The Galilean Secret: A Novel (35 page)
Read The Galilean Secret: A Novel Online
Authors: Evan Howard
Then his cell phone rang.
Kenyon.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Anyone who loves must learn to forgive. Sometimes the one who committed the wrong will acknowledge it and ask to be forgiven. Just as often, no acceptance of responsibility or apology will be forthcoming. Healing lies not in excusing the misdeed or denying that it happened, but rather in forgiving and entrusting the matter to God’s justice. This process gradually frees us from rage and hate, making a new future possible.
—Brother Gregory Andreou’s Journal
Bethlehem
Tuesday, April 16
UNDER DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES THE WORLD OF HOTELS AND TAXIS MIGHT HAVE INTRIGUED KARIM, BUT NOT TONIGHT. Not with Rachel’s life at stake. He paced in front of the Three Kings Hotel, eyes riveted on each taxi that pulled up, his hand sweating as he held the straps of a paper bag. Robert Kenyon had called and demanded that he arrive at midnight—alone—to be picked up and taken to an undisclosed location. Only if Karim turned over the contents of the bag—Brother Gregory’s laptop, the earliest handwritten copies of his translation of the Jesus letter, and all other computer files and materials related to it—would Kenyon release Rachel. If Karim failed to deliver the items, or if he or Brother Gregory went to the police, Rachel would die.
The thought made Karim’s skin crawl. He suspected that Kenyon was bluffing, that the professor wouldn’t really kill Rachel and risk losing his career and going to prison for life. But as long as Kenyon held her, Karim had no choice but to follow his instructions.
He drew the bag closer as the headlights of an approaching car nearly blinded him. It stopped at the curb: Karim saw that it was a yellow Palestinian taxi. An older gentleman in a herringbone sports coat stepped out and sauntered through the hotel’s revolving doors. Karim stayed close enough for the driver to notice him. The taxi turned left onto Manger Street, Bethlehem’s main thoroughfare, headed away from Jerusalem, which lay a few kilometers north.
Karim kicked the pavement with his heel and checked his watch: six minutes past midnight. If Kenyon wanted to make him worry, he was succeeding.
When another taxi approached, Karim moved in front of the hotel door. The white sedan had a yellow Israeli plate. A nicely dressed couple got out holding hands. They had no luggage. Karim imagined them to be European tourists returning from the theatre in Jerusalem. The trim, nattily dressed man paid the driver and closed the door. The cab accelerated into the traffic and disappeared.
Karim checked his watch: thirteen minutes past. He set the bag down and wiped his palm before picking it up again and gripping the handles tighter. Where was Kenyon holding Rachel? Was she all right?
The next taxi was different from the first two. It was white and had yellow plates but carried no passengers. When the car stopped, the driver rolled down the passenger-side window. “Are you Karim Musalaha?”
“Yes.”
The stocky man in his mid-thirties got out and frisked him for a cell phone, weapon or tracking device. When the man had determined that Karim was clean, he said, “Get in.”
Karim settled into the backseat. The driver slid behind the wheel, adjusted his red baseball cap and waited for a break in the traffic; then he headed south on Manger Street.
“Where are we going?” Karim asked.
The driver turned up the Israeli rock music on his radio.
Karim’s temples began to throb. He rubbed them in an attempt to ease the stress, but it didn’t help. The taxi picked up speed. The lights of Bethlehem’s storefront businesses and boxlike houses became a blur. The road grew hilly outside of town, reminding Karim of his life: an accelerating ride on a dangerous road that kept getting steeper. Now, if he wasn’t careful, he could lose control of the speeding vehicle. His and Rachel’s salvation lay with the items in the bag. By delivering Brother Gregory’s laptop and translation materials to Kenyon, Karim could save Rachel’s life. The harder question was whether he could save her heart.
Or his.
He grabbed the edge of the vinyl seat as the taxi swung onto a gravel road forty-five minutes south of Bethlehem. They followed this unmarked road for another ten minutes and came to an open field. The driver steered the taxi onto the grass and stopped. “This is where I was told to drop you.” He came around and opened the door.
Karim stepped out and caught a whiff of sheep dung. His legs were heavy, his throat parched, his fingers tingling. “Did you receive any other instructions?”
“No.” The driver rounded the front of the car and got back in.
Karim paced as he watched the taxi’s red taillights disappear up the road. He could do nothing but wait in this windswept field, beneath stars that appeared farther away than usual. Feeling edgy, he pulled up his collar against the brisk wind. He kicked a stone, wishing this night were over. Kenyon held all the power. At first Karim had considered the professor’s plan impossible to execute. Now he saw its cruel logic.
Kenyon wanted the acclaim and honor that would be accorded the man who discovered and translated the Jesus letter. He was a respected archaeologist and professor; now he would become an international figure, an icon, his face on the cover of
Time
magazine. Karim was a Palestinian, in Israel illegally, and the son of a man who sponsored terrorism. The GAA officials would have to believe Kenyon—especially since Karim had publicly credited him with finding the scroll. Kenyon would show the officials the computer files and other materials as if they were his own, and Karim would have to go along with the scheme. Just then a chilling thought occurred to him: Rachel could expose and destroy Kenyon, and Kenyon had to have realized this. Would he kill her to silence her?
The roar of an approaching engine broke into Karim’s thoughts. He squeezed the bag’s straps, trying to stifle his anger and remain calm. Headlights appeared on the road and then swerved into the field, shining in Karim’s eyes.
The Impala stopped a few meters away and Kenyon rolled down the window. “Give me the bag and then go back to where you’re standing.”
“First I want to know that Rachel is safe.”
“We’ll talk about Rachel soon enough.”
“No.” Karim struggled to keep calm. “I want to talk about her now. Where is she?”
Kenyon held up a handgun. “If you care about Rachel, you’ll do as I say.”
“Don’t believe his threats, Karim.” Rachel called to him from the backseat. “He can’t get away with this.”
Kenyon slapped the seat with a fist. “Shut up! I’ll do whatever it takes to get the laptop and papers.”
Karim stepped closer and peered into the car. In the darkness he could make out Rachel’s face in the backseat. She was sitting up, her hands behind her back, squirming and trying to break free from the cords. A tremor rattled his bones. He held the bag away from Kenyon and said, “If you want Brother Gregory’s laptop and translations, release her.”
Kenyon put the car in reverse. “It’s the other way around. Either you give me the bag or you’ll never see Rachel again.”
Karim pulled the backdoor handle. It was locked. He shook the car. “If you hurt her, you’ll never sleep at night.”
“I’ll sleep just fine.” Kenyon began to back up the car.
Karim pounded on the glass and Kenyon stopped the car. “I’m not giving you anything until I have Rachel.”
“Then say good-bye to your friend.” Kenyon moved forward now.
If Karim didn’t act fast, he would never see Rachel again. He took off after the car when she screamed.
Reluctantly Karim held out the bag and shouted, “Let her go. Please let her go.”
The car braked abruptly and Kenyon took the bag. “As soon as I make sure everything is here.” He switched on the dome light and rummaged in the bag, pointing the gun at Karim.
Karim’s forehead felt ready to split. “Deception never brings happiness.”
“But getting credit for this discovery is worth any sacrifice.”
Karim pressed his fingers against the glass. “You have what you want. Now let Rachel go.”
Kenyon turned toward her. “If you breathe a word of this to the authorities, I’ll tell them that Karim stole the scroll from me, and he’ll go to prison. Do you understand?”
Rachel remained still. “Perfectly.”
Karim heard the doors unlock and pulled on the backdoor handle. Rachel tumbled out, her hands and feet tied with cords.
As Karim untied her feet and helped her onto the grass, Kenyon said, “I know you’ll keep your mouths shut. And you’ll tell Brother Gregory to do the same.” The car sped away, its tires spitting gravel.
“I was praying it would be you who came for me.” Rachel grimaced as she stood. Her hair was disheveled, her blouse wrinkled. “That man should be—”
Karim pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t try to talk. The important thing is that you’re safe.” He untied her hands.
She embraced him, choking back a sob. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone.”
“Me either.”
She pulled away, rubbing her wrists. “Kenyon really scared me. Watching the news conference. . . I don’t know. He’s just so . . . so fanatical. If you hadn’t come. . .” Her last words got lost as her voice broke.
Karim caressed her cheek, wishing he could say what was in his heart. “Are you sure you’re glad to see me?”
She drew a breath and cleared her throat. “When I left Jerusalem, I wanted nothing more to do with you. But your e-mails. . .”
He wiped a tear from her cheek. “I would have told you about Saed, but I wasn’t ready then.”
“When would you have been ready?”
Karim shook his head. “I don’t know. When we first met, I thought I would never see you again, so I had no reason to tell you. Then we got close and I was afraid you would hate me if you knew.” He paused and met her gaze. “I’m so very sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”
She moved closer. “I will forgive you if you will forgive me for leaving you in Jerusalem.”
He gathered her in his arms. “I promise not to keep any more secrets from you.”
“And I promise to be more understanding.” She nestled her cheek against his chest. “Jesus told Mary Magdalene that love is always a risk. That’s especially true for an Israeli and a Palestinian. Love guarantees nothing except that our lives will never be the same. That’s my prayer for the March for Peace—that all of our lives will be changed forever.”
“I thought that you would miss the march.”
“Even Robert Kenyon couldn’t keep me away. I’m giving a speech.”
Karim pulled back and gazed into eyes as fathomless as space. He hesitated and then leaned down to kiss her tenderly. He cared little that they were standing in a lonely field with no ride to the monastery. What mattered was the canopy of stars glimmering in the cloudless sky, and even more, Rachel’s soft, receptive lips. He held her close, running his hands across her back and around her shoulders.
“I love you,” she said, squeezing his arms.
He smiled and nudged her toward the road. “I’ve been longing to hear those words, because I feel the same, more than I could ever express.” He wrapped an arm around her and guided her toward the highway, praying that a sympathetic motorist would pick them up.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Roman Times
WHEN GABRIEL AND JUDITH REACHED THE GENNATH GATE, HE SAW THAT SHE WAS EXHAUSTED AND COULD GO NO FARTHER SO HE PICKED HER UP AND CARRIED HER. It was Friday, the day when the lambs would be slaughtered for Passover. His arms should have ached, but as he trudged toward the crest of the Place of the Skull, he hardly noticed her weight. With one arm supporting her legs and the other her back, he held her horizontal body against his heaving chest, the scroll still clutched tightly in his hand. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressing against his.
He waded through the crowd, toward the three six-foot vertical posts on which the crossbeams would be erected, and felt her trembling. Twelve burly soldiers, fiercely brandishing their javelins, were keeping the people at a safe distance. He stopped in front of them, sweating in the blazing sun. The three condemned men were lying on the ground, moaning and weak, ready to be nailed to the crossbeams they had carried from the city. Jesus appeared particularly mangled, the crown of thorns on his head skewed awkwardly to the right, obscuring an eye.
Gabriel could not have imagined an uglier place or one more eerily barren. Golgotha’s eroding rock, covered with thick gray dust, looked like the head of a corpse, vacant-eyed and jagged. Treeless except for a few scrawny shrubs, the place reeked of rotting, vulture-torn flesh. The stifling hot air was swarming with flies, wild dogs howled in the distance
. Why am I here?
Gabriel felt a tremor run through him. A few months ago all he had wanted was a happy marriage and success as a merchant. His dreams had been so close to fulfillment on his wedding day.
Why should he not put Judith down and leave her to watch Dismas suffer? The answer echoed in his mind with unmistakable clarity: he was here because of the letter. The love that it described had taken hold of him. He glanced with reverence at the rabbi from Nazareth sprawled on the ground. Silently he thanked Jesus for giving him the courage to be present.
Not wanting to look, he finally saw his brother lying on his stomach. Blood was streaming from his back and mixing with the dust to form rivulets of crimson mud. Gabriel’s mouth went dry, his heart stopped beating. Was this the brother he had raced against and wrestled and sparred with? Gabriel nestled Judith’s head against his chest, shielding her eyes, his anger at his brother sliding away.
“What is the other Zealot’s name?” Gabriel asked.
“Gestas,” she said.
He watched the compact man with meaty features struggle to break free, but Gestas’ pathetic flailing was no match for the soldiers. Their whips slapped and thudded against his neck and back and shoulders. Each blow and scream caused Judith to flinch in Gabriel’s arms. The soldiers beat Gestas mercilessly as he lay on the ground. A group of women approached as they subdued him. The women carried jars of wine laced with gall, a mild narcotic. As retaliation for Gestas’ resistance, the soldiers denied him the drink. The women offered some to Jesus; he tasted it, but then shook his head and sent them away. Only Dismas drank the soothing liquid; Gabriel was glad for anything that would spare his brother more suffering.
The sturdy, hawk-nosed centurion in charge of the execution went to the condemned men and examined their wounds. He ordered the soldiers to strip the men naked and wrap loincloths around their genitals. The soldiers carried out the order and laid the men’s garments at the foot of the vertical posts. With their knees, the soldiers then held the men’s arms and strapped them to the crossbars with ropes.
The hulking executioner, his arms as thick as most men’s thighs, approached with his mallet. He first went to Gestas, several long spikes held between his teeth. One by one he took the spikes and drove them into Gestas’ palms. Gestas cursed the Romans with each blow until the curses became cries of agony.
When the executioner stood over Dismas, Gabriel whispered to Judith, “Please don’t look.” Dismas shrieked as sharp iron penetrated soft flesh; the spikes pierced his palms and the wood underneath. Gabriel turned away, biting back tears, the bile in his stomach rising at the sight of his brother’s torture. He steeled his will and turned back, determined to show Dismas sympathy and support. With each blow, Judith squeezed Gabriel’s neck harder. His brother’s body shook as the soldiers lifted Dismas upright and fastened the crossbar to the vertical beam in the ground. Gestas, already erected, cursed his tormentors.
Taunts and jeers erupted from the crowd.
“That will teach you to desecrate the Temple.”
“Give them a taste of Roman justice!”
“No sympathy for these criminals!”
“You filthy swine! You’re getting what you deserve!”
The muscles in Gabriel’s neck tensed at the sound of such cruelty, and his blood ran hot. His brother was an enemy of Rome, but no one deserved such torture. The shouting stopped as the executioner knelt beside Jesus. With three vicious wallops of his mallet, he drove the first spike through the Nazarene’s palm, causing him to groan. Jesus bit his lip and writhed in pain as the executioner repeated the process on the other hand.
The soldiers erected Jesus’ cross in the middle, with Dismas and Gestas on either side. As was the custom, they nailed a wedge between the men’s legs, helping to distribute their weight so that their bodies would not tear loose from the wood. The executioner then went from cross to cross, nailing the right foot of each condemned man over the left. When he had finished, two soldiers used a ladder to nail a placard over Jesus’ head. Written in Hebrew, Latin and Greek, the inscription read, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”
The crowd moved in closer and some mocked him. “You saved others; can’t you save yourself?”
“If you’re the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, and we’ll believe in you.”
“If you trust in God, then why doesn’t he deliver you?”
When Gabriel heard this, he put Judith down and ran up to the soldiers, enraged. “Why do you let them mock him like that? Aren’t you in charge? Rome takes pride in its laws, yet you crucify an innocent man.” He shook an accusing fist at them. “May his blood be upon you, and upon your children, and upon all who use brutality to support injustice!”
The centurion swung his javelin and knocked him down. “Shut up,” he said in Greek. “Or you’ll end up on a cross like your friend.”
The soldiers began to gamble for Jesus’ clothes. They were particularly enamored of the seamless scarlet robe that they had brought from the praetorium. Finally the centurion grinned triumphantly and said, “The robe is mine.”
At this Jesus cried out in Aramaic, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The words struck Gabriel with such power that he fell to his knees. How could Jesus forgive those who were crucifying him? How could he pray for those who had stripped him naked and gambled for his clothes? Jesus should be hurling abuse at them! Then Gabriel remembered what the letter said—that forgiveness is a matter of the soul; that we do it not for those who wronged us but for ourselves; and that we only begin to heal when we let go of hurt and hate.
Gabriel looked up in profound admiration. The betrayal that he had endured still gnawed at him. But in comparison with Jesus’ anguish, his wound seemed minor. He turned as the centurion smugly draped the robe over a shoulder. If Jesus could forgive the centurion’s greed and cruelty, should Gabriel not do the same for Dismas? And should he not give Judith another chance?
Hot tears stung his eyes. He got up and stumbled toward his brother’s cross. Judith had moved to it and was standing there weeping, her hands covering her mouth, her lustrous hair disheveled, her eyes red from crying. Pale as a corpse, her body shaking uncontrollably, she fell to her knees and gazed up in horror.
Gabriel put an arm around her and looked up tearfully. In a measured, deliberate voice, he said, “I love you . . . and I forgive you, Dismas.”
Dismas stared down in agonized disbelief. “After what I did, how can you forgive me?”
Gabriel pointed at Jesus. “Because of him.” He held up the scroll that contained the letter. “And because of this.”
Judith broke away from Gabriel and fell sobbing at the Galilean’s feet, his bloodstained face contorted in agony. A tall, dignified woman standing in a group nearby came over and embraced Judith, whispering in her ear. Judith approached Dismas and said, “I couldn’t stay with you, but I will never forget all that we shared and how much you meant to me. Now you must think about more important matters. It’s not too late to receive Jesus’ peace. It’s your only hope for salvation.”
Dismas nodded and rolled his head back against the cross. “I wish I
had
heeded the letter. All my fighting has been in vain.” He paused, panting, struggling to catch his breath and glancing at Gabriel and Judith. “But you two have a chance to do better.” He stared directly at her. “I love you . . . and I am sorry for how I hurt you.” Then he shifted his gaze to Gabriel. “Knowing that you forgive me, I can die in peace.”
Before Gabriel could reply, Gestas interrupted. Echoing the jeers of the soldiers and some in the crowd, he taunted Jesus. “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”
Gabriel marveled at how Dismas, in hearing these words, seemed to regain his strength. Barely alive, choking now on each breath, Dismas shouted at Gestas, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Dismas turned toward the middle cross. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Jesus answered, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Gabriel’s heart was racing, but in hearing Jesus’ promise to Dismas, he became surprisingly calm. A peculiar peace descended on him, accompanied by a compelling vision: he imagined that he and Dismas were in a place of glorious light, embracing. They had died and been reunited in peace, the past forgotten, a new relationship begun. Dismas’ face appeared radiant, as if illuminated by a thousand stars. Although Gabriel recognized his brother’s features, it seemed that he was seeing them for the first time, and he could not turn away from their perfection. He wanted to hold the vision forever, but Judith squeezed his arm and interrupted his thoughts.
“There’s something I need to tell both of you,” she said, gazing tearfully at Dismas and speaking in a loud, trembling voice. “What I have to say will affect us all.” She struggled to catch her breath. “You both need to know that. . .” She trailed off, her voice breaking. “You need to know that I am . . . I am pregnant with Dismas’ baby.”
Gabriel stared at her and then at his suffering brother. The anguish in Dismas’ eyes, and in Judith’s, mirrored Gabriel’s own. Dismas lifted up his head and cried out, “Please forgive her, Gabriel. If you can’t do it for her sake, do it for the child’s. Judith was young and innocent—everything was my fault. She needs you to take care of her and the baby.”
Gabriel’s stomach churned as he noticed the sky darkening. He began to back away. Glancing up, he expected to see clouds blocking the sun, but there were none.
“A storm is rolling in,” said a sallow-skinned man nearby.
A scribe turned to a group of onlookers. “Come on, let’s go before we get drenched.”
Gabriel shook his head and stared at the sky, baffled. There could be no storm without clouds. Why had dusk fallen at noon? As he pondered the mystery, the light continued to fade. The soldiers lit torches in order to continue their gruesome work.
Barely able to see, Gabriel turned and dropped the scroll. He had to get away. Away from Golgotha’s blood and tears. Away from Judith and Dismas, who had ruined his life. Away from Jesus, whose forgiving spirit he could not match. Gabriel did not know what the sun’s strange disappearance meant or where he would go. He only knew that Judith’s revelation had brought darkness to his heart. And it was thicker than Golgotha’s untimely midnight.