Eden Read online

As for her master, his face had turned ashen, the blood drained away. And like the Rabbi he sought a safe seat on which to rest. Even as he sank exhausted into the arms of Judas and Maryam, he raised his eyes to heaven. Eden couldn’t catch his words, but in her mind she heard and felt her master’s everlasting thanks to God for answering his prayer. Words to the divine Almighty, mumbling words of thanks:

  You heard.

  Palm Fronds

  The travelers knew where they were going now.

  Their feet took them up from rugged lands and dusty footpaths to broad roads paved with stone. The travelers passed orchards in early bud and simple villages on the edges of nowhere, always heading to the same place: the gates of the great city. So many witnessed their passing that word spread far and wide, and a great clamor rose that their master would come within the city walls again, this time to the temple feast.

  Eden padded alongside Samson the donkey, and with every step the hard road told the dog its secrets. Endless traffic and throngs of callused feet had worn the paving stones and stained them. The stains were like dried tears beneath her paws, the ghosts of ancient troubles, whispers of the past.

  Thirty years gone. Thirty years and more …

  Long ago, two dogs and a donkey had traveled this very road fleeing the soldiers of a king. The dogs were Eden’s ancestors, guarding father and mother and infant child in their flight, and a donkey much like Samson carrying ducks and pups and carpenter’s tools down to the land of the great river. Then after years of exile on the riverbank, eating many fish and mending the carts among countless camel trains, the travelers returned over this same highway heading north, a lone caravan, unmarked by prying eyes.

  And just as now, a road studded with crosses where dead men hung in silence.

  As Eden, Samson and the lambs drew closer to the great city, so too the scores of hanging men rose to greet them, not with words, but with dead eyes and crows for company. Overhead, the sun rose to noon. The shadows below the timbers shrank to nothing while rats gathered to worship at the base of the crosses. Wild dogs without names came to eat the rats. And the lambs became afraid.

  “Don’t look,” Eden told them. “Stay close, little ones and nothing will happen to you.” But the lambs were not comforted and in the silence of fear hastened forward, eyes downcast, not daring to be left behind. Some ways off Eden heard the fox padding craftily along in and out of bushes and rocks, not letting himself be seen, but muttering to himself, “Rats but no cats, busy, busy, busy …”

  League after league these terrible sights mounted, but the travelers pressed on, taking deep breaths and long strides. Eden’s master first, leading them closer and closer to the walls of the city, for he neither shrank nor quailed at the sight of dead men. As word spread of their approach the mice of the field gathered in multitudes, waving spears of grass as they had once before in Galilee, crying, “Behold! Behold! So glad you’re here, so glad you’ve come!”

  Then those who had heard rumors of gaudy marvels and vulgar magic shows crowded the travelers before the city gates hoping for a spectacle. Human feet rushed in, driving the joyful mice back to their holes, pressing the travelers from every side.

  “Back! Back!” Samson brayed.

  But no one listened.

  “Back! Back!” Eden growled.

  A few people shuffled back, but even greater throngs drove closer, so eager to see the man so many had heard so much about. And suddenly the lambs bleated in fear, bumping into one another as clumsy feet trampled their tiny hooves. Rough hands pushed the lambs aside, shoving the poor creatures about and it was everything the companions could do just to keep from being overwhelmed.

  Judas and Maryam tried to bring some order to the mob, thrusting their hands against the jostling bodies, shouting at people who wouldn’t listen, but finally stumbling back in defeat, knocking into Samson and stepping on Eden’s tail.

  The dog yelped and Judas cried:

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but they’re mad. Mad!”

  Maryam thrust her hand up to Judas’ face and showed him the two stones, the black and the white. Despite the chaos she gently touched his robe.

  “No, they only came to see. They mean no harm.”

  Judas jerked his arm away as if it burned.

  “How would you know?” he said to Maryam. “You talked to flies.”

  Yet even as the man and woman tried to shelter the frightened animals, others came to rescue them. Others from nearby, who carefully threaded their way through the crowd. Unlike the grasping ones, these came to pour oil on the waters. Seeing the travelers and animals beset on every side, they drew calm out of chaos. Others who knew of these strange travelers, who had heard of them for many months—not as charlatans but as companions to a great healer who comforted the sick, who taught any who would listen.

  And it suddenly struck Eden that the ugly crowd surrounding them was like the white stone with black inside, and the kinder ones that appeared out of nowhere were like the black stone with the white.

  These others advanced waving long palm fronds, just like the mice, placing them on the ground before the feet of the travelers to prepare the way. And upon seeing this, many of the ugliest in the crowd—the thrill seekers, the pickpockets, the drunks and the idly curious—left off their grasping allowing the lambs and the companions a moment’s peace. Stepping back, the ugly ones allowed the pious ones with the palms to take their place.

  The lambs gathered by Samson and Eden were petted and fawned upon, for no one in this new crowd wanted to see the animals hurt or taken. These were the ones who sought out Eden’s master, not to clutch at his magic robe, but to stand in his presence and near any who followed him. To catch a sacred word, if by chance it fell.

  Judas called for many hands, saying, “He shall not walk. Let not his feet touch the ground!” And the companions helped their master onto the donkey’s back.

  Eden worried for Samson; he had not carried any weight for many months. “Are you going to be all right?” she asked. And the donkey nodded.

  “He is no burden,” Samson said to Eden. “A year of walking has made me strong, and made him light as a bundle of flowers.”

  More palm fronds were laid at the travelers’ feet, a green carpet through the gates and into the city. As Eden stepped on each green leaf her agile paws felt the tree from which the palm had been cut.… Palm trees that grew along the seashore by fishermen’s nets, and date palms from orchards where sweet dates grew. There were palms from oases where camel caravans watered, and palms from hovels outside the city walls.

  Yet some fronds came from palms along roads Roman Legionaries traveled, and these fronds told a darker tale. Trees cut down for the condemned, men worth less trouble than other men. For not all the condemned merited crosses and crossbeams. Common criminals, unlucky debtors, rebellious slaves and many more found a simpler end, hanging from a single post or nailed to a roadside trunk beside a rocky stream.

  And over these fronds Eden tread carefully. The names of the hanging men cried out to her, I was Lucius, a galley sailor, I struck my captain. I was Aaron, wife-murderer. I was Gideon, son of Jacob, orphan and goat thief. Names upon names, all hung on stakes, all crucified, all dead.

  As the city walls towered before them, Eden saw the fox peeking out from a drain hole. The fox met the dog’s eyes, and she could read his mind. No I’m not following you in there. A city is no place for a fox. No city streets for me. The fox eyed the many rats scuttling along the city walls and licked his chops, but dared not pounce, not in daytime and not with crowds about.

  Several rats in the shadow of the walls paused their running to watch the travelers pass. And one muttered to another:

  “So this is who we’re supposed to follow. Hurry and tell the others to keep an eye on him. Hurry and tell …”

  The last thing Eden saw as she passed through the city gate was the Hollow Man. The low creature had joined their procession and waved a palm frond like the others, before placin
g it upon the paving stones with all the rest. And the rat who muttered Hurry hurry picked up that exact palm stem in his mouth and scurried off into its hole.

  By What Authority

  Such commotion echoed through the city! Eden heard her master’s name proclaimed over and over, and on every tongue. So even as the travelers came once again to the great temple, the merchants and herdsmen and money changers were not taken by surprise this time. They knew of his approach and remembered his wrath.

  Before the travelers could even rest their burdens on the temple wall, word spread over the walls and through the compound, and all those inside rushed to pack up their goods and fold their tables. Instead of waiting for the travelers to enter, instead of waiting for Eden’s master to chastise them again for trespass in the sacred precinct, they packed their coins and weights and measures, they rushed to drive their animals through the gate, while others opened their birdcages, letting their doves and pigeons and sparrows fly into the sky, singing, free.

  Eden and Samson stood under the temple wall by the great doors. Eden’s master dismounted from Samson’s back. But instead of breathing relief, the donkey sighed as though the weight of the world had fallen once more on his shoulders. “I feel heavier unburdened than when I carry him,” he told Eden. “Why is that?”

  Eden could only wonder, but she knew there was nowhere she would rather be than in their master’s presence.

  “I don’t know,” she told the donkey. “But standing in his shadow I am never cold.” Her master glanced at them as if he heard the animals speaking, then bid them follow him. He pushed past the tall, purple curtains and through the temple gates.

  Many inside the compound bowed as the travelers entered. But a group of men by the stone altar did not bow, for they were not of the priestly cast, nor the merchant class nor the rabble, and so had nothing to fear of their master. Instead they invited the travelers to sit among them, including the dog, the donkey and the lambs, for these creatures were neither the first nor the last animals to wander inside the sacred walls.

  Unlike the simple country folk who welcomed the companions on their travels, these were not simple men but the learned of the temple. Eden could see in their faces their thoughts were not about the fields’ seasons or the day’s catch from the sea, or even earthly power, but to seek truth in the power of thoughts, wishing only to pose questions and ponder answers. For the Learned Ones wondered if this man and his companions might know more of the mind of God than they, as so much lay hidden from them. And Eden heard their questions as easily as if she’d been one of them herself, knowing their thoughts and knowing their minds.

  “Who gave you the truth you tell us? Who set you on this path?” The questions came one after another. “Did he speak in words? Or have you always known? We have many priests and rabbis. By what authority are you doing all these things?” And Eden watched her master listen carefully. He pointed at Samson standing silently in the midst of the lambs.

  “Behold,” their master said. “There is John of the River’s beast of burden. Know you how he came to be John the Baptist’s animal?”

  The holy men did not know what to say. But Eden saw they were not satisfied with this reply. What difference did it make how the wild man of the river came by his beast? So her master persevered.

  “I will answer your question if you answer mine. I will tell you who gave me the truth, who set me on this path, whether he spoke words or whether I have always known if you can tell me of John’s blessing in the waters. Where did his anointing come from? Was it from heaven or from earth? Human or divine? Was his blessing from this donkey, or from God?” And now the learned men of the temple huddled together to ponder an answer.

  Eden stood apart for a moment; she smelled something familiar, something out of the past. The feeling of fear, fear without words.

  Then she saw where it came from: a bed of straw by the stone altar. One last lamb had been tied to an iron ring, unable to break away. The tiny lamb stared at the free animals in wonder. How could anyone else in the world be free when she was still tied down? How could anyone else in the world live without an iron collar about their neck? The lamb at the altar steps looked from her fellow lambs without iron rings about their necks, then to the gray donkey and at the white dog. Saying what all lambs said when tethered to the chain:

  “This morning I was in a pen with my herd,” she said. “But now I’m here. They say they sold me for my beautiful fleece, but I don’t believe anyone told me the truth. Have you come to free me?” the tiny lamb asked.

  Eden did not know how to reply. The companions weren’t here for this one.

  The dog looked to the wise old donkey, but Samson only wagged his head. He didn’t know either. No one knew what to say. And the free lambs mingled about, asking each other in whispers, “Have we come to free her? Do we know the truth? I don’t. Do you? I don’t. Do you?”

  Then Judas, who understood the language of beasts, came forward with Maryam, the woman who once talked to flies. Both struggled with the young lamb’s collar seeking to free her, yet even as they tugged and plucked, the iron collar refused to open. Frustrated, the two kept jangling the chain, prying at the iron band, all to no avail. The collar refused to budge and the lamb bleated, her neck growing raw.

  Still the learned men muttered among themselves, ignoring everything else, clearly confused. And Eden knew why, for there was no simple answer as to whether the wild man of the river had been blessed by the Almighty or not.

  Eden with her sharp ears could hear them arguing among themselves.

  “If we say God anointed John of the River, then we must answer why did we not follow him or go to the river to be anointed like the others? We must answer for this. Why did we not go like the others who came to take his blessing and saw him and knelt as water touched their heads? But if we say the blessing was human-made, then we might as well say the blessing came from that jackass that John owned. If we say human-made, then all those who knelt before John will be angry with us, and we will be stoned in the streets, for John is their prophet. He who prophesized the coming of the One, this very one who stands before us now …”

  At length none of the learned men could settle on what to say. Like the lamb chained to the altar by an iron collar, they had no answer and could not break free. So the lead rabbi among them simply said, “No, we don’t know whether the man’s words were human or divine, whether his anointing came from God or man or beast. No, none of us can say.”

  And you could see his shame for his own answer. For if the Learned Ones could not find it in themselves to trust the man standing before them, why indeed should anyone—teacher, rabbi, holy man or mortal—trust them?

  Eden’s master nodded as if he had known as much all along. He quietly replied:

  “Then neither will I tell you by what power I do what I do.”

  And in that moment it seemed to Eden that her master spoke not in anger, but in sadness and regret, that in this matter of belief and authority, trust must take its own time. For only time itself could wear away the hard pit of doubt in these wise men of the temple.

  Eden’s master joined Judas and Maryam by the stone altar. The two still tugged at the iron chain and collar about the lamb’s neck, unable to free the poor creature. But when Eden’s master touched the iron band round the tiny lamb’s neck, the collar fell away. And he kicked it into the straw.

  “I’m free!” cried the littlest lamb as she shook herself, and the other lambs cried back. “I’m free! It’s true! I’m free!”

  “Yes,” Eden told the young lamb. “That much is true. You’re free.”

  Before the companions left the temple precinct, Eden saw the Hollow Man slide out of the shadows. He picked the iron collar off the bed of straw, pondered it for some moments and then looked about the temple compound, searching for another lamb.

  I Know Where He Will Be

  The streets of the city grew quiet, the stalls packed away and their awnings folded.
The shop merchants locked their doors and many returned to their homes to prepare for the feast. In the late afternoon the walls were thrown into shadow while a few stragglers scurried along, trying to find shelter before the sun set.

  The group passed through the final gate and beyond the city walls.

  “Are we going somewhere?” the lamb from the temple altar asked. “Will they feed us? Is this night different from all other nights? Why do we hurry?”

  “Perhaps this night is different,” Eden told the littlest lamb. “We hurry to get shelter before sunset. But do not fear. Our master has never let us starve, no matter how far we wander.”

  And when the littlest lamb looked to the donkey, Samson nodded his long gray head. “It is true. We do not go hungry as long as we follow our master’s path.”

  Half a league from the city walls, Judas, the woman named Maryam and the others halted by a cluster of trees in the shoulder of a hill. Eden watched her master speak quietly to his companions. He bid them go no further, but await his return.

  Judas drew apart from the others, sitting under heavy branches. For some moments he muttered to himself, arguing again. Suddenly he rose, hugging his cloak tight about him, his mind made up. Silently he turned from the companions under the trees and headed back to the city walls. Of all the companions only Samson and Eden noticed him go.

  Samson looked up from his lambs. “Should we follow him? Do you think he wants company?” the donkey asked.

  “He doesn’t look lost, but he does look lonely,” Eden answered.

  “Perhaps he is seeking more lambs to follow us,” the littlest lamb suggested.

  But Eden shook her head. “Nothing down in the city for you,” she told them. “Just empty stone streets and other streets where crowds gather in anger at the world as Romans watch from the walls. If you go back now some soldier will mistake you for the garrison’s dinner, and take you away.”

  The littlest lamb hid behind Samson’s legs, abashed. She did not want to be anyone’s dinner.