Necessary Heartbreak

by Michael J. Sullivan

  He inched his way back to the ladder that led to the first floor and peered down nervously. Footsteps echoed from the kitchen beneath him. Someone was moving toward the ladder. Michael clutched the metal pin tightly. He raised his arm, ready to strike whoever tried to take Elizabeth.

  “Michael?” a soft voice called out.

  Michael’s heart stopped. He dropped the pin. Clink. Clink. Clink. The pin bounced several times off the ladder and to the ground where he could see Leah standing.

  “Leah?”

  She glanced at the metal object, then looked up at Michael. Her face went blank, and she slumped back against the wall below. After a moment of complete silence, she walked back to the opening.

  “Michael, you scared me so. What are you doing?”

  A lamb began braying below.

  “Cassie?” Michael asked.

  “Cassie!?” Elizabeth yelled from the rooftop, looking down at her father.

  Michael looked up at her gleaming face. “It’s okay, Elizabeth! You have a special visitor.”

  Elizabeth scurried down the ladder, barely stepping on each rung. The little lamb’s ears perked up. “Baa, baa.”

  “Cassie!” Elizabeth leaped from the ladder to the kitchen and fell to the ground, where she embraced the lamb.

  Leah stood nearby, waiting for Michael to join them. He looked at Leah and saw her eyes were moist and red.

  “Cassie, oh, Cassie,” Elizabeth squealed. “I love you, my little lamb.

  “Thank you, Leah, thank you!” she cried as she ran over to Leah to hug her. Elizabeth fell into her, pushing Leah back against the wall. “Thank you, thank you!”

  Shocked, Leah slowly placed her arms around Elizabeth and held her.

  While Elizabeth and Leah hugged, Michael continued to stare into Leah’s eyes. Thank you, he mouthed to her.

  For a moment she made no reply, but then smiled at him. “No, thank you,” she whispered, her hand coming to rest on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  Elizabeth and Michael sat patiently at the mat while Leah lit the oil lamp suspended over them, casting a shimmering light around the room. After saying a blessing, she placed a cup of wine before each of them. Leah took a sip of hers and motioned to Elizabeth and Michael to do the same.

  “Can I, Dad?”

  Michael hesitated. He looked at Leah and remembered what had occurred during the last few hours with Cassie. “Well, why not? It’s a good day to celebrate a little.”

  Elizabeth reached for her cup, watching the wine swirl inside when she picked it up. Even after Leah had thinned the wine with water, it was still thicker than eggnog. Elizabeth could smell its sweetness and slowly brought the cup to her lips. The wine reminded her of the kind they used at mass, but this was far darker in color, and when she tasted it, she liked it.

  “Hmm . . . good.”

  Michael smiled. “Sip it slowly, please.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Leah placed a bowl of water down on the mat and washed her hands. “Please, join me.” She gave them leaves of lettuce. She dipped hers into a bowl containing a lumpy mixture; Michael and Elizabeth followed suit.

  “Mmm,” Elizabeth said, “this is good. What is this, Leah?”

  “I made it especially for you, Elizabeth. It’s charoset. You make it from honey and crushed nuts.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said, dipping another piece of lettuce into the bowl.

  “This is good,” Michael agreed. “Thanks, Leah.”

  Leah, who was happy to see them enjoying this special meal, indicated the plate covered by a cloth on the center of the mat. She removed the cloth to reveal three matzos, the middle of which she broke into two, hiding the larger piece back under the cloth.

  “I know you are hungry,” she said, giving Michael a wink.

  “Do you have any questions about this holiday?” Leah asked Elizabeth, who was flustered from the few sips of wine she had taken.

  “Um, well, what makes this night so special?”

  Leah smiled at her as she began to tell them about the rich history of Passover and her people.

  As she retold the story in the same precise and methodical way it had originally been told to her, Michael became captivated by how the lamp’s glow illuminated her rosy cheeks and green eyes.

  Wonder how old she is? He found her so beautiful and her tone reassuring. He tried to pay attention to what she was saying but her voice was like an elixir, easing all the physical and mental stress he had endured over the past few days.

  Occasionally, Leah would reach over and touch his hands when making a point about the holiday. Her touch was magnetic; he moved closer to her. When Leah would brush her hair from her face to regroup her thoughts, his heart seemed to pound harder.

  When Leah finished, Michael glanced over at Elizabeth and noticed how relaxed she seemed. She was smiling, too.

  Leah placed another cup of wine in front of them. “Your second cup of wine.”

  “Oh my,” Michael said. “How many cups of wine do we get?”

  “I am supposed to set out four.”

  “Thank you!” Elizabeth squealed.

  “Hey, Baboo, just take one sip from the rest of them, okay?”

  Leah washed her hands in the bowl again, encouraging Michael and Elizabeth to do the same. Lifting the two matzos plus the half from the third, Leah recited a blessing, then divided the bread among them. She showed them how to dip a leaf of lettuce into the charoset before placing it in the center of matzo pieces to form a sandwich. She ate hers, encouraging Michael and Elizabeth to do likewise.

  Leah looked pleased with them when she uncovered the remaining bowls on the mat, revealing a feast of cheese, nuts, and fish.

  “We’re not having lamb tonight,” she said, looking at Elizabeth.

  “Hurray!”

  “I hope you don’t mind the fish,” Leah said to Michael.

  Michael smiled. “Fish is great tonight, thank you.”

  After they ate from the bowls, Leah brought out the hidden matzo half as dessert. She then placed another cup of wine in front of them.

  “Oh, jeez,” Michael said, looking over at Elizabeth, who had fallen asleep. Smiling at Leah, he asked, “What about her?”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have made the charoset?”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s wine in it.”

  Michael looked over at Elizabeth. “Oh, no!”

  He glared at Leah, pretending to be shocked, but then began to laugh. “Well, it doesn’t look like we’re getting back to the tunnel tonight. I can’t carry her.”

  “I am glad. I was worried. I didn’t want to say it before, but with everyone celebrating Passover, the streets will be empty except for soldiers. You can hide in a crowd from them, but you’re at their mercy when you’re alone.”

  Michael nodded. “I guess you’re right. Let me make Elizabeth more comfortable. C’mon, sweetie, get up.” He tucked his arm underneath Elizabeth’s to lift her. She felt heavy to him as he staggered over to her bedroll.

  Placing her down gently, he whispered, “Sleep well, Baboo.” He brushed her hair from her eyes and kissed her forehead before turning to leave.

  “Night, Daddy,” Elizabeth mumbled as she rubbed her face into the blanket.

  Leah watched from the other room, but when Michael returned to the dining area, she sat down quickly at the mat. He sat facing her. Leah placed the final cup of wine in front of him.

  “If I must,” he said, smiling, picking it up and taking a sip. He was enjoying this time with her, and the wine was sweet and smooth in his mouth. “This is really good,” he said, leaning on his right elbow, reclining closer to Leah. “Do you mind?”

  “No, I don’t mind,” she said, watching him closely. “You know, I have enjoyed my time with Elizabeth. She has been a pleasure to me.”

  “Yeah, she’s a great kid. She’s a lot like her mother: so friendly and happy. I’m not like that at all. I wish I were. I’m just an old guy who push
es people away.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re like that.”

  “You don’t?” he said, rather pleased. “What do you think I’m like?”

  “Well . . . what can I say?”

  “Oh, c’mon, you can tell me.” Michael sat up, moving closer to her and adding with a smile, “I can take it.”

  Leah placed her cup of wine down.

  “You’re very strong, Michael, but you are kind, too, and loving, especially with Elizabeth . . . and what a cook you are!”

  Leah smiled at him, which drew his attention to her soft lips, and he leaned over slightly without thinking. She looked into his eyes, her hair falling in front of her face. She brushed it back behind her ear.

  “You make me believe,” she whispered to him.

  Something snapped in Michael’s head and he recoiled quickly, standing up. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Michael?”

  “I need some air.”

  Michael started climbing down the ladder, but stopped abruptly to glance back at Elizabeth. “I’m sorry, can you please watch over her?”

  “Of course, of course, but where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer. He was already in the courtyard heading for the gate.

  12

  BLOOD

  MONEY

  The slapping of his sandals on the hard stone road echoed throughout the empty streets of Jerusalem. Michael walked around aimlessly, almost unaware of how deserted the streets were.

  What am I doing out here? What about the soldiers? What if I get caught? They’ll surely kill me this time.

  He stopped in the middle of the street and looked around. Where am I? I’ve got to get Elizabeth out of here. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I let it go this far?

  Remorse built up inside his mind, disabling his eyes as they stayed transfixed on the unusual structures of the city. His stare was disrupted when he heard someone approaching. Michael turned and noticed a bald man wearing a purple belt around his waist. Thankful he wasn’t a soldier, Michael relaxed slightly.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve lost my way.”

  “Then it’s best you find it,” the man responded. “For a man like you, this is not a night to be out.”

  “Why?”

  The man looked at him with pity. “Roman soldiers will be in the streets very soon. You would be wise to be away from here before they come.”

  “But there’s nobody out here,” Michael said, looking around at the vacant streets.

  “There will be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t concern you. Move on!”

  “You’re right,” Michael agreed quickly, trying to quiet him. He glanced over his shoulder, fearful that the man would draw attention to them—the kind of attention Roman soldiers would notice.

  The man nodded approvingly. “You are wise to think that way. Now go home.”

  Michael saw two Roman soldiers moving toward them at a slow, leisurely pace. He nodded farewell to the bald man and walked to the other side of the street. The soldiers quickened their step, trotting past him as they caught up with the bald man.

  As he watched them, fear gripped him. Are they talking about me? I’m not waiting to find out. He frantically looked around, but there was nowhere to hide, so he sprinted to a darkened alley.

  Wham! He ran into someone.

  “Watch out!” a man shouted angrily. He stooped to retrieve the the bag he had dropped.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Michael replied, bending down to help. He picked up a couple of coins. As the bearded man stood up, Michael recognized him. “Oh, it’s you,” he said in surprise. “You helped me in the marketplace the other day.”

  The man glanced at him, then turned quickly, looking nervously around. “What are you doing out tonight?”

  Still hazy from the wine, Michael recklessly blurted out, “Maybe I’m looking for Jesus. You know where the garden is?”

  “What do you mean?” the man asked, frowning.

  “Well, maybe I’m wrong—heck, maybe I’m even dreaming.”

  “Friend, you’re not dreaming. Go home.”

  “Buddy, I don’t know where home is.”

  “Then go back to where you came from. It is dangerous. Everyone out here is dangerous tonight. Believe me, you don’t know who your friends are.”

  Michael noticed how closely the man was holding the pouch to his chest.

  “Go now,” said the man. Suddenly he broke into a run, the bag swinging from his hand.

  Stunned, Michael watched as the man’s figure retreated. “Wait!” he called, holding up the coins. “You forgot your money.” He began to run, too. “Stop! You forgot your money!”

  Knowing it was probably a bad idea to follow him, but too drunk to care, Michael continued to pursue the man. Rounding the corner, he caught a glimpse of him about twenty yards ahead, darting to the left into an alleyway.

  These streets! It’s like running through a maze, and I’m the rat.

  When he came to the end of the alley, Michael saw the man reach the wall surrounding the city and run through a gate into the dark night. He was gone.

  Michael stopped, trying to catch his breath. “Oh, I don’t believe this.”

  Exhausted from the chase, he slumped down against the wall. As Michael did so, he felt the stones slice a gash in his back.

  “Oh, great!” he gasped, reaching back to feel the torn skin. He looked down at his hand, now covered in blood. “Wonderful. A great way to top off the evening.”

  Michael leaned harder against the concrete wall, his chest heaving, and his head pounding. Why am I doing this?

  But as he rested there a moment, Michael heard footsteps approaching. Soldiers? he thought, starting to panic. He looked around and noticed a gate farther down the wall. He jumped up and ducked through it into another quiet courtyard, then crouched down. He could tell he was in someone’s yard. A house was across the courtyard, similar in design to Leah’s. Lamps were burning brightly on the second floor, but he couldn’t hear any voices.

  All the thoughts that he’d tried so hard to dispel these last few days with logic and lagging faith now came rushing back to haunt him. This was it. If these events were truly unfolding—and he was here to bear witness—could this be the night of the Last Supper? And if so, would it be some form of blasphemy to consider warning Jesus? What would happen if he altered anything, assuming he even could at this point? Would fate, or perhaps something more divine, simply lead the soldiers to Jesus some other time? Would they still crucify him? What if he could find Judas and stop him? Should he?

  Most important, he could no longer avoid the biggest question of all: if Jesus didn’t die tomorrow, what would it all mean for everyone?

  A high-pitched voice engaged in whispered conversation broke his concentration. Michael waited a moment until the sounds of shuffling feet had receded before cautiously making his way back through the gate and onto the road. He could see a group of men walking about thirty yards ahead. As he followed them at a safe distance, Michael soon recognized the bald man talking to his bearded friend from the market. Surrounding them were about twenty soldiers dressed in purple cloaks, walking in twos. They were carrying sharp spears and lit torches.

  It was an odd procession, but Michael felt as if he’d seen it before. Slowly the realization dawned on him, though he tried desperately to find another answer or excuse. The whole scene felt like a reenactment of one of the most terrifying stories in the Bible. He looked more closely at the bearded man. Oh, no, not him.

  The bearded man led the soldiers through the gate of a walled garden. Michael kept his distance but followed closely enough so as not to lose them. When they abruptly stopped, he hid behind a tree that was rooted just outside the stone wall enclosing the garden. From there he could see the man draw near someone kneeling in prayer at the foot of a tree. He watched in horror, knowing what was coming.

  The bearded man approached Jesus, then k
issed him on the cheek.

  An explosion of activity erupted as the soldiers began to shout, brandishing their spears. In response, the apostles leaped to their feet, flanking Jesus. Their fists were raised and Michael found Judas mesmerizing—he was moving toward them, as if to join their ranks. Then Michael saw Jesus put his hand up as a sign of peace. All eyes in the crowd instinctively followed him. Then he stretched his hands before him in a gesture of surrender. The soldiers immediately surrounded him and began to lead him from the garden.

  Jesus is coming my way! Michael thought as the group approached. He leaned back farther into the shadows behind the tree. I can try and stop this. I can fix this. This isn’t how this has to go down. He doesn’t have to die. Not this way. I should do something now. He doesn’t have to die.

  But as Jesus drew near, Michael was too terrified to move. He was paralyzed by indecision, unable to even call out to him. He covered his face with his hands until they passed.

  When he could no longer hear them, he stood up, dazed. He started to run in the opposite direction but slammed into one of the soldiers.

  “Out of my way!” the soldier shouted, shoving Michael to the ground and pressing a spear to his chest. “Do you want to live?”

  “Yes,” Michael gasped.

  The soldier kept his spear near Michael’s racing heart. “Were you in the garden with that rebel?”

  Michael was silent.

  “Are you one of his followers?”

  Michael felt the spear scratch against his skin, knowing it was leaving a mark. He slowly looked down. “No.”

  The man withdrew the spear. “Get out of here!” he growled.

  Michael rolled to his side, hiding his face. He lingered for a moment, stunned with the knowledge that he now possessed. I’m no better than Peter.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Judas running out of the garden. Anger flared through his own humiliation, propelling him to his feet.

  Michael sprinted after Judas into a deserted field just beyond the garden walls. He slowed to a jog as he watched Judas collapse near a large rock. He put his hands to his face, his body heaving with cries of sorrow. His wrenching sobs were heartbreaking.