Jerusalem's Hope (9 page)

Emet's blistered feet.

Nakdimon approached the problem brimming with good intentions after his long conversation with Yeshua of Nazareth. But in spite of his original plan, execution of the deed had taken on an extremely unpleasant aspect. The simple act of hiring a donkey to carry beggar boys to Jerusalem had become an arduous process.

“I won't take a penny less.” The traveling hawker ponderously wagged his massive head atop narrow shoulders. Tugging the drooping ear of his half-starved donkey, he added, “I took him in as payment of a debt. He's been useful. Gentle. Dependable. You wish to hire him, you say. To carry the boys to Yerushalayim, you say. Well, then. All right, I say. But what if he dies on the way? What if you are not truly Nakdimon ben Gurion, the nephew of Gamaliel? And when I go to the address you give me in Yerushalayim to get my donkey back you have absconded with my beast and I am left with nothing but what you paid to hire him?”

“For that price, he
should
be mine. Three times over!”

The hawker reddened. Clearly he was losing patience. “Not during Passover week! Two silver shekels for the hire of him! Two more in deposit, or your boys can walk on bloody stumps.”

“If you were a righteous man, you'd
offer
me the use of your beast for no pay whatsoever.” Nakdimon's ire was roused. “This is Passover. Such a deed is a
mitzvah,
is it not?”

“I'm a hawker, not a priest. With a donkey for hire!”

“Two shekels for the hire? And two shekels more for deposit! On a normal day I could buy three donkeys for that much. And in better condition!”

“In Yerushalayim he'll fetch twice what I'm asking.”

Nakdimon peered into the animal's mouth. “If he lives that long.”

A shrug. The hawker whined, “He's practically a colt. Five. Maybe six.”

Nakdimon knew the long yellow teeth indicated the animal had been carrying burdens for at least twenty years. “He's old enough to pay taxes.”

The hawker feigned injury. He sucked his blackened teeth petulantly. “Suit yourself. No one else in the khan is hiring out livestock. No one is selling. I happen to have taken a liking to your boys. That's why I make you this offer. The little lad with the bloody feet. How else will you carry him to Yerushalayim? He is your son. You must think of such things.”

“He's not my son,” Nakdimon started to explain but caught himself.

“Not your son? Then who . . .”

Nakdimon snapped a reply he had learned in Torah school. “Haven't you heard that to care for travelers is as great a matter as the reception of the Shekinah?”

The peddler fleetingly considered this wisdom and then shook his head. “No.”

“Or whenever a poor one stands at your door, the Holy One, blessed be his Name, stands at the right hand?”

“A lovely sentiment.” The fellow applauded weakly. “So. These boys are nothing to you. Just beggars, are they? A ticket to get in good standing with the Almighty?”

“What does it matter to you who they are? We are speaking of the price of your animal's hire. Here to Yerushalayim. You retrieve it at the end at my house. Nakdimon ben Gurion. You know my name. And everyone is satisfied, eh?”

“Pay me what I ask.”

“This will not stand well in the eyes of the Lord.”

“I'll take my chances.”

“The hooves are split.”

“If you are who you claim to be, you are a rich man. You can afford to hire ten donkeys. I'm a poor man. I offer you this deal and you insult my animal. As a matter of fact, according to your own proverb you insult the Almighty. You don't know. I may be an angel sent to travel to this khan to meet you! To test your generosity.”

Nakdimon knew well that the khan was packed to the brim with angels, prophets, holy men, pilgrims, rabbis, peddlers, spies, rebels, bandits, and thieves—all on their way to Passover. Whatever this fellow might be, he was not an angel.

But there was the donkey. A much more attractive creature than its master. Better teeth anyway. It was probably the lone beast of burden for sale or hire between Galilee and the Temple Mount.

“Last chance,” the thief bargained.

Nakdimon dipped into his purse and removed the coins. “You leave me no choice. For the sake of the boy's feet. But it's robbery.”

Decayed teeth flashed a solicitous grin. Grimy palm extended to collect the cash. “May the Eternal bless your honor! May you enjoy prosperity all your days for your generosity toward a poor man! You won't regret this! I will come to your door and collect my little beast.”

“And refund my two-shekel deposit.”

“Yes. Yes. Until then may he serve you well.” Thrusting the lead rope into Nakdimon's hand, the fellow scurried away to bilk another traveler out of hard cash.

“Religious holidays bring out the best in people,” Nakdimon grumbled. His uncle Gamaliel often said it was the duty of a righteous man to consider all men as if they were robbers but treat them as if they were the Messiah himself. Well, there was no doubt about this hawker. He was not the Messiah. But his donkey might well save some battered soles.

Nakdimon absently stroked the pitiful creature's thin neck as he gazed around the khan for the two boys for whom he had become protector and traveling companion. Then Nakdimon would go home to his children in Jerusalem. It really was not a bother. Probably not worth an honorable mention in the record book of the Almighty.

Never mind.

And there they were. Huddled beside a pillar. Striped robes as obvious as the clothes of a jester in the court of Herod Antipas. The Good Light and Truth. How could a man with any religious training turn away from performing a good deed on behalf of children with such names as these?

Hadassah would have taken them for angels. Human and grubby though they might have been, they would have been swooped up and bundled home for supper. She would have made certain they were apprenticed to an artisan in the market of Jerusalem before she let them go!

Two boys. Yes. Not angels. Yet the two had become three. Three dressed alike. Nakdimon clearly recognized the newcomer as one of the Jerusalem link boys! He was a Sparrow! A bit cleaner than when Nakdimon had last seen him. Yes. Better dressed too. But there was no doubt it was The Mourner. The boy who had refused to light his torch on the night of Purim after his friend Hayyim had been killed. How had he come to be in a khan filled with thieves and rebels this far north of Jerusalem?

Never mind. Avel was here. Avel was there. He shared the bread of Ha-or Tov and Emet. The trio were boon companions; that was plain enough.

With a practiced swipe along the sagging spine of the donkey, Nakdimon judged that the pathetic creature could carry three.

At least the straw for sale as bedding in the khan was fresh. New bundles had been brought in, in anticipation of the thousands who would pass through on the way to Jerusalem. Torches burned brightly, as if in welcome, but latecomers were turned away. There was no room left in the inn tonight.

Nakdimon would have received preferential treatment had he let it be known that he was one of the rulers of Israel. Instead he chose obscurity. Clothed in the garb of a commoner, he was able to listen in on the conversations of those around him. So far all popular sentiment focused on the hope that the Carpenter from Nazareth would wrest control from the high priest, the Sanhedrin, and Rome.

Nakdimon purchased a bushel of clean straw and sat down to share bread with Ha-or Tov and Emet. Avel was introduced as a brother who had been separated on the road.

Nakdimon warned them that tomorrow would be a long day if they were to make it all the way to the ford of the Jordan. The donkey would speed them along somewhat, but they would have to be on the road before first light. Emet and Ha-or Tov seemed content with this. They spread the additional bedding and were out cold the minute they lay down.

Avel stared at Nakdimon with suspicion and did not go to sleep with the others. At last the boy challenged Nakdimon. “I was a quarry Sparrow.”

“Yes,” Nakdimon acknowledged. “I remember. The Mourner. Avel. You carried a light for me on Purim.”

“Along with the other Sparrows.”

“So. You remember me as well.” Nakdimon was caught.

“I couldn't forget. You paid us all a penny each. Even me.”

“It was Purim.” Nakdimon leaned back against the wall. “What did you do with your penny?”

“Kittim, chief of the Sparrows, beat me and took it from me. So I left the quarry.” The boy's tone was one of unconcern. “I'm glad I left.”

“But you're going back to Yerushalayim?”

“No.” Avel considered him frankly. “Why are you dressed like a laborer?”

“It's safer.” Nakdimon pulled the hood of his cloak over his head against the chill.

“Safer than what?” Avel challenged.

“There are bandits on the road.”

“Why travel alone?”

“My companions left the Galil ahead of me. I stayed behind awhile.”

“You were in Capernaum. You were in the Galil. I saw you with Ya'ir, the father of Deborah. You were at the house when Deborah . . . fell asleep. You were there when Yeshua came and woke her.”

“How do you know this, boy?”

“We were in the barn . . . hiding. Deborah fed us. Hid us.”

“Hid you? From whom?”

“Bar Abba's men.”

“The rebel?”

“Deborah hid us from Kittim, Asher, and the others. Then she got sick. I climbed a tree and saw it. Saw you. The others. I saw what happened.”

“You were with the rebels?” Nakdimon studied this young witness in the flickering firelight. Perhaps it would be wise to keep tabs on him, in case testimony was needed before the council.

“Kittim was the one you drove away from Emet and Ha-or Tov today.”

“Bar Abba's men? Heading south?”

“What did you think?”

“Why did you leave bar Abba's gang?”

“We found Yeshua.”

“Yes. Everyone in the Galil has found him. And what did you see?” Nakdimon inquired.

“Deborah got sick. Yeshua came with his talmidim. He put everyone out of the house except her mother and father. A handful of others. And then she woke up.”

“She was . . . very ill.”

“Dead, I'd say.” The boy was matter-of-fact in his report.

“Yes. So it seemed.”

“You doubt it now that you're a few days down the road. But I saw what I saw. And you saw it too.” Avel covered his legs with the fresh straw. “What will you tell them?”

“Who?”

“The important men who give charity straw to the quarry Sparrows? The men who sit in the marble halls of the council chamber? The ones who sent you to bring a report?”

“You know a lot for a young boy.”

“I carried the torches through the streets of Yerushalayim for the likes of your honor. Such important men often talk in front of Sparrows as if we're deaf. Or very dumb. But we're not. And so ask a little bird what secrets there are in Yerushalayim. We can tell more than you think.”

“You're a clever lad. Would you like to come back to the city with me? Tell what you saw and heard to the learned rabbi Gamaliel?”

Avel shook his head firmly. “We're going to Beth-lehem.”

“Why Beth-lehem?” It was a curious choice for a destination. Beth-lehem was an inconsequential village, mostly inhabited by shepherds. It was near the place where Rachel, wife of the patriarch Jacob, died giving birth to the youngest of Jacob's children. Her tomb was there still.

“To Migdal Eder.”

“The Tower of the Flock? But why?” Nakdimon's interest was further aroused. There had always been a watchtower for the shepherds called
Migdal Eder,
ever since Jacob's day. Jacob, renamed
Isra'el
by the Lord God, had pitched his tents there, raised his flocks there, and reared his brood of twelve sons there.

“I have a message to carry to someone.”

“The message being?”

Avel shook his head. “I'm only to mention it to the one it's for.”

Nakdimon raised his eyebrows. “Well, then. Take your message to Beth-lehem and then come back to Yerushalayim. You give your report, and I promise I'll find an apprenticeship for you. What occupation would you like to learn?”

“I wanted to kill Romans. But I changed my mind.” Avel glanced down at Emet's bloody feet. “Maybe a shoemaker. I'd make Emet a pair of shoes to fit his feet.”

“Come along with me to the Holy City. Testify to what you saw in regard to your rebel friends and Yeshua, and I'll find you a position.”