THE CHOSEN : The Prophet: Historical Fiction (The Chosen Trilogy Book 2)

by Shlomo Kalo

  “These people are called true friends, and they are sometimes rated more highly than the ministering angels themselves!”

  “Such concepts apply only to people of truly outstanding faith!” Denur-Shag protested, “And I can’t claim the honour or the privilege of counting myself among them!”

  “Not everyone who calls himself a believer is a believer, and not everyone who excludes himself from the category of believers is lacking in faith.”

  “Who then is the true believer?” Denur-Shag asked with genuine interest, the look in his eyes pure and childlike – and childishly innocent.

  “He who loves God with all his heart and all his might, and his neighbour – as himself!”

  “Just as I feared! Such people are prodigies!”

  “They never see themselves as prodigies!”

  “They truly don’t see themselves as prodigies, or are they just pretending they don’t see themselves that way?”

  “They really and truly don’t see themselves that way!” he insisted.

  “In that case…” Denur-Shag hesitated “…in that case I suppose I could apply for membership of that unexceptional family of believers. And by the way, if you’re interested in Judah, where things appear to be going from bad to worse and nothing is as it should be – your fellow exile, whose Chaldean name is Abed-Nego and whose Hebrew name is Azariah, is putting together some kind of expedition, heading for Jerusalem to recruit skilled craftsmen. He has been given the necessary permits, and I advise you to talk to him at the first opportunity!”

  He was distressed to hear of the state of affairs in his homeland – “going from bad to worse”, evidently, and “nothing as it should be”.

  “The surprising thing,” the guest remarked as if reading his thoughts, “is that a land such as your homeland, where one would suppose there are many people of faith, which appears from outside to be a place reserved exclusively for people of outstanding faith – is on the verge of catastrophe, and there is nothing anyone can do to prevent that catastrophe!”

  “As I told you, not everyone who seems to be a believer or is called a believer or calls himself a believer – is a believer. People lie to themselves, and degeneracy sets in, and collapse is not far behind, with destruction closing the circle. Our great prophet, Isaiah, described it thus:

  “Then the Lord said: Because the women of Zion hold themselves high and walk with necks outstretched and wanton glances, moving with mincing gait and jingling feet, the Lord will give the women of Zion bald heads, the Lord will strip the hair from their foreheads. In that day the Lord will take away all finery: anklets, discs, crescents, pendants, bangles, coronets, head-bands, armlets, necklaces, lockets, charms, signets, nose-rings, fine dresses, mantles, cloaks, flounced skirts, scarves of gauze, kerchiefs of linen, turbans and flowing veils. So instead of perfume you shall have the stench of decay, and a rope in place of a girdle, baldness instead of hair elegantly coiled, a loin-cloth of sacking instead of a mantle, and burning instead of beauty, and your men shall fall by the sword and your warriors in battle.”

  Denur-Shag listened solemnly. When the recitation was over, he had his say:

  “These words of the holy man of God – a vivid description of a state of affairs that leads always to failure and destruction! If your people had only the sense to grasp this, like that people that once dwelt in Nineveh, that put on sackcloth and ashes and the Lord revoked the doom that He had called down upon it– these disasters would not have befallen it. The same applies to all nations on the face of the earth, at all times and in all places, from time immemorial to the end of all the generations – those who cannot stop themselves in time, will be forever lost!” Denur-Shag declared, his brow wrinkled and sorrow in his eyes.

  “The truth is always simple, and he who does not try to flee from it and does not reject it out of hand – no disaster in the world can befall him! And the contrary applies – he who ignores the explicit truth, his doom is sealed! As the doom of your people has been sealed in our times, and as the doom of the Chaldean people shall be sealed, likewise the doom of every other people and nation and race – if in the days to come they try to ignore the truth!”

  “You are a prophet!” he exclaimed with warmth.

  “Perish the thought, Beltezhazzar!” Denur-Shag protested, lifting up both hands before him as if to defend himself. “I am no prophet nor the son of a prophet, just a man endowed with a modicum of healthy intelligence!”

  He rose from his seat, stretching his limbs.

  “We have babbled on too long!” he sighed, gathering up the tails of his tattered gown, “And perhaps we have steered in directions that were not the most appropriate, or should I say – not the most practical. Still, we have not committed any sin, perpetrated any dastardly crime, broken any law, written or unwritten – nor have we neglected the issues of the day!” He raised his arm and held up a finger as a warning signal, then lowered his arm and spoke again as if simply making casual conversation:

  “There is a certain energetic and exceedingly resourceful trader, who is doing great and wonderful things in the service of the King. One of the exiles of course – Chaldeans have never been renowned for their commercial acumen, only for what they call ‘valour’ – which translates as slavish devotion to instinctive violence. This exile, who is of the same age as you and arrived with you in Babylon and so it seems, is also a former pupil of mine, has access to every corner of the palace of King Nebuchadnezzar, His Majesty, the valiant and the wise. And he knows how to whisper, he’s a master of the whispering art, as you might put it in your new-fangled style of Hebrew, but there’s nothing entertaining, no novelty or fascination in the gossip that he peddles. It is highly probable that all this urgency to push you up the ladder of Chaldean propriety, to draw attention to your prolonged celibacy, and even to choose for you a well-connected bride, a Chaldean through and through – all this originates from the whispering of that trader. And you,” he turned to him as if remembering the essence and dispensing with the inconsequential – “be well, my pupil hitherto, my master and my teacher henceforward!”

  With a smooth, yet imperious movement, Denur-Shag raised a silencing finger to his pursed lips, and he restrained himself and did not respond. They repeated their exchange of firm handshakes and cordial shoulder-slapping, and the slave escorted the guest to the main door and saw him on his way.

  Between The Walls

  He asked after Azariah at his lodging. A servant told him he had gone to visit the parents of his betrothed, Havatzelet, of the family of Joseph Hannagid, who lived in one of the houses between the walls, beneath the carved lion, the last one on the north-eastern wall.

  He left the residential apartments and before setting out in the direction of this house, sent word to Nashdernach that he expected to be absent from the palace for the rest of the day.

  The climate was pleasant, with the sun tending westward and a light breeze blowing. He was in no hurry, and was glad to inhale the fresh air of the open spaces.

  His time was divided, usually, between sitting in the office of the King’s chief adviser and his quarters in the vicinity of that office. Sometimes he also dealt with official business in his home, and sometimes – until a late hour of the night. Because of his seclusion from the sun, involuntary seclusion as it was, and prolonged confinement within enclosed spaces, his cheeks were turning pale. Noting this, Nashdernach used to urge him to leave the office for recreation, despite the pressure of work, and if only for a short time, to mingle with people and breathe the outside air. “Conversation with simple folk,” Nashdernach was fond of saying, “is a thousand times more refreshing and instructive than all the dry scrolls and tablets that are gathering dust in the royal library!” It was true, he often spent his few free moments in that library.

  The open air cheered his spirits and he strode the broad royal highway at a brisk pace, skipping occasionally and feeling that his feet would gladly have sprouted wings and carried him far away, s
omewhere over the horizon, towards that bright iridescence, into the very enchanted heart of the light.

  The road stretched the full length of the north-western wall and it was straight, gleaming, and teeming with people in a hurry, with horses and carts, with cattle and oxen uttering their restrained, resigned lowing, white foam dripping from their mouths. At the side of the road he caught sight of a man with grey hair and beard, staring blankly at a cart of which one of the two wheels had come off the axle and rolled away into the dust, while the she-ass was sprawled on the ground and the load, sacks of carobs for cattle-fodder, remained on the cart. The man stood beside the stricken vehicle, baffled and helpless.

  He hurried towards him, bent down and tried to lift the cart and free the she-ass from the yoke. And then he realised just how heavy the cart was, realised too that the animal was showing no inclination towards moving, and all this time the owner of the cart was standing aside, staring at him in bemusement, as if he had lost all his senses. A crowd began to gather around, composed mainly of women, old folk and children, as most of the men were working at this time in the fields and the factories, and all of those present looked on with astonishment, clicking tongues and offering advice, and pointing out what had caused the cart to capsize – a paving-stone that had not been bedded in properly with the others; the carter should have paid more attention and steered his beast away from the obstacle, instead of bringing down all this trouble on his greying and balding head.

  When he asked one of the youths to come forward and hold the shaft for him, and addressed the same request to an older man standing amid the spectators, both backed away hastily and disappeared into the crowd.

  Again he gripped the shaft, exerting all his strength, and suddenly the she-ass came back to life and rose to stand on her feet, pulling the cart up with her, and before it could collapse again he supported its weight and shouted to the carter to fetch the wheel that was lying at his feet. The old man was jolted out of his stupor and he picked up the wheel and fitted it on the axle, and with a joint effort they heaved it into place. Once the cart was standing upright on both its wheels, he found the peg that held the errant wheel and secured it, hammering it home with a stone.

  The old man hugged and embraced him, and showered him with thanks and benedictions and compliments, and invited him to come to his house between the walls, to be a guest beneath his roof and dine with him and his family.

  He freed himself from the old man’s grateful embrace, reminded him mildly that “all praises are due to God”, and was about to turn and disappear into the crowd, when his ear caught something in the old man’s exuberant and barely coherent litany of thanks – the reference to a house “between the walls”.

  “Is that where you live, between the walls?” he asked.

  “Yes indeed, most generous of masters!” the old man replied, gratified by this sympathetic display of interest. “And I shall be delighted, as will all the members of my family be delighted, if my lord will honour us with a visit and sit down to dine with us…”

  “At all events,” he said smiling as he brushed dust from his cloak, “I shall accompany you to your house, and it may well be that we dine together yet, as I am on my way to visit one of the families living between the walls, under the last of the lion carvings.”

  “That is the place!” cried the old man, his eyes sparkling. “It must be the will of God, that I met you on the way and I can guide you to those houses between the walls,” – and he turned and asked him in a more practical tone: “And the family that my lord is visiting, what is the name?”

  “Joseph Hannagid,” he answered him.

  “He is my brother!” exclaimed the old man, raising his arms and waving them as an expression of astonishment. “Is he expecting you?”

  “Not at all,” he answered him.

  “So why do you need to see him?” the old man asked, sounding disappointed.

  “A friend of mine, named Abed-Nego, is betrothed to your brother’s daughter, Havatzelet.”

  “Aha!” the old man expressed pleasurable surprise, drumming his fingers on his temples. “A-ha!” he repeated with emphasis and went on to say, “In my homeland of Judah they say that a lucky man such as yourself must be a saint because… because…” – the old man racked his brains, trying to dredge up the proverb he wanted.

  “The one he is going to, comes to meet him!” – he completed it for him.

  The old man, about to urge on his she-ass, turned to him and gave him a long look. His eyes were bright, tending towards green, glassy. Finally he asked:

  “Is my lord a Jew?”

  “He is.”

  “One of those boys who came with the betrothed of my niece, Havatzelet?”

  “One of those boys,” he confirmed.

  “And your clothes tell me that you hold a senior post in the court of the King of the Chaldeans!”

  “I wouldn’t call it a senior post,” he answered him with a smile, and suddenly felt a strange pang of resentment, for no good reason that he could think of. “I work in the office of one of the ministers, that’s all. Like Azariah!” he concluded as if talking to himself.

  “Like Azariah!” the other repeated like an echo.

  The she-ass waited patiently for her master to pay her some attention, and he did so eventually, gripping the halter and tugging at it roughly with a cry of “Let’s go!”

  “My name is Raphael,” the old man introduced himself and went on to say: “Today I have earned the privilege of performing a sacred service, helping a righteous man to find his way. What is my lord’s name?”

  “Belteshazzar.”

  “The Jewish name, I mean!” he insisted drily.

  “Daniel.”

  “I think I have heard of you, and of your activities. Activities which are strange indeed!” – the old man snorted and added: “Or so rumour has it…”

  The old man lowered his head, with an air of gravity, tugged at the halter with an effort and without turning to look at him, spoke again:

  “I have saved my esteemed lord much toil and travail. It isn’t easy to find the way to our house between the walls. The Chaldeans ignore us and would prefer to forget that we exist. To them, we are strange creatures, and they miss no opportunity to report us to the authorities, over the most trivial of matters. And they are quick to investigate, arresting innocent people and dragging them through the courts, and they are not content with warnings or with lenient fines, as is the way of the world, but they demand gold shekels, and the Chaldean shekel,” the old man explained, “is worth twelve gold shekels from Jerusalem. And all this – for some footling misdemeanour!”

  “And what are the crimes that the Chaldeans accuse you of?” – he listened intently to the old man’s words.

  “From disrespect or contempt, as they call it, towards some pompous official or other – to sedition and incitement to rebellion. And this of course we vehemently deny, with all the force that we can muster, and still we are dragged from court to court, paying lavish bribes until the charges are dropped. For sedition and incitement to rebellion there is only one punishment – death!” the old man concluded.

  “Why pay bribes, when it’s all down to slander?” he asked innocently.

  “My lord has the demeanour of a dignified gentleman, and he has a wise look about him, and even his high forehead tells of intelligence – and yet his question is naïve, if he will excuse my uncouth tongue,” – and without waiting for a response, the old man continued: “Venomous tongues and bloodshed have always existed and will exist until the coming of the Lord’s Anointed. Until then – we must pay bribes, if we don’t want to give the Chaldeans the pleasure of chopping off the heads of pious Jews!”

  “I do not share your opinion!” he retorted with a touch of asperity, meant to ensure that his words would be heard, and indeed – the old man paid close attention, listening tensely.

  “You have to trust in God and turn to Him, and lay your entreaty before Him and clea
ve to Him firmly and believe in Him – then everything will be settled properly, and peaceably, without bribes and lies and deception!”

  “You speak with great eloquence, Sir!” the balding old man required, a bitter kind of smile passing like a shadow over his tanned, deeply wrinkled features. “This God of ours, Himself and in person, neglected us and abandoned us on account of our iniquities, and hid His face from us, till the uncircumcised and the Gentile, who knew him not, triumphed over His holy people and did with it as they pleased!”

  “He did not neglect us nor abandon us – it is we who neglected and abandoned Him, and did what was evil in His eyes, and closed our ears lest we hear the word of His holy prophets!”

  “I see, esteemed Sir, that you know a great deal, but in my humble opinion, all of your knowledge is flawed, flawed fundamentally! We have to fight the pagan and the Gentile, we have to defend Jerusalem the Holy City, destroy the Chaldean conquerors and put them to the sword, subdue them and annihilate them, leave no memory or vestige of them! And if God is truly with us and we are, as He says, His chosen people – then let this God of ours stand at the head of our armies and rout our foes, and bring a swift end upon our enemies.”

  The two men exchanged glances. The old man’s eyes flared and burned with dry fire, zealous and vengeful; his eyes shone with a light that was all invincible strength.

  For a brief moment, the old man looked away, yanking at the halter of the she-ass with quite unnecessary force. The unfortunate creature uttered a whinny of helplessness, or of weariness, or of both.

  A portion of the route passed by in silence, and suddenly the old man turned to face him and said:

  “Now I remember who you are, esteemed Sir, and the illustrious deeds that you have performed! At first I couldn’t believe what I was hearing – the very notion that a man of intelligence, with Judah for a homeland and Jerusalem for a home town, could do the things that you have done! I refused to believe. But now, having heard your voice and listened to your words, I believe it absolutely! Was it not you who took pity on the race of the tanners, most of whom are pagan Chaldeans and only a minority are exiles, and you treated them with kindness, and brought them from death to life, and gave them food to eat and clothes to wear, so they might flourish and prosper, the better to conquer and enslave other peoples, as they have done with us, the chosen people of God… And we have heard of your compassionate heart and how you reduced the quota of rice demanded in tribute from an impoverished region, and were it not for this reduction they would have rebelled against King Nebuchadnezzar and shaken his power, and this would have helped us, the Jews, in our struggle against the Chaldean conqueror! Is it not incredible,” the old man cried, his voice hoarse and strained – “an intelligent Jewish youth, strengthening the hand of the Chaldeans against his own people? Do you realise esteemed Sir what this means, does my lord even know who he is?”