The Galilean Secret: A Novel (30 page)
Read The Galilean Secret: A Novel Online
Authors: Evan Howard
The secrets of life were flowing through this Galilean rabbi! Gabriel wanted the qualities that Jesus was describing—the self-love that would free him from comparing himself to others; the inner knowledge that assured him of God’s presence; the grace and courage to persevere through any struggle; the freedom from attachment that would bring him joy.
Reading the letter, Gabriel no longer wanted to strive for riches or pleasure, for knowledge, success or fame. Rather, he would strive for God’s kingdom, believing that all good things would come to him. Now he knew what Dismas lacked: the rebirth that could free him from his violence. He also wondered about Judith. How much had the letter changed her? Was she ready to ask his forgiveness? If so, could she truly love him? Or would she abandon him as soon as she no longer needed him?
“Gabriel ben Zebulun! Is Gabriel ben Zebulun here?” A man was yelling loudly enough for Gabriel to hear in the storage room. The voice sounded so insistent that he rolled up the scroll and rushed to see who was calling. He was surprised to see Judith’s father.
“What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked.
“You must come with me tomorrow morning,” Nathan said.
“Come with you? Where?”
“The Romans have arrested Judith and thrown her into prison. A friend of hers—Mary Magdalene, she called herself—came to my shop to tell me. She said that Judith broke into the home of Nicodemus ben Gorion, a member of the Sanhedrin, and the Romans have arrested her for robbery.”
Gabriel stared at him wide-eyed. “Nicodemus was just here—he said nothing about this.”
“It just happened; he didn’t know.” Nathan grabbed Gabriel by the shoulders. “With all the criminals in that prison, I fear for her. I have arranged for us to meet with the governor in the morning. We must get her out.”
Before Nathan had finished his sentence, Gabriel knew he would go with him, and that he would bring the scroll. He prayed that Pilate would show Judith mercy. He could not imagine all she had been through.
Or that a Roman jail would likely become the place where they would meet again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Present Day
The belief that love brings happiness is only half true. The bonding of two souls as one produces a rare form of bliss. But this isn’t the whole story. Dark moods can set in. Arguments happen. Sickness or tragedy intrudes. Everything from household duties to the most intimate of matters must be negotiated. To give one’s heart to another person is to bear a cross. No one loves without suffering. Making a relationship work demands one’s deepest maturity and strongest resolve. In order to succeed, remind yourself daily that love is not about happiness. It’s about the evolution of the soul.
—Brother Gregory Andreou’s Journal
Nablus
Saturday, April 13
KARIM ENTERED HIS FATHER’S STUDY, CLOSED AND LOCKED THE DOOR, AND SLID A METAL FILE CABINET IN FRONT OF IT. In the Mercedes, on the sixty-three kilometer drive north from Jerusalem to Nablus, he had hoped this moment would come. After spending the day in his bedroom down the hall, guarded by Abdul Fattah, he had sneaked out when Abdul momentarily left his post.
Eager to e-mail Rachel after five days of home confinement, Karim sat down at his father’s cluttered desk and switched on the computer. Words of lament swirled in his mind. He had lied to Rachel by withholding the truth. He had failed her as a friend and partner for peace. Worst of all, he had lost her love and respect.
He glanced up at a framed photo of his mother on the shelf above the desk. She wore a green
hijab
and stared out with piercing ebony eyes. He tried to look away but couldn’t. In his mother’s austere face he saw great pain and even greater depth.
He wanted neither.
Not if gaining the depth meant suffering the pain.
What he longed for as he logged in to his e-mail account was the pure joy of Rachel’s kisses, the thrill of her touch, the delight of her embrace. But perhaps he had no choice but to walk his mother’s path. They had both fallen in love with people whose understanding of faith conflicted with theirs, and such relationships always involved pain.
He typed Rachel’s name, wondering if his love for her was so powerful because it was forbidden. He glanced at the gold ring that had once belonged to his mother. She couldn’t leave Sadiq Musalaha because she had nowhere to go. Karim, on the other hand, could move on with his life without Rachel. So why was he unable to? Why did he keep thinking about her beauty and their unfinished quest for the truth about Jesus and Mary Magdalene?
He began to type his apology but was interrupted by pounding on the door. “Either let me in or I will get the key.” Abdul’s muffled voice sounded angry but matter-of-fact. It struck Karim as ironic that this severe man had saved him from Ezra Sharett. Then he remembered that Abdul hadn’t always been so cruel. “Just leave me alone for a few minutes, please.”
“I can’t do that.”
Knowing that Abdul would soon return with the key, Karim typed quickly:
Dear Rachel,
I am writing these words after many tears. I withheld the truth about Saed and about my father because I was afraid of losing you. Please forgive me! I will love you always.
In peace and hope,
Karim
As he sent the message, Karim heard a key turn in the door. He hurried to the file cabinet, pressed his back against it and pushed with his legs. Abdul began to force the door open. The pressure on Karim’s back grew, every muscle tensing. He pushed harder, but the file cabinet kept sliding.
“You’ll be sorry you put me through this,” Abdul said as he strained to open the door.
The harder Karim pushed, the more ground he lost. The file cabinet shifted sideways. Abdul burst into the room and grabbed Karim’s throat, cutting off his air supply. Karim swung an arm, desperate to shake him off, but Abdul deflected the blow and tightened his grip. As the seconds ticked on, Karim felt as though he might pass out.
“Stop!”
Sadiq Musalaha entered the room and said to Abdul, “I told you to keep an eye on my son, not strangle him. Wait outside the door.”
Abdul left and Sadiq Musalaha led Karim to the faded gold couch and chairs opposite the desk. “We need to talk.” Sadiq motioned Karim to sit down. Karim glanced out the window behind the couch and caught a glimpse of the shop-lined streets of Old Nablus. Nothing about the city provided any comfort, not the scent of apricots and figs, not even the green-carpeted slopes of Mount Gerizim. He stared at his father, wishing he were anywhere but here.
Sadiq Musalaha barely controlled his rage. “By running away as you did, you placed yourself in grave danger. You are fortunate not to be in an Israeli prison or dead.”
“You know how I feel about serving in the militia, Baba.”
“So you prefer to march in demonstrations with an Israeli woman? Have you gone mad?”
Karim leaned forward, elbows on knees. “The madness is the violence. Until it stops, no one in this land will have a decent life. No one will be safe.”
“And you think that demonstrations will stop it? There have been thousands of them, and they have changed nothing. Violence is the only language the Israelis understand. We will use it until we drive them out of Palestine.”
Karim shook his head in disagreement. “True freedom will only come when Palestinians and Israelis live side by side in sovereign, secure countries. I believe this now more than ever—especially after what happened to Saed.”
“After Saed became a holy martyr, you mean?”
“Saed killed and injured innocent people, and his death changed nothing.”
Sadiq Musalaha swung and landed an openhanded blow on Karim’s cheek. “Don’t speak of Saed without giving him the honor he deserves!”
Karim recoiled and met his father’s eyes. “I will never understand how killing and injuring innocent people are honorable.”
Before Sadiq Musalaha stood, he pressed his lips together, his posture awkward, and studied Karim. “Our objective is honorable—that’s all that matters. We must use whatever means necessary to secure justice for our people.” He raised his index finger. “There is one way you can make amends. You must devote yourself to the work of the PPA.” Sadiq Musalaha strode toward the door, paused, and without turning, said, “You have no choice—you will serve in the militia. This is my decision.”
After Karim heard the study door close and lock, he went to the window and looked out. His only hope was to climb down and disappear into the labyrinthine alleyways of Old Nablus. But sand had blown between the frame and the casement, jamming the window. He placed his palms at the top and pushed up. The window cracked open at the bottom. He slipped his fingers through the crack and with his other hand pushed up from the top. The window rumbled open with a loud scraping sound.
Karim heard footsteps. He leapt onto the sill and swung his legs up, ready to jump. The door opened, and before he could leap, Abdul yelled, “Stop!” He raced toward Karim, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. Abdul stood over him as he fell to the floor. “I’m supposed to keep you here until you agree to your father’s orders.”
Karim got up and met his gaze. “Never. You of all people should understand. You used to be like an uncle to me.”
“The past counts for nothing. The PPA is our family now.”
Karim furrowed his brow. “The family meals, the games in the street, the prayers at the mosque—none of those meant anything to you? You’ve changed.”
“No more than you.” Abdul gave him a shove. “Until Saed died you were patriotic. Now you organize protests with Jews.”
“At least I still have a heart. When I was a boy, you used to bring me candy and figs. You used to laugh and play with me—buy me presents for my birthday. Now you’re hard and bitter.”
“At least I care about my people, like your father and Saed.”
Karim walked to the couch and then turned and faced him. “I, too, care about our people, about liberation, but we will never achieve it through violence. There’s another path to peace.”
“What are you talking about?”
Karim paused, willing his mouth to speak the words that he hoped would win Abdul’s heart. “When I ran away, I found an ancient scroll at Qumran. It contains a letter written by Jesus of Nazareth.”
Abdul smirked. “That’s impossible.”
“I thought so too, but the more I study the letter, the more I’m sure it’s real. Jesus wrote to Mary Magdalene about how to find the harmony that creates peace in the world. I have to get back to Bethlehem to research whether the letter is genuine.” Karim reached out a hand. “Please, Abdul. You’ve known me since I was a boy. If you still have any caring in your heart for me, let me leave. Please.”
Abdul ignored Karim’s hand. “Why should I help you?”
“Because the Galilean secrets taught me something.”
“What are these supposed secrets?”
Karim drew a breath before he answered. “There are many of them, all related to the spiritual path of love. I know it’s hard to believe, but this path is the only way to find peace within and peace in the world.”
Abdul gave a dismissive laugh. “I’ve never heard such nonsense.”
Karim shrugged. “To you the secrets may be nonsense, but they hold the keys to freedom and happiness.”
Abdul walked over and sat in the chair across from the couch. “What would you know about freedom and happiness?”
Karim sat down and studied him. “When Saed killed those people, everybody was celebrating, but I felt sick inside. I thought maybe something was wrong with me. I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. And we were no better off afterward. We’ve buried one person after another. So have the Israelis. I’m tired of tears and funerals. Aren’t you?”
Abdul appeared offended, but Karim pressed on. “Violence breeds more violence. It hasn’t worked, and it will never give us our Palestinian homeland. But we haven’t tried loving our enemies and being reconciled to them, as the letter counsels. Even the Qur’an says, ‘It may be that Allah will grant love between you and those whom ye now hold as enemies. For Allah has power over all things and Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.’”
Abdul was silent, but Karim could see his frown softening and his eyes becoming moist. Karim thought of all the friends and relatives they had both lost, and he wondered whether Abdul was thinking of his nephew, Hakim Fattah. How tragic and senseless that seven-year-old Hakim had died in the crossfire between IDF soldiers and PPA militants in Nablus.
Quieter now, Karim said, “I want to return to the monastery in Bethlehem to continue my work and to find the truth about the letter.”
Abdul wiped his eyes. “If I let you leave, your father will demote me.”
“He needs your help too much.” Karim placed a hand on Abdul’s arm and then started for the door. “That’s why violence is so oppressive. It creates layers of stupidity that trap people in loneliness and alienation. And I’m tired of being isolated and lonely.” Karim kept walking as Abdul followed him. “This is your chance to feel compassion again. This is your chance to change things for the better, to do what’s right.”