The Galilean Secret: A Novel (12 page)
Read The Galilean Secret: A Novel Online
Authors: Evan Howard
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFTER A LONG DAY OF COOKING AND FORGING WEAPONS, JUDITH LAY IN THE TENT BESIDE DISMAS, waiting for his breathing to deepen so she could flee Qumran for Jerusalem. Staring into the darkness, she was haunted by the memory of Judas Iscariot’s treachery and unwelcome advances. The consequence of eloping with Dismas was that men like Judas perceived her as immoral and felt free to insult and humiliate her. Tears pooled in her eyes.
What did it matter that Barabbas had sent Judas to Mount Arbel? Without a public apology from him, the banishment couldn’t repair her damaged reputation. There was only one way for her to find hope for her life: admit her mistakes and throw herself on the mercy of those she had hurt—her parents, Gabriel’s parents and, most of all, Gabriel himself.
But did she have the courage to run away? A chill flashed down her spine at the thought of stealing a horse and riding into the night and the desert. She blinked to help her eyes adjust to the dark. Dismas grunted and rolled onto his back. Perhaps she should stay with him. What if the horse galloped and threw her? Or she could get raped by bandits or captured by soldiers. Even if she made it home, would her father turn her away or have her stoned?
She took another breath and fought the urge to weep. Gabriel came to mind and she pondered how different life would have been with him. Only his forgiveness would shine light into the darkness that engulfed her heart.
When Dismas’ heavy breathing signaled that he was deep into sleep, she drew back the blanket and crawled out from under it, her stomach heaving into her throat. After tying on her sandals she groped for the wineskin of water and the food that she had hidden in the back corner. When she located the bundle, she secured it and the wineskin to her waist with a belt of rope.
Dismas rolled over. Afraid he was waking, she became still and prepared to explain that she was up because she couldn’t sleep. Only when he quieted did she breathe easier and crawl toward the entrance. She wished Dismas and the Zealots well, and hoped their revolt would succeed, but she could no longer sacrifice her happiness for it.
A brilliant moon and a host of glittering stars brightened the windless night as she peeked out the tent flap. No one was stirring among the nearly twenty tents on the plateau. She crawled west, leopardlike, along the baseline of one tent after another, pausing at the front of each and peering in all directions. The lowest point in Judea was as quiet as the dawn of creation. The sentry would be circling the camp and keeping watch; she had to sneak past him. If she made the slightest sound, her plan would be ruined. It would be safest to flee when he was on the other side of the plateau. She waited for him to pass.
After several tense minutes, she heard footsteps, their gravelly crunch a rude intrusion into the night’s haunting stillness. She peeked around the side of a tent and saw that it was the guard, as she expected. The sentry this night was the burly Simeon of Bethany, his gait steady, his gaze moving from side to side.
He passed within twenty feet of her. She held her breath and waited until she could no longer hear footsteps, then she broke into the clearing that surrounded the camp. The corral was located outside this area, a tenth of a mile to the west. She passed through the open area and hid behind a large boulder at the head of the trail until she was sure no one was following her. Drawn by the scent of hay and manure, she came to the corral, which was wedged into a three-sided canyon of cliffs with a fence of wooden beams for the fourth side. All five horses had been stolen from the Romans. When a tawny stallion noticed her, it began to nicker and trot in circles.
Afraid that the sentry would hear the commotion, she moved quickly and picked up the rope that would serve as a bridle. She entered the corral, replaced the beams behind her and dug the honey-dried locusts out of the bundle. The sleek, charcoal-colored horse that she and Dismas had ridden from Jerusalem kept circling, bucking and snorting and braying. She put a finger to her lips. “Shh!” The horse wouldn’t calm down. She made a kissing sound and edged toward the animal, holding out the locusts. The horse reared up and clawed the air, braying loudly, but then caught a whiff of the honey and quieted. She breathed easier when the horse ambled over and began to eat from her palm.
While the horse was preoccupied, she slipped the bridle on him and used the locusts to coax him toward the gate. The horse resisted at first and started to rear up, but she pulled the rope taut and guided him out of the corral. After she had replaced the beams, she seized the horse’s mane, kicked her right leg up and mounted. The horse began to buck, but she held on.
Just then Simeon of Bethany came running toward the corral. “Get off that horse!” His yelling and waving spooked the animal. The horse kicked wildly, threw her to the ground and reared up over her. She could have been trampled had Simeon not grabbed the rope and taken control. He pulled the horse away and returned it to the corral.
When he stormed back to her, out of breath, he yanked her up by an arm. “You foolish woman. All the horses could’ve escaped and you could’ve been killed.” He tightened his grip. “I’m taking you to Barabbas.”
“Please, Simeon, no. I’m in enough trouble with him already.” She tried to remain composed but felt her voice breaking. “Won’t you please take me to Dismas instead? Can’t we just forget this ever happened?”
Simeon pushed her ahead on the trail and then caught up. “You’re nothing but a thief, and if Judas is right, a whore too. What would Dismas want with you now?”
She tried to run but Simeon was too fast. She had wanted to flee from Dismas, but now she would do anything, if only he would take her back.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Present Day
Love often does its work quietly, escaping the notice of inattentive souls. But it is always working. Always. The more we see life through spiritual eyes, the more aware we become of love’s unheralded acts of kindness, generosity, heroism. These acts often occur in unexpected places, among unlikely people. Never lose the capacity to be surprised by love. These surprises inspire true hope and lasting joy.
—Brother Gregory Andreou’s Journal
East Jerusalem
Wednesday, April 3
WHEN DOES A MAN KNOW HE’S FALLING IN LOVE? The question gnawed at Karim as he got off the elevator with Rachel and Brother Gregory and entered the pediatric cancer ward of Augusta Victoria Hospital. Karim noticed the apricot turtleneck that accentuated Rachel’s attractive figure, and how her lustrous auburn hair fell on her shoulders. He also observed how she charmed Brother Gregory. She had an engaging way of asking about his life as a monk, laughing with him and sharing her story of becoming a medical resident and peace activist.
Under ordinary circumstances, riding in an elevator with a woman would have meant little, but something about Rachel continued to fascinate Karim. She exuded such beauty and vitality that she brightened the faces of the sick children being wheeled around by nurses and parents. He hated feeling out of control—as if he had been stricken with a fatal disease.
This ward was the one place where, as a journalism student, he had witnessed harmony between Palestinians and Israelis. He had done a story about the children and doctors of this ward, and he particularly remembered the activities in the community room. Rachel had helped him in Bil’in and at her apartment. Now he wanted to show her a place where Israelis and Palestinians treated one another as equals and friends.
What he didn’t expect was trouble. It began when he recognized a couple he had known in Nablus—Ahmed and Jamilia Marzouqa, who were at the bedside of their son Emad. Karim tiptoed past Emad’s door and waved for Rachel and Brother Gregory to keep up, praying that the couple hadn’t seen him.
He remembered when the Marzouqas’ four-year-old son had contracted leukemia and when the family first received financial help from the PPA. This couple was so indebted to his father that they would like nothing better than to help Sadiq find his wayward son. Karim feared that if they saw him, they would call his father, who would alert Abdul Fattah to his whereabouts. If Abdul had tracked him to East Jerusalem, he could be nearby.
Seeing the Marzouqa family had caught Karim off guard, but as he led Rachel and Brother Gregory down the broad corridor, he realized it shouldn’t have. Augusta Victoria was the only hospital with a cancer ward for Palestinian children. Here he could easily encounter patients from Nablus or from any city in the West Bank.
Karim moved right so that a teenage girl pushing an IV pole could get by. Since they stepped onto the elevator, Rachel and Brother Gregory had done nothing but talk about the letter. The monk had not said anything about the original scroll, where Karim had found it or where it was now. Instead he had emphasized the truths contained in the letter—how they brought the fullness of historic Christian teachings to light.
As Karim dodged a bald-headed boy who was driving his wheelchair erratically, he heard Rachel say, “The letter’s revelation that Jesus struggled with his feelings for Mary Magdalene bothered me. If he was the Son of God, as Christians believe, wasn’t he above romantic temptation?”
Brother Gregory said, “According to orthodox church teachings, Jesus is fully divine
and
fully human. Some Christians deny the second part—at least in practice. By doing so they fall into a heresy called docetism—the idea that Jesus didn’t really have a body, that he only appeared to.” Karim listened closely as Brother Gregory went on, “The letter corrects this. It reveals that Jesus was as human as you or I. He experienced every feeling that we have, including sexual feelings, yet without sin. Christians who emphasize the divinity of Jesus may find this hard to imagine, but affirming his full humanity gives me more reverence for him, not less.”
Karim stopped them near the bustling nurses’ station as Rachel spoke with excitement. “If what Judith of Jerusalem writes is true—that Judas betrayed Jesus to Pilate before he went to the Sanhedrin—then her witness could help bring Jews and Christians together.” Rachel frowned. “Still, as a Jew, I believe that Jesus was human, not divine.”
After seeing the Marzouqa family, Karim wanted to hurry Rachel through the program in the community room and then leave as quickly as possible. He led her and Brother Gregory toward the end of the hallway, where children and their parents were gathering. “As a Muslim I also do not believe that Jesus was the Son of God,” Karim said. “Only Allah is divine and Muhammad is his true prophet.”
“I acknowledge the differences among our religions,” Brother Gregory said. “But the letter challenges us to find common ground. It illumines the depths of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Jesus is a teacher to us all, and the letter is truly prophetic in that it contains a powerful message that is as relevant today as when he wrote it.”
Karim stopped outside a child’s room. A woman who had her head covered with a yellow
hijab
sat at the bedside of a small, jaundiced boy. A tall doctor wearing a yarmulke was speaking to them. Karim moved and let Rachel peer in. “This is what I wanted you to see,” he said. “There are sick children all over this ward. Most of them are Palestinian, but the doctors are both Palestinian and Israeli. The only enemy here is disease.”
When they reached the community room, Karim held the door for a nurse with a little girl, perhaps five or six years old, in her arms. The girl’s head was bald, except for a few strands of long black hair on the sides. Her eyes were sunken, ringed with dark circles and perched above a gaunt face. Why did Allah allow such suffering? Sometimes Karim cried out the question with tears, but no answer came. When Rachel saw the girl, she shook her head sadly. Karim took her hand and moved inside the room.
The children sat in folding chairs or wheelchairs. Karim and Rachel followed Brother Gregory to the back, where they stood with a few doctors and nurses to watch the ebullient activities director lead the children in songs. The director, a short, attractive woman with curly chestnut hair, held a microphone and followed the music coming from a portable CD player.
Karim recognized several of the songs from his childhood and felt a pang of longing for his mother and her love of peace. He couldn’t think about his brief, happy time with her without tearing up, so he joined in the singing, as did the adults who knew Arabic. After each chorus, the director translated the song into English and invited everyone to sing. The blending of Palestinian and Israeli accents sent chills up and down Karim’s spine as they sang,
“When will there be peace on earth?
Peace that will last, for the children’s sake?
Oh, when will we be free from hate and fear?
The day must come when love, like the sun, shines in our hearts.”
One of the Israeli doctors suggested “The Song of Peace,” which had become popular in his country after Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated. When the activities director played the CD, Karim could hear Rachel’s voice rise above the others,
“Let the sun rise, and give the morning light
The purest prayer will not bring back
He whose candle was snuffed out and was buried in the dust. . . .
So sing only a song for peace
Do not whisper a prayer
Better sing a song for peace
With a great shout.”