by Chris Aslan
Now, it’s the same with me and Eleazar. We don’t pretend that our relationship isn’t torn and can be mended to look like new, but we are both making an effort to stitch it back together. The other day, Eleazar offered to peel carrots as we prepared for supper. “What? I’m actually quite good with a knife,” he said, slicing the skin off the carrot as we stared at him in astonishment. He’s never helped before. Then, yesterday, after Crazy Mariam and Cyria had left, he said, “You’ve got to think of a different name for her. What about Beautiful Mariam?”
“Hmm. And what does that make me?” I asked, cuffing him round the head. We both laughed, and then suddenly felt self-conscious and became more reserved again. Something that’s helping mend the tear is that we talk.
Eleazar wanted to know why I’d run away from such a good man as Ishmael. Marta could see me getting upset by the question. “Miri,” she said. “Could you fetch water? I’ll explain.”
When I came back, Eleazar looked shaken. It seemed as though he was about to say something but couldn’t find the right words. Instead he took the water jug from me and then he hugged me, fiercely and protectively.
“The teacher taught us not to seek revenge but to forgive,” he whispered. “Otherwise I’d kill him for dishonouring you like that, Miri. I’m sorry I failed you.”
We asked Eleazar about his time with the insurgents. He said he didn’t want to talk about it and that he still felt shame and remorse over some of the things they did. The teacher had talked to him about new life, and he didn’t want to dwell on his old one. He did mention that the leader of their faction – the man I thought was the doctor – was called Shimon, like Father. When Shimon heard the teacher speak, he realized that this man had more power than any fighter. Most of the other insurgents left and started a new group, but Shimon, Eleazar, Yokkan and a few others became the teacher’s apprentices.
I’ve noticed a change in both boys, and not just physically. Yokkan will never be a great talker, but whereas before he seemed sullen, now he just seems thoughtful. Without telling anyone, he spent the first day after the teacher had gone speaking to the three different carpenters in our village and learning about each of their skills. Two focus on buildings – mainly roof beams – but one has a lathe and produces rolling pins, chopping boards, wooden cradles, and simple shelves. Although Yokkan is too old, he asked the master carpenter to take him on as an apprentice, and Aunt Shiphra was given a glowing report over how hard-working and diligent he is. Yokkan’s not earning yet – and anyway, Aunt Shiphra and Mara make ends meet with their orchard and the soap, balms, and lotions they make – but he’s trying.
So, Yokkan is learning a trade, but what about my brother? With an extra mouth to feed, and most of the olive harvest left to rot last year, money is tight, and we discuss work options with Eleazar.
I tell him about the carpet business and last year’s spoiled harvest. “That’s my fault,” he says. “If I hadn’t run away, and wasn’t so busy learning the law, I could have finished the harvest and brined the olives. I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past now,” says Marta, patting his knee. “And we still have the jar.”
“Of olives?” Eleazar looks confused and we remember that he doesn’t know. I go to Mother’s chest and bring it out. We let Eleazar hold it in the afternoon sunlight so it glints and flashes. He puts his nose to it, but the alabaster locks the scent inside.
“I love to imagine what pure spikenard actually smells like,” I say. “This jar has travelled further than any of us could ever dream.”
“How did Father come by it?” Eleazar asks.
I’m about to lie – I can do it without thinking – but instead, I tell my siblings what really happened. They listen in silence and remain that way after I stop speaking.
“I don’t ever want to sell it,” says Marta, after a while. “Think how much this gift cost Father.”
We’re quiet again until Eleazar says quietly, “I know what I want to be. How I want to spend my days.” We look to him expectantly. “I want to be a holy man.”
“What? Like Halfai?” I’m incredulous.
“No, not like Halfai at all. Like the teacher. I want to tell other people what he taught us. They need to know.”
And I have to admit, he’s very good at it. Two evenings ago he invited his old friends to our home, even though our compound is still known by everyone as the leper’s home. Marta and I served them. They wanted to hear all about his time with the insurgents, and whether he’d killed any Westerners. Instead, he spent most of the evening telling them about the teacher. Marta and I squatted out of the lamplight and listened just as avidly. He speaks well. He’d make a good holy man.
As for Halfai, he’s been pretty quiet since the teacher was here. He seems diminished by the success of others, and all people talk about now is the teacher. He’s also been busy with the wedding. Ishmael and Imma are now married. Obviously we weren’t invited, but I hope Imma will be happy. Yesterday I bumped into my old neighbour, Ide, who told me about it. She also mentioned that Halfai had asked her to stop spreading stories about how she was cured.
“I just looked at him and said, ‘But think of all the other people out there who need curing. How will they know about the doctor if I don’t tell everyone what he’s done for me?’ He just told me again to keep my mouth shut.”
The day after we show Eleazar the jar, he and Yokkan have a meeting with Halfai and the elders at the prayer house. It’s hard to believe how little time has passed since the teacher was here, and yet so much has changed. Marta is weaving with the apprentices, while I’m trying to coax life and order back into my soggy vegetable patch. As I work, I can’t help feeling anxious about this meeting. I remember what Eleazar was like when he was Halfai’s apprentice, and I’d hate to see him revert to that again.
Marta has embarked on a more complex carpet design, as she thinks the apprentices need the challenge. They’re all completely engrossed so, once I’ve finished tending the vegetable patch, I fetch water and then make a start with supper. That’s what I’m doing when Yokkan and Eleazar burst in.
“He’s shunned us,” says Yokkan, who spits for good measure.
“He’s told the elders that no one is to greet us in the street, sell to us, speak to us, or invite us into their homes,” adds Eleazar. They’re both fuming.
Marta glances at the apprentices, apparently unsure if she wants them to hear more, but then comes over to the kitchen area. “What happened?” She beckons them to sit down and I pour mint tea.
“When we arrived, we were really pleased to see Halfai and all the elders. We thought they’d invited us there so they could hear more about the teacher. They told me that they’ve heard reports from the capital that the teacher is not to be trusted and that we should never welcome him back,” says Eleazar. Yokkan spits again. “Then I asked them what they believed more – these reports or what they saw with their own eyes. Didn’t they see the sick made well? Did the teacher say anything that was against our holy teachings? Halfai told me to be quiet. He said I was young, rude, and ignorant, and that I must listen to those who understand such things.”
“Then I asked, ‘Where is your authority? Have you ever cured someone of sickness? Does God ever speak through you?’” Yokkan added, with an angry smile.
“That was when Halfai said that we must promise not to speak of the teacher again or invite him to our home. If we didn’t, then we would be shunned,” says Eleazar. “Then Yokkan said, ‘We follow our master and pray that he comes back to our village soon,’ and they said, ‘Is that your answer?’ So I said, ‘Of course. We will never stop speaking about him,’ and then they told us to get out. So, now we’re shunned.”
Marta just looks weary at this news, and I chuckle. “Poor Holy Halfai. He can’t bear to lose control.”
“Miri, it’s not funny. What if Yokkan’s new carpentry master refuses to keep training him? People have just started greeting us again,” says Marta.
/> “After everything they’ve seen the doctor do, will people still shun us?” I ask. “And what about people like Ide? Or that shepherd who was cured of his squint? Do you think they’ll accept this?”
As it turns out, I’m actually right. Yokkan turns up at Yokhanan’s workshop the next day and is treated exactly the same way as before. Eleazar sees one of his friends near the well and the friend asks loudly when he can come again to hear more about the teacher. Ide and Elisheba, along with many of their relatives, become far more effusive in their greetings than they were before. “Let Halfai cure a few lepers, then he can come and tell me who to shun,” says Tauma loudly, having greeted Eleazar outside his stall. This causes a flurry of indignant whispers from the more religious women at the well.
It’s now the height of summer; Eleazar helps me bring water up to the olive saplings Father planted. They’re established now but I still don’t want to risk any of them withering, as they will always remind me of Father. This is the first time we’ve spent a day together without Marta. We bicker frequently, as we’re both stubborn and strong-willed, but it’s good-natured bickering. Once the water-skins are empty, we collect firewood, load the donkey up, and carry a bundle each on our backs.
“I’ll be honest with you,” I say as we trudge homeward. “I never thought I’d like you.”
“That’s nice to know,” he says, with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smile.
“After Mother died, I think I grew up too fast and you were just my annoying little brother. Then everything happened with Father, and I just started hating you. I just didn’t think it would ever be different.”
I’m not sure what I expect his response to be, but he just says, “Me too,” and then punches my shoulder gently and affectionately.
Now that Eleazar and Yokkan are shunned, they can’t join the men at the prayer house on rest day. Instead, we visit Aunt Shiphra’s compound. She has an orchard of fig and pomegranate trees, and their kitchen area is shaded by an old vine. Sitting under its green canopy, I look up to see bunches of hard small grapes ripening. We spend the day listening to Yokkan and Eleazar tell us what they’ve learned from the teacher, and recount some of the things they’ve witnessed.
We’re interrupted at one point by an elderly neighbour who is sitting up on her flat roof just out of view. “I can’t hear properly,” she shouts. “Speak up!”
We invite her to join us and she comes over with her grandson.
The next day, as Marta weaves, she intersperses instructions to the apprentices with the stories she heard from Eleazar and Yokkan. They ask shyly if they can come the following week. They bring Elisheba with them. The old neighbour is back with her whole family, and Eleazar’s friend joins us, along with his brother. Tauma hears about it from his cousin, Elisheba, and says he’d like to come next week. I see Cured Mariam at the well and invite her and Cyria to join us.
I’m glad we’re not meeting in our compound, which would already feel cramped with all these people. I worry for my recovering vegetable patch. Eleazar and Yokkan teach us how to pray the way the teacher does. At the end of our gathering, Eleazar asks us if we want to be hearers of the word, or doers. How are we going to live out what we have learned? We discuss this together.
“Is this how you men discuss things in the prayer house?” Elisheba asks her husband loudly, who has also decided to join us. “Because if it is, you’re certainly not a doer.”
He smiles ruefully. “No,” he says. “This is nothing like what we do in the prayer house.”
The week after, our gathering has grown again in size, with most of Elisheba’s neighbours attending, along with their husbands and children. We’re interrupted by Halfai. He storms into the compound and then pauses, eyeing up each person, as if to say, “I will remember that you were here, and you will regret it.”
Once he feels we’re suitably intimidated, he lectures us on false prophets and corrupt teachers who spread lies and deception. None of us agree with him, but it’s Cured Mariam who interrupts.
“Why are you here?” she asks mildly. “Who appointed you our teacher? Was it you who cured me? Where is your power? What have you ever taught that has changed even one life?”
We’re all stunned, Halfai most of all. Then he recovers. “Cured?” he sneers. “You’re as crazy as ever.”
Aunt Shiphra clambers to her feet. “Get out of my house,” she hisses at Halfai. “You’re not welcome here. I shun you. We shun you.” There are murmurs of agreement amongst some and fear from others.
“I warn y–” Halfai starts.
“Er, did someone speak?” interrupts Aunt Shiphra. “Certainly no one I care to listen to. Now,” she settles herself down on her haunches again, “what were you telling us about the teacher, Eleazar? Please, continue.”
Halfai stares impotently for a moment and then leaves, slamming the compound door hard behind him. I’ve never felt prouder of my aunt, although Eleazar says afterwards that we should forgive Halfai and pray that his eyes will be opened. Yokkan spits hard, clearly unmoved.
Now the village division is official. Each rest day at the prayer house Halfai rants against the charlatan doctor and those blinded by his trickery. Eleazar hears this from one of his friends. “I’m still going to the prayer house every week. I have to or Father will beat me,” says one of them, “but in my heart I’m with you.”
Despite the weekly sermons against us, numbers continue to grow. Ide starts coming, even though it means she’s now shunned by Shoshanna and Imma as a result.
Summer draws to a close and the olive harvest is almost upon us. We need every last olive to make ends meet. If Eleazar and I work from dawn to dusk, and if Marta can take over my water-carrying duties, then we should just about bring in all the olives before the first frost.
“Do you think the apprentices would be willing to help us, just for a few days?” I wonder out loud, squeezing a low-hanging olive.
“It’s worth asking Elisheba,” says Eleazar, shrugging his robe off and clambering up the tree.
We work hard all day. Eleazar suggests that he beats the olives and I collect them, but I prefer the variety of labour and the satisfaction of knowing I’ve harvested an entire tree all by myself. We end up with more sacks than the donkey can carry, and leave half a sack nestled under a tree for tomorrow.
“I hope Marta has cooked generous portions,” says Eleazar, rolling his olive-spattered shoulders to ease the aching muscles. “I’m hungry, but I’m still looking forward to a swim in the brook more than supper.”
We get back and Marta answers the door. By the way her face is lit up, I realize immediately that Malchus is here.
“Any work for a day labourer?” he asks with a smile, as Eleazar runs at him and knocks him over with the ferocity of his embrace. “Don’t kill me,” he laughs. “And I don’t want olive stains on my travelling robe. I told you I’d come back.”
Malchus and Eleazar head straight down to the brook. “You go, too,” says Marta, presenting me with a nub of soap. “I can finish getting everything ready here. You must be just as tired and sweaty as El.”
After we’ve eaten, Malchus tells us the news. “Opposition to the teacher is growing amongst the religious leaders. I just can’t understand it. Why would anyone be against him? We’re moving from place to place, never staying in the same house twice, as we’ve heard rumours that they’re trying to arrest him.”
“For doing what? Curing people?” I say.
“He cured people on rest days. The holy men are saying it’s against the holy law. I know it’s stupid. They’re jealous and they’re afraid of him and of his power.”
“We must pray for him,” says Eleazar, and then he does. Afterwards, he tells Malchus about our own gathering and the opposition from Halfai.
“It’s the same wherever the teacher goes,” says Malchus. “Some oppose him and others follow.”
Malchus and Eleazar sleep in the covered kitchen area that night, and next morning we head tog
ether up to the grove. I can see that Marta wants to go with us, but she knows she can’t leave the apprentices alone.
When Malchus takes off his robe, I can’t help appreciating how healthy he is, but also how attractive. We harvest olives until midday and then break.
“Why didn’t Marta join us?” Malchus asks, cutting the block of cheese into slices.
“She’s got her carpet business and her apprentices to think of,” I say, “although I know she wanted to be here. She really enjoys your company.”
Malchus blushes and busies himself with the cheese. “And I hers,” he adds quietly.
If it were any other girl, I’d be jealous, but this is Marta, the most selfless person I know, and I decide that it’s time for me and Eleazar to have a little talk about how to help our sister. That evening I clutch my back and ask Eleazar to help me fetch water. We take our time, giving them some moments alone.
“I’m concerned about the harvest,” Eleazar says, once we’re all eating supper. “Marta, I think we need your help. When the apprentices come tomorrow, tell them that they can have a week off.”
The following evening, Marta informs us that the apprentices refuse to stay at home and want to help with the harvest.
This continues for the next few weeks, with rest days spent at Aunt Shiphra’s. Malchus teaches us now, and Eleazar and Yokkan are as eager as we are to hear the teacher’s new stories and teachings. We take two sacks of olives to Elisheba’s in gratitude for the help her daughters have given us.
The harvest is almost finished and I’m wondering what Malchus will do when it finishes. So – I suspect – is Marta. I stay behind on market day to buy salt for the olive brining, and Tauma lends me his camel to transport it back to the compound. I spend most of the morning packing the salt away in the storage room by the stable – not that there’s much room amongst the sacks of pomegranate skins and madder root which Marta uses for making dyes. I clean out the olive vats ready for the new harvest. I’ve been looking forward to some time alone but as I settle down to eat, I find that I’m missing the others and decide to go up and see them.
