Necessary Heartbreak (15 page)

As the man made his way up the street, a group of soldiers moved toward the procession. They swatted several people with the backs of their spears, knocking a child and a woman down. Despite the violence, the crowd rose up, blocking their path.

“Is that him? It can't be . . .,” Michael murmured, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

Turning to his left, he could see the bank of sewer grates just thirty yards away, and yet, Michael found himself running toward the man on the donkey. Throngs of people were behind him as he made his way down the street. Michael weaved in and out of the crowd. He could see clearly now that many were placing palms in the man's path.

Michael was moving farther and farther away from the tunnel and closer to a group of soldiers. But the excitement of the crowd engulfed him, overshadowing his fear.

“Jesus?” The word sprang to his lips, surprising him. It was as if some part of his being could make sense of this chaos before his mind could rationalize the reason. Somehow he knew this was Palm Sunday, described so precisely, yet inadequately, in the Bible. Now that he was experiencing this moment, he knew that the Bible didn't do justice to
the powerful, raw emotion of the crowds. He finally understood the act itself: Jesus' nonconfrontational response to the devastating show of force from the Romans, parading with their endless supply of gilded military might, in step with the drumbeat from the west. It began to dawn on Michael in a way that he had never fully understood how this moment truly defined Jesus' amazing character. He was so human and yet so divine in the same breath. It swept over him like a cresting wave. Before he knew it, he, too, was yelling, nearly screaming to get his voice heard above the roar of the crowd. “Jesus! Can you help me? Is Vicki okay?”

Michael found himself pushing harder between those around him. He was now within only a few yards of Jesus' humble advance.

“Halt,” yelled a disconnected voice from farther down the line.

“There he is, the one who ran from me before,” Marcus bellowed. Michael reeled around, recognizing the voice of the malicious Roman soldier. He was only a few yards away.

“Help me, Jesus,” Michael yelled, turning away from Marcus in terror.

“I will find her!” shouted Marcus, his advance clearing a wide path through the masses. “Grab him!”

Michael opened his eyes, seeing Jerusalem swirling around him. He looked down at his hand, where the piece of Elizabeth's T-shirt was cradled. In a moment of bravery, he sprinted wildly across the street, crudely tying the cloth to the sewer grate. Not wanting to leave, but feeling exulted that he had at least left a marker for his return, he scurried back across the street and in the opposite direction of the procession. He moved swiftly, but randomly, without any purpose or knowledge of direction.

And he didn't look back.

Leah glanced over, noticing how the ladder was casting a long shadow on the floor. It was getting dark and still he had not returned. They
had never eaten lunch, certain that they should wait for him. But soon the sun would set. She must feed the girl and find some way to calm her.

“Elizabeth,” she called out into the courtyard, “we'll set up an early dinner so that we'll be ready when your father returns.”

Elizabeth turned around, looking over at her from where she had been sitting under the fig tree. “It's dinnertime already? Where is he? We should have stayed there until we found him. We have to go back and try again.”

“I know. But it's not safe for you to go out alone. You saw how the soldiers treat us.”

“Then come with me,” Elizabeth said sharply as she walked into the house. “I won't be alone then.”

Leah smiled, remembering how independent she was at Elizabeth's age. “Your father may think you are just a girl, but in many ways you are a woman.”

“Then you will go with me?”

“No,” Leah said, wondering where he could be.

“Could he have been at the same parade we were at?”

“I don't know. But if he was, it's over by now.” Leah paused. “Your father feared for you and asked that we stay here. If he found out I let you go to town to find him, he'll be very upset.”

“Why would you listen to him?” asked Elizabeth, trying to work every angle she knew. “You don't even know him.”

“I don't know
you
. . . but I do care about your safety.”

Elizabeth stood quietly against the wall while Leah began preparing food for dinner. She offered Elizabeth a drink of water. She accepted, turning back to go into the courtyard.

“Would you like to bring the lamb as company for you?”

“What? I guess so . . .”

Leah moved past Elizabeth, opening the gate to the lamb's corral. She handed Elizabeth a basket of grain. “The lamb is probably hungry. Can you feed her? I need her to eat as much as possible.”

“Why?”

“I'm preparing the lamb for sacrifice. The Passover is coming this week, and I'm offering her up for the feast.”

Elizabeth was horrified. “You want me to help fatten up the animal so you can kill and eat it? I can't do that.”

Leah put her arm around Elizabeth. “I know you can. Please take care of the lamb while I finish dinner.”

Holding the basket, Elizabeth reluctantly lured the lamb out to where she had been sitting before under the fig tree. Here she could see the gate to the road. She sat looking out to the road feeling apprehensive that her father was lost and would not know the house when he passed it.
Maybe I should go now
?
He could be waiting for me near the tunnel. What if he's been caught? Then what will I do?

Elizabeth stared a few more moments until the lamb's cries disrupted her thoughts. She turned and faced the lamb, extending her palms. The lamb nibbled away at the grains in Elizabeth's hands while she whispered secretly to it, “Do you know where my dad is? He's been away so long.”

The lamb nuzzled up against her, its soft wool brushing against her arm.

“Oh, you're so soft,” she said, watching the gate for any movement. Elizabeth placed her head on the lamb's back, rubbing the animal affectionately.

She continued to stroke the lamb's back, redirecting it back to the food when it tried to turn away. “No, no, little lamb,” she said through a giggle, “stay over here and eat.”

Seeing Leah in the kitchen, Elizabeth called out, “Are you sure you want to kill this cute lamb?”

Leah smiled tenderly before turning toward the back wall of the house. She picked up a second basket and placed it inside the lamb's stall.

“Elizabeth, could you bring her over here, please?”

Elizabeth gingerly pulled the lamb in from the courtyard and directed her over to this new bucket filled with scraps. The lamb ate intently.

It's so cuddly, even though it's just another dinner for this woman.

“Put the gate in front of her.”

Elizabeth patted the lamb on the head, whispering softly, “Let me know if you see Dad, okay?”

As she closed the gate, she asked Leah, “When are you killing her?”

“We sacrifice the animal, not kill it.”

“It's the same thing,” Elizabeth replied, struggling with the leather-hewn latch.

“No, it is not,” Leah said, raising her voice slightly. “My husband was killed. I know when someone is killed.”

Elizabeth stepped away from Leah and leaned against the wall, never taking her eyes from the lamb. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were married.”

“Yes, I was, though not at your age. In many ways I was fortunate that I wasn't able to marry then, but had to wait until my family was able to arrange it.”

Leah turned back to the pot she was stirring. “Although I was older, it was a very good union, and these past two years have been difficult without him.”

“How did your husband die?”

“It's not important how it happened, but it did happen.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Elizabeth heard the soft breathing of the lamb, but thought she detected muffled sobs from Leah as she leaned over the pot. She couldn't tell for sure, so she looked at Leah, seeing that her hands were crossed over her heart.

“Are you praying?”

“Yes,” Leah said. “I am praying for your father's safe return.”

The streets were emptying, and Michael was beginning to relax. The threat of danger seemed less ominous. Before he was aware of any pain, he glanced down and saw that his sandals were torn and his heels were ripped and bleeding.

Panting, he looked around and spied what appeared to be an abandoned building. He pulled at the broken gate, walking quietly through the littered courtyard and into a dark corner in the rear of the house. Slumping down, he tugged at his sandals, but his fingers were too tired to unbuckle the straps.

On the back of his right heel, a blister had popped and a gash had developed, but this didn't concern him. He thought he might just rest for a few moments. He had barely slept the night before up on Leah's roof, and so now, without planning it, he closed his eyes.

A brisk wind pleasantly chilled his face as the ocean waves sprayed over the makeshift barriers protecting the boardwalk. He saw a tangled flag wrapped tightly around the tall metal pole in front of the vacant snack shop. Seagulls tried to navigate safe landings below as the gray winter sky threatened with a sweet smell of snow.

As he and Elizabeth walked under the pavilion, a blast of wind hit them.

“Hold up a sec, kiddo.” Michael pulled Elizabeth's hood up over her head and zipped her jacket to her chin.

“I'm not a baby, Dad. I'm going to be fifteen next year.”

“Yeah, well, you're always going to be my baby.”

They walked down the steps to the boardwalk. “Which way are we headed today?”

“Let's keep the wind to our backs,” he said, turning east.

As they strolled along the wooden planks, the whistling wind obscured the sound of their footsteps. The sea grass danced around them and carried the spray from the crashing waves up onto the shore. He pulled Elizabeth close to him.

Alone in the distance a woman was struggling to maintain her pace against the changing direction of the wind. Elizabeth shuddered when a sudden flurry of snow struck her face.

“I thought you said we were moving with the wind to our back?”

“I guess it changed. Let's keep walking anyway.” His eyes were focused on the figure ahead.

As he tried to move more rapidly, the wind's power seemed to increase. He could see the woman had stopped and they were gaining on her. She looked familiar.

The fierce wind caused him to squint. Although it was difficult to see her, he was mesmerized by how the woman's scarf was dancing in the wind. It seemed to be unraveling, snapping like a snake trying to fend off a predator.

Elizabeth pulled tighter on his coat jacket. They were nearing the woman, but as they did so, the wind swirled around them, whipping at their pant legs. Elizabeth moved behind her father, burying her face into his back.