by Mary Quijano
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Once father and mother leave my room I flop back on my cot and stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
I wish I knew my purpose more clearly, but Father God has not revealed it to me. I seek it in the infinite realm where time's continuum has no meaning, but though I can see all of what has gone before, and much of what is to come, the part of the future concerning me is still hidden from my view. I suppose that's part of His plan.
In any case, I think if father Joseph were to tell the townspeople that I am the Son of God, they would be constantly distracting me with their requests for this favor or that: Clean the tainted water from my well, make my plants grow tall and abundant with grain, heal my gout, make my children behave...Well, maybe I wouldn't mind the last chore, I grin; That I could take some pleasure in. But in any case I think it's meant to remain a secret for now: Let them wonder until my Father in heaven tells me it is time to reveal myself.
Father Joseph
Three days after the incident in the village an elder by the name of Zacchaeus comes to see me. He is a learned man, a teacher by trade, and needs me to build him a couple of desks. He has little to pay with, but says he has heard about my son Yeshua, and would be willing to teach him his letters in exchange for my work.
"I'm not sure," I tell him. "Yeshua is a special boy, and I'm not certain he would take well with becoming someone's pupil.'
But Zacchaeus argues convincingly, as if he can read my troubled mind: "Thou hast a wise child, it is said, one with understanding beyond his years. Yet he has difficulty relating to others well. Come, deliver him to me that he may learn letters. And I will teach him with the letters all knowledge of the Torah and our customs, so that he will salute all the elders and honour them as grandfathers and fathers, and learn to love them as if they are of his own heart."
So I send Yeshua to him the following morning after chores: Ill advised, as it turns out.
Zacchaeus
I begin with the simplest form, for this is after all a child of only six, with no formal schooling behind him as yet.
"This is the first letter of the Alef Bet, the Alef. This is how it is written," and I show him, then hand him a tablet and make him write the Alef.
He does it perfectly, but as his teacher I feel it necessary to correct him, else how could I be called a teacher? So I have him write it again, the second copy identical to the first.
"Better," I nod, ignoring his impudent face.
I go on to instruct him in all the letters, from Alef to Tav, how to write each, the pronunciation of each, and the numerical value of each.
"But what of their meaning," he asks when I am done.
"They mean what they mean. They are letters, that's all. We ascribe to them their meaning when we write them into words or numerals."
"Fool!" he says, shocking me. "I am talking not about their meaning in man's language, but in God's; their meaning regarding the creation of the universe."
"That? I know of it, but also know that it is pure nonsense and superstition," I counter, folding my arms across my chest sternly. "Your father is paying me to teach you practical lessons, how to read and write and count, so you can be useful to him and to your village. He did not hire me to indulge you in some kind of occult mysticism!"
"Truly?" The boy scoffs, and I am taken aback by the strength of personality in so small a child. A wave of apprehension passes through me. "And you are supposed to teach me?" He challenges boldly: "You that has no idea about the nature and power of the Alef, would pretend to teach others the Bet and the rest? Don't be such a hypocrite. If you actually know it, teach the Alef, and then I will believe you concerning the rest of what you say."
I am confounded by his response, not knowing what to tell this impertinent child. By this time a small crowd has gathered round, for I am teaching him out in the park, the day being temperate. I begin to sweat more than the heat of the day would account for. I have heard what this child is capable of if he loses his temper.
"Well," I begin nervously, "the Alef is actually comprised of three separate letters, a yud above, a yud below, and a vav between them. As I recall, these are supposed to represent the initial separation of the two waters by the firmament, something like that."
Yeshua shakes his head disdainfully at my weak attempt.
"Hear me, teacher, while I explain to you the meaning of the first letter and its significance to creation from the beginning of time to the present and beyond. Pay heed to this."
He begins to draw the letters on the tablet as he speaks, playing to the crowd
"The alef is a mother letter formed by two yuds, one on the upper right and the other upside down on the lower left, joined by a diagonal vav which both separates and unites them at the same time. It is the image of the way in which man was created, and represents the Divine power to bear two opposites simultaneously."
Some of those in the crowd nod appreciatively at this revelation, one with which they were perhaps already somewhat familiar. They move in a little closer to hear.
"To fully understand this," the boy continues with an authority bordering on arrogance; "you also have to understand the meaning of the yud and the vav of which the alef is constructed. The yud represents that singularity in which God exists, the entire infinite realm of God's Being hidden within the one initial point from which all creation emanates. The inverted yud represents the soul hidden in the body of Man, the infinite God hidden within the heart of His Creation as a mirror image. And the Vav is that single line of divine light emanating from its infinite source in the Yud, the light which takes part in the continuous process of Creation by both uniting and separating the Creator from his creation; it is the mirror on which the image of God is infinitely reflected. This is how the Vav constructs time as the continuum which keeps the illusion in place. "
I hear gasps from the crowd as they listen to the boy's words. I myself feel confounded, hoping only that the confusion in my mind is not apparent on my face.
"Who is this child that teaches his teacher?" I hear some say, and their words impale me on the rusty sword of my pride.
"He speaks words that only the highest masters could know or understand?' says another.
Hearing this praise of the boy, and by insinuation the comparative stupidity of myself, I am ready to crawl off in my shame. I turn to my friends and neighbors for comfort.
"Woe is me, wretch that I am, I have brought disgrace to myself by drawing to me this young child. Take him away, I beseech thee, my brothers. I cannot endure the severity of his look; I cannot once make clear his word."
One of the women steps forward. "I will walk him home for you," she says, and takes the boy by the hand, leading him away.
"Don't blame yourself, Zacchaeus ," says my old friend Josiah. He puts a comforting arm around my shoulder. "This young child is not earthly born: This is one begotten before the making of the world. What belly bare this, what womb nurtured it? I know not. But he has wisdom and power beyond that of any natural man."
Tears have begun to pour from my eyes, and I am not sure why I feel so devastated by what has occurred, but I can't seem to stop their flow, nor the misery that consumes me.
"Oh my friend, I feel like I'm losing my mind. I cannot follow his understanding. I feel as if I have deceived myself my whole life! I strove to get a disciple and I am found to have a master. I am humbled that I have been overcome by a young child; and cannot even look him in the face."
"Really, Zacchaeus, you're taking this all too seriously," my friend tries to reason with me. "Come, let's have a draught of wine together."
I nod, and allow myself to be led away by him, still babbling and sobbing in some unnamed, inconsolable, overwhelming grief.
Seated at my friend's table, away from other less-trusted ears, I continue to lament:
"When all men say that I have been overcome by a little child, what have I to say? And what can I tell concerning the lines of the first letter of which
he spoke, except to confess that I am ignorant, my friend, for neither beginning nor end of it do I know. All I do know is that he is somewhat great, but whether god or angel or what I should call him, I know not."
With that admission, I proceed to get drunk on my friend's wine and make the decision to retire from the teaching business altogether; and since I will have no further need of the desks, I never have to go back to see Joseph or his strange young son again.
Youth and Growth
When the woman delivers me to my home I go straight to my room, exhausted. But I suppose she must have remained to tell my father Joseph what happened with the teacher in the public square, for a short while later he comes in to speak with me.
"Yeshua," he says, and his attitude is not unkind or angry as I had feared it might be, but strangely humble; "Rebecca tells me you said things which astounded the people in the square, insights and truths of a deep spiritual nature which few if any could know or understand. Is this so?"
"Yes father," I answer.
"And how is it you come to know such things, when you can barely read or write?"
I look into my heart long and hard, long enough to have my father clear his throat with impatience, before answering with the simple truth: "I don't know how I know, I just know."
"You just know? Joseph repeats.
I shrug. "It just kind of comes to me...."
After he leaves I lay back on my narrow bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering myself how it is I know what I know, trying to analyze and revisit how it feels when these things come to me, like the way I see how a tree is nothing but air and light, or how atoms are made of polar opposites and the matter they form is nothing but motion without substance.
As I see this once more in my mind, a new realization comes to me with the same resounding clarity as the other truths that had been revealed before. Suddenly I know that the construction of the alef, with its opposite yuds and the vav in the middle, is a parallel to the construction of the atom, the basic building block of the material world. It is another metaphor, a teaching truth for man.
The upper yud is like the positive particles, all vibratory internal motion; and the lower yud is like the negative particle, all external motion. The vav between is like the attractive force that somehow binds the positives and the negatives in perfect balance. And there is something else to know about this, but it doesn't quite come to me. It's like a word on the tip of my tongue, like the name of something long forgotten that my mind is trying to retrieve. I fall asleep, still searching.
