Return to Me

by Lynn Austin

  She was still looking up at the stunning heavens when she heard a rustling sound near the gate. She turned, startled to see a man standing there. For a moment she froze, her heart quickening. Then she recognized him—his height, his stance, his beautiful curly hair. Rafi! Yael ran to him, throwing her arms around him, weeping tears of joy. “Rafi! You’re here! You came for me!”

  “Yes. I’m here,” he said. But his voice sounded strange. And he didn’t return her embrace. His arms hung stiffly at his sides. Yael released him and looked up at him.

  “Rafi, what’s wrong?”

  “Where’s your new husband?” The cold expression on his face made her shiver. He seemed different tonight, not the Rafi she knew.

  “Zechariah isn’t my husband yet,” she told him. “We haven’t consummated the marriage.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Again, that strange, icy voice. She embraced him again as if her love and the warmth of her arms could thaw his coldness.

  “I love you, Rafi. Zechariah knows that. He said I could run away with you if I wanted to, and he wouldn’t stop us. I came out here to consult the stars for answers, but now that you’re here, I don’t have to. Come on, let’s leave.” She tried pulling him toward the gate, but he was as immoveable as a pillar.

  “He and your father signed a marriage contract, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Does your husband love you?”

  “That’s not important, Rafi. Please—”

  “You didn’t answer my question. That must mean that he does love you.”

  “I would have run away with you before the wedding. I told you that. Why didn’t you come for me sooner?”

  “I didn’t come for you now, Yael.”

  “What? . . . What do you mean?” In reply, he grabbed her upper arm, holding it so tightly he would leave fingerprint bruises on her arm. This man was a stranger, not the gentle, loving man she knew. “Rafi, let go. You’re hurting me.”

  He yanked her toward the door to her room, the door she had left open with a lamp burning inside. “You belong to me, Yael. You’re mine.”

  “Yes, I already told you that. Why are you acting this way? You’re hurting me.”

  “I don’t like losing someone I love. Basam had to pay for Leyla, and now it’s your husband’s turn to pay.” They reached the door, and he kicked it wide open. Zechariah sat up, startled. “Is that your husband?” Rafi asked her.

  “I told you, it isn’t a real marriage. Tell him, Zaki—”

  But in one swift, strong move, Rafi pulled Yael against his chest, pinning her arms to her sides. Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. A knife. “Neither of you make a sound,” Rafi said, “or I’ll slit her throat right now.”

  Fear washed through Yael, draining her strength. If Rafi hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed. Her body trembled so violently she might have been standing naked in a snowstorm. As tears blurred her vision, she couldn’t see Zechariah’s expression in the dim lamplight as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Wait! Put the knife away, Rafi. Don’t hurt her.” He raised his arms in surrender.

  “I should have let my friends beat you to death years ago. Of all people, I had to lose Yael to you. To you!” He spat out the words like bitter gall. “The suffering you caused me—it was like watching Yael die, knowing I could never have her. Now you’ll have the agony of watching her die. It will be the last thing you’ll ever see before I kill you, too.”

  “She loves you,” Zechariah said calmly, “not me. She wanted to marry you. Why would you kill someone who loves you? Kill me if you want to, but why kill Yael?”

  “Because you stole her from me. And because you love her. I want you to suffer the way I have.”

  Yael felt his grip tighten. The knife blade pressed against her flesh. She was going to die. “No, Rafi, don’t!” she begged.

  Iddo awoke from the dream, gasping.

  “Shh . . . It was just a dream, Iddo,” Dinah soothed. “Go back to sleep.” He sat up, his clothing drenched with sweat. The nightmare had been so real that it took Iddo a moment to figure out where he was. In his bed. Beside Dinah. In Jerusalem. But why have a nightmare now, after all these years without one?

  “Did I cry out and awaken everyone?” he asked.

  “No one heard you but me. . . . Was it the same dream, Iddo?”

  “Yes.” He had crouched beneath the wagon as Jerusalem burned. The soldier was attacking Mama, and his brother had crawled out to help her. Iddo had tried to leave his hiding place and save the people he loved. He had tried to move, to crawl out and rescue them—but the dream had jolted him awake before he could move. He tossed the covers aside and climbed out of bed.

  “Where are you going?” Dinah asked.

  “Outside for some air. I’m sorry for waking you.” Iddo left the room but even the canopy of glimmering stars couldn’t erase the nightmare from his mind. Fear and dread lingered like a sour taste that couldn’t be washed away. What could have triggered the dream? Yesterday had been a joyous occasion—Zechariah’s marriage to Yael. True, Iddo hadn’t wanted him to marry her, but even so, he marveled that he had lived to see such a day. Soon there would be children, reversing the curse of death and bringing renewed life. “Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them. . . . So shall your offspring be.”

  But Iddo couldn’t concentrate on the night sky. The lingering horror from the dream had left behind an aura of evil. He tiptoed around the courtyard, searching for—he didn’t even know what he searched for. But he recalled the nest of vipers they’d found when building the foundation of this house, and like rooting out those snakes, he felt an urgent need to find the source of evil and destroy it.

  He heard a sound. Voices. They came from the new room added on for Zechariah and Yael. He inched toward the sound and saw the open door and a light burning inside. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway. Not Zaki . . . he was shorter than Zaki. Not anyone from Iddo’s household.

  “Now you can watch her die,” the man said.

  Rafi. The Samaritan.

  He was holding Yael against his chest. Iddo saw the glint of a knife.

  “Don’t hurt her, Rafi.” Zechariah’s voice. “Take your revenge on me, but don’t hurt Yael. She loves you.”

  For a moment Iddo couldn’t move, frozen in horror just as he’d always been in his dream. He had to save his family! Then he forced himself to move, glancing around the courtyard for a weapon. Dinah’s heavy clay water jar stood near his feet. He picked it up and crept to the opened door, then smashed it into the back of Rafi’s head with all his strength. Rafi tottered but didn’t fall, momentarily stunned. And in that instant, Zechariah lunged toward Yael and snatched her from Rafi’s grasp. Zaki stood in front of her, shielding her as she screamed and screamed.

  Rafi whirled to attack Iddo, a short, double-edged knife in his hand. He was young and strong, but Iddo was strong, too. He had killed and skinned hundreds of bulls and rams for the sacrifices. Now he wrestled for his life and for Zechariah and Yael’s lives—gripping Rafi’s arms to keep away the knife.

  “Stay back, Zaki,” Iddo shouted. “He’ll kill you.” But Zaki attacked Rafi from behind, punching and beating him, then wrapping one arm around Rafi’s throat as he tried to pull him away.

  Yael continued to scream for help as the three men struggled, loudly enough to awaken the others. Besai and Mattaniah came to help, but they moved too slowly, still groggy with sleep and with wine from the wedding. In one swift, deadly strike, Rafi managed to free one hand and stab Iddo in the stomach. Iddo felt the force of the thrust, the warm, wet rush of blood. Iddo staggered backward as Rafi pulled out the knife and whirled to attack Zechariah, the knife raised.

  “No!” Iddo roared. He fought for balance and hurled himself at Rafi, pushing him sideways with all his strength, away from his grandson. The other men piled on Rafi then, knocking him to the ground, kicking the knife from his ha
nd. Iddo snatched up the dagger and plunged it into Rafi’s chest. A moment later, Rafi went still.

  Iddo had used up all his strength. A fire burned in his gut where he’d been stabbed. He leaned against the wall, then slowly slid to the ground.

  “Iddo’s hurt! He’s bleeding!” someone shouted.

  They helped him lie down, and Dinah bent over him, tearing open his robe to tend to his wound. The room whirled, dreamlike. It was hard to breathe. “Lie still, Iddo,” she begged. “Please don’t move . . . Please be all right. . . .”

  “I’m fine, Dinah. Don’t worry. It was just a dream . . . But I saved them this time. . . . I killed the Babylonian soldier . . . and I saved them. . . .”

  Iddo closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

  Chapter

  35

  Zechariah ran home from the evening sacrifice, desperate to be with his grandfather, unwilling to miss a single moment with him, knowing each one might be his last. Three long, agonizing days had passed since Rafi had stabbed Saba, and no one was able to say if he would survive or not. Zechariah raced into the courtyard, then into his grandfather’s room and saw Safta sitting beside his bed. “He’s asleep,” she whispered. “There’s been no change.” She was trying so hard to be brave, staying by Saba’s side, encouraging him to get well, never letting anyone see her cry. Zechariah had also remained beside his bed all night and had heard her murmuring to Saba in the darkness, “I love you, Iddo. . . . You must get well. . . . You must.”

  “I’ll stay with him for a while,” he said as he sat down beside the bed.

  “Do you want something to eat, Zaki?”

  “Maybe later.” Worry had stolen his appetite.

  Safta nodded and released Saba’s hand as she stood. “I’ll warm some broth in case he’s hungry when he wakes up.”

  Zechariah closed his eyes after she left, silently pleading with the Almighty One to spare his grandfather’s life. Why should Saba pay the price for Zechariah’s decision to marry Yael?

  As time passed, his mind began to wander, circling back to the events of that terrible night. No one in his household could comprehend the violence and hatred that had entered their gate. Rafi had tried to kill Yael. And him. And Saba. Who knew how many others he would have killed if Saba hadn’t stopped him?

  But Rafi was dead. At dawn, Mattaniah had sent for the elders from Rafi’s village, asking them to come and see for themselves what Rafi had tried to do. The elders had carried his body home. And now all of Jerusalem held its breath, waiting to see if more blood vengeance and killing would follow.

  In all the grief and confusion, Zechariah had barely spoken with Yael—his wife. Hodaya had been much better at comforting her than he was. What a terrible way to begin their marriage. If it ever truly would be a marriage.

  Zechariah opened his eyes again when he heard his grandfather stirring. “Is the sacrifice finished, Zaki?” he asked in his whispery-soft voice.

  “Yes. And everyone prayed for you. All of the priests and the people . . . How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’m still dreaming. Like I’m half in this world and half in the next.”

  Lines of pain creased Saba’s face. The wound had been deep, and so much blood had drained from his body that he was as weak as an infant, as pale and cold as snow. But Zechariah refused to allow his grandfather to give in to the pain and die. “Please stay in this world a little longer, Saba. We need you.”

  “That’s up to the Holy One, not me. . . . In the meantime, tell me about today’s Torah portion.”

  Zechariah swallowed his grief. “It’s one of your favorites, the passage where the Holy One says to Abraham, ‘Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them. So shall your offspring be.’”

  “Tell me—” He began to cough and Zechariah tensed, fearing the exertion would reopen his wound.

  “Just rest, Saba. Don’t try to talk until you’re stronger. It takes too much of your strength.”

  “You know how we become stronger?” he asked, smiling faintly. “By studying the Torah.”

  Zechariah bit his lip. He longed to hear just one more of his grandfather’s Torah lessons. Why hadn’t he appreciated the wealth of wisdom and knowledge that Saba possessed? Who could ever take the place of this man of God when he was gone? Zechariah couldn’t bear to think about it. “Then we’ll study this passage together so you’ll grow strong.” He sat up straight, waiting for his grandfather to begin with a question. The room grew dimmer now that the sun had set, but Zechariah didn’t want to light a lamp.

  Saba drew a shallow breath. “What is the plain meaning of the passage?”

  “The Holy One is telling Abraham that one day his descendants will be so numerous that we’ll be like the stars in the heavens. Too many to count.”

  “And He always keeps His promises. . . . Don’t let our tiny population fool you. Or our disobedience in failing to finish His temple. God keeps His promises even when we don’t keep ours.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you see a deeper meaning?”

  Zechariah smiled. Of course. There was always a deeper meaning. Saba had taught him this passage years before and was checking to see if he remembered. “The Holy One was not only telling Abraham that his offspring would be numerous, but also that we would shine like the stars. We would be a source of light in the darkness. The Holy One entrusted us with His Word, and the world is enlightened by the Torah’s wisdom and moral teachings when we live in obedience to it.”

  “Good. . . . Is there still another meaning?”

  Zechariah thought for a moment but none came to mind. “If so, I’m certain that you know what it is, Saba.” He bent closer as his grandfather cleared his throat.

  “The Holy One asked Abraham to count the stars. An impossible task. But He knew that if Abraham attempted the impossible, his offspring would follow his example. We would also attempt the impossible if God asked us to. Because with His help, nothing is impossible. Do you believe that, Zaki?”

  “Yes. Of course.” This wasn’t the time to share his doubts with his grandfather.

  “We all believed it when we first came here,” Saba continued. “We were going to rebuild Jerusalem and the temple and our nation even if the rubble and the weeds and the hatred of our enemies made it seem impossible. We started off so well and now . . . now for the past decade we’ve decided it was impossible. There were too many obstacles in our way, too many stars to count.”

  “The obstacles aren’t imagined, Saba. We had to stop building, remember? The Persian king reversed his decree.”

  “Did the Almighty One reverse His decree?”

  “No, but our enemies came with soldiers and threats and ordered us to stop. We had no choice.” Zechariah tried to be gentle and not argue, even though he had once agreed with Saba when he’d argued with the priest, Jakin. “We’re still under Persian control. We have to obey the king.”

  “Is he mightier than God?”

  Before Zechariah could reply, Safta came into the room with a bowl of warm broth. “Are you tiring him, Zaki? He needs to eat something and then rest.”

  Zechariah stood to give her his place beside the bed. “I’ll come back in a little while.”

  “No, Zechariah . . . wait . . . I’m not finished.” Iddo motioned for him to kneel beside the bed again. “Nothing is impossible with God,” he said. “Do you believe that or don’t you?”

  “I believe it.” But he had wrestled with doubt and fear for so long that they had exhausted his certainty, just like they had exhausted the high priest and their nation’s leaders and so many other people.

  “Try to eat some broth,” Safta said.

  Saba shook his head. “God has His hand on you, Zechariah, for a very special task. I’ve always known that was true. . . . Tell me why you decided to come here.”

  “Because I felt God’s presence. I heard Him telling me to come. I thought . . . I thought if we rebuilt the temple, then God’s presence would dw
ell with us all the time, but then . . .”

  “You haven’t found Him?”

  “No. Not yet.” It shamed Zechariah to admit it.

  “Are you certain about that? I think you’ve been searching for God in the wrong place when all this time He has been as close to you as I am.”

  “How? . . . Where?”

  “We all want to meet God in a dramatic way like you did on the day of your bar mitzvah. But instead, the Almighty One quietly reveals himself to us in His Word. As you study it every day, you hear His voice and you see Him. You learn to know Him.”

  “Saba, I—”

  “Don’t wait for a new temple to be built or for another mystical experience like the first one. Listen to God now, son. Pay attention to His voice in the Scriptures.” Saba closed his eyes. “And then when He tells you to do the impossible, go do it.”

  Zechariah left the room and went outside to the courtyard as his emotions overwhelmed him. Do the impossible? The others had sat down to eat the evening meal and they invited him to join them, but he wasn’t hungry. Could Saba be right? Was God’s presence truly as close as the pages of the Torah, the writings of the prophets? Zechariah’s pain was so raw, his dread so great, that he could scarcely think, barely function. He fled to his new room—his marriage chamber—as he tried to pull his fraying emotions back together. He was still sitting there on the floor in the dark with his back against the wall when he heard the door open. He looked up. Yael came inside with a lamp and closed the door behind her. He waited while she set the lamp in its niche, not trusting himself to speak.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk since that night,” she said. “Since your grandfather . . .” He saw her swallow. “But I need to tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “For what? For loving the wrong person?” he asked with a shrug. “You couldn’t have known what Rafi would do.”

  “I should have known. I ignored the signs because I didn’t want to see them. Rafi would have killed both of us. And anyone else who tried to interfere.” She walked forward a few more steps as if afraid to approach him. “Zaki, I know that what happened to your grandfather was my fault.”