THE CHOSEN : The Youth: Historical Fiction (The Chosen Trilogy Book 1)

by Shlomo Kalo

  “What was I supposed to tell the Chaldeans?” Gershon persisted.

  “That you trusted in your God.”

  “And then?”

  “They would have gone away without another word, leaving your house, and you could have stayed with your brother-in-law and not gone into exile, spared all your pain and suffering.”

  The older man gave him a silent, probing look and finally said:

  “What must I do now?”

  “Cleave always to your God, trust in Him and strengthen your faith!”

  “How can I strengthen my faith?”

  “By upholding His commandments and keeping your heart pure, avoiding all contamination by the world!”

  Meanwhile the order had been given and the draught-horses were being harnessed to the wagons and the riding horses saddled, and the legs of the few remaining oxen and milch-cows unhobbled as they were led to their allotted place at the rear of the column, behind the ordnance wagons.

  And between the beasts and the wagons thousands of people were milling about, voices rising in the chilly air of the early dawn – strident, grating-guttural, angry. And once again commanders were issuing orders in brusque, imperious tones to their subordinates, and the latter spurring on their horses and harassing the exiles, yelling repeatedly in their ears. And the rabble shuffled into a long and silent file, waiting tensely for the starting signal.

  And the sign was given, and the convoy was in motion once more. This was the seventeenth day, and the sun had not yet risen but its blessed light, infusing energy and vigour, was already felt by those swarming bodies as they began the day’s march, faces clearing and eyes turned eastward, in enchanted expectation of the rising dawn.

  Before an hour had passed, somewhere the screen was lifted and the light spread swiftly along the line of the horizon, honing it and breathing life into it, bright light turning gold and turning pink and burning with purple fire, standing still like a royal guard poised to greet the king, and the king rises in all his majesty and splendour, lighting up the broad expanse of the land.

  And so the day began, the seventeenth since their departure from Jerusalem, capital of the kings of Israel and Judah.

  Or-Nego rode along the line of the convoy, his equerry riding beside him, and on reaching the wagon in which the youths were travelling, he approached Daniel and greeted him with a salute, then leaned towards him and inquired after the health of the invalid.

  By way of answer, he turned and shouted to Gershon, walking on the other side of the wagon: “Gershon!”

  The latter rounded the wagon and stood between it and the convoy commander.

  For a moment the commander froze in his saddle, evidently dumbfounded. And when he had regained his senses, he leaned down again from his horse to take a closer look at the face of the older man. Without waiting for the order, the latter lifted his robe and revealed the perfectly healthy leg, which only yesterday had been oozing pus.

  “Is this you?” the Chaldean exclaimed, making no attempt to conceal the astonishment which was untypical of him, and without waiting for Gershon’s nod, ordered his equerry to fetch the surgeon.

  The young men’s wagon was moving on, and he and Gershon had to hurry to catch up with it. Or-Nego remained for some time behind them, sitting on his horse and wrapped up in his thoughts.

  The equerry returned with the surgeon and reported to his commander, who ordered the surgeon to take a good look at Gershon; only yesterday this man had been an invalid with just hours to live, a suitable candidate for mercy-killing, in his own interests and the interests of the convoy.

  The surgeon was flabbergasted. He spurred on his horse to catch up with the young men, then dismounted and walked beside Gershon, the reins in his hand and the animal trailing along behind. For a long time he was staring intently into the older man’s face, studying his expression which showed nothing other than youthful alacrity.

  The surgeon stopped Gershon, knelt down and exposed his leg, probed it and prodded it – a totally healthy leg. No one could have imagined that only yesterday it had been consumed by gangrene, a dead leg that even amputation could not have cured, since the infection was already spreading to other parts of the body.

  The surgeon left the former invalid, rose from his kneeling posture and stared up at the clear sky, his eyes devoid of any expression. And suddenly he fell to his knees, at the feet of the astonished Gershon, in an attitude of extreme reverence, even prostrating himself on the ground, before rising and saying to Or-Nego, who had just caught up with them:

  “This man is a saint, a veritable saint, and that is why he has been granted a complete cure by the grace of God! Either that, or the young man who prayed for him is no ordinary young man but the chosen envoy of God Almighty, and he is to be served, honoured and obeyed in everything he says and every commandment he gives, and he is not to be harmed in any way, since injury to the envoy of God is the same as the attempt to injure God Himself!”

  “So what is all your learning worth, surgeon!” cried the convoy commander, showing clear signs of anger and disappointment.

  “I am worth nothing, most esteemed commander, and my learning is as nothing!” – the surgeon answered him calmly – “In comparison with my creator and provider, the God who dwells in glory in the heights of Heaven, and in comparison with this youth, who is His chosen envoy.”

  “So there’s no point in consulting you any more,” Or-Nego commented, his annoyance dissipating and giving way to a mood of jocularity. “We shall have to turn to God, and no doubt He will save us!”

  “Turning to God is best, but not everyone is fit to turn to Him and not everyone knows how to turn, and not everyone will have his prayers answered!”

  “And can you not make yourself fit to turn to Him, so that you know the way to turn to Him?” the convoy commander went on to ask.

  “It is not a skill that is taught in academies, Sir, and the knowledge of how to approach Him is not handed down from one man to another! These things God gives in His infinite grace, and He it is who decides who is fit for Him and who will know the ways that lead to Him. Anyway – no man of malice or avarice will be among His chosen ones!” the surgeon concluded.

  The convoy commander looked at him keenly, as if this were a new man standing before him.

  “You’re to hold your tongue, and not tell anyone of the things you have witnessed!” Or-Nego declared, seeing fit to add: “Rumours like these are like fire, not easy to stop once it has taken hold!” and so saying he turned his horse and rode slowly towards the rear of the column.

  Without another word, the surgeon mounted his horse and rode away in the opposite direction.

  The rumour spread far and wide. And no one could have foreseen the events that would ensue, or have prevented them.

  As evening fell a great crowd, exiles and Chaldeans alike, gathered around the young men’s wagon, which was forced to slow down. All were clamouring to speak with the youth who had “cured by the grace of God” a man expected to die; according to some accounts, he had raised from the dead a man whose funeral had already taken place and who was about to be buried, restoring him to life. They were eager to feast their eyes on this miraculous youth, to touch his cloak, kiss his hand and ask him to perform a miracle for them too, not a spectacular or intimidating miracle, but a miracle nonetheless, since many of them were suffering from ailments and afflictions of various kinds.

  Or-Nego reprimanded the surgeon, who claimed it was not his fault that the information had leaked; rumours such as these are passed in mysterious ways, not through any human agency, and are not to be prevented by any means whatsoever, and at the end of the day people are entitled to enjoy the grace of the God who brought them into this world for their benefit, and it is God Himself who is the source of rumours of this kind.

  Not for the first time that day, Or-Nego stared at his surgeon with the bemusement of one who does not believe what his eyes are seeing and his ears hearing. And without responding di
rectly to the surgeon’s lengthy and somewhat impassioned address, he appointed him there and then to supervise those who sought an audience with the youth, to ask for a cure or hear his advice.

  “Disperse the crowd!” he commanded – “And tell the people that when we camp for the night they can visit the young man, if he’s prepared to receive them, that is!”

  The young man, surrounded by a milling crowd, all of them jostling one another and competing to attract his attention, shooting questions at him in a veritable Babel of languages, with loud cries and wild gestures – took in the convoy commander’s words, and raising his voice to make himself heard, he cried:

  “I shall receive them with pleasure!”

  The Chaldean officer and the surgeon exchanged a smile of satisfaction.

  “There are sheets in the rear wagon,” Or-Nego went on to tell his surgeon: “Put up a tent in an easily accessible place, for the young man’s use, station a guard at the entrance to keep order, and admit people to the tent one at a time if they want to consult him. Fix a starting time and a finishing time and enforce them strictly!”

  The crowd was dismissed and the convoy continued on its way.

  When the signal was given for the overnight stop, and the convoy had halted, the surgeon chose a space resembling a large rectangle, and with the help of exiles and Chaldeans set up at one end of it a tent made of linen sheets and strips of leather, put a table and two chairs in it, one on either side, with two torches to light the interior of the tent. And then the surgeon presented himself to the young man and bowing low, asked him respectfully if he would be so kind as to take his place in the tent set aside for him.

  The queue outside the tent was long and dense, a variegated throng of people of all ranks and social strata, speakers of weird and unfamiliar dialects, Chaldeans and Judeans and Edomites and Israelites, people from Tyre and Sidon, ages ranging from twelve years old to sixty.

  There were those who waited their turn patiently, entering the tent in silence, sitting down facing the youth and fixing him with a staring look, and some burst into floods of choking tears and wailed incoherently. Some pointed to their distorted, painful limbs and appealed for relief, while others spoke of parents or grandparents left behind in the ruined city, sisters and mothers and wives bereft of support or livelihood, and they wanted to know how they were faring, and asked the young man to pray for them.

  And there were those who put gold and silver coins on the table, with a sly smile, asking him to cast afflictions on their enemies, and some who sat in awe and reverence, staring at him with blurred eyesight, not uttering a word, eventually rising and leaving the tent just as they had entered it.

  An awkward Chaldean soldier, who had taken off his armour and laid his weapons aside as a mark of his respect for the youth, limped into the tent, vehemently refused to sit in the chair offered him, knelt at his feet, and after a long silence, looked up and said:

  “Have mercy on me, envoy of God the most High! In the battle for Ashkelon my thigh-bone was broken. It was set but it has healed in a crooked fashion, and since then it has caused me nothing but pain and anguish! I am in torment all day long, and at night it is no less severe. I cannot sleep by day or night and there is never a moment’s respite, and I would rather die than live like this! Can you rescue me?” His tortured eyes were fixed intently on his face, the eyes of someone drowning in the sea, focused on a lifeboat far away, and gazing at it with the last remnants of hope.

  “Do you believe wholeheartedly in the God who is love, and do you believe that through His grace and infinite mercy, I can heal you?”

  “If that is the God you serve, then I believe in Him wholeheartedly, and I believe that through Him, you can deliver me from my torment!”

  “It shall be as you believe!” the youth declared.

  The Chaldean rose to his feet, and suddenly aware that he was no longer limping and his pain had been extinguished as if it never was, he fell to the bare ground again, kissed the young man’s feet and left the tent on hands and knees, crawling backwards.

  After the Chaldean, a Jewish exile came in, and set out before him at length and in a querulous voice all the blows he had suffered, and told of a large family, grandparents and father and mother, brothers and sisters, wife and sons and daughters, and he was the sole survivor, the carpenter from the street of the artisans in Jerusalem. And he was being exiled by the Chaldeans to a distant land, and even from his few remaining friends and neighbours he was being uprooted. What is to become of him? Can it be hoped that some time, in the next world, he will see again some of the faces he loves, his sons at least, his wife, daughters?

  “Do you believe in God, who gives strength to the weary and vigour to the powerless.”

  “Is that the God who has inflicted all these disasters on me?” asked the man resentfully.

  “It isn’t God who does the inflicting, He is love. Mankind in his arrogance brings down upon himself all the disasters in the world.”

  “How can I believe in this God, when I’m in such despair and anguish?”

  “By shunning pride, lies and guile, and the ways of avarice.”

  “And if I truly believe in this God whose name is love, and shun pride, lies and guile and avarice – will God show me the beloved faces of all those whom the Chaldeans have tortured and murdered and executed?”

  “You will see them all, not here but in the hereafter!”

  The Jew hesitated, looked down, turning something over in his mind, and without looking up, left the tent in silence.

  And there was a Chaldean officer who fulminated against him, insisting there is only one God, Bel, who brought victory to the Chaldeans and defeat to the Jews, and the only envoy of Bel and his earthly regent is none other than King Nebuchadnezzar, conqueror and subjugator of the world, and he refuses, the Chaldean officer, to believe in any other God, least of all any God of the Jews! And in his rage and incandescent fury the officer raised his hand and brought his fist crashing down on the unplaned table, his dark eyes shooting fiery sparks of hatred at the young man. And when the Chaldean tried to get up from his seat and go, leaving the young man and his tent and his surgeon acolyte far behind, he realised that the hand which had struck the table was not obeying him, and his arm was hanging by his side, limp and useless, and any attempt to move it aroused only excruciating pain, searing the guts and the heart, inflaming the brain.

  “What is this?” raged the Chaldean. He was approached by the surgeon, who touched the limp arm and gave his professional diagnosis:

  “It’s fractured all the way along the bone,” he told the furious, suffering officer – “and perhaps after all you should appeal to the mercy of the young man’s God whose name is love, because there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

  “I’d rather die than plead for the favours of anyone, least of all the favours of some God called love, of all the weird names!” And he left the tent stooping, feeling his way and trying to protect his dangling arm from any further harm, and no one saw how his lips were contorted with pain as he slipped through the silent crowd waiting patiently before the tent, and disappeared into the darkness.

  At around midnight, the surgeon came out to speak with those waiting outside the tent, and before ordering them to disperse, made a few reassuring remarks about the coming day, which would also bring blessing, aid and relief, even complete recovery, to those who needed it, just like today, and he reminded them that even this marvellous young man, envoy of the living God, needed bodily rest, and there was no doubt in his mind that all, Chaldeans and exiles alike, would in the end get into the tent and be received by the youth, and see his face, shining with a beauty that is not of this world, and lay before him all that pains their bodies and troubles their minds, and the youth will not deny them the mercy of God and His compassion, and he will cure them in the name of God, and will save them by virtue of His love and His might.

  After the surgeon’s impassioned speech, which was a little longwin
ded but accepted in good spirits, the crowds pressing around the entrance of the tent dispersed and turned away to rest in the places they had chosen for their night’s sleep.

  Meanwhile, the story of the Chaldean soldier who had been completely cured of his disability and relieved of his pain, emerging whole and healthy from the young man’s tent, skipping and dancing and hymning the name of the living God and His mercy – spread quickly through the camp and there was no one who did not hear of it: starting with the breaking of the soldier’s leg in the battle for Ashkelon and the way it was badly set, continuing with the conversation between him and the youth, and ending with the miracle done and the thigh-bone straightened and even stronger than before, and no more suffering, and the terrible pain which had kept the soldier awake for weeks and months, was as if it never was.

  When he returned to his friends, who had spread his mat for him and put beside it his goatskin coat, he found them divided into camps. Adoniah and Matthew maintained vehemently that these acts of healing were nothing other than sorcery and idolatry, and the proof – a pagan like that Chaldean is granted full recovery, whereas a Jew, like that carpenter who lost all his dear ones and wants to know if he will ever see them again, is promised this on condition that he believes in some God called love, who demands of him all kinds of requirements that are contrary to commonsense and far from easy to comply with, such as eschewing guile, when it was by virtue of guile that the Children of Israel had the wisdom to ask the Egyptians for silver and gold vessels before their exodus to freedom, and not to return them or – demeaning yourself before the community and the people and all other peoples, the kind of humiliation that he calls “avoidance of arrogance”.

  He, the righteous Jew, circumcised in accordance with tradition and believing in the living God, was sent away disappointed, while the uncircumcised Chaldean, a pagan through and through whose law is not as our Holy Law, his ways not as our ways, his thoughts not as our thoughts – was sent away rewarded! We can have no confidence in this type of healing, supposedly performed through the grace of God, and our good friend Daniel needs to repent, immediately and wholeheartedly, give up his weird incantations, deny them, fast and be mortified, until the Lord grants him absolution and his apostasy is forgiven. And all the time that Adoniah was speaking, rebuking and denouncing, Matthew was nodding his head in agreement.