Centurion: Mark's Gospel as a Thriller (11 page)

"Where has he been?" I ask Miles.

"He left early this morning, before the sunrise. He went to a quiet place for prayer."

"He does that often," Maria adds. "He wanders into the desert alone to find his energy, to pray for guidance."

Miles nods. "He
needs
the time to himself. He gets mobbed wherever he goes. It never ends."

"I don't understand how a man can get so famous," I say. "He's not even ordained in the True Religion, is he?"

Maria shakes her head. "No, he's never sought academic or religious credentials. But he doesn't need them."

"That's ridiculous. Why not?"

"Because," Miles says, "he
is
religion." He shakes his head. "There's simply no other way to describe him. He is, simply, the way."

"Yes," Maria says. "That's it exactly. He is the way—
our way home"

I don't understand how any person can
be
religion, so I decide to drop it. "Whatever you two say." I reach for another piece of bread. I could eat all night.

Petra arrives and says, "Look who I found wandering the streets alone!" He gives the Teacher a rowdy shove and tousles his short, messy hair. The Teacher gives it right back to him, stealing a bottle of wine and tossing it to one of the students on the ground. "I told him," Petra continues, "that everyone's been looking for him! And you know what this guy says?"

The Teacher grins and says, "Then let's leave."

The group roars with laughter.

"I'm serious!" the Teacher says, laughing at his own joke. "It's time to move on. We have work elsewhere."

"Where?" Petra asks.

"Neighboring towns," the Teacher says. "I must proclaim the message there as well. It's why I came."

Miles asks, "When do we leave?"

The Teacher looks our direction; his eyes fall on me. "Who's our guest?"

"This is Deacon," Maria says happily.

I stand and discover the Teacher is even smaller than I realized. I tower over the man. I offer him my hand, and he takes it. "It's an honor to meet you," I tell him. "I've heard much about you."

"Don't trust a word of it," he says.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, look at this crew. Have you ever seen a more awkward group of misfits in your life?"

I laugh. "Well...now that I've met their leader, it all makes sense."

Miles chokes on a piece of bread.

But the Teacher laughs. "Deacon, right?"

"That's right."

"Welcome, my friend. What brings you to this place? You look far too refined to have been in the South for long."

Maria says, "That's actually what we need to discuss with you, Teacher. Perhaps Deacon and I can speak to you in private?"

"Of course." He reaches for some wine. "But Deacon should know, straight away, that there's no need for secrets. We're all one in this place; one concern is all concern. No burden is borne in isolation."

"That's very kind of you," I say. "I couldn't agree more. It'll take all of us sacrificing to achieve freedom. We must put the good of the country before personal ambition."

"Yes," the Teacher agrees. "There will be no drum majors in this war, only servants."

Thus far the Teacher isn't what I imagined him to be. From what Maria said, I pictured a weak-bodied intellectual who didn't understand what this fight would demand. But I sense a fierce spirit in this man. He may be small physically, but his eyes burn with the passion of a warrior.

"I'm in trouble," I say. "Maria too."

"Aren't we all?" The Teacher motions to the group. "Everyone here has left the safety of home to follow this path."

"I struck a bank guard," I say. "I broke his nose badly."

"Yeah, you did!" Petra cheers, nodding his approval.

The men laugh but not the Teacher, who says, "Go on."

"It's all been taken care of," Jude interrupts. "I smoothed things over at the bank. There's no warrant for Deacon's arrest, and I highly doubt the Kingdom is searching for Maria. She's of no real consequence."

"Thanks, Jude," Maria says.

"You know what I mean," Jude says.

"But still," the Teacher says, "we can't be too careful. The Centurion Guard doesn't need much of an excuse to take us all away."

"That's right," Miles interjects. "There's already a rumor the Baptist's days are numbered. The Kingdom is growing impatient with anyone who speaks against its rule."

"Who's the Baptist?" I ask.

"My mentor," the Teacher says. "He's my closest friend and confidante—a great man."

"I look forward to meeting him."

"You won't."

"Why not?"

"He's in prison," the Teacher says. A hush falls across the group. "You must be peaceful, Deacon. Violence is not the answer right now."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Jude tells the Teacher. "But this kid's got a thick head." The Teacher nods at Jude.

"Violence isn't the answer?" I say. "You mean, like, for the moment?"

The Teacher takes a long look at me before speaking. "What do you hope to accomplish by way of the sword?"

I huff. "Well, first off I don't plan on using a sword. I prefer to bring guns to a firefight."

The Teacher turns away from me and addresses the group. "All of you! What do you see happening if you go to war against the Kingdom? What would success look like? Tell me. I want to know."

Petra rises to his feet. "With them dead. With our people liberated. With the Centurion Guard driven out of our land!" He makes a fist and strikes his own breast. "With victory!"

Petra's answer is met with impassioned "hurrays." Others hiss their dissent.

"Each of you must decide his or her own way," the Teacher says. "All I ask is that you consider the consequences of your actions. Ask yourself what you expect from challenging the military might of the Kingdom. Be reasonable and measure the weight of its cost."

"The weight will be heavy," I tell him. "No doubt about that. But it's worth it. Freedom is worth any price."

The Teacher furrows his dark eyebrows. "Is it?"

"Yes!" I say.

"And what will you do, Deacon, with your invaluable freedom?"

I start to tell him I won't be around to enjoy my freedom, that I have no illusions of still breathing when this war is over. But with Maria standing at my side, I can't bring myself to utter such depressing truths. "Nothing special," I say. "Just...to live in peace." I reach for Maria's hand and squeeze it tightly. My palms are laden with sweat.

The Teacher says, "I've dedicated what's left of my life to a single mission, Deacon."

"Me too."

"The time is fulfilled," he says slowly, "and the kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news."

"Teacher?" Petra interrupts. "There's a man here to see you."

he Teacher turns away from me and moves toward Petra, who gives a wide berth to the man asking for the Teacher. The stranger wears an oversize robe that covers his body from head to toe. There's a veil across his face. Not an inch of his skin is exposed to the air. The only signs of humanity are his eyes, and they're horribly bloodshot.

"So," I say to Maria, "I've met the famous Teacher."

She grins. "Isn't he wonderful?"

"If you say so."

"Give him time," Miles says. "I wasn't an immediate convert either. He's enigmatic, to put it mildly. Give him a chance."

"He speaks of God's kingdom," I say. "What does he mean by that?"

"The boys argue a lot about it," Maria says. "Some think he's speaking of the afterlife."

"And the others?"

"It's his vision," Miles says, "of what could be
now,
of what life might look like if we choose this other way to live."

"Which nobody actually understands," I say. Miles and Maria share a look, wordlessly communicating a message to which I'm not privy. "I'm right, aren't I? None of you gets it, but you're pretending because you
want
to understand."

"Like I said," Miles says gently, "it takes time."

"Well, time is what I most definitely don't have."

Petra's voice breaks urgently into our conversation. "Teacher! No! You mustn't! It's not safe."

We drop our bread and rush to find the Teacher pulling the hood off the stranger. His face is grotesque. It's covered in sores; puss oozes from his eyes, nose, and ears. Open wounds litter his skin, the pockmarks stinking so badly
that we have no choice but to pinch our noses. One of the men vomits. I nearly do the same. I've never seen anything so disgusting. The man looks ancient, as if he were exhumed from a thousand-year-old grave and brought back to pungent life.

"What is that?" I say, turning away, unable to look any longer.

"That
is a man, Deacon," Maria says.
"That
is a human being."

I turn around slowly, the putrid odor wafting over me like a plague. It takes all of my composure to remain standing, to keep my focus on the baffling scene playing out before me.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask.

"He's a leper," Miles says.

Of course I, of all people, should have recognized it. Eradicated years ago, the disease returned to the South when foreigners came to this region from the Far East.

"What's he doing here? Lepers aren't permitted within city limits. He could infect us all. There are no medications left in the South to treat leprosy. He needs to be in a colony; he needs to be isolated."

Maria ignores my concern and moves closer to the Teacher, who has now taken the man's deformed face into his bare hands. He's saying something but speaks too softly for anyone but the leper to hear. Against my better judgment, I draw closer, eager to know what's happening. I know I shouldn't do this, but I can't stop myself from following Maria. I can't believe the Teacher is
touching
a leper. It's insane.

The other men's faces are splattered with fear, and they're inching away from the Teacher and the leper. Only Maria and I move closer. I glance back at Jude, who shakes his head in dissent.

But I can't stop.

Maria was wrong. The leper's face isn't human. He looks like a monster from my worst nightmares. His eyes are sunken into his head, and his nose is unrecognizable—twisted and collapsed. I can't see his nostrils.

The leper falls to his knees, and the Teacher slows his fall as the man's legs fold in unnatural directions beneath his body. They're little more than a mangled mess of gangly, rotting flesh.

"It's not just his skin that's ravaged," Maria informs me. "The disease has destroyed his muscles too."

"This man has the most severe form of leprosy," I tell her. "That's why there are bumps on his face. The disease is advanced. He doesn't have long to live."

Maria looks askance at me. "How do you know that?"

"I studied medicine in the West."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Supposed to be."

Maria slips her arm around my waist. "What happened?"

"I came home."

"If you choose," the leper says hoarsely to the Teacher, "you can make me clean."

The Teacher squats on the ground, his face inches from the leper's wounds. Then he does the unthinkable; he kisses the man softly on the forehead, his left cheek, and once more on his right cheek. "I do choose," he says, weeping in the arms of the dying man. The Teacher then whispers into the leper's deformed ear, "Be made clean."

I look sideways at Maria. "How can he say that? He shouldn't promise such things. There's no cure for this man, not here in the South."

The Teacher stands without offering his hand to the leper. Instead he orders the man to stand. The leper obeys, springing from the ground with strength he didn't possess minutes ago. His eyes, which were bloodshot, are now clear as the morning sky. Even the leper's skin has begun to change from an ashy white to a healthy rose. Most notably, however, is the absence of the man's odor. I once again smell the magnolia blossoms of the park. The leper's face is still scarred, but puss no longer oozes from it.

"What the...?"

"Now," the Teacher says sternly, "tell no one what I have done, but go and show yourself to the religious authorities and offer your cleansing as a testimony to them."