Holy Smoke: A Jerusalem Mystery

by Frederick Ramsay

  He wrapped the still unfamiliar robe around his shoulders and set off for Jerusalem. He made a point of avoiding the cluster of people at the foot of the Mount of Olives. No good could come from mingling with that crowd. If he hurried he could be at the Sheep Gate by the sixth hour.

  ***

  “Very well, you have my attention, rabban. How does the science of plants connect with my dead servant and the others?”

  “You remember our discussion about mustard? You mentioned that there existed a difference between the wild mustard and that which you had in your garden?”

  “I did?”

  “I think you did. Maybe I misremember. Sometimes I cannot distinguish between what someone has told me and what I have just read. Nevertheless, you do remember the high priest’s distress at the rabbi’s description of the kingdom being like a mustard seed and so on?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Well it is the same thing.”

  “There are times, Gamaliel when your thought processes make me manic. You assume that everyone can make these heuristic leaps as quickly and as easily as you do. I cannot. You must walk me through the thing step by step.”

  “You don’t see?”

  “No.”

  “Wild mustard, on the one hand, can be very strong and one mixes it with honey or whatever in a poultice carefully. The sort that most people grow is weaker but more quantifiable. There you see?”

  “May the gods of medicine have mercy on me. You are making no sense at all.”

  “Tut, one must not swear an oath, even to pagan nonentities. I am sorry. Look, it is very simple. Wild mustard is strong, but unruly in the garden. If you plant it, it will take over the garden. It is an invasive and undesirable plant. But through careful cultivation it has been tamed like a wild camel to a form that behaves itself, but in the process of taming its predilection to invade every corner of the bed, it has lost some of its strength. There you see?”

  “I see that I now know more about mustard growing than I probably need.”

  “The process to strengthen the mustard while keeping its noninvasive characteristic would be a good thing, would it not?”

  “I suppose so. I still don’t see how—”

  “How about cultivating hul gil?”

  “Where are you taking me?” Loukas evidently was not appeased by Gamaliel’s half hearted apology and subsequent discourse on the merits of plant cultivation. “And what are you suggesting about the pain reliever?”

  “That is two questions. I’ll answer the first. You will need to mull over the second. In the meantime, we are going to call on a blind man to ask him what he might have seen on the day of the first murder.”

  Chapter XXXVII

  “A blind man who sees and…I am having great difficulty staying with you, Rabban. Of course, you know that already. What blind man sees?”

  “Isaiah tells us, in a somewhat different context, of course, Then will the eyes of the blind see and the ears of the deaf be unstopped…Do you remember my telling you about Jacob ben Aschi? He is the old kohen who has lost his sight. He comes to the Temple most days and talks, drinks a little wine, and sits in the sun when there is some to sit in. He is blind but ‘sees’ with his ears. Things you and I might miss, he will pick up because he must listen so closely. An inflection of a person’s voice tells him things sighted people do not notice.”

  “And you think he has ‘seen’ something…I feel silly saying that. You think he may have heard something important?”

  “It is what I hope will happen. I think it unlikely that the business of the body in the Temple is a simple matter of bribing two guards.”

  “An if he has, you should pardon the expression, seen nothing…?”

  “It will not be the end of the world, but it will take us back a step or two.”

  “I will not be the one to stand in your way. I hope you are right—about this priest and about the servant. So, lead on. But—”

  “Yes, yes, but. We will talk on the way and perhaps I can ease you mind on the but.”

  ***

  Jacob ben Aschi arrived at the Temple somewhat later than his usual hour. He greeted the priests on duty as always and felt his way to the stool he occupied nearly every day. The kohanim had become accustomed to his presence over the years and would probably miss him if he failed to appear. He recognized Gamaliel’s voice before the man himself rounded the corner.

  “Greetings in the Name, Rabban. Who have you brought with you this morning?”

  “And to you Jacob. This is my friend Loukas. He is a famous healer. We have come to ask you a question.”

  “A healer and a question, you say. What answers can a blind man give to questions? We do not see what happens around us.”

  “That is not true. You see into the hearts of men. Eyes are not required for that.”

  “It is the hearts of men you wish me to expose then?”

  “In a manner of speaking. The day before the discovery of the travesty in the holy place, what did you hear? Recalling that day, did anything seem to have been out of place?”

  The old man sat quietly for a while, his eyes empty of expression but a scowl on his face. “There was one thing, now that you mention it.”

  “Yes?”

  “Give me a moment to remember. Yes…that was it. Yes, when the priests arrive there is always some commotion, confusion, particularly when it is a new cohort taking up its duties. If new members have been recently been added to the cohort, they must be instructed in the way, you could say. Our scriptures tell us what to do, but not always how to do it. That is true especially in this amazing Temple King Herod has bestowed on us. The instructions in the scrolls, you know, Rabban, are for a tabernacle, for a simpler time and place.”

  “Yes, it is a significant leap from a tent in the desert to this mammoth building. So?”

  “So, it is to be expected that some, perhaps many, of the kohen, even those who’ve served before, will need guidance. So, hearing a fresh voice, a misunderstanding or mix-up or two is not unexpected. But now that I think of it…you know, as I cannot see; I cannot count except by keeping track of voices and there is no real reason for me to do it, but—”

  “But you think something was not quite right.” The old man pursed his lips. “Do you think there was one too many in the party?”

  “Oh, as to that, I couldn’t say. There is no fixed number in the cohorts, you know. There might be a rule, but in practical terms, the number will vary from cohort to cohort and day to day.”

  “Then what?”

  “There was…it seemed to me, that is…one of the priests was out of place. He drifted to the edge of conversations, asked odd questions, that sort of thing. Nobody seemed to know him, at least not intimately. That is not unusual in itself, of course. Men are added and subtracted all the time. You take that boy, Josef ben Josef. He has been sent away already for his indiscretion on the morning of the discovery.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. If he hadn’t been, what did you say, indiscreet? If he hadn’t, that body might still be lying in there.”

  “Do not even think it, Rabban. Let me finish. This man’s, this kohen, you understand, his voice, bespoke not just of inexperience, but of ignorance. You understand the difference? It is one thing to ask ‘how’ questions and quite another to indicate a total lack of knowledge about anything including the placement of things, areas of responsibility, and so on.”

  “One of the priests was not a priest.”

  “I think that might have been so. In the excitement, everybody forgot all about this person and as he has not been around since, there is nothing to remind us about him. Nothing, that is, until you came nosing around.”

  “Did you happen to mention this to anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so…maybe I did. Yes, now that you mention it. One of the guards was asking questions.”

  “One of the guards? Do you know who?”

  “No, one of the night men, I think.”

>   “Zach! Ah ha, Loukas, it is as I thought. More than guards. We must go.”

  Loukas held up a hand. “Wait, Rabban. I have a question for this man.”

  “You do? Really? ”

  Loukas scowled at him.

  “Sorry, of course.”

  “Sir,” Loukas said, and bent close to stare into the old man’s sightless eyes, “what do you see?”

  “What do I see? You are taunting a blind old man.”

  “No, I am very serious. I will rephrase my question. What, if anything, do you see?”

  “I can tell you are very close to me, you block the light.”

  “You see light. And shadows? Shapes?”

  “Yes, but not enough to go about my duties. Not enough to buy and sell, to plant and harvest, to read, or recognize you, or anyone else.”

  “No, but something. Very good. Come with me to my house. I can restore your sight.”

  “What?”

  “Not perfectly. You will still need help with some things. Do you read? Never mind, someone can do that for you, but yes, there is hope.”

  “Are you a miracle worker?”

  “No, but I talk to other healers from all over the world when they visit this city. I am a student, you could say. You have what are called cataracts. They are far advanced and block nearly everything from view. I have seen and been taught by a healer from India how to correct that problem, at least enough so that you do not need to be led from place to place.”

  “This is true?”

  “Yes, more of your sight than you might suppose can be returned to you. Gamaliel, I will be busy with this man for the next several hours. I will rejoin you later.”

  A stunned Gamaliel could only mutter, “Very well, but be sure that Oren stays close by.”

  Chapter XXXVIII

  When Gamaliel returned home, his mind was still so wrapped around the things that the blind kohen had said and Loukas’ claim to be able to restore his sight that he didn’t notice the three legionnaires stationed outside his door. He nearly stumbled into one of them. He regained his balance and returned his mind to the present. Legionnaires at his doorstep could only mean one thing. He shuddered at the thought. He stopped and spread his arms at his side, palms up.

  “You are here to tell me the Prefect, the Honorable Pontius Pilate, wishes me to dance attendance on him, correct?”

  The three men exchanged glances. They were not accustomed to having a summons to appear before the Roman Prefect received in such a flippant manner. One, who seemed to be senior in rank, only nodded and waved Gamaliel into line and they marched off.

  “Why is the prefect in the city?” Gamaliel asked. He didn’t expect an answer. If these men knew why the Roman official, whose visits to the city were normally confined to High Holy Days and special events, had traveled from Caesarea Maritima on this otherwise ordinary day, they were not about to tell him.

  They marched around the Temple Mount rather than cross it. Romans were not welcome on the mount, or anywhere else, particularly after the massacre instituted by the same Pontius Pilate near the Temple the year before. The journey took less than a quarter of an hour. Young and fit legionnaires moved at a brisk pace. Gamaliel huffed along in their wake. At the Antonia Fortress, he was passed on to a second group of four, who escorted him through the fortress’ labyrinthine hallways to the prefect’s quarters. His escorts left him in an antechamber where he was told to wait.

  Gamaliel stood in the center of the room for a half hour, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The prefect might or might not be occupied, but he would not appear until he had made it clear who had the power. Gamaliel understood the wait. It was a trick he had used on occasion himself. He resigned himself to inaction and tried to guess what Pilate wanted.

  Finally, Pontius Pilate swept into the room and fixed Gamaliel with a stare that was supposed provoke terror into the hearts of lesser men. Gamaliel had dealt with the Roman official in the past and knew he had no intention of imposing physical violence on him, though he was perfectly capable of doing so had he wished.

  “Greetings, Prefect. I am your servant. What may I do for you?”

  “Rabban of the Sanhedrin, I thought I was done with you months ago. Now, it appears I must call you to task yet again. Why is that?”

  “I am sorry, Excellency, I have no idea. How have I offended you?”

  “No offense as such. I am informed you are meddling in an affair the authorities in the palace wish you to avoid and you condone the behavior of a renegade rabbi who may present a threat to the Empire.”

  “I am guilty of all that? Can you be more specific? You say a rabbi threatens the welfare of the state? That seems very unlikely. Most of the rabbis I know are not a threat to doves in trees or flowers in the fields.”

  “Nevertheless, it has been so reported. And then there is this probing you insist on doing that has upset the king. Why I should care about that royal mouse, I do not know, but as it is my official duty to pursue these sorts of complaints, I ask you, what are you up to this time?”

  “First, I need to separate the two questions. Or are you suggesting they are somehow connected?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “You have been in communication with the high priest, it seems. Is it he who says there is a seditious rabbi roaming about the countryside fomenting rebellion?”

  “You are ahead of yourself, Rabban. Is this Galilean a threat or not? The high priest tells me he is gathering a growing number of followers and they might attempt an attack.”

  “Is that likely? If it is the rabbi I am thinking of, he has, on a more or less permanent basis, as many as seventy or so followers. Crowds do, in fact gather to hear him—hundreds, some say thousands.”

  “There, you see. And then what do they do?”

  “When he is finished teaching? They go home. Prefect, they are farmers and fishermen, women and children. If they carry weapons, they would be used for gutting fish and pruning trees. I do not think your legionnaires have much to fear from pruning forks, do you?”

  Pilate barked. Gamaliel assumed it to be the closest thing to a laugh the Roman could muster.

  “Nothing threatens Rome, Rabban. Your men have foolishly been throwing themselves at us for decades. You raid our camps. We kill you. Your attempts at war have produced a nation of women and children. Your best men hang rotting on crucifixes the length of the Palestine. We fear no one. It is not fear of your rabbi I want to discuss. I wish to know if he intends to follow the footsteps of the rebellious fools before him. It is our policy to crush the thought before the act.”

  Gamaliel’s expression did not change but he felt the Nation’s pain caused by years of futile skirmishes by Zealots and their supporters, which had, as the prefect noted, reduced the nation’s population to the point where sixty to seventy out of a hundred adult citizens were women—and they had children to feed and care for without their men. The men, as Pilate said, lay dead or dying across the land.

  “Rebellion, Prefect, is not what that rabbi preaches, I promise you.”

  “I will take your word for that, at least for now. What then of this meddling?”

  “Now, that does present a threat to your Caesar.”

  “Nonsense. How can it? The legions of Rome have crushed every attempt at bringing us down. Your own experience in this country amply demonstrates that.”

  “You are correct as far as you go, but you can be defeated and I know how. It is the reason I am investigating the dead man in the Temple in spite of the wishes of the Palace and Temple.”

  “I do not see how a dead man in your temple can possibly cause any trouble for the empire. Explain.”

  “I set you a hypothetical case. Suppose there is a group preparing to fall on your men—”

  “Pah!”

  “Let me finish, please. But, the day before this attack, all of your legionnaires fall deathly ill, are incapacitated, and lose their will to fight. What then?”

  “How d
oes it happen they fall ill, Jew?”

  “I can think of many ways that might be. We have a powerful Lord who has answered our prayers in the past. A plague on the Pharaoh, locusts, the first born struck down. Why wouldn’t he help his people now?”

  “Why? Because for decades that is exactly what you people have been praying for and he has remained silent. It seems he is done with you.”

  “You may hope so, but I said I could think of other ways. We could poison your well.”

  “It is guarded night and day.”

  “Good, then you will not accuse us of rebellion when your troops lay down their arms because they have become incapacitated by their own hand.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “If I am right in this, if my investigation is on the right path, the means of your destruction could be at hand and we have nothing to do with it, although it might conceivably be the work of the Lord. I must not think that, however. Perhaps that is the meaning of the mustard plants…”

  “You are not making any sense, Rabbi. What mustard plants? What agency do you speak?”

  “Sorry, the mustard is something else…only a dream. No, there is something in the culture…I do not know what, exactly, but I can guess, and it has the power to destroy your soldiers.”

  “Really? Then it begs the question.”

  “The question?”

  “If you are correct, why would you stop it? Do you not wish for us to be destroyed?”

  “May I speak frankly?”

  “With caution, yes.”

  “I do hope for your eventual destruction. That should not surprise you, but I am not so foolish as to believe that when the effects of this scourge are let loose you will not promptly root it out and then find someone to blame for it other than those responsible, which would be your own people. And, if past practice is precedent, that someone will be us. We suffer enough at your hands. We do not need more. So, it is in the best interests of the Nation to protect you from yourself, and may Ha Shem forgive me.”