Eden Page 12

Eden saw her master find a secluded spot away from the others.

  He knelt beside an outcrop of rock and began to whisper softly to himself. His murmurs went on and on, rising and falling as though speaking to an unseen listener. And Eden could tell he was pleading with a caretaker she could not see. A great presence who looked down from heaven. Who lived in every olive tree, in every blade of grass. A great seer, the first and last witness, who knew the earth through every creature that crawled or swam or flew, who beheld the world through every living eye and every star in heaven.

  He spoke to the Almighty, maker of oceans and mountains, maker of the universe, who saw into the depths of time and the untold future. Eden felt her master’s mind begin to break. He balled his hands before his face in prayer. This was too much for a single soul to know. Eden could feel his fear, and the demons of fear that preyed on mortal flesh every second of their lives. And her master began to weaken, and to weep, for nothing could stop the night from ending or the sun from coming up.

  Of all things he knew, that was the most certain.

  Samson joined the dog and then the youngest of the lambs came also, drawn by the sounds of sorrow. They watched their master’s whispers escape into thin air, leaving only silence waiting in the shadows of the trees.

  Eden became aware of another approaching, their old follower.

  The fox padded out of the dark and sat on his haunches by a boulder. He looked from one animal to the next and then back at the man. At first, Eden thought that perhaps the fox was a servant of the Hollow Man, but the fox simply licked his paw and scratched his ear.

  “No,” he said, reading Eden’s mind. “That creature that wears the skin of man does not smell right. I avoid him at all times. And while he has called many of my fellows to his side, none of us go to him. We are creatures of the night, but not of the darkness.”

  And Eden realized their cautious follower had finally made up his mind, joining them at last. Their master began to whisper again, so faintly only his lips moved. Of all of the creatures, only the fox could hear, for he had the sharpest ears.

  “He speaks to the great Beholder,” said the fox. “That is why I came, for I know what this means now, whereas before I did not. Perhaps if I stay near, I too will be able to speak to the unseen, and He will listen.”

  “Who is He?” asked the youngest lamb.

  “The same who made us,” the wise old donkey told her.

  Their master dropped his hands, his face pale as empty parchment. Even in the darkness Eden could see his throat glistened with sweat. A drop rolled down his cheek falling to the ground and left no trace. The air smelled of salt and iron, the scent of life itself.

  The air stirred, a fresh breath carrying the scent of jasmine and oranges once more. And the animals felt a presence, not the overpowering Almighty Seer, but of his servant. His messenger, come to earth to do his bidding, emerging from the darkness not as a figure robed in white or some great and powerful voice, but as a calm hand. A hand to strengthen the weak, to banish fear, a hand to lift burdens and let troubles fall away, leaving only strength and mortal will.

  All who watched in that green and quiet grove felt it.

  First the fox perked his ears, then Eden sniffed the air, then Samson sighed with pleasure and the littlest lamb, last of all, breathed a gentle bah …

  The animals shuffled back a step, their own breath and hearts restored.

  Their master rose, renewed at last.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow, then looked at them, from dog to donkey to lamb, and even out into the darkness where the fox sat near his boulder. Eden’s master stood, his weakness gone, standing calmly in the night as if ready for some final task.

  And it suddenly occurred to Eden that even though she and Samson and the littlest lamb could not speak human words, they had been blessed by this presence. Surely the others, the travelers who’d been with their master all this time, his companions—surely they must feel this too and if they were roused now—here of all places—no one would be harmed. The companions would gather about their master and protect him from the world and anyone who sought to do him harm.

  Of course, they could. Of course, they would!

  She and the donkey, the lambs and even the fox would help. They’d all work together, they’d all protect each other. They’d all protect their master.

  But even as she thought this, Eden’s blood seemed to pause.

  The other animals had suddenly fallen asleep. With nothing to fear there was nothing to keep them awake. Samson nodded his long gray head and snored even though standing up. The youngest lamb, curled on the soft moss, mumbled in her sleep, her little legs twitching in a dream. Even the fox had closed his eyes, breathing heavily in slumber, while sitting. How peculiar. Foxes of all animals would never sleep in the company of others!

  What of the companions, certainly none of them would close their eyes?

  Eden ran from man to man. One slept heavily in the hollow of a tree trunk, another curled up snoring softly in a bed of grass, and yet another nodded with his head to his knees. C’mon! Wake up now! Wake up! She tugged sleeves, the hems of their robes, she nosed one in the face, and snuffed another’s ear! But none of them stirred. C’mon, wake up!

  No use.

  Eden ran back to her master and put her head under his hand.

  They should have kept awake. They should have stayed with you …

  “In the end, only you kept watch,” he told her. “Only you waited through the hour. God’s watchful servant. Only you watched with me.” He paused, looking at the sleeping forms under the trees. His companions, the travelers, all dead to the world. He looked down at Eden, “Of all of them. Only you. Will anyone remember your name? Anyone but me?”

  Eden didn’t know. What was in a name, but a sound that you wore like a collar?

  Yet when her master spoke the lot of them woke with a start. Suddenly ashamed that they’d fallen asleep, taken a moment’s respite and didn’t mean at all to leave their master alone. They meant to pray on bended knee just as he did, they meant to …

  Eden saw the fox slip away under the brush. His last words almost trailing behind his tail, “Watch out, they’re coming! They’re almost here!”

  Not soon. Now.

  The sounds of soldiers’ feet climbing the hill rose into the grove. The men in armor were searching, the soldiers nearly upon them. They came from below and gathered in a stout knot, blocking any escape. In a moment the peaceful grove was filled with men, spears, swords and shields. They came with torches, and the light shone in every direction. But it was an unhealthy light that made everyone look wan and sick. Eden saw the companions’ faces drain of blood, even at night pale fear shone out from every man.

  The lambs circled Samson’s hooves, awake, confused and bleating, “Who are they? What do they want?” And the littlest lamb, the most fearful of all: “Have they come for me? Are they taking me back to the iron chain?”

  The old donkey nuzzled the small creature.

  “No, no one comes for us, little one.” Samson looked about at the shivering men who were once their master’s most faithful companions, most faithful friends … and then at the stern faces of the soldiers. Eden wondered if the strong donkey was going to turn his hind around and kick. But Samson only shook his long gray head, and muttered, “No good will come of this tonight.”

  And Eden knew he spoke the truth.

  The companion named Judas suddenly reappeared, coming cautiously from behind the squat stone oil press. How long had he been there? How long had he been away? Had he been searching for them all this time? Or had he brought the soldiers from down below? Eden could not tell.

  By the light of the soldiers’ torches, the spirit of the Hollow Man followed Judas like his own shadow. The troubled companion cautiously crossed the grove, creeping with all the stealth of an animal while the shadow of the Hollow Man twisted this way and that, peering over Judas’ shoulder, or leaning away to grope at one companion or
the next. The shadow moved of its own accord, a living stain upon the ground. And as Judas moved closer and closer to their master, Eden sensed him struggling to free himself from the dark thing at his feet, struggling and failing and finally giving up.

  Now the shadow led him, crossing the grove under the trees. Judas stood before their master, as if to take his hand, to kneel or even kiss his face. Then Judas’ dark shadow reached out and even as Eden watched, the dark fingers rose to her master’s waist, then to his shoulder. The dark silhouette of a face leaned into his throat like a lover, the shadow leaving a kiss behind, the barest touch on the son of man.

  And Judas put his face into his hands, weeping his own tears.

  “Oh, still I love thee …” The shadow that pursued him, that clung to him, vanished in an instant. And Judas stood by himself, naked and alone, his soul for all to see. And for a second Eden saw the Hollow Man large as life grinning from the trees. He seemed very pleased with himself, as if this were his finest hour. And as he withdrew into the darkness, only the sickly glow of his smile remained.

  Yet another stranger, a servant of the temple, stood in the knot of soldiers.

  Then another temple servant joined the first. The servants hesitated as if ashamed, for they had no courage to stand before the torches, but instead cowered beside the armed men, a pair of cowards.

  For a moment Eden almost felt sorry for the men …

  But before she took another breath, bright metal flashed in the torchlight.

  A sword!

  The temple servant closest to her cried out and held his head. Shocked, the soldiers brandished their spears. Eden’s master looked at the attacker, now kneeling with the sword in his hand, and Eden could see that he was one of their own companions. In an instant the horror of what must happen next flashed through her mind, overwhelming her. For if men spilled blood, certain punishment would follow. Their companion with the sword was a dead man. What other outcome was possible? Knowing his fate, the attacker let the sword loose in his fist and waited for the spears to take his life.

  But Eden’s master could not let that happen. No, there would be none of this. He knelt to the temple servant clutching his head, making sure the wounded man would live.

  “Put up your sword,” he whispered to his foolish friend.

  No, neither man would not die this day. Neither companion nor temple servant.

  Instead, their master offered himself to the soldiers of his own free will.

  He opened his palms accepting his fate.

  Without warning the soldiers moved as one thrall. The men whipped the donkey and Samson brayed. Eden leapt away to avoid the booted feet, and the lambs scattered in every direction. The last thing Eden saw: her master stumbling down the hill between soldiers with spears and shields, and many rough hands upon him.

  They knew the man they dragged down the hill.

  Everyone knew.

  No need to look further tonight.

  At last they had found him.

  Denial

  At this hour and in the midst of the darkness Eden sat quietly beside a black stone. The soldiers’ commotion faded down the hill. The stealthy fox twitched his whiskers as he sat nearby, but Eden made no effort to chase him. He looked at her then shook his head sadly. “I thought that after drawing this close, I could learn to speak his name. But nothing has changed in me and still I cannot. I am just a fox with a fox’s tongue.”

  Samson clopped about in the dark among the stones, searching out one lamb and then another and then another. He used his long gray nose to nestle them close. In a few moments they had gathered back to him under the branches of the olive trees.

  “What do we do now?” cried the littlest lamb.

  “Yes, what do we do now? What now?” the other lambs cried.

  But for once Samson had no answer.

  The donkey looked to Eden as if the dog could tell him.

  “Wait here,” she told Samson and his lambs.

  “I shall follow the men, for I must know where they go.”

  Eden had no trouble tracking the soldiers, for a rank odor from their smoky torches hung in the air marking a trail down the hillside. In the wide courtyard of a grand house a fire burned in a fire pit, lighting the compound walls. The soldiers guarded the main doors of the house, while servants and travelers gathered around the fire pit seeking warmth and shelter.

  The soldiers had brought her master into the large house of the chief priest himself. Eden heard the voices of other men rising and falling faintly within. The men of the temple were putting questions to her master as once they had before, but this time the voices were harsher than the Learned Ones in the temple who wished only understanding and wisdom. These were more challenges, not reverential, nor with any hint of a desire for knowledge or a need to know. And it seemed to Eden the harsh voices didn’t really want replies from her master—only to put angry questions riddled with fear.

  Eden’s sharp ears heard other voices too, scratchy little voices. A pack of rats crouched in the dark of the house wall. They had watched her master go inside the house and laughed at his silence as the endless questions rained down.

  “Oh, they’ve got him, all right,” the Chief Rat said.

  “Yes, with testimony,” another chattered. “That he would tear down the temple with his bare hands!”

  “No, no!” squealed another rat, “Now another witness has a different story. This one says that he would build it again, but not with his hands.”

  The rats were confused for no one could agree what was said, or who said it or what was truly meant by it all, and for several moments they scurried about in the shadow of the house walls, lashing each other with their tails in frustration.

  At last the Chief Rat said, “Now they are demanding to know whose son he really is.” The Chief Rat took a big breath, smiling behind his teeth. “He won’t even say that,” the Chief Rat gloated. “No, he won’t say it. But they say they heard him say it. Oh, they’ve got him good now.”

  “Yes,” the others cried in their scratchy voices, “they’ve got him good.” And the pack of rats all rubbed their little claws together in delight. In that moment of triumph and jubilation the Chief Rat’s beady eyes latched on to Eden. And the pack held their breath, wondering whether to stand or flee. The Chief Rat scuttled along the wall, his red beady eyes challenging her, and others followed. Safety in numbers.

  “Did you not know him?” the Chief Rat demanded. “Was he not your master from birth? Did you not know him better than anyone here?”

  At first Eden did not know what to say. Was this low creature worth answering?

  But dogs cannot lie. And even rats deserve an answer.

  Of course, Eden knew him. Everyone knew her master.

  Too bad this ugly rat didn’t know him—it might have done him good.

  She stared grimly at the Chief Rat, her lip raised, wondering whether it would be better just to grab him by the neck and shake him to death.

  But then the strangest thing happened. A familiar smell touched Eden’s nose, a scent from within this courtyard.…Ahhh, one of their master’s companions huddled by the fire. One of the first gathered back by the banks of the river. The fisherman who cast nets upon the sea, the one named Peter. Long had he followed her master’s footsteps from village to field, and slept beside the lambs in every orchard. This companion was always kind to her, but Peter talked more to men than he ever did to animals. Now sitting before the fire pit in the courtyard of this grand house he hugged his knees to his chest, staring hard into the flames. Every so often he looked nervously about as if listening for some signal. The dog could tell he strained his ears to the thick walls, laboring to hear everything that was going on beyond the bolted doors.

  But even as the voices died within, one voice from the fire pit demanded:

  “Did you not know him? Were you not his friend?”

  Everyone staring into the fire went silent, waiting for an answer. And Eden realized that
Peter’s mind was not troubled like either Judas or Maryam, but frozen from within, petrified like the salt statues by the great dead water. Now he cowered under the shadow of the Hollow Man—making his denial all the more shameful.

  This companion’s voice so soft Eden could barely hear it:

  Not I, he swore, not I.

  But what the dog saw on his face was worse.

  The one named Peter shrank inside himself.

  Wishing only to disappear.

  To be gone and never have been born.

  A cock on a rooftop crowed—the first herald of sunrise—for somewhere over the horizon the bird could feel the dawning of a black day.

  At that very moment, the doors of the great house opened and the soldiers prepared to bring Eden’s master forth, and the travelers and those who sought shelter rose and fled the fire’s light. All those who waited scuttled into the shadow of the walls. The rats screamed as they were stepped on. The Chief Rat ran into the first crack in the wall he could find, tail wriggling in fear as it disappeared into the stone.

  But Eden caught him by the tail, and dragged him from the wall. She shook him, his shrill squeals echoing in the courtyard. And when the Chief Rat went limp in her teeth, Eden spat his body out.

  Let the Romans Decide

  Dawn broke against the high walls of the city, an overcast, ugly day. Damp clouds blew across the rooftops, smelling of rust and ash. The sun slid into the gray metal sky and Eden felt a great weight overhead, gazing down with hooded eyes. After the cock crowed in the courtyard of the grand house no birds chimed in, no starlings chirruped, no doves cooed in the corners of the houses.

  Eden noticed a scrawny cat slinking along an open drain at the side of the road.

  The cat halted to wipe her face with her paws.

  “Where are the mice?” the cat asked of no one.

  Looking about again she shook her head. “No mice. All hiding, all gone.”

  A kind of horrible quiet descended on the world, a dawn like no other the dog had ever seen. The silence broken only by the muffled stamp of the soldier’s feet as they marched Eden’s master toward the city.