“I will ask HaShem if he will send me to Magdala.”
Hana hops up and down for her joy. “HaShem will send you. I know he will send you.”
“Go home and tell your friends what HaShem has done for you.”
Hana nods and hurries down the hill toward Capernaum.
I sit again and close my eyes for my weariness. My arms feel like water. My legs feel like stone. I wish to sleep for a thousand years.
“Rabbi Yeshua,” says a voice. “May I ask you a question?”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Yoni of Capernaum
I hurry up the hill toward the olive grove where Rabbi Yeshua sometimes goes to talk to HaShem. I think he will be there now, and I will find him and ask on the matter of telling forgiveness to the man. We do not have much time. The people are angry, and soon all the village will have heard the tale and think Rabbi Yeshua made a scorn on HaShem. It is a good luck he has me to solve the scandal for him.
I see something moving under the olive tree far ahead.
It is a person.
It is two persons.
It is Rabbi Yeshua and a woman.
My head feels faint, and my heart hurts my chest with all its pounding. My feet have forgotten how to walk. There are many grapevines here. I duck down so they cannot see me. I crawl closer, bit by bit, to see what is happening.
The woman is a young woman, no more than twenty. She is very beautiful. Rabbi Yeshua holds her hand and smiles on her.
That is a mighty scandal. If I held the hand of a beautiful young woman, I would wish to lie with her. Big Yaakov and Toma Trouble sneer on me and call me a boy, but they do not know the wicked thoughts I have when I look on a woman. Rabbi Yeshua is a tsaddik, but even so, he should not sit alone with a beautiful woman, holding her hand.
I creep closer to see what will happen.
The woman is talking to Rabbi Yeshua.
As I get closer, I hear her words.
She is a zonah.
My lungs cannot take in breath. This is a mightier scandal than I thought. I am sick to my heart. I am terrified to see what will happen next. I am dying to see what will happen next. I crawl closer.
The zonah cries and cries.
Rabbi Yeshua kisses her hand.
I think I will faint. I cannot bear to watch. I cannot look away.
Rabbi Yeshua tells her a tale of his mother, how she lost a coin. He tells her a tale of some sheep-man in his village, how he lost a ewe lamb.
The zonah wails in a loud voice.
Rabbi Yeshua tells her HaShem is not angry on her. He says Hashem loves her. He says HaShem forgives her all her sins she ever did.
Rabbi Yeshua tells healing to her.
She jumps to her feet, laughing, crying, shouting, dancing, giving glory to HaShem.
Rabbi Yeshua gives her a kiss and a kiss and a kiss and then sends her away.
She passes by the row of grapevines where I am hiding and smiles on me.
I never had such a beautiful woman smile on me. My face feels hot and sweat rushes down my sides and my blood rises inside me. Wicked thoughts shout loud in my mind.
Rabbi Yeshua still sits under the tree. His eyes are closed, and he looks like a mighty warrior who has fought a great battle and fainted for weariness.
I should leave him alone to rest. But I cannot leave him alone to rest. He made a scandal in the village today, and it is on my shoulders to unmake the scandal.
I stand quietly and move on silent feet toward him. I think he is asleep. His face is peaceful. I hate myself, but I must wake him.
“Rabbi Yeshua, may I ask you a question?”
His eyelids flicker open, and he stares on me like a man in a fog. At last his eyes show signs that he knows me. “Not … now, Yoni.”
I should leave him alone, but I have my duty. I sit beside him. “Rabbi, all the village has heard of the scandal you made.”
“I … yes, I made a scandal.”
“How is it that you told forgiveness to the cripple-man? Only HaShem can forgive sins.”
Rabbi Yeshua says nothing.
I look on his face. His eyebrows hunch together, and his mouth is a straight line. I think he does not have an answer.
“I told the others you are a prophet. HaShem showed you the man had repented. HaShem told you the man was forgiven. So you told forgiveness to the man, because HaShem told it to you. That is not making a scorn on HaShem. That is only doing the work of a prophet. But the others do not believe me. They want to know if that is the way of it.”
Rabbi Yeshua thinks for a long time. “That was well said, Yoni. Yes, I think that is the way of it.”
“I liked the way you told forgiveness to the zonah. You showed her forgiveness first in a tale. Then she could believe when you told her forgiveness after. When you tell a tale of forgiveness, nobody will say you make a scorn on HaShem, because it is only a tale. But a tale sneaks in through a man’s ears and hides in his heart and makes him think it is all his own idea, even if it is yours. That is a good way to tell forgiveness.”
Rabbi Yeshua’s mouth falls open. He stares on me as I have told him I went walking on the lake this morning to dig fish for my sister Caesar. “That was very well said, Yoni.”
I am so happy I cannot sit still. I jump up and run back toward the village.
I will tell the others I was right.
I will tell them Rabbi Yeshua does not make a scorn on HaShem, because he only tells forgiveness when HaShem tells him to, not on his own authority.
And I will tell them Rabbi Yeshua told me twice in a row that I said a thing well.
I want to see Toma Trouble’s face when I tell him that.
Yeshua of Nazareth
I sit quietly, thinking on what Yoni said. HaShem showed me a new thing today.
I knew the kingdom of HaShem is freedom. Freedom from sickness. Freedom from evil spirits.
But HaShem showed me it is also freedom from the Accuser, which stabs a man with his guilt over and over.
I see now that the man could not be set free from his sickness until he was first set free from his guilt. The Accuser would not allow it. The Accuser would rub his face in his guilt. Only forgiveness from HaShem can break the power of the Accuser.
That is a great matter, and if that were the only thing I learned, it would be a mighty victory.
But see how it terrified the village to hear me tell forgiveness. They thought I made a scorn on HaShem, and their teeth were set on edge.
I must continue to tell forgiveness.
HaShem says I must tell forgiveness.
Forgiveness is the coin of the kingdom.
But Yoni showed me an even greater thing. The better way to tell forgiveness is through a tale. A tale does not set a man’s teeth on edge, for he thinks it is only some idle tale.
But no tale is an idle tale. That is a lie of the Accuser. The scriptures are full of many tales. If they seem like idle tales to some, that is the wisdom of HaShem to hide his truth in idle tales.
A moldy purse may hold a golden coin.
From now on, I will tell more idle tales.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Yaakov of Nazareth
“Little Yaakov, stop! There is some man to see you.”
I do not wish to stop to see some man. My brothers and I worked in Tsipori today, and then I haggled long in the market for a thing that will make my woman’s heart dance for joy. I got a mighty bargain, and now I wish to give it to her.
“Little Yaakov, there is news on your brother!”
I stop. I am very tired, for we were doing stonework in the hot sun all day, and then I bargained hard, and then we came home by a walk of one hour, and last of all we made the steep climb up to Nazareth. But I must know what Yeshua is doing.
Old Yonatan the leather-man sits just inside the village gate with the other elders, scowling on me. He points down the hill to the giant rock by the side of the road at a distance of fifty paces. “Your friend is under the shad
e of that rock.”
I wonder what friend would wait outside the village when he could go to my house and wait in comfort.
My brothers and I walk back down the path toward the rock and go around it to the far side.
A man wearing rags lies in the shade napping. He wakes when he hears us and grunts and stands. His face is a great mass of bumps, bigger than boils. His fingers are worn down to stumps.
I step back a pace. “Who are you?”
“Where is Yeshua the healer? I heard he lives in Nazareth.”
I point to his hands. “Stand back!”
“I heard Yeshua healed a man with the mighty leprosy. Where is he?”
My face feels hot. Yeshua should be raising up an army, not wasting his time healing the mighty leprosy. “I … we do not know where is Yeshua. He left here two months ago to tell the kingdom of HaShem.”
“Can you heal me?” The leper makes a step toward us.
I leap back. “When Yeshua returns, then will be a good time for you to ask after him.”
“When will Yeshua return?” The leper makes another step.
“Stand back, man! Yeshua will return here soon. That is all I know.”
“Tomorrow? Next week? Can you give a hungry man a round of bread?”
I point to Yosi. “Run to Shimon the baker and get two rounds of bread. And ask Uncle Halfai for some raisins and bring them here.”
Yosi hurries off.
Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead run after him.
I did not tell them to go too. Now I am left alone with this leper.
“Perhaps you can heal me?” The leper stretches his hands toward me.
I step backward. “When Yeshua returns, you can ask him to heal you.”
All the hope runs out of the man’s face. “I came here by a walk of one day because I heard Yeshua of Nazareth heals lepers.”
“From where do you come?”
“Bethlehem of Galilee. I was begging for bread outside the village gate, and a man told me he had been a leper and a prophet named Yeshua of Nazareth healed him.”
I try to think what Yeshua would do. He would ask the man his story and they would sit together quietly and the man would tell him everything he ever did. In the fourth part of an hour, Yeshua would be the man’s best friend. I have seen Yeshua do that a hundred times. He would do it even for a leper.
I am not Yeshua, but I can hear a man’s tale. My brothers will take time to buy food for the man. I point to the shade. “Sit, friend, and tell me who you are and where you come from and how you came to be a leper.”
Within the fourth part of an hour, I have heard his story.
“Little Yaakov!” Yosi shouts from the village gate. “We have the rounds of bread and some raisins! And Old Hana the cheese-woman gave us some cheese for a kindness.”
“Stay here,” I tell the leper. I hurry back to the gate to get the food.
My brothers do not wish to come outside the village. They hand me the food wrapped in a large fig leaf. Their eyes are huge and they look past me.
I turn around and see the leper has followed me.
There is a hiss of anger inside the gate. The village elders stand and point fingers on the leper. “You, man! Stand back!”
The leper scowls on them. “When is Yeshua of Nazareth to return? I met a man he healed who was a leper. He told how Yeshua sends away evil spirits and healed a man with a withered arm and a woman with the summer fever.”
Old Yonatan the leather-man curls his lip in a sneer. “Yeshua is gone and we do not know when he will return, and it is a lying tale that he can heal. If he could heal, he would not dishonor us by healing other villages when he should do it here first. You go somewhere else.”
The leper shakes his head and points to me. “This man is his brother and says Yeshua is telling the kingdom of HaShem and will return here soon. Do you call him a liar?”
Old Yonatan the leather-man spits the ground. “I call him the son of a spreadlegs. Why should Yeshua tell the kingdom of HaShem? Does he think he is somebody? He is a mamzer, and that is a haryo. If he tries to make himself somebody in other villages, we will tell them what we know on the matter. You, man, go to some other village. We do not welcome lepers here.”
My hands curl in fists. If Old Yonatan were not an elder of the village, I would break his teeth in his jaw. I put the food on the ground and step away from it and face the leper. “Friend, here is some food. There is a cave down the road two hundred paces where you can sleep. When Yeshua returns—”
“Yeshua will not return,” says Old Yonatan.
I cross my arms on my chest. “Yeshua will return soon. He will heal the man. And he will call down fire from HaShem to destroy you and your house.”
Old Yonatan sneers on me. He puts a finger over one nostril and blows the foul refuse of the other at me.
I leap back and twist away.
My legs tangle beneath me.
I land hard on my belly.
Yosi and Thin Shimon and Yehuda Dreamhead crowd around me.
“Come away with us.”
“He is a fool.”
“Do not smite an old man.”
I stand slowly and spit Old Yonatan’s feet. “I do not smite haryo. I throw it in the leather-man’s piss-pool.”
Old Yonatan’s face turns purple. He takes a step toward me.
I should break his teeth, even if he is a village elder.
My brothers pull me back. “Do not think on him. Think what joy your woman will have when you show her the thing you bought her.”
I am angry on Old Yonatan, but he is haryo and only a fool thinks on haryo. My woman will be glad when she sees the gift I bought her—a tiny bottle of Roman glass, filled with a few drops of perfume. When you hold it in the sun, it shines with many colors. My woman will make a big delight in it.
When we come to our house, I reach inside my cloth belt where I carry my things.
I feel a dampness there.
Something sharp.
I jerk my hand back.
A drop of blood wells up from my fingertip.
My heart skips. I stop and peer inside my belt.
The bottle has become shards.
When I fell on my belly, I must have broken it.
The perfume is all leaked out, and the beautiful glass is destroyed.
My brothers crowd around me, staring on my loss. It cost me half a dinar and an hour of hard bargaining.
All my body is hot.
All my mind is cold.
“What are you going to do?” Yosi asks.
We stand alone in the street at our end of the village. Nobody is watching us.
Thin Shimon grins. “Yehuda Dreamhead, bring out the piss pot from the house.”
Yehuda Dreamhead goes in the house and comes out with an earthen jar. I hear the slosh of piss and smell its reek.
“Give Yehuda the bottle,” Thin Shimon says.
Then I see what he has in mind, and I grin on his cleverness.
I shake out the broken bits of glass into the piss pot.
My brothers grin on me.
Yehuda Dreamhead takes the piss pot away up the street.
It is a sight we see every day in our village. The youngest son of every house carries the piss pot to the north end of the village and then outside the village fifty paces to the leather-man’s pool, where hides are always soaking.
I would not be a leather-man for all the gold in Egypt and all the ivory in Ethiopia.
A leather-man always reeks of piss because he wades in his piss-pool, kneading the hides with his bare feet.
The pool is large and filled to the level of a man’s knees, and one cannot see the bottom.
This month or the next or the next, Yoseph the leather-man will step on a shard of broken glass.
And I will be avenged.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Yoni of Capernaum
“I never saw you so quiet, Yoni. Are you sick?” Shimon the Rock takes my hand in h
is.
I do not know what to say. I did not talk much last night or this morning. I am afraid if I open my mouth, my mighty secret will fall out, that Rabbi Yeshua was alone with a zonah yesterday. He did not do anything wrong, but still it will make another big scandal, on top of telling forgiveness to the cripple-man.
We are walking along the road on the north side of the Lake of Ginosar. Rabbi Yeshua walks ahead of us, holding hands with his mother. He did not say where we are going, but this road will take us by a walk of one hour to Bethsaida, which is across the border in the territory of King Herod’s brother Philip. I think Rabbi Yeshua means to leave Capernaum for a few days. People are still angry on him for telling forgiveness to the cripple-man.
My father was angry also, even after I explained the matter. He said Rabbi Yeshua did not make a scorn on HaShem, but still he made a big confusion, and he should go away until the village cools down. My father is a priest and a man of honor, and when he explains the matter to the village, they will accept. But he needs time to explain the matter, for he is only one man.
I do not know where we are going. We could go beyond Bethsaida and down the other side of the lake, but all the villages on that side are goy. We would have to sleep in some cave or out in the open field, for we will never take lodging from goyim.
I think we could stay in Bethsaida, if the scandal has not got there ahead of us. Bethsaida is a big village, big as Capernaum. Shimon the Rock and Andre were born there, but their father brought their family to Capernaum seven years ago on account of the overgreed of the tax-farmer at the border.
“The village will be talking on this scandal for many days,” Shimon the Rock says.
My hand feels damp and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, for I am afraid he is right. And I am sick for my fear that someone else saw the zonah.
Andre shakes his head. “Our fathers will make the matter straight. But it would have been better if Rabbi Yeshua did not tell forgiveness to the cripple-man. He should have just healed him and sent him to the Temple to repent.”
Son of Mary Page 36
