Lamb

by Christopher Moore

  “That sounds—”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not that hard to learn. I have pictures.”

  We were four days at Joy’s palace, enjoying comfort, food, and drink such as we hadn’t experienced since we’d last seen her. I could have stayed forever, but on the morning of the fifth day Joshua stood at the entrance to Joy’s bedchamber, his satchel slung over his shoulder. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. We shared breakfast with Joy and she met us at the gate to say good-bye.

  “Thanks for the elephant,” she said.

  “Thanks for the camels,” Joshua said.

  “Thanks for the sex book,” Joy said.

  “Thanks for the sex,” I said.

  “Oh, I forgot, you owe me a hundred rupees,” Joy said. I had told her about Kashmir. The Cruel and Accursed Dragon Princess grinned at me. “Just kidding. Be well, my friend. Keep that amulet I gave you and remember me, huh?”

  “Of course.” I kissed her and climbed on my camel’s back, then coaxed him to his feet.

  Joy embraced Joshua and kissed him on the lips, hard and long. He didn’t seem to be trying to push her away.

  “Hey, we had better go, Josh,” I said.

  Joy held the Messiah at arm’s length and said, “You are always welcome here, you know that?”

  Josh nodded, then climbed on his camel. “Go with God, Joy,” he said. As we rode through the gates of the palace the guards shot fire arrows that trailed long tails of sparks over us until they exploded above the road ahead: Joy’s last good-bye to us, a tribute to the friendship and arcane knowledge we had all shared. It scared the bejeezus out of the camels.

  After we had been on the road awhile, Joshua asked, “Did you say goodbye to Vana?”

  “I intended to, but when I went to the stable she was practicing her yoga and I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Really, she was sitting in one of the postures you taught her.”

  Joshua smiled. It didn’t hurt anything for him to believe that.

  The journey on the Silk Road through the high deserts took us over a month, but it was fairly uneventful, except for one attack by a small group of bandits. When I caught the first two spears they flung at me and flung them right back, wounding the two who had thrown them, they turned and ran. The weather was mild, or as mild as one can expect in a deadly and brutal desert, but by now Joshua and I had traveled so much in this sort of harsh country that there was little that affected us. Just before we reached Antioch, however, a sandstorm whipped up out of the desert that left us hiding between our camels for two days, breathing through our shirts and washing the mud out of our mouths every time we took a drink. The storm settled enough to travel, and we were at a veritable gallop in the streets of Antioch when Joshua located an inn by impacting with its sign on his forehead. He was knocked back off his camel and sat up in the street with blood streaming down his face.

  “Are you hurt badly?” I asked, kneeling beside him. I could barely see in the driving dust.

  Joshua looked at the blood on his hands where he had touched his forehead. “I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt that badly, but I can’t tell.”

  “Inside,” I said, helping him to his feet and through the door of the inn.

  “Shut the door,” the innkeeper shouted as the wind whipped through the room. “Were you born in a barn?”

  “Yeah,” said Joshua.

  “He was,” I said. “Angels on the roof, though.”

  “Shut the damn door,” said the innkeeper.

  I left Joshua sitting there by the door while I went out and found shelter for the camels. When I returned Joshua was wiping his face with a linen cloth that someone had handed to him. A couple of men stood over him, eager to help. I handed the cloth to one of them and examined Josh’s wounds. “You’ll live. A big bump and two cuts, but you’ll live. You can’t do the healing thing on—”

  Joshua shook his head.

  “Hey, look at this,” one of the travelers who had helped Joshua said, holding up the piece of linen Joshua had used to wipe his face. The dust and blood from Josh’s face had left a perfect likeness on the linen, even handprints where he’d gotten blood from his head wound. “Can I keep this?” the fellow said. He was speaking Latin, but with a strange accent.

  “Sure,” I said. “Where are you fellahs from?”

  “We’re from the Ligurian tribe, from the territories north of Rome. A city on the Po river called Turin. Have you heard of it?”

  “No, I haven’t. You know, you fellahs can do what you want with that cloth, but out on my camel I’ve got some erotic drawings from the East that are going to be worth something someday. I can let you have them for a very fair price.”

  The Turinians went off holding their pathetic swath of muddy cloth like it was some kind of holy relic. Ignorant bastards wouldn’t know art if you nailed them to it. I bandaged Joshua’s wounds and we checked into the inn for the night.

  In the morning we decided to keep our camels and take the land route home through Damascus. As we passed out of the gates of Damascus on the final leg home, Joshua started to worry.

  “I’m not ready to be the Messiah, Biff. If I’m being called home to lead our people I don’t even know where to start. I understand the things I want to teach, but I don’t have the words yet. Melchior was right about that. Before anything you have to have the word.”

  “Well it’s not just going to come to you in a flash here on the Damascus road, Josh. That sort of thing doesn’t happen. You’re obviously supposed to learn what you need to know in its own time. To everything a season, yada, yada, yada…”

  “My father could have made learning all this easier. He could have just told me what I was supposed to do.”

  “I wonder how Maggie’s doing. You think she got fat?”

  “I’m trying to talk about God here, about the Divine Spark, about bringing the kingdom to our people.”

  “I know you are, so am I. Do you want to do all of that without help?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Well, that’s why I was thinking about Maggie. She was smarter than us before we left, she’s probably smarter than us now.”

  “She was smart, wasn’t she? She wanted to be a fisherman,” said Josh, grinning. I could tell that the thought of seeing Maggie tickled him.

  “You can’t tell her about all the whores, Josh.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Or Joy and the girls. Or the old woman with no teeth.”

  “I won’t tell her about any of them, not even the yak.”

  “There was nothing with the yak. The yak and I weren’t even on speaking terms.”

  “You know, she probably has a dozen children by now.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “They should be mine.”

  “And mine.” Joshua sighed back.

  I looked at him as he rode beside me in a sea of gently loping camel waves. He was staring off at the horizon, looking forlorn. “Yours and mine? You think they should be yours and mine?”

  “Sure, why not. You know I love all the little—”

  “You are such a doofus sometimes.”

  “Do you think she’ll remember us? I mean, how we all were back then?”

  I thought about it and shuddered. “I hope not.”

  No sooner did we pass into Galilee than we began to hear about what John the Baptist was doing in Judea.

  “Hundreds have followed him into the desert,” we heard in Gischala.

  “Some say he is the Messiah,” one man told us in Baca.

  “Herod is afraid of him,” said a woman in Cana.

  “He’s another crazy holy man,” said a Roman soldier in Sepphoris. “The Jews breed them like rabbits. I hear he drowns anyone who doesn’t agree with him. First sensible idea I’ve heard since I was sent to this accursed territory.”

  “May I have your name, soldier?” I asked.

  “Caius Junius, of the Sixth Legion.”

  “
Thank you. We’ll keep you in mind.” To Josh I said, “Caius Junius: front of the line when we start shoving Romans out of the kingdom into the fiery abyss.”

  “What did you say?” said the Roman.

  “No, no, don’t thank me, you earned it. Right at the front of the line you go, Caius.”

  “Biff!” Josh barked, and once he had my attention he whispered, “Try not to get us thrown into prison before we get home, please.”

  I nodded and waved to the legionnaire as we rode away. “Just crazy Jew talk. Pay no attention. Whimper Fidelis,” I said.

  “We have to find John after we see our families,” Joshua said.

  “Do you think that he’s really claiming to be the Messiah?”

  “No, but it sounds like he knows how to get the word out.”

  We rode into Nazareth a half hour later.

  I suppose we expected more upon our arrival. Cheering maybe, little children running at our heels begging for tales of our great adventures, tears and laughter, kisses and hugs, strong shoulders to bear the conquering heroes through the streets. What we’d forgotten was that while we were traveling, having adventures, and experiencing wonders, the people of Nazareth had been living through the same old day-to-day crap—a lot of days had passed, and a lot of crap. When we rode up to Joshua’s old house, his brother James was working outside under the awning, shaving a piece of olive wood into a strut for a camel saddle. I knew it was James the moment I saw him. He had Joshua’s narrow hooked nose and wide eyes, but his face was more weathered than Josh’s, and his body heavier with muscle. He looked ten years older than Joshua rather than the two years younger that he was.

  He put down his spoke shave and stepped out in the sunlight, holding up a hand to shield his eyes.

  “Joshua?”

  Joshua tapped his camel on the back of his knees with the long riding crop and the beast lowered him to the ground.

  “James!” Joshua climbed off the camel and went to his brother, his arms out as if to embrace him, but James stepped back.

  “I’ll go tell Mother that her favorite son has returned.” James turned away and I saw the tears literally shoot out of Joshua’s eyes into the dust.

  “James,” Joshua was pleading. “I didn’t know. When?”

  James turned and looked his half brother in the eye. There was no pity there, no grief, just anger. “Two months ago, Joshua. Joseph died two months ago. He asked for you.”

  “I didn’t know,” Joshua said, still holding his arms out for the embrace that wasn’t going to come.

  “Go inside. Mother has been waiting for you. She starts every morning wondering if this is the day you’ll return. Go inside.” He turned away as Joshua went past him into the house, then James looked up at me. “The last thing he said was ‘Tell the bastard I love him.’”

  “The bastard?” I said as I coaxed my camel to let me down.

  “That’s what he always called Joshua. ‘I wonder how the bastard is doing. I wonder where the bastard is today?’ Always talking about the bastard. And Mother yammering on always about how Joshua did this, and Joshua did that, and what great things Joshua would do when he returned. And all the while I’m the one looking out for my brothers and sisters, taking care of them when Father got sick, taking care of my own family. Still, was there any thanks? A kind word? No, I was doing nothing more than paving Joshua’s road. You have no idea what it’s like to always be second to Joshua.”

  “Really,” I said. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime,” I said. “Tell Josh if he needs me I’ll be at my father’s house. My father is still alive, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and your mother too.”

  “Oh good, I didn’t want to put one of my brothers through breaking the painful news.” I turned and led my camel away.

  “Go with God, Levi,” James said.

  I turned. “James, it is written, ‘To the work you are entitled, but not the fruits thereof.’”

  “I’ve never heard that. Where is that written?”

  “In the Bhagavad Gita, James. It’s a long poem about going into battle, and this warrior’s god tells him not to worry about killing his kinsmen in battle, because they are already dead, they just don’t know it yet. I don’t know what made me think of it.”

  My father hugged me until I thought he’d broken my ribs, then he handed me off to my mother, who did the same until she seemed to come to her senses, then she began to cuff me about the head and shoulders with her sandal, which she had whipped off with surprising speed and dexterity for a woman her age.

  “Seventeen years you’re gone and you couldn’t write?”

  “You don’t know how to read.”

  “So you couldn’t send word, smart mouth?”

  I fended off the blows by directing their energy away from me, as I had been taught at the monastery, and soon two small boys who I didn’t recognize were catching the brunt of the beating. Fearing lawsuits from small strangers, I caught my mother’s arms and hugged them to her sides as I looked at my father, nodded to the two little ones, and raised my eyebrows as if to say, Who are the squirts?

  “Those are your brothers, Moses and Japeth,” my father said. “Moses is six and Japeth is five.”

  The little guys grinned. Both were missing front teeth, probably sacrificed to the squirming harpy I was currently holding at bay. My father beamed as if to say, I can still build the aqueduct—lay a little pipe, if you know what I mean—when I need to.

  I scowled as if to say, Look, I was barely able to hold on to my respect for you when I found out what you did to make the first three of us; these little fellows are only evidence that you’ve no memory for suffering.

  “Mother, if I let you go will you calm down?” I looked over her shoulder at Japeth and Moses. “I used to tell people she was besought by a demon, do you guys do that?” I winked at them.

  They giggled as if to say, Please, end our suffering, kill us, kill us now, or kill this bitch that plagues us like the torments of Job. Okay, maybe I was just imagining that’s what they were saying. Maybe they were just giggling.

  I let my mother go and she backed off. “Japeth, Moses,” Mother said, “come meet Biff. You’ve heard your father and me talk about our oldest disappointment—well, this is him. Now run and get your other brothers, I’ll go fix something nice.”

  My brothers Shem and Lucius brought their families and joined us for dinner and we all lay around the table as Mother served us something nice, I’m not sure what it was. (I know I’ve said that I was the oldest of three brothers, and obviously, with the squirts, it was five, but dammit, by the time I met Japeth and Moses I was too old to have the time to torment them, so they never really paid their dues as brothers. They were more like, oh, pets.) “Mother, I’ve brought you a gift from the East,” I said, running out to the camel to retrieve a package.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a breeding mongoose,” I said, tapping on the cage. The little scamp tried to bite the pad off of my finger.

  “But there’s only one.”

  “Well, there were two, but one escaped, so now there’s one. They’ll attack a snake ten times their size.”

  “It looks like a rat.”

  I lowered my voice and whispered conspiratorially, “In India, the women train them to sit on their heads like hats. Very fashionable. Of course the fad hasn’t reached Galilee yet, but in Antioch, no self-respecting woman will go out of the house without wearing a mongoose.”

  “Really,” said Mother, looking at the mongoose in a new light. She took the cage and stowed it gently away in the corner, as if it contained a delicate egg, rather than a vicious miniature of herself. “So,” said Mother, waving to her two daughters-in-law and the half-dozen grandchildren that loitered near the table, “your brothers married and gave me grandchildren.”

  “I’m happy for them, Mother.”

  Shem and Lucius hid their grins behind a crust of flatbread the same way they did when we were little a
nd Mother was giving me hell.

  “All the places you traveled, you never met a nice girl you could settle down with?”

  “No, Mother.”

  “You can marry a gentile, you know. It would break my heart, but why did the tribes almost wipe out the Benjamites if it wasn’t so a desperate boy could marry a gentile if he needs to? Not a Samaritan, but, you know, some other gentile. If you have to.”

  “Thanks, Mother, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Mother pretended to find some lint or something on my collar, which she picked at while she said, “So your friend Joshua never married either? You heard about his little sister Miriam, didn’t you?” Here her voice went to a conspiratorial whisper. “Started wearing men’s clothes and ran off to the island of Lesbos.” Back to normal nudging tone. “That’s Greek, you know? You boys didn’t go to Greece on your travels, did you?”

  “No, Mother, I really have to go.”

  I tried to stand and she grabbed me. “It’s because your father has a Greek name, isn’t it? I told you, Alphaeus, change the name, but you said you were proud of it. Well, I hope you’re proud of it now. What’s next, Lucius here will start hanging Jews on crosses like the other Romans?”

  “I’m not a Roman, Mother,” Lucius said wearily. “Lots of good Jews have Latin names.”

  “Not that it matters, Mother, but how do you think they get more Greeks?”

  To my mother’s credit, she stopped for a second to think. I used the lull to escape.

  “Nice to see you guys.” I nodded to all of my relatives, old and new. “I’ll come by and visit before I go. I have to go check on Joshua.” And I was out the door.

  I threw the door open at Joshua’s old house without even knocking, nearly coldcocking Joshua’s brother Judah in the process. “Josh, you’ve got to bring the kingdom soon or I’m going to have to kill my mother.”

  “She still plagued by demons?” asked Judah, who looked exactly as he had when he was four, except for the beard and the receding hairline, but he was as wide-eyed and goofy of smile as he had ever been.

  “No, I was just being hopeful when I used to say that.”