Alabaster

by Chris Aslan

  “Yokkan will find him. He promised that he’d come and he will.”

  I shook my head in disgust, and then Eleazar’s friends knocked on the compound door. Their robes were torn and their heads covered in ash. They’d come with a wooden pallet to carry their friend to his final resting place.

  I had put hope aside and knew that this was the last time I would be with my brother. I began to keen as I saw the grief-stricken faces of my brother’s friends. I tore at my hair and my tunic, throwing dirt over my head, and fell into the arms of neighbours as mourners gathered to lift the rigid body of my brother onto the pallet.

  Then Halfai showed up. For a moment I thought he had actually come to do his duty as holy man and accompany the body to the tombs and recite prayers over it. Then I saw the triumphant look on his face.

  “Tell me if this isn’t the hand of God upon those who’ve lost their way? Where’s their false teacher now? Where is this power they speak of?” he mocked.

  He probably would have carried on like this for longer if I hadn’t launched myself at him, my hands, well-practised in scratching, aiming for his eyes. He stumbled back as Elisheba and several other women restrained me.

  “You see what they’re like, the doctor’s followers?” he said, trying to recover his composure. Aunt Shiphra bundled him out of the compound before he could say more.

  It was Aunt Shiphra who led the prayers as the pallet was lowered beside the open cave. Cured Mariam sobbed into her mother’s breast. Ide had come as well, and just stared blankly ahead of her. Marta found me and took me into a fierce embrace. “This is not the end,” she whispered. She wasn’t even weeping. Almost of its own accord, my neck began to crane, looking around for plumes of dust or some sign that the doctor was on his way. There was nothing. Like I said, hope is tiring.

  I should have entombed all hope with my brother as the main stone was rolled into place and sealed with mud to prevent vermin from getting in. Still I craned my neck for him. Still I was disappointed.

  I keep trying to kill hope in my heart but it seems lodged and persistent like a splinter beneath a fingernail. It won’t leave me in peace to grieve for my brother, but nor do I have the hope that Marta has. I also feel despair and disillusionment. I hadn’t realized how much the teacher and all he taught us had affected my life and the choices I was making, but now I don’t know what to believe or who to trust.

  My thoughts are interrupted as Aunt Shiphra sits down and then Marta stands up. She never usually speaks aloud at our weekly gatherings, and people shift on their seating mats, interested. “Last week El – Eleazar – told us the story of the two sons and the loving father. He told us to think about the two sons over the week so that we could discuss the story again today.” She looks so calm. You’d never know she’d just lost her brother, although I can see from the way she clenches her jaw that there’s more going on beneath the surface. “But I’ve been thinking about the father,” she continues. “Eleazar told us how the father ran to meet his lost son. But what did he do before that? He went outside and he waited. Every day he sat and waited, not knowing if his son was even alive or would ever come home. He waited in hope. I wait in hope. We wait in hope.”

  There’s a ripple of agreement and one or two people dab their eyes. I admire Marta right now, but I also think she needs to learn when to let go and accept what has happened. It’s noon and everyone unwraps their bundles of food to add to the floor cloth. We didn’t bring anything, and anyway, I have no appetite.

  I pick at some bread, which I dip in cold mint tea until it softens. My throat still feels hoarse from keening and I’m finding it difficult to swallow.

  After midday meal, there is a lot of praying. I collect some of the plates as an excuse not to take part, and then curl up beside the clay oven in the kitchen area and nap. Hope has exhausted me.

  The next morning, Elisheba comes round early with her girls. “Don’t worry, we’re not here to weave,” she says. “Here. Fresh herb pastries with the first of this year’s greens.” She whips off the cloth with a flourish and a cloud of steam, and sits down to join us.

  I listlessly pick one up, but it’s been so many months since I ate fresh greens that after a nibble I find my appetite returning, and I’m soon on my second. There’s a knock at the door and Sholum goes to answer it for us. It’s Malchus. He’s panting and out of breath.

  “The teacher’s coming,” he says as Marta leaps up and runs to him. “Come, meet him on the main road. He’s here to see Eleazar.”

  Marta hugs Malchus and begins to weep.

  “Quickly,” says Malchus. “You need to come now if you’re going to see him alone before the village mobs him.”

  Marta glances at me. “Miri?” I shake my head. She can go if she wants. I’m eating my pastries. Let the teacher wait for us,;we’ve waited long enough for him.

  “Mariam, go with your sister,” Elisheba urges. “He’s here!”

  I take another measured bite and then say, “My brother is in the grave, which is, at least, a step up from my father, whose body has probably been torn apart and fought over by wild dogs. Both of them put their hope in the teacher. Both are dead. Tell me, Elisheba, why should I rush off to the teacher, eh?”

  I’m being rude. Elisheba seems about to say something but then doesn’t.

  “Would you like some tea?” I ask, wiping crumbs from my mouth and getting up to blow on the embers of our stove, feeding it with a few dry twigs to get it started again. Elisheba looks uneasy, but takes the bowl I offer her. “It’s dried mint, I’m afraid, although we should have fresh mint again in a week or two.”

  Some neighbours come by. “We didn’t want you to be alone,” they say, peering around for Marta. Then Cured Mariam and her mother join us. I make everyone tea. Elisheba tries to make conversation with the women.

  Marta returns to the compound, panting heavily. She nods to the women, who stare at her curiously, and calls me over to her. “Miri, please come. The teacher is asking for you.”

  “Why did he come too late?” I say.

  She tries to keep her voice down, but she can’t help being excited. “It isn’t too late. Do you know what he told me just now? ‘I am the rising.’ He will bring our brother back from the dead – I know he will. He is the rising. Come.”

  She waits for hope to rekindle on my face, but it doesn’t. Then with a small sigh of exasperation she grabs my hand, dragging me onto the street, and we run. We run down to the well, ignoring the curious stares. It’s market day and we run past stallholders setting up. There are sheep for sale everywhere and more stalls than usual because this is the last market day before our biggest religious festival, and those sheep will soon be sacrificed.

  We run past boys skimming stones at the brook, past the tree where Father used to meet us and past the spot where Rohel was stoned. I’m beginning to tire. I look up and see the teacher surrounded by a much smaller group than last time. His face is drawn in exhaustion. I scramble to a halt in front of him. I look at his expression of sorrow, and any hope that welled in me as we ran departs like smoke in the wind. It’s too late for the teacher to help Eleazar, and somehow Marta has misunderstood him. Look – he’s weeping. He came too late; what else can he do but weep?

  I collapse at his feet, trying to regain my breath. “You’re too late,” I say. “If you’d been here my brother wouldn’t have died.”

  Then I just sit in the dust, taking a handful and throwing it over my head. It’s over.

  “Mariam, take me to him,” whispers the teacher. His voice is husky with hurt. What else is there to do? I don’t really want to watch him weeping for the friend he loved and could have saved if he’d just come earlier. I don’t understand where his power has gone. He looks tired, powerless, and defeated. As we walk, I even begin to doubt whether I saw him cure so many of the sick. It seems he can cure everyone except those I love. For them, he’s always too late.

  I walk and I begin to weep.

  As we make
our way along the foothills of the olive groves towards the rocky outcrop littered with caves where we bury our dead, a hand steadies me and I realize that Elisheba has followed me down. We come to our family cave, and seeing the finality of this enormous rock before us, I kneel down, weeping harder, so desperately sad for all the years of hate and estrangement between me and Eleazar; so brief a time of reconciliation and love. My brother is gone. Someone kneels down beside me, weeping. It’s the teacher.

  I glance back and see a crowd forming behind us. Some of our gathering have moved forward and as they see the teacher cry, they also understand that he has come too late and that there’s nothing to be done. They start to cry too. I don’t notice Yokkan until he throws himself against the stone and howls. He beats at the rock with his hands, and some of the teacher’s apprentices drag him back before he does himself permanent damage.

  The teacher gets up and stumbles back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Open it,” he says, looking at the stone. His apprentices look at each other with uncertainty.

  “Master, he’s been in there for four days,” says Marta. “There’ll be a smell.”

  “I told you to believe and you’ll see the glory of God,” says the teacher, his voice filling with power.

  Yokkan is the first to chip at the mud seal and then other men join him and they heave the stone, rolling it to one side of the cave entrance. We’ve all put our sleeves to our noses, bracing ourselves for the stench.

  The teacher lifts his head up, addressing the heavens. “Father, thank you that you have always heard me,” he cries. “I know you always hear me, but I pray this now for those here so that they believe that it’s you who sent me.”

  There is silence. Our eyes are all fixed on the teacher as he walks towards the darkness of the cave mouth. “Eleazar,” he shouts. “Come out!”

  I can’t breathe; I can’t do anything but watch. The teacher stands there, his chest heaving from emotion, and we peer at the darkness. Nothing.

  One or two people begin to whisper but are silenced by others. My stomach clutches and I don’t know how I feel; mainly a sense of futility, but with a stubborn wisp of hope. Then we gasp as a hand fumbles along the side of Mother’s ossuary. The hand is bound in linen strips. Then something stumbles forward into the light. A woman shrieks and faints, and others begin to cheer.

  “Take off the face covering,” says the teacher. Yokkan tugs at it. It falls, revealing Eleazar’s pallid face squinting against the bright sunlight, looking as if he’s just woken up.

  Marta, Yokkan and I launch ourselves at him at the same time, almost knocking him over as we cling to him, weeping and laughing. The loops of linen cloth moult off him as we kiss him and then grab on to him again, desperate for his touch to assure ourselves that he’s not a ghost.

  “Take off the shroud,” the teacher laughs, and Malchus tugs at it, loosening it until Eleazar is left shivering and covering himself. Yokkan quickly shrugs out of his robe, and once Eleazar has put it on, he kneels and tenderly ties it, weeping unashamedly.

  Eleazar looks behind him at the cave. He’s disorientated. “Where am I? What happened?” he says.

  He doesn’t get a reply because his friends rush forward and then he’s being carried on their shoulders through the crowd. Everyone shouts, “He’s alive, he’s alive!”

  It’s all a bit too much for me; the running, the weeping, the sorrow turned to joy and before that the pastries. I clutch my stomach, turn, and vomit. Elisheba pats me on the back and says with a chuckle, “If you’d only listened to me, my girl! I told you to go with your sister.”

  When I look up, Eleazar has gone. The crowd have lifted up the teacher onto their shoulders as well, and we see him and the back of my brother bob along in front of us as everyone makes their way back to the village. I feel a twinge of irritation. My brother has just come back to us and I want him all to myself and want to tell the crowd to go and celebrate somewhere else. But this bringing back from death belongs to all of us. It’s our miracle, and I remind myself that the gift of life is a gift of another chance, and that there will be many more days that I’ll have together with my brother.

  I’m emotionally used up, and lean heavily on Elisheba, still feeling queasy, as the crowd moves forward. Someone starts singing one of our holy songs of praise, and then everyone joins in. It’s a raucous affair.

  Eventually the crowd arrive back at the village. I wonder if we’re going back to our compound and crane my head, trying to find Marta. Instead, the crowd carry Eleazar and the teacher up to the well and then to the prayer house. Anyone who wasn’t at the tomb soon hears about what happened, and the crowd grows in size and volume. People jostle to touch Eleazar’s feet, to catch some of this extraordinary blessing. Stallholders come to the prayer house with food offerings for Eleazar and the teacher, and people dash home to their compounds, emerging with a jar of honey or a bowl of raisins. A makeshift banquet blooms before us. I see Halfai. His eyes widen at the sight of Eleazar. Then he spits and turns away.

  I keep looking for Marta and then see her laughing with Yokkan and Malchus. It seems as if everyone is in the square or the prayer house, laughing and clapping. One or two youths are presented with coins by stallholders and dispatched to outlying smaller villages to tell the sick that the doctor has returned.

  A crust of vomit has dried on my sleeve. I haven’t bathed or changed my clothes since Eleazar became sick and I need some space to think and just want to feel clean. I head back to the compound where the remaining pastries are still fresh. I touch one in amazement; while it was still warm my brother was dead. I’m struck by the immediacy of everything and laugh quietly to myself in amazement.

  I wave off the flies and help myself to a few more pastries, grab a nub of soap and a clean tunic and then take the long way round to the brook, skirting the village. I’m alone and relish the cold of the water against my skin. I wash briskly, as the water is chilly. My wrists open and bleed a little in the water. Then, I sit beside the brook surrounded by fresh green reeds and comb the knots out of my hair. When I’ve finished here, in the tranquillity and peace, I raise my hands and I begin to praise God, thanking him for the teacher and asking him to forgive my unbelief. Eventually I stop praying but remain there for a little while longer, with just this feeling I’ve never had before.

  I’m about to emerge from the reeds when I see Ishmael striding purposefully beside the brook towards the main road. He wears a travelling cloak but there are no sheep with him. Then I see Halfai hurrying behind him, trying to keep up. I wait until they’ve gone before I emerge.

  I drop my dirty tunic off at home and then wander down to the celebrations at the square. One of the women watching from the sidelines turns suddenly and I almost collide with her. It’s Imma. We look at each other awkwardly for a moment. Her baby must be due any day now, judging by the size of her.

  “I’m glad your brother is alive again,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I say. Annoyingly, my eyes glass over with tears and I rub them away. It seems my brother’s not the only one who has come back from the dead, as far as Imma is concerned. “May God make you a happy mother,” I add. “Why don’t you ask the teacher to bless you and your child?”

  Imma smiles shyly. “I’d like to, but between Ishmael and my father…” She beckons me to step back where we can’t be heard. “I don’t want anyone to see us talking,” she whispers. “But you need to get your brother out of here. It’s not safe for him or for the doctor. Ishmael and Father have gone to the capital to tell the authorities where the doctor is. They must leave before dawn.”

  “Thank you.” I squeeze her hand.

  “You didn’t hear this from me,” she says, and then she’s gone. I push myself into the throng. The village wedding band has started playing in the main square and women are dancing around the well. I spot Elisheba holding hands with her girls as they dance. The shepherd who used to have a squint, whose name I can never remember, is butchering one of hi
s largest rams for the feast. I scan the square and then see Marta and Malchus laden with sacks, leaving one of the stalls.

  “Just in time,” Marta smiles and dumps one of the sacks in my arms. “No one expected payment. We’ve got pistachios, almonds, raisins, dried figs. Everyone will come back to our home once the feast is over, and we’ll still need to serve them something.”

  “Are we going home now?” I ask.

  Marta nods. “Is everything alright?”

  I shake my head and she understands and asks no more questions until we close the compound door behind us. I explain everything. “We have to warn the teacher.”

  “The authorities have been trying this for a while,” says Malchus gravely. “But each night we stay somewhere different. It’s worked so far, but you saw how tired the teacher is. We can’t carry on like this. I’ll bring him here.”

  Malchus slips out and I force Marta to sit down and eat a few pastries while I climb up to the upper room and dismantle the looms. She joins me and we start sweeping.

  The teacher and Malchus return just as we’ve laid out our best carpets. I hurry down the ladder and wash their feet. “How did you get away?”

  Malchus smiles and says enigmatically, “When the teacher doesn’t want to be seen, he isn’t seen.”

  I don’t really understand, but lead them to the upper room while Marta prepares tea.

  I tell the teacher what Imma told me and he listens. “Tonight I want you to take Eleazar to visit your family up north,” he says to Malchus. “You should stay there for a week. That will be enough time, and then it will be safe for you to return.”

  Malchus nods.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you go with them?”

  “No,” says the teacher. “Tonight I head for the capital.”

  “But they’re trying to arrest you,” I say.

  The teacher is quiet for a moment and then he turns to Malchus. “Would you mind seeing if the tea is ready?” he says.