I, Saul

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “I wish I could talk to him,” Augie said.

  “I pray he regains consciousness,” she said. “I’d like to tell him one more time I love him. And I’d like to say good-bye.”

  Marie couldn’t go on, and when Augie covered her hand with his, she wept. When she was able to speak, she said, “I tried now and then to suggest that God had answered his prayers by sending Aunt Gladys. But he said it was too late. Too much had happened. In my naïveté I actually expected him to be a good father, the opposite of what he experienced. But he was simply incapable.”

  Augie shook his head. “He should have gotten help and been a better dad. But I can forgive him. I want to.Yet none of this explains why he always blamed you for not being able to have children.”

  “Imagine his shame, his horrible self-image.”

  “But blaming you, that was wrong, plain and simple.”

  “August, your father may be a senior citizen, but to me he’s a stunted, wounded nine-year-old boy. I wish I could have gotten through to him, seen him grow up, mature, reclaim some joy in his faith. But if people seeing me as too fragile to bear a child somehow deflected further humiliation from him, I was willing.”

  “Some would call that misplaced loyalty, Mom, even enabling.”

  “I call it love. He chose me to be his wife, and God called me to it too. It’s been an honor to serve them both for all these years.”

  “You’re a giant, Mom.”

  “I wish.”

  Augie had planned to walk his mother to the elevator and be on his way, but now he felt a need to see his father—especially before leaving the country. A different Edsel Knox lay tethered to the machines and pumps and IVs. His hair looked thinner, wispier, his face gray and gaunt, his body bonier. But for the whirring and clicking, and a readout showing his pulse, BP, and respiration, the man could have been dead.

  Marie held one of Edsel’s hands in both of hers and whispered, “Good morning, sweetheart. August and I are here.”

  Augie placed a hand atop his dad’s head and tried to look him full in the face, despite that Edsel’s eyes were closed and an oxygen mask covered his mouth. Augie leaned in and laid his ear on his father’s chest, strangely comforted by the strong, regular rhythm of his heart.

  “Stay with us a while, Dad,” he said.

  16

  The Journey

  FIRST-CENTURY ROME

  Over the next several weeks, Luke spent his days caring for victims of the fire. As the rubble was hauled off and the healing centers released more and more patients back to their homes, the great city slowly came back to life. In some quarters, the emperor began to rebuild.

  Luke hoped that as reconstruction began and the masses of the dead were finally buried, his volunteer work would abate. But no. After his initial excitement ebbed, he felt every one of his years.

  By the time he visited Paul each evening, his legs felt heavy and his breathing shallow. It encouraged him to know that when he couldn’t be there, Panthera often visited his prisoner. Still, Paul sat alone in the darkness most of the time when Luke was not there. And except for the infrequent occasions when other guards might briefly light a lamp in the dungeon while they doused him with two buckets of water, or came to retrieve and empty the waste bucket, all Paul could do was sit or stand or pace as far as his bulky chain would allow.

  According to Paul, his bowls of cold gruel—one delivered early in the morning and the other in the middle of the afternoon—tasted as bad as they smelled. “Primus has begun slipping me an apple now and then, which tides me over until your visit. He seems needy, Luke, and yet he is a proud man and will not be pushed. All I can do is to explain the gospel and tell him what Christ has done for me. He worries about his family and their future, but he admits that he can no longer bring himself to pray to the Roman gods. But neither is he convinced that the one true God exists and that Jesus is His Son. It might take something dramatic to persuade him.You know what I am referring to.”

  Luke harrumphed and sat heavily on the stone bench as Paul stood shifting from foot to foot. “You think he’ll attend your execution?”

  “I intend to invite him.”

  “I can’t imagine even a prison guard would want to see your head severed by some gigantic executioner.” “Fetch him for me, would you?”

  “You want to talk to Primus right now, tonight, with me here?”

  “Especially with you here. You should hear how he talks about you, Luke. He admires how kind you were to his mother and now to his wife and children. And in your faithfulness to me, he’s seeing what true friendship, real loyalty, is all about.”

  Luke sighed and moved beneath the hole in the ceiling, then laboriously hoisted himself through the opening and hurried through the smelly corridor, ignoring the cries and moans and outstretched hands.

  When Luke told him Paul wanted to see him, Primus whispered, “I was with him earlier. The others are suspicious.”

  “If you don’t think it’s a good idea—.”

  “No, if he needs me ….”

  He summoned a young guard. “Man my post until I return.”

  Once in the dungeon, Primus said, “I mustn’t stay long. What is it?”

  “I request the honor of your presence at my execution.”

  “I’ve watched heads strike the ground. Such gruesome sights have lost their fascination.”

  “I need to know that some in the audience will give me a fair hearing. You and Doctor Luke may be the only ones. Knowing you will be there would give me peace of mind, Primus. Please. As a friend.”

  “I am your friend, Paul. That’s one reason I would rather not witness your end.”

  Luke nodded. “That is how I feel too.”

  “The only two friends I have in Rome would both abandon me in the hour of my greatest need and not extend that small kindness?”

  Luke tended the lamp. “To you it seems small. To me it is a great sacrifice. I could never abandon you. I just wish you could see what a horrible obligation it is.”

  Paul moved slowly, carrying his chain, and sat next to Luke. “I’m not entirely insensitive,” he said, draping an arm around the physician’s shoulder.

  “Not entirely. But you must admit that your truth telling often gets in the way of your peacekeeping.”

  “Do you still have need of me?” Primus said. “Entertaining as it is to see old friends squabble ….”

  “Forgive us!” Paul said. “I just need the same commitment from you that I have from my colaborer here.”

  Primus cleared his throat, clearly overcome. “I prefer not to see you die, but if you wish me there, I will be there.”

  That night in his chamber, Luke returned to the parchments, the reading giving him an entirely new view of his old friend, revealing the history and perspectives of the man he thought he knew so well. Somehow they had never discussed much of this in all their years together, despite the miles they had walked, ridden, and sailed. A chunk of bread tucked in his cheek, Luke settled in to read again.

  Traveling by land with dozens of camels, their drivers, and slaves, Father and I took the long route, north and west of the Mediterranean, that led to Issus near the southern border of our province. From there we would laboriously make our way through the Syrian Gates mountain pass and eventually into Antioch.

  We had said our tearful good-byes to Mother and to Shoshanna—who told me she was actually going to miss me. I felt the same but couldn’t bring myself to say it. I could see from the look in her eyes that she knew how I felt.

  I was the only member of the vast traveling party under the age of twenty. Not only was I not assigned any tasks, but I was also told to stay out of the way of the slaves and their masters. Father explained that the transport company had goals they had to reach every day to make the trip profitable, and they intended to succeed.

  Besides the camels that each transported almost a thousand pounds of food and water and wine, horses carried the masters who made sure the colossal f
latbed wagons, pulled by oxen, remained steady on the stony roads built for the military.

  Father told me the animals could cover about thirty miles a day but that the wagons would slow the entire caravan to the pace of our walking. With the ruts in the roads jostling the loads, the slaves had to re-secure the cargo whenever the carts stopped so the drivers could grease the wheels with animal fat. It was a slow journey.

  The wagons bore high piles of tents, which could be easily assembled by the buyers as long as the pieces stayed together and didn’t pitch off onto the ground when the wagons tipped.

  Ingeniously, Father had the slaves store on top of two of the wagons tents that could be easily used every night and disassembled every morning, allowing the whole party to sleep in privacy and comfort—as comfortable as one could be in that barren, dusty terrain.

  I was so full of enthusiasm and energy that as soon as we started out I dashed in and out of the way of the camels and horses. Footpaths ran along either side of the eight-footwide road, and while Father kept to these, I ran ahead and wondered why we couldn’t go faster. At this rate it would take forever to get to Syria, let alone to Damascus. And Jerusalem was several days beyond that!

  Every thousand or so paces we found great, heavy, stone markers that Father said were a little less than a mile apart. Every twenty or thirty miles we saw inns, often very nice ones. Because of the size of our party, we used Father’s tents rather than pay for lodging.

  The worst part of the trip was the sheer boredom. There was little for me to do but walk along with the slow caravan or sit on one of the bouncy wagons, trying to hang on. When I complained, Father reminded me of the scrolls and my responsibility to keep up with my schoolwork, memorizing the Scriptures and the law. It was not easy to read on a bouncing wagon, but Father created a sun shade for me, so all I had to worry about was keeping myself aboard and not dropping the scroll.

  Much of my adult life would consist of traveling thousands of miles, so I am grateful that I learned to use the time for lively conversation, prayer, even reading and studying.

  The rest of the people on our journey, none of them Jewish, seemed fascinated or even amused by our pausing to pray three times a day, beginning at dawn. Father and I would attach our tefillin (small boxes filled with Scripture) to our foreheads, bind upper left arms with leather straps, and wear the tallit (shawl).

  By the end of the second week I was bored to the point of madness and had to remind myself that Jerusalem was the reason for this ordeal. It seemed to me a mirage by now, but I just aimed at the great day when we would arrive and I would see all the things I had heard about the Holy City.

  17

  Nine Millimeter

  TEXAS

  THURSDAY, MAY 8, 8:50 A.M.

  Augie pulled into the Arlington Seminary parking lot a few minutes before his Greek final. How he’d love to have been taking this exam rather than monitoring it. Greek had come easy to him and was one subject in which he’d scored perfectly.

  As he headed inside, going over everything he had to accomplish before his Friday morning flight, Sofia called from Athens.

  “Augie, I’m worried. My last message from Roger said he had something he would leave for you—everything you needed to know in case anything happened to him. What could he have gotten himself into?”

  “Wish I could be there now,” Augie said, and he told her about Roger saying he’d also have a gun for him.

  “There’s a pleasant thought I can chew on the rest of the day.”

  “So where do I find this stuff if I can’t find him?”

  “He doesn’t want me to tell you by phone or text,” Sofia said.

  “So you’re coming to Rome? I know you’re a daredevil, but I don’t want to be responsible for—.”

  “Roger is my friend too, Augie. If I go, I know the risks.”

  “I’ve got to get to class.”

  “Just one more thing. The guy my father hired to take the job you turned down, Dimos Fokinos—.”

  “Your dad told me about him. Everything I’m not. Gorgeous, ambitious ….”

  “Anyway, my father’s trying to set us up.”

  “You and Dimos? That’s just great.”

  “He’s brilliant, I’ll give him that. He guesses the age of an artifact on first sight, then examines it to see how close he came. Pretty impressive.” “Uh-huh.”

  “Augie, you have nothing to worry about. You know I’ve already made my choice.”

  The final was uneventful and Augie was preoccupied with the conversation he had to have with Les Moore. Augie dropped the blue books in his office, and as soon as he arrived at Les’s office, the man rose and pulled on his suit jacket.

  “That’s certainly not necessary,” Augie said. “This is just me as a friend with a couple of—.”

  “Dr. Knox, seriously, we’re not friends.”

  “—difficult requests.”

  “If you’re asking that I reconsider the salary cut—” “No, I’m accepting the offer.”

  “Good thinking. You have the cushiest job in the place.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Augie said. “You may want to withdraw the offer when you hear what I need. Dr. Moore, tomorrow morning I’m boarding a flight to Rome and—.”

  “Surely you don’t mean tomorrow morning,” Les said, running a finger along the top page of his calendar. “You have two finals tomorrow, not to mention your summer-school class that starts next Wednesday.”

  “About that ….”

  “No. Whatever it is you’re asking, no. This budget thing is decimating us, Dr. Knox. We’ll be short staffed like never before, and we can’t have you gallivanting all over—.”

  “Les, sorry, but I need you to cover my finals tomorrow and to take the first few days of my summer-school class next week if I’m delayed getting back.”

  “You can’t be serious! I can’t do that.”

  “Then you’ll have to find someone who can. It doesn’t even have to be a faculty member, just someone to sit in there and then gather the blue books.”

  “What’s so pressing in Rome?”

  “I’m not at liberty to—.”

  “You think I’m going to drop everything, inconvenience myself, not to mention anyone else, to let you run off on yet another trip? What’s so all-fired important about it?”

  Augie sat back and sighed. “A dear, trusted friend needs me. A guide I’ve worked with for years. That’s all I can say.”

  “Have I met him? Was he on that tour I took a few years ago to—.”

  “Israel, yes! Roger Michaels.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  “All I know is that he needs me and I’m going. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “This Michaels is not a believer, is he?”

  “What in the world does that have to do with—.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “We’re only to help needy friends if they happen to share our faith, is that it?” Augie stood. “You can keep that contract.”

  “Calm down, Augie. I was just making an observation.”

  Augie dropped back into the chair. “See how easy that was, Les, to call me by my first name? Can’t we just talk this through? Let me be clear. If going costs me everything I love here, so be it. Now I’m asking you, as my superior, to help make this happen.”

  Les Moore folded his arms and stared into his lap. “You’ll owe me, Dr. Knox. No more shenanigans, no more asking to have your classes covered. And, you know, the wife and I wouldn’t mind being invited on one of your trips this summer.”

  “I’ve been asking you for years. We cover everything for those willing to serve as hosts.”

  “We’d be happy to do that.”

  “Then are we good for tomorrow and next week?”

  “But not beyond next week.”

  “I wish I could promise that,” Augie said.

  11:00 A.M.

  In the parking lot of the Wildfire Gun Shop,
Augie locked his briefcase, bulging with blue books, in his trunk next to his mother’s box of klediments. The shop was a low, concrete-block building painted industrial green. He heard pop, pop, pop from the range in back and was surprised to hear the same inside. A handsome woman with gray hair to her waist introduced herself as Katrina, the wife of the owner, and explained that they had “an indoor range too. By noon won’t be nobody wantin’ to shoot in that sun. ’Cept maybe me. I don’t mind the heat.”

  Augie told her he needed to be brought up to speed on a Smith & Wesson nine millimeter that would be waiting for him in Rome.

  “Good thing,” she said, “’cause you’d have to jump through so many hoops to take one with you, it wouldn’t hardly be worth it. This nine, is it a parabellum?”

  “Yes! What does that mean?”

  “Just tells me the kind of ammo it uses. And it’ll take me twenty minutes to run you through the safety procedures, how to load it, the safety, grip, aim, all that. Then you can shoot a few rounds. Have to charge you for that. Nothin’ for the training, just for the bullets, cheap target ammo. If you need it for protection over there, you’re gonna want high-velocity hollow points.”

  Augie was taking notes. “How can you do this for nothing?”

  Katrina laughed a throaty chortle. “You’re gonna get hooked, young man. Then you’ll be in here looking for your own gun, bullets, ear protection, holster. I’ll make some coin off ya.”

  She stepped behind a glass counter, pulled out the nine, and showed him everything from where to seat the handle in his hand to how to determine his dominant eye, and how to dry fire. When she was satisfied he knew how to load the pistol and handle it safely, she handed him a pair of ear muffs he worried had been used by dozens before him. She put on her own and signaled for him to follow. “You mind shootin’ outside?”

  Augie found the weapon loud and explosive. Within half an hour he had emptied four ten-round magazines. God, deliver me from ever having to use a thing like this.