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

by Shlomo Kalo

  He was in no hurry to reply. His eyes were fixed on Or-Nego’s hands, laid on the polished table – good, broad hands, and most important of all – reliable.

  “If you can’t decide just now, I’ll come back in two weeks or three, a month even. The expedition won’t be setting out for at least another three months, possibly four, because the season has to be right and it takes time organising such a large and heavily-equipped force. Anyway, as you well know – it’s all in the hands of Heaven!” He raised his hand and the look of serenity left him, to be replaced by that blend of reverence and hope that is the hallmark of the soldier and devout believer. “So think it over,” he went on to say, “make up your mind and let me know. I shall return at a time of your choosing, and whatever you ask, I shall carry out with the utmost pleasure!” He bowed his head respectfully, as he concluded. And it was then that the voice was heard, emerging from his throat:

  “You must do as King Nebuchadnezzar commands!”

  Both men knew this was a commandment that could not be disobeyed, and it was not he who spoke but One whose will was incumbent upon both, to be done gladly.

  Or-Nego stood up from his seat, took a step back and bowed to him, a full, deep bow of friendship, reverence and admiration, and so, still stooping, he retreated backwards towards the door, bowed again and went out without another word spoken.

  Shortly after this he heard that Adoniah had returned from Jerusalem, and was brimming over with news and information about the rebellious city and its inhabitants, King Zedekiah and his court, and the prophet Jeremiah.

  They met at Azariah’s house. Beside a table that was laden with food and drink – ranging from honey-water to the choicest of wines – Adoniah reclined at his ease in a padded chair. He did not rise to greet him as the others did, but held out his fleshy hand as if dispensing a favour, smiling that characteristic smile of his – always hiding something behind the mask of ostentatious scorn.

  “In your honour,” he drawled, “your friends have chosen not to serve meat on their table!”

  “Not just in his honour,” Azariah objected hastily. “Since coming to Babylon, we too have willingly abstained from eating meat.”

  “Is that any reason to deny me, a meat-eater, my favourite food? What kind of hospitality is this?”

  “It’s precisely for reasons of hospitality, and the well-being of our guests, that we serve no meat on our tables!” Azariah retorted with a smile, this time succeeding in reproducing a hint of ‘Adoniah-style’ irony.

  “A strange way of looking at things, in my opinion!” Adoniah replied, and for a moment it seemed that the sarcasm was wiped from his fleshy lips, as his round, ruddy head, with its dense fringe of beard and hair, moved slowly up and down in token of disapproval. “I have no choice then,” he sighed, putting on an injured expression, “but to sample your menu and be like that lion, which at the end of time will eat straw for its prey and delight in wild herbs!” He took the goblet that the house-slave had filled with yellow wine, pure as a tear, cried “To life!” and took a long gulp. Laying down his goblet, he wiped his lips on a cloth that the slave handed him, and finally turned to the topic of the day:

  “If you saw Jerusalem now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes! It isn’t the place we knew in our youth. Another Jerusalem has arisen to take its place, a proud and defiant city, the capital of a mighty kingdom, a city that will stand up to defend its honour, that is all splendour and valour. And all its citizens, young and old alike, are rushing to arms and joining Zedekiah’s army, to fight the Chaldean oppressor. And I tell you truly – they will fight like lions and they will prevail! Be sure to remember what I say. The great and the confident kingdom of Babylon will burst like a soap-bubble, and great days will return to Judah. A glorious future beckons, more glorious than anything man can imagine!” Adoniah reached for his goblet again and drank from it thirstily.

  “And what of the prophet Jeremiah?” he asked, keeping his feelings in check.

  “Our land is no stranger to cowards and traitors…”

  “Watch your tongue! You have no right to judge the prophet of God!” His stern words reverberated around the room.

  Adoniah was silent, flinching as if a whip had struck him, his tongue lolling from his mouth, and for a moment it seemed he had lost the power of speech. The next moment he regained some composure, and having tried to revert to his broad, sarcastic smile and failed, went on to say in a conciliatory tone:

  “Forgive me, but I don’t think that Jeremiah is serving his King, or showing any love for his people. Time will tell!” he added hurriedly, to forestall any interruption, and he resumed self-righteously: “If it really is God who is putting into his mouth the things that he says, preaching from morning to evening in the House of the Lord, in the market-places and the streets of Jerusalem – why do they arouse such anger?” He added, in an abrupt change of subject: “The King’s servant saved him from certain death, and the King is holding him to witness what is yet to happen, when the day comes that Judah is liberated from the Chaldean yoke, and we storm Babylon and tear down its strongholds. And then it will finally be proved, for all to see, that the words of Jeremiah are not the words of the living God, but tales that he has made up for himself, for reasons known only to him…”

  “Time will tell!” This time it was Hananiah who interrupted him, the tone of his voice much sharper than it had ever been known before, his face glowing in its frame of snow-white hair.

  “You’re right of course,” Adoniah agreed, but went on to say: “Anyway, this Jeremiah that you call a ‘prophet’ has suffered so much violence and abuse that he’s been uttering heart-breaking laments, even regretting the day he was born:

  “Cursed be the day, he says, when I was born, and be it ever unblessed, the day my mother bore me! A curse on the man who brought word to my father saying, a child is born to you, a son, rejoice! That man shall fare like the cities, which the Lord overthrew without mercy, and he shall hear cries of alarm in the morning and uproar at noon, because death did not claim me in the womb and my mother did not become my grave. Why did I come forth from the womb, to know toil and grief and end my days in shame?

  “It wasn’t because of the blows and the insults he received that the prophet said what he said,” he pointed out in a steady voice that would brook no interruption, “but because of the violence and the ruin on the way, the destruction to come!”

  “Permit me to disagree with you!” Adoniah answered him, after draining the entire contents of his goblet, wiping his lips again and signalling to the slave for a refill. “I don’t believe that violence and ruin are the future of our people, this wise and wondrous, dauntless people! On the contrary, glory and praise are in store for it, and unbounded dominion over the earth and its fullness!” Adoniah cried, the enthusiasm flashing in his eyes. He sipped from the goblet, put it down again in front of him and declared with vehemence, unable to control his feelings:

  “This is the golden age of Israel and Judah! Zedekiah is not standing idle, and envoys from Egypt are coming and going, and there are caravans of camels and countless wagons bringing weapons and provisions, and all the granaries are full, and if the city were to be besieged for ten years it could withstand it and not capitulate! But this time there will be no need to withstand a siege, for the Lord will deliver His people and lay His hand on the one whom Jeremiah calls His faithful servant, and fight him and destroy him long before there is any siege of Jerusalem, the Holy City, and his intentions shall be foiled and his conspiracy frustrated, and Babylon shall fall, never to rise again!”

  “That kind of talk is liable to bring disaster upon our people, forcing Nebuchadnezzar to exact brutal reprisals and conquer our homeland and raze Jerusalem to the ground, as no foreign king has ever done before!” he insisted.

  “That kind of talk, as you call it, is going to prove to be the truth, as you are all going to find out! Still, time will tell – and that’s one thing on which we can agree! And now, if
you have no objection, let’s drink a toast to Zedekiah, King of Judah, and tomorrow’s victor!”

  He raised his cup, but they were slow to follow his example. They looked at him. Slowly he held out his hand, took his cup, raised it smoothly and said, in a voice that was not his:

  “Long live Jeremiah, holy prophet of the Lord!”

  This was a toast that they were glad to drink. Even Adoniah joined in – a triumph of thirst over principle, perhaps.

  He barely tasted any of the fine and abundant foods on offer, tastefully prepared though it all was and attractively presented. Azariah was fortunate in having the services of a first-rate chef, from the northern provinces of the state of Babylon, regions renowned for fine craftsmanship and culinary skills.

  “So here you are in Babylon, alongside this King, and you’re singing his praises and extolling his wisdom,” Adoniah began again, in a voice thickened by wine, “and you’re impressed by his power and you speak of him with reverence and respect. And you give no thought to all the things that are happening out there in the world. Do you reckon that the whole universe is wrapped up within the lofty walls of this pagan Babylon? That is what you think, isn’t it? Oh yes, and by the way,” – and he raised his hand to forestall any interruption – “I’ve heard about that stunt with the furnace, and the miracle that you experienced, an impressive miracle by any standards, the finger of God, no less!” He nodded his round, hairy head, in token of wonderment. “And this naïve and gullible king, the pagan and gentile Nebuchadnezzar, falls in humble submission at your feet, and declares that your God is the only God. And I’ve heard talk too about the Son of God, the one who’s going to split the Jewish people and set faction against faction. And I won’t ask how you did it, and how the King was duped, and how you created the illusion of being inside the fire when in fact you were outside it, no doubt with the help of your accomplice, posing as the Son of God. No, I won’t ask and I won’t pry!”

  The four of them exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting bemusement and perplexity, and something faintly resembling anger, resentment even. All at once they realised there was no purpose to be served by becoming embroiled in argument with him, and the best response to such slander was silence. And this thought nipped their anger in the bud and erased their resentment, giving way to sorrow and pity, and the four of them smiled barely perceptible smiles at one another and kept their silence, while their guest ranted on, piling words upon words and sentences upon sentences, paying no attention to his surroundings, and seeming at times to be talking to himself:

  “And what have you gained from all this? What did you demand in exchange for this so-called miracle, performed before the goggling eyes of that ignorant pagan king, who was in such a hurry to proclaim yours the only God, and to threaten anyone denying this with summary execution. What did you ask him for?” – and without waiting for an answer – “He wouldn’t have dared refuse you anything, he’d have done whatever you wanted, in the spirit and in the letter! Did it occur to you to ask him to liberate Judah from the yoke of his slavery, and ease the burden of his taxes? Did such a thought ever enter your heads, my dear friends?” he asked, and answered for himself exclaiming “No, no, of course not! You were content with your comfortable jobs and smart offices, and swanky houses, and all the precious gifts that the pagan King has been lavishing on you, holding you in such awe and reverence. And what do you expect to be called, other than pursuers of power and worldly glory? Is this how you serve your God – who rescued you, so you say, from the flames of the furnace – and whose deadly enemy you have been cosseting so courageously, King Nebuchadnezzar the pagan? Or perhaps you’re relying on what your friend said, that nice Jeremiah:

  These are the words of the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I carried off from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them, plant gardens and eat their fruits. Marry wives and beget sons and daughters, and take wives for your sons and give your daughters to husbands, so they may increase and not dwindle away. Seek the welfare of the city to which you are exiled and pray for it to the Lord, since on its welfare your welfare depends. These are the words of the Lord: when a full seventy years have passed over Babylon, I will take up your cause and fulfil the promise of good things that I made to you, and bring you back to this place.

  “Do you believe those words, are those the principles you live by? Oh, don’t tell me, I’m really not that interested!” he exclaimed, waving a restraining arm in a gesture that was quite superfluous, as no one had any intention of responding.

  “So you sit around idly, amassing wealth and acquiring ornate houses, your tables are creaking under the weight of fine foods, you wear the medals of pagan authority around your necks, you have grown fat, whereas I have been constantly on the move, forever devising strategies to elude my enemies, ignorant boors that they are – and me, you ignore, me you have left outside, left behind, like a severed limb that’s no use to anyone. No one remembers me, no one calls on me – not even to bow to that ridiculous image set up by the idol-worshipping King! But I was there, I went on my own initiative, in person. And I saw the three of you,” he pointed to Mishael, Hananiah and Azariah, “standing there and not bowing down, as stiff as statues and as proud as peacocks! You made me so angry! And I actually bowed down, made a point of bowing down, because of you! Or I should say, to be different from you, apart, untouched by your smug arrogance, close to the people rather than the ruling class!

  “No one has ever offered me a prestigious job – to this very day. No one has ever put a necklace around my neck – let alone one of those pendants with the royal seal. I’m the one they forget, the one you’ve forgotten! And I’ll tell you something – I’m grateful for this! In days to come you’ll pay a high price for what you’ve been doing, and your joy will turn to grief, your pleasure to depression!

  “Have I hurt your feelings?” – it was both a question and an exclamation, and the guest continued in a wheedling voice: “Can’t you tell that I’m only joking! I have a sharp tongue, an errant tongue, and as the wisest of all men said, the tongue has the power of life and death! Anyway, at least here I can be myself, open the secrets of my heart to my friends and comrades… just a moment,” he paused as if thinking something through – “when were you my friends and comrades? We met for the first time in that jolting wagon on the way to Babylon. Still, I shall call you my friends and ask you to forgive this provocative tongue of mine, that sometimes strays beyond the bounds of good taste. Anyway, accept my thanks and my warmest compliments, renowned miracle-workers and interpreters of dreams that you are, and be neither hurt nor offended. Pardon and forgive me. Even in the presence of the women I have dallied with, and there have been many of them, I could never confess and be my true self. Please, let me be a member of your group again, and don’t think badly of me!” Again, the four of them exchanged baffled glances.

  At a late hour of the night, Adoniah was finally defeated by the strong wine. His servants arrived, and carried him home.

  In The Dead Of The Night

  He parted from Nejeen and went to his room for his night’s rest. After a while, he heard Oshrich’s soft knocking.

  “Enter!” he cried and the door opened without a sound. Oshrich bowed low, and rising he said:

  “Lord Denur-Shag is asking to see you, Sir!”

  “Ask him to come in,” he replied, wondering what urgent business had brought the dependable Denur-Shag knocking on his door at such a late hour of the night.

  “Greetings and blessings!” Denur-Shag entered and immediately tripped on the flaps of his cloak and fell. He hurriedly took a step forward to catch him, but the guest managed to grab the back of a chair just in time.

  “As usual!” exclaimed Denur-Shag, adding in the mock-serious tone that always brought a genial smile to the lips of his hearers – “The sense of balance of a one-day old baby who hasn’t yet learned to walk on two legs! And it’s a compliment, without a shadow of a doubt – a compl
iment!” he insisted, and in characteristic style, veered off at a tangent: “The baby, as you know, is distinguished by his innocent thoughts and purity of heart, and his trust in everything and in all people, and if it were possible for him to rule any people, he would bring it peace and happiness and most important of all – true equality and a final end to slavery. Yes, in my vision of the end of days, the rulers of all nations will be babies!”

  Denur-Shag sat on the padded chair beside the broad table, covered with a white cloth and as a centre-piece, a crystal vase containing a rare flower of delicate fragrance, then took out from under his cloak a flask of wine, and laying it on the cloth, commented without looking up:

  “From your homeland! Old Jerusalem wine, from the years before the crises and the conflicts. This was looted from the palace of King Jehoiakim, a renowned lover of fine wines who made a point of keeping a well-stocked cellar even when his granaries were empty. Anyway,” Denur-Shag continued, looking up, “without the proper cups, glass ones I mean, this drink loses its special allure – its fragrance and the whole of that infusion of ancient flavours!”

  He sat down opposite Denur-Shag, who seemed intent on drowning him in a deluge of words as a prelude, or a tentative overture, to the main point at issue, a weapon as yet unsheathed.

  He clapped his hands and Oshrich appeared, bowed and awaited his instructions.

  “Two glass goblets, please!”

  There was silence in the room.

  Denur-Shag treated him to a long, probing, inquisitive look, with, as always, an undercurrent of irony bordering on whimsy. He derived a strange pleasure from gauging the reactions of other people to the challenges that he set before them. Nevertheless, in this look of his, playful and challenging as it was, there was a sense of the warmth and the fellowship which are expressed in the willingness to share both in another’s joy and in another’s tribulation.