooo, it can’t be him!” cried Shem. “He’s a good man! All he did was help people; I saw it with my own eyes. I heard what he said.”
A tear trickled down his sullied cheek drawing a wobbly line.
When the sentence was pronounced, Shem continued his vigil at the window. Then two soldiers appeared through the arched doorway. Between them came the prophet with two more guards marching behind, pushing and shoving him into the yard.
He was stripped of his garments and tied to the whipping post for a flogging. Shem could not watch any longer. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his back to the stone wall. Slowly, like a leech, he slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor hugging his knees.
He found himself a while later laying on the cold floor trembling uncontrollably. Every time he heard the thwack! of the whip striking the man’s back, he would twist as if his own flesh was being ripped apart.
Even with his eyes tightly closed, Shem could see the image of the man’s skin no longer protecting muscles and sinews. He seemed to feel the brutal, unrelenting pain. But, the only sound from the man’s lips was a grunt each time the whip struck his body. The ordeal was nightmarish.
The sounds from the yard became more clear as the conversation in the cell died down. It was eerie how Shem could hear clearly from his prone position the heavy inhalation of the lictors as they alternated in the scourge. He tensed and held his eyes tight with every blow.
Finally, there was a moment of silence, then curses and heavy breathing as the soldiers unlatched the manacles. Then the taunting began in earnest. This was accompanied by the sound of lifting the body of the fallen prophet and dragging him away.
Shem, his heart beating like a war drum, stood quickly and looked around the yard again – blood, hair and shreds of skin were splattered every direction, even on the far wall.
“Why such cruelty? It’s so diabolical, so unnecessary.”
Shem’s Trek
It was time; the usual hot and dry day greeted them. Eber and Shem, with difficulty caused by the unmanageable chains, stepped out of the prison. They lowered their heads, squinted and covered their eyes to shield them from the intense sun.
When their eyes adjusted to the brightness, they were astonished at how numerous the gathering was for this gruesome occasion. The old streets were crammed with gawkers of every stripe. It seemed that the whole of Jerusalem and its surrounding villages had come out to witness the gruesome spectacle.
Shem glanced around at the faces to see if he recognized anyone. To one side, he saw a collection of Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes, all smiling, with looks of arrogant satisfaction plastered on their faces. They were nodding somber approval at how well the proceedings were going.
How can religious leaders be so smug? Shem asked himself.
It all seemed to him like a scene from Hades itself. Some people, out of curiosity, joined the procession asking others what was happening.
Some in the throng screamed relentlessly, motivated by Pharisees strategically placed among them. Hands waved and an occasional rotten fruit flew in the direction of the Roman guards who viciously pushed asid
e anyone who happened to step in front of the death march.
A smattering of women dressed in black stood in the background not far from the proceedings, sobbing uncontrollably. Shem believed they must be the prophet’s family and closest friends. He took in everything with a curious sadness.
Eber and Shem’s shackles were removed and large timbers, especially cut to support their bodies when suspended on a cross beam, were thrust upon their shoulders. Their arms were tied securely to the logs which they must carry to the place of crucifixion.
The procession was led by the bloodied prophet who was forced to carry a heavy cross on his shoulders. Shem felt his heart beat savagely, about to explode. Was the very ground throbbing, responding to every step the prophet took?
The very earth seemed to cry out in pain. Sweat poured, burning Shem’s eyes and blurring his vision, but he could still make out the bloodied man slowly walking before him bearing the whip if he stumbled.
The man is going to die, why torment him so mercilessly? thought Shem panting, stumbling, bumping into people, ruthlessly pushed by the soldiers who prodded him on with whips.
Eber, was screaming back at the crowds as he walked on.
“I shouldn’t be here! Barabbas should be here!”
His voice was drowned out by the crowd and by a soldier who almost strangled him to quiet him down.
They proceeded painfully up the rocky terrain dotted with dead and withered shrubs pointing the way. The crowd crept serpent-like to the crest of the hill and kept a short distance
Thieves Page 5
