Ruth had found her, nursed her, and told her that wasn’t the way to act.
“You mustn’t let them see you like that,” her elder sister told her. “They get scared of how powerful you can be, how big you are. They’ll try to destroy you, make you small again.”
One of her ears had been battered. Anna always made sure to cover it up.
Like Aaron had come back at the end of the day, Anna knew that Baasha would come back that evening too. There was nothing to do but wait. First she was paralyzed with fear. The mark Reuben had left began to hurt. A soft rushing sound beat at her wounded ear. Darkness crept in and descended over Anna. She blinked, but it wouldn’t go away. It was like sand in her eyes. She opened her mouth, but her tongue was dry. There was something cold and raw inside her; a soft voice began to speak, a faint whisper about empires rising, empires falling, about the lowly ones in the dust, about people and grains of sand and the wind blowing it all away. Anna gasped for air; she couldn’t breathe. It was all over. Never again the morning, never again the day. No moon, no stars, only a haze that would drive her out of her mind if Baasha didn’t kill her first. It came to her that the few things she’d been able to call good had all gone. The people to whom she offered herself left her. And the people who left her kept her awake at night.
She knelt down to gather up the remains of the broken jug. The shards lying there were sharp and black. She held one in her hand and pressed it against the other hand, where her warm pulse was beating.
“God,” she said, “take me.”
But a great roar came up the alleyway, she could hear it, as if the ocean were coming, roaring up from the alleyway into her house. The door opened, and a force hit her chest with such power she was almost knocked over. She got up, staggered backward, dropped what she had in her hands, and slammed into the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, the shards were lying on the ground, and the door was wide open. Everything was quiet.
Years later, Anna would speak about that peculiar incident, which at that very moment had something familiar about it, yet at the same time something impossible to comprehend: the morning light, Baasha running off, the dark haze, the broken jug, the roar, her trip to the well. Anna would recall how she’d been filled with a power so strong that nothing could threaten her or keep her down. A light, flashing in the dark, the flapping of a wing, who knows. The truth was that, right there and then, on the way to the well, carrying the tall, round, flat-bottomed jug, Anna had become somebody else. Her new life had begun with that roaring sound and the black bird. But in the years to follow, there was no bird, there were no men, there was no Baasha or Reuben or Andrew in her story. Even dear Ruth had gone. Anna’s story began with Anna’s own words about the roar she’d heard. And Anna’s words tell of when she met Jesus at the well.
Other women told her that Jesus had such hair and a beard as if he were a lion from the banks of the river Jordan. Jesus had limbs so brown and tender that they could taste salt on their lips. Jesus had eyes that were as bright and dark as day and night. And his voice was honey, sweet and thick and golden.
But Anna didn’t want to speak about him in those terms. There was something else about Jesus. Something that linked him to the last kiss from Andrew, to Reuben’s soft singing. It was the strange pattern in which his fingers moved. It was the way he smiled when he was with her, as if she made him shy. It was the way her fingers became so warm when he was near her. It was more, more than that, it was the way he might sit next to her while they ate. The way he asked her questions and listened, waiting while she answered, and then asked more questions. What were their first words by the well, other than hesitant, childlike tentative efforts, like the first time a young bird beats its wings.
“Where have you come from?” Anna asked him, putting down her pitcher.
“Nazareth,” he said. “Galilee.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We’re traveling about. We stopped here to rest.”
“Were you with the people who just left here?” she asked. “All those women?”
Jesus opened his mouth to say something, but Anna continued, saying that he reminded her of Andrew.
“The way you speak,” she said. “Or, I don’t know, maybe there’s more of a Reuben in you, the way he was on good days.”
Jesus stared at her.
“Who are these men?” he asked.
“Oh, they’re no one,” said Anna.
“One of us is called Andrew,” he said. “Might he be the one you’re talking about?”
Anna shook her head. “No, no,” she said. “My Andrew’s gone. I’d have seen him if he was with you.”
“There are more of us,” said Jesus. “Andrew’s in Nazareth, he’s waiting for us there.”
Anna stood there, completely still.
“What does he look like?” she asked.
“What does he look like?” Jesus replied. “He’s the brother of Simon Peter, one who’s close to me.”
“Is his hair long and black?” Anna asked. “Are his eyes dark? Is his nose long and bent at the bridge? Does he hold the fingers of his right hand up to his mouth when he’s nervous?”
“That sounds like Andrew,” said Jesus, “but I’m not sure. You can ask Simon Peter.”
“I want to come with you,” said Anna.
Anna didn’t know what else to say, or what she could do. Had she found Andrew? She tried to stay calm, brushed her hands on her clothes, touched her ear and heard fluttering: there was something in the air, wings beating. It was the black bird. It flew past, over the well, and Anna thought it must be a sign from Andrew.
“I want to come with you,” she said.
“If you want to, you can come,” said Jesus. “We travel about spreading the Word of God. We move about as free people. Nobody owns us. You can ask Simon Peter about Andrew, as I think he can give you a better answer than I can. We’re heading back to Galilee now. I come from Nazareth. My brothers live there, the ones I grew up with. Andrew is with them. I’d like you to come with us, if there’s nothing here, nothing binding you to stay.”
“But you do realize what I am?” Anna asked.
Jesus looked at her. “Yes,” he said. “You’re like me.” Then other voices could be heard. Anna turned around. It was some of the women she’d seen while she was standing between the trees. They’d come back and were carrying small baskets, talking softly, smiling to each other, but when they saw Anna and Jesus, they stopped and fell silent. Anna stood there, one hand on the pitcher, the other over her chest.
“Who are you?” one of them asked.
“Are you from here?” another asked.
“This is Anna,” said Jesus. “She’s coming with us to Nazareth.”
“I want to meet Andrew,” said Anna.
One of them came over, took Anna’s hand, and held it in her own.
“Hello, Anna,” she said. “My name’s Orpah, and I know Andrew.”
“Can you take me to him?” Anna asked.
Orpah nodded, smiled, and said she would.
Then the other women joined them. One of them raised her hands toward Anna’s head, and Anna flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said. Anna let her stroke her hand over her forehead, over her cheekbone and her torn ear.
“It’s been damaged,” the woman said. “It’s like sand in a little leather pouch.” One of the other women, who was younger than all the others and who wouldn’t stop smiling, lifted up her hands and touched Anna’s ear.
“It’s like dough,” she said.
“It was crushed,” Anna said, moving their hands away. “It was my second man.” The women were standing around her now, they were so close. Jesus said something, and Anna turned toward him.
“Anna, if you drink this water,” he said, touching the water in Anna’s jug with his hand, “then you’ll thirst again. You’ve chosen to join us, and I’ll tell you that the water we drink tu
rns into something else, it’s alive. Here, take my hand.”
Anna took Jesus’s hand, and his fingers came between hers. They were cool to the touch, they were warm, she held on to him, he pulled her toward him, and a haze fell over them.
It was in the middle of the day, as Anna remembers it, even though she sometimes said, in her latter years, that it happened beneath the morning sun. When she thought back to it, everything was surrounded by his glow. Her hands, her ear sticking out, the way she whispered Andrew’s name, Jesus’s eyes, bright, dark. The sultry but cold smell of the well, the women’s soft humming, a faint murmur between the bushes and trees, from the tiny insects. In the middle of the day, a new day was beginning.
Anna didn’t go back to Sychar. She waited until Simon Peter came, together with the other men. Orpah introduced him to her and explained that Anna was looking for Andrew. Simon Peter seemed surprised and said that his brother hadn’t said anything to him about it.
“But he doesn’t talk to me about things like this,” he said. “I’m his big brother, you know what it’s like. When was it you met him?”
Anna tried to explain when Andrew was with her, for how long, and when he’d left. While she spoke, Simon Peter scraped at the sand with a small stick.
“That might add up,” he said when she’d finished. “There was one spring when Andrew was away from me, which might have been about that time. That was before the Lord found us. I thought I’d never see him again, but then he came back.”
Anna nodded, wanting Simon Peter to tell her more, but he fell silent. He was taller than Andrew, with paler and thinner hair, but they had the same nose. He got up, threw away the stick, and told her that she’d meet him if she came along to Nazareth. Anna thanked him, but he told her she didn’t need to thank him, as he hadn’t done anything.
“You came to the Lord, just as Andrew came back to me,” he said. “Maybe Andrew’s been waiting for you to find him.”
Anna stayed by the well all night, together with the women, the men, and the children. She lay there in the open air, thinking of Andrew and staring at the stars. What if everything that glimmers were connected, what if all you had to do was to move your finger from one twinkling star to another? Would that create a pattern, a plan that could reveal everything? One that would show where to press, where to touch to make it all open up, so that she could be with him and find out why he left.
“It was the same for me too,” a voice said close to her. It was Orpah. “I couldn’t sleep for the first few nights. I thought the people I was escaping would come to get me.”
“Who were you escaping?” Anna asked.
“I belonged to a man who kept me locked up and hidden away at night,” said Orpah. “He said I was his, he said he would brand me like an animal if I ever tried to flee.”
Orpah’s breath was warm against her cheek.
“But I’m with the Master now,” she said. “I’m not alone anymore. We’re not alone anymore.”
Her hand found Anna’s.
“Do you know Andrew?” Anna asked her.
“Yes,” Orpah answered.
“What’s he like?” Anna asked.
“He’s nice,” said Orpah. “He doesn’t say much. Who is he to you?”
“He was my everything,” said Anna. “I’ve been searching for him. But I can’t sleep.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Orpah. “Here, hold my hand. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”
Anna stuck with Orpah and didn’t ask any more about Andrew. She would wait to see if he was still her Andrew. Orpah taught her the names of the others, first the women and then the men. A woman called Mary, who was close to Jesus, welcomed her.
“You’re one of us,” said Mary. “We’re with you, just as you’re with us. If you have any questions, you can come to me. I’ve asked Orpah to stay with you for the first few days.”
Anna asked Orpah who the children were. Some had names, while others were just boy or girl, little one or child. A girl with a bright red wound along her neck and face, a mark of the beast, came to Anna the next evening and sat in her lap. At first, she didn’t know what to do, so Orpah told her to sing. Anna sang and tried to speak to the girl, asking her what her name was, where she came from, and if she was hungry.
“I’m Esther,” was all she said. She said nothing else and just sat there with her cheek against Anna’s bosom.
“Esther,” Anna said to the girl.
Anna was no longer alone. Orpah was always by her side, and Esther ran around, tugging at her hands and clutching her legs. She started to talk now and told Anna that she’d run away from Jerusalem, where she’d been living with some other children. She didn’t have any family apart from Jesus and Anna. She was ten years old, maybe eleven, she wasn’t sure. Anna nodded and stroked Esther’s hair.
Anna saw little of Jesus over the following days. All the way from Jacob’s Well at Sychar up to Nazareth she was looking for a reason to approach him. There was a special circle around Jesus made up of the people closest to him, with Mary and Simon Peter among them. Anna couldn’t bring herself to go up to them and ask to speak with Jesus.
One morning, she found him by some rocks alone in the pale sunlight. Jesus seemed tired, with bags under his eyes and his hair tangled. Anna asked if everything was all right. He said everything was fine, got up, and asked if she was all right.
“Yes,” she said. “They’re taking care of me.”
“We’ll soon be there now,” he said. “Then you’ll find Andrew.”
Anna wanted to ask how he’d come to be with them, but the words that came were: “There are others like me here.”
Jesus nodded, but then said, “No, there are no others like you.” And again, Anna sensed him coming toward her; she felt her hands lift up to meet him. But Simon Peter was heading toward them. He called at her, telling her to come with him.
“Leave the Master in peace,” he said.
“Peter, it’s all right,” said Jesus.
“You need rest, Lord,” Simon Peter said.
“It’s all right,” said Jesus.
“No,” said Anna. “He’s right, you look tired. I’m just thinking so much about Andrew. I’m looking forward to seeing Nazareth, I’ve never been outside of Samaria.”
Simon Peter nodded. “There’s not so much to be seen,” he said, “but Andrew will be there.”
They arrived in Nazareth the next day. The sky stretched out over the mountains like a gray blanket, and some goats ran ahead of them on the narrow road up to the city. The first ones to see the group approaching were children. Boys and girls ran from house to house, shouting, and people came out to welcome the new arrivals. Anna tried to spot Andrew, but he was nowhere to be seen. He’d gone to Sepphoris on an errand and wouldn’t be back until the evening. Anna stood there not knowing what to do.
“You’ll just have to wait,” said Orpah, who was by her side. “He’ll be back.”
She took Anna to show her around.
Everything was new, everybody welcomed her. One of Jesus’s brothers lifted her up. “Look,” he said, “you can fly up here, did you know that?” He laughed, and Orpah scolded him for always fooling around like that. Esther tugged at Anna, wanting to show her a secret place only she knew of. Mary came over and asked if Orpah was looking after her. Anna nodded. She stayed close to Orpah, as she felt tired. It dawned on her that she’d left everything in Sychar. Everything she owned, everything she was. Now that she was so close to Andrew, she felt as if it all might fall apart. She thought of Ruth, who’d disappeared. Anna tried to remember her voice, all the things she used to say, the way she would make her little sister feel safe and at home.
“Orpah?” said Anna.
Orpah turned to her, but Anna didn’t know what to ask her. She would just have to wait, she thought, and all the answers would come in the evening. Everything would come with Andrew.
“What is it, Anna?” Orpah asked.
“Nothing,”
said Anna. “Nothing. Everything’s just so new.”
The strange thing was that, as the sun was setting and Andrew came walking up toward Nazareth, it was as if Anna had forgotten about everything for a moment. She sat there with Esther, telling her about kings and queens. Anna tried to remember the stories she’d heard, and Esther sat completely still, her eyes wide and dark. If Anna stopped to think, Esther told her to keep telling the story.
“Anna, Anna!” Orpah shouted, and Anna got up immediately, realizing straightaway what was happening.
She kissed Esther. “He’s coming,” she said, and began running toward Orpah.
A man came walking up the narrow path toward the city. He had the glowing sun behind him. His hair was shorter, and his clothes were ragged. He was staring at the ground, and it seemed as if he were talking to himself, before he stopped and looked up to where they were standing.
It was Andrew, Anna was in no doubt about it. He’d gone, but she’d found him.
Andrew walked up the last short distance toward them, staring at Anna. Orpah didn’t say anything; she just held on to Esther and told her not to cling to Anna.
“Anna?” said Andrew as they stood opposite each other.
It was impossible to know what to say, or where to start. She thought about Ruth, who’d never seen him, how she wished to show him to her. She thought about how he’d gone away, how he’d left her there, in Reuben’s clutches, at Baasha’s mercy.
“Anna?” he said again, lifting up a hand and moving the hair away from her battered ear. But Anna swatted away his hand, only to grab it again and hold it in hers.
“Anna,” said Andrew, “what are you doing here?”
Anna held his hand, not wanting to let go. She leaned toward him, lay her head on his chest, and heard his heart beating. He was warm and wet, he smelled like she remembered.
“Anna?” he said yet again.
But before he could say any more, Anna said, “I’m here, I found you.”
Everything happened so quickly after that. Things were made ready for the night, fires were lit, and everybody was given somewhere to sleep. Anna and Andrew didn’t talk much, just holding each other’s hand, while Orpah and Esther walked behind them. Andrew said he had to talk to Jesus and promised to return before nightfall. Anna let him go, and Esther came over and put her arms around Anna’s leg.
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