Children of God

by Lars Petter Sveen

  “He’s the Lord,” says Andrew. “If anything like that were to happen, then the Lord will be there with us.” Peter holds his head in his hands, feeling his sticky hair and his oily skin. His hands tremble.

  “You saw what happened today,” he says. “Even our own people are afraid, and they reject us.”

  “Simon,” says Andrew, “we’re all afraid, but we believe. We know what the faithless occupiers might do to us, but we can’t judge those who have so little and would stand to lose everything.”

  “I’m not judging them,” says Peter. He gets up and takes a step toward Andrew’s silhouette.

  “We must believe,” says Andrew.

  “I believe,” says Peter, “but we know what’s coming.”

  “We must believe, Simon,” Andrew says again.

  Peter tries to see Andrew’s face in the dark, but there’s something else there in front of him, and Peter remembers the stranger who came toward them earlier, in the daylight, out of the cave tombs, with the damp, rotten air stuck to his skin like soil. With no clothes, and with his body covered in a pattern of cuts, cracks, lesions, and swellings. His hands hanging by his sides, two eyes like something dragged up from the bottom of the sea. Their party stopped; Peter took a step toward Jesus and stood in front of him. The thing made a noise, like stones grinding against stones in a dark sack. They all stood there, staring at the monster. People in the village had told them that he was a good husband and a good father, until his wife and children died of an illness, and he was infected too. Then he became possessed and started living in the cave tombs where the remains of his family lay.

  Jesus put his hand on Peter, pushed him aside, and stepped forward. The stranger stayed quiet, he smiled, his teeth black and yellow, and then out of his mouth came words, words none of them had heard before. Jesus took another step closer, and the man speaking changed his voice, starting to whisper, but Jesus didn’t stop.

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” said Jesus. “You know that I’m not here to judge you.” The creature fell silent.

  “Come, step forward,” said Jesus, turning to Peter and the others. He said the names of three of his followers who had open wounds that were covered up.

  “Come and show yourselves,” said Jesus. The three of them came up to him. Jesus asked them to take off their dressings and show their wounds.

  “See,” said Jesus. “These people are with us, they are us.”

  The thing stared at the three who had undressed, at their wounds, at the mouth of one of the women, whom Peter had never heard speak. Her lips had gone, and her teeth were darker than the gums around them.

  Several of the people who lived in the area and had come to watch began to talk and shout. Jesus lay his hands on one of the people who had got undressed.

  “They’re not unclean, and we’re not clean,” said Jesus, still facing the stranger in front of them. “They’re us, and I ask you: join us.”

  Jesus called out: “To all the things they’ve put on you, I say be gone.” With his hands raised to the sky and his eyes rolled back, he said the last words: “Leave him.”

  And the creature fell to his knees, reaching out his arms and feeling his way along the ground. The crowd’s talking subsided, and no shouting could be heard anymore.

  Jesus turned toward Peter and Thomas. “Help him,” he said, and they went up to the man, took him by the arms, and held him between them. His skin was cold, he stank of something rotten, a sickening, sweet smell. They could hear him whispering. A slight tremble shook his body, but everything that had seemed so great and evil was now minuscule and shattered.

  Jesus turned to all the others gathered there. He raised up his hands and said, “Demons have occupied this land, they’re the army of darkness. A legion of them is moving across the land, through the valleys, blowing across mountains, dragging us out of our homes, throwing us to the ground, and hanging us up with nails on wood. This army of darkness is hunting us down and spreading fear, we’re pushing each other away. We’re full of the evil of their sharp swords and spears. Their evil fills us until we can’t take any more, until we carry out the most abominable acts. Their darkness makes its abode in us, their evil becomes our evil. But remember the words of Isaiah: my father, the Lord, will be a strength to the needy in distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat. The breath of an aggressor is like a storm against a wall, like heat in a drought-stricken land. That was what the prophet Isaiah said, and I say to you, I will drive out those demons. I say to you, I will push them out, I will throw them into the abyss.”

  When Jesus had finished speaking, he stood in front of the man being carried between Peter and Thomas. He put his hands on him, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear.

  “Master,” said Peter, nodding his head toward a group of elder men approaching. Jesus turned around, held up his hand, and told the men to wait. He asked some other followers to come and help the man from the caves. They carried him away, gave him something to put around his body and something to drink. Jesus signaled that he was ready. The group of old men went over to him. They greeted Jesus and stared at him, before one of the eldest went closer and spoke to him quietly so that only Jesus could hear.

  “What do you want from the Lord?” said Peter, interrupting. Jesus looked over at Peter.

  “They’re asking us to leave,” he said. Peter turned to the man talking to Jesus. His head was like the bark of a withered tree; a tattered, white beard covered his face.

  “We’ve lost so much,” the man said. “We have nothing left. I beg you to leave. If the occupying forces were to come here, if they heard what had been said, they’d wipe us out.”

  Peter said nothing. He turned to Jesus. Jesus nodded and said yes. He put his hand over his mouth, nodded again, and said they’d leave as soon as possible.

  The glimmer of light at the end of the world spreads out. Andrew looks at the golden tree trunks around them. Peter watches his brother emerge from the night. His short, black hair, his nose long and bent at the bridge, the shadow of his beard around his face, and his eyes glistening.

  “The soldiers will be keeping watch over everything and everybody until Passover,” says Peter. “There will be guards at the Temple.” Andrew looks toward Peter. The light has returned, it’s faint, so faint, but the night has passed, and now comes the day. The grass and the trees about them regain their shapes and their colors.

  Andrew goes over to Peter. He’s about to say something, but then he just shakes his head and puts his arms around his brother.

  Several days later, while the group of followers are settling down at the edge of a few small houses outside Caesarea Philippi, Peter notices Judas heading off to sit alone on the ground by a group of trees. Mary’s saying how she marvels at the fact all spiders have eight legs, and while Jesus remains quiet, John starts to praise the majestic web of those eight-legged creatures that can capture even the fastest of small insects. Peter excuses himself, takes the remnants of a loaf of bread, and goes over to Judas.

  Judas stares up at him. His eyes are red, his face is wet, and he smells.

  “I brought some bread,” says Peter, sitting down on the grass next to him.

  “I’m tired,” Judas whispers. “I don’t know if I have the strength anymore.”

  “It’s all right,” says Peter. “We can rest now.”

  “No, it’s better when we’re on the move,” Judas whispers. “It’s when we sit still, when we sleep, that it’s worse.”

  “What are you talking about?” Peter asks him, trying to meet Judas’s eyes.

  “They’re here,” Judas whispers. “They’re waiting for us.” Peter opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again and gives the bread to Judas.

  “Here,” he says. “Have something to eat.”

  Judas takes hold of the bread, and at that very moment, they hear Jesus speak: “How are you doing, Judas?”

  “He’s ill,” says Peter. Jesus nods, having come
over to them. He sits down on the grass, his feet together.

  “I can see my father, I can see my brother, they’re here,” says Judas, his voice still like a whisper. “They’re waiting for us.”

  “You’ve told me about your brother,” says Jesus.

  “Yes,” says Judas.

  “And about your father,” says Jesus. Judas nods. “It was in a valley not far from where we’re sitting now, wasn’t it?” Jesus asks. “Your father pointed out your brother’s body when ordered to do so by the soldiers, and then they hanged your father. You told me that you wanted to go out at night and take him down so you could bury them both, but your mother made you stay at home. You promised your mother to fight for your people, but not to die like your brother and father.”

  Judas cries. He dries his face, spits and coughs, and looks up at the sky.

  “I can see them,” he says. “They’re here among us. They’ve rotted, and there are nails sticking out of my father.”

  “This is your story,” says Jesus. “Everybody here has their own story, this whole country does. It’s our story. But we’re in the light of the Lord, our father now. We grow with new stories, we’re not alone anymore.”

  “They’re here,” says Judas. “I can see them.”

  “It’s not them,” says Jesus, cutting him off. “It’s not them you see.”

  But Judas carries on. “They want to cut us down, all of us,” he says. Jesus leans forward to put his hands on Judas’s hands.

  “Listen,” he says. “I’m here with you. Don’t be afraid for your life. Who among us can add a cubit to his life? Your father in heaven knows all that you need. Seek out the Kingdom of God, and his justice, and you will have all you need.” Then Jesus lifts up his hands and passes them over Judas’s face. The sun above them is going down as they sit in the shade of the trees.

  “Who do people say the Son of man is?” Jesus asks.

  Judas coughs before he answers: “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elias, while still others say Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.”

  Jesus nods, his gaze still fixed on Judas. “And what about you?” Jesus asks. “Who do you say that I am?” The insects buzz in the trees, children shout from the houses some distance away, a woman calls to a man.

  Peter lays his hands on Judas’s shoulders, and together they say, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

  Night falls, darkness envelops them. Peter walks between the trees, his hands brushing past the trunks, and after a while he stops. He hears somebody following him. He sits down in the dark. The fingers crawl up his chest, stopping at his collarbone.

  “Not now,” says Peter. “I don’t have any stories for you now.”

  “Simon,” a voice says from behind him.

  “I’m here,” says Peter. “Did I wake you?” Andrew’s breath comes to him, a warm smell reminding him of when they slept together, side by side, as children.

  “I was awake,” says Andrew. “I was waiting.”

  Peter hears Andrew sit down. He raises his head, trying to see the sky between the tops of the trees.

  “I heard you telling the stories about Father,” says Andrew.

  “I want to be alone,” Peter tells him.

  “You know, I can’t remember Father anymore,” says Andrew. “I can only remember what he looked like when we found him.”

  Peter gets up; he tries to walk to where he thinks Andrew’s sitting, fumbling his way through the dark.

  “Philip told me about two of his uncles and an aunt who were taken,” says Andrew. “Mary’s father was taken too, while he was looking for his neighbor. There are even more, there are so many who’ve been affected. We’re not the only ones.”

  Peter walks through the darkness, waving his arms in front of him, hitting some twigs. “Be quiet,” he says. “Go away, I don’t want to hear these stories.”

  When he stops, Andrew’s behind him, still talking: “You’re not sleeping anymore, Simon, you look tired. I beg you, please put Father behind you and everything you remember about him.”

  Peter shakes his head, but they’re in the dark, and Andrew can’t see anything.

  “Listen to me,” says Andrew. “You need some rest, we need you, we’re together, there are many of us, we’re not the only ones here.”

  “We’re not the only ones,” says Peter, “but we’re almost alone.”

  “We’re never alone,” says Andrew. “We’re together, we always have been. We’ll never give up, we’ll never disappear.”

  “Leave me in peace,” says Peter.

  “It’s no use, Simon,” says Andrew. “You have to let go of Father, you have to let go of everything that happened.”

  When Andrew goes, Peter feels something move next to his feet. He bends down, catches it, and picks it up. It has several legs, it’s hard, it’s small, it seems fragile and unbreakable at the same time. He holds it up to his ear, and a faint sound comes from it. Is it the mouth or all the moving parts that are speaking to him? Is it a special language coming from inside the creature, or is it the faint clattering of its legs? Peter lets it go, and it vanishes at once. His fingers are warm, and he locks them together.

  “Our Father in heaven,” he whispers. “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” His fingers let go of each other and come up toward his face. They wrap around his neck, pressing warmly against his beard, against his skin and the pulse beneath.

  “There was a man,” Peter whispers, “whom nobody could understand when he spoke. The words he said were clear and plain, but when they came out, they were so delicate that they snapped. He worked with his hands, first as a fisherman, then as a builder. One day, he decided to sell the food he grew, and he went to the markets in the area. People bought what he sold, he waved his hands and made faces to show how good his wares were and how much they cost. One day, there was a person who’d stolen money from a merchant, and the guards in the marketplace suspected the man whom nobody could understand when he spoke. The guards tried to talk with him, but the words that came out were incomprehensible to them. They told him to speak clearly, but he went on the same way, so they held him still while they looked for the stolen money. The man began to shout, and people crowded around. The guards were now holding him so hard around the throat that something was crushed inside. They couldn’t find the stolen money, and they let the man go, but now the man could no longer make a sound when he opened his mouth. His throat grated every time he swallowed, and the skin around it took on a dark yellow color. He went home to his house, and over the following days, everything he’d grown rotted. He left his house and went up into the mountains, where he met people who pretended to hear the words that wouldn’t come out of him. They fed him, they armed him, and he joined them to fight against the occupying powers. When they were all cut down, one by one, the man whom nobody could understand when he spoke was left standing alone against the military power of their enemies. He dropped his weapons and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The soldiers approached the man, and he knew what they’d do if he couldn’t say the right words to them. So he picked up his weapons again and ran toward them.

  “The children found all the bodies later. The man lay at the bottom of the heap, and when his mouth suddenly opened, words ran out that only those children could understand.

  “Just one story,” says Peter, with fingers in front of his mouth. “There’s nothing else in there.” The fingers descend, wrapping themselves around his neck again. Peter sits there on the ground. Eventually the fingers lose their grip, and he falls asleep against a tree.

  He wakes up later in the same darkness and starts to crawl around on the ground, before sitting down to wait. When the first light comes, he tries to find his way back to the others again.

  They wander about along the river Jordan, and one night, Peter falls asleep and dreams about singing fish, and about himself and his brother sailing in a boat across the water. They carry on through Judea
until they eventually end up in mighty Jerusalem.

  Judas has become thinner, his hair hanging down in front of his face, but he smiles when Peter talks to him.

  Peter lies down next to Andrew every evening and stays there, lying awake throughout the night. He can hear Andrew lying awake too, falling asleep only in the early hours of the morning.

  They spread out. Some fetch food, others gather information about the soldiers and the guards and the schedules at the Temple. Peter stays resting with Jesus. He tries to sleep, but his head is gently throbbing, and he tries to drink the water. Eventually, he falls asleep and dreams of birds talking and dogs wandering around a dead forest. When he wakes up, he’s thirsty.

  When evening comes, they gather together to eat. They don’t invite any strangers to eat with them. They’re cautious now, as they don’t want to attract any attention. The city is under a strict watch, with soldiers and guards everywhere. While they eat, they talk quietly about what they’ve seen in Jerusalem, who they’ve met. Some of them who’ve been inside the Temple say that it’s filled with merchants and Roman decorations. The chatter gradually picks up, with several people speaking at the same time. Some people sit on the floor, dipping pieces of bread in olive oil and sprinkling salt on top. A boy begins to hum a lullaby softly, and two women sing along with him. Andrew leans back next to Peter and puts his arm behind his big brother’s shoulders. Peter closes his eyes and pictures Andrew and himself on the beach, the water like a cold blanket around their ankles. Shells on their nails, on their skin, as if they’d come back from a magical world and these were the remains of a shining skin they’d now stripped off.

  When he opens his eyes, he sees Thomas and John sitting on one side of Jesus, with Mary sitting on the other side. They all appear to be speaking at the same time, while Jesus sits there quietly, staring at Peter. Peter stares back. Thomas, John, and Mary are talking, but Jesus is sitting peacefully between them, and he’s looking at Peter. Then Peter can feel something moving. He looks down in his lap, and it’s his fingers. They lift up, one by one, first on one hand, and then on the other. Peter looks up at Jesus, and Jesus is still staring at him. Jesus opens his mouth, says something, and Thomas and John stop talking, Mary stops talking.