The river wound like a snake through the land and Lazarus turned his oar to keep the boat aligned with the center of its stream. Fish swam in form beside the boat’s hull and he marveled at their scales as sunlight glinted off of them. He could stop and attempt to catch them to eat or purchase food from the city’s venders but he had no interest in preserving his body.
Suddenly he was jolted as the boat crushed down over a small waterfall. He braced a hand on the boat’s side to hold himself onboard. He pushed off of a rock and the river moved to calmer waters once more. Lazarus was surprised that there was still any energy in his body because he hadn’t eaten anything for two days and had only had a few gulps of water from the river to nourish him.
חַי
As midday arrived the sun pulsed radiantly above and sweat exuded from Lazarus’ pores. His robe clung to his sweaty back and the burns on his hands seared in the heat. All foliage seemed to have disappeared from the land and replacing it on the banks was a thick layer of white cragged rock. Salt, he thought. He could taste it in the sweltering air. I must be near the sea.
The river curved to the right and Lazarus steadied himself with the oar, barely avoiding a collision with a jagged salt covered stone protruding up from the water. Then, as he lifted his head, a large mound of salt rock that was blocking his vision moved away and he took a breath, in awe of what he saw. The Dead Sea opened up before him, its pure aqua colored water stretching far off into the distance until a white mountain range rose like a giant at its end. Lazarus had not expected such beauty in this place. He pushed his oar in the river water and the boat flowed down out of the Jordan River and into the Dead Sea.
Now that I am here where do I go? He moved the oar again and again, pushing the clear aqua water and moving toward the middle of the place. A white haze lingered in the air and salt lined the bottom of the sea bed. What is that? He squinted and looked far off in the distance. There was a small stone structure, a home built on the shore of the sea.
7
Lazarus’ muscles burned and his mind was hazy with exhaustion as he dragged the boat ashore near the small stone building. The warm, moist air he breathed into his lungs made his stomach turn. Why have I come here? he wondered while letting go of the boat’s end and hearing its thud on the ground. He stood straight, stretching out his back, arm and leg muscles before turning toward the structure. “Why have I come here?” he spoke lowly to himself.
He let his legs carry him to the building and something in him caused his hand to lift and knock on the building’s wooden door. He realized now that he moved almost involuntarily, not caring what happened next in his life. Lazarus heard the noise of movement beyond the door and took steps backward. What would he encounter here?
The thick, unhandled door opened outward and a man covered in a tattered robe and cloth wrappings over his hands and face passed through it. The man’s eyes were blood red. “What do you come here for?” he asked in a deep rasped voice. The man’s thin frame was evident beneath his robe.
“I do not know,” Lazarus responded honestly. “Perhaps I am here to die.”
“Then you have come to the right place.” The man unwrapped a torn cloth from one of his hands, revealing a deformed, crippled hand with red sores on it. He lifted his hand to his face and pulled away the rag that was covering it. Skin lesions and boils covered the man’s face. The fleshy boils beaded across his skin.
Lazarus was not disturbed by the man’s features. He had seen men and women like this in Jerusalem. They were avoided and said to be damned. “Leprosy,” the word fell from his mouth.
“Do not pity us.” The man covered his face once more with the rag. “It is true we are lepers, come here to live away from humanity until we die.”
“Can I stay with you this night?” Lazarus asked with respect in his voice.
“You would risk our disease? What afflicts you, sir, that you would give yourself so readily to death?”
Lazarus looked to the pure aqua colored sea and the white mountains beyond it. There was beauty in the sunlight glistening off its water. “It is not that I give myself to death, but rather that I care not to give myself to life.”
“Then you are a self cursed man, one not worthy of the life given you.”
Lazarus breathed deeply and let the breath exhale from him before speaking. “What is your answer? I only ask for one night. Surely I can be of some use to you.”
“I will speak for the others because they are too weak to speak. You may stay this night but if you wish to stay more you may find your wishes declined. There is a city a ways through the desert you may wish to travel to when tomorrow comes. What is your name, man who cares not for life?”
“Lazarus.” He extended his hand toward the leper and stepped toward him. “I am Lazarus of Bethany.”
“I have not heard of a Lazarus of Bethany.” The leper replied and did not meet his hand. “You will not come near our flesh. This affliction is ours alone.”
“I only meant to…”
“Do not.” Tense silence held in the air. “I am Barbacus of Zeboiim. It is a city at the end of the sea. We will make room for you inside.”
Barbacus turned and opened the stone house’s door halfway before passing through the doorway.
Lazarus stood for a moment, looking out over the Dead Sea and its glistening waters. The salt rocks that surrounded the place reminded him of snow, which rarely came to his lands. It gave an unnatural feel to the water and struck an uncomfortable feeling through him. He went to the half open doorway and walked inside, closing the wind worn door behind him.
חַי
That night as wind howled outside the structure Lazarus lay on the ground covered in a light sheet Barbacus had given him. The stench of decaying flesh was imbedded in the cloth and he had no pillow for his head. A single candle flickered in the building’s center.
From his spot on the floor Lazarus could clearly see his housemates in the flickering candlelight. Barbacus’ frail body lay across from him beneath a thin sheet on the hard earth floor. He was the healthiest of the three lepers and had left the two beds for the others. He looked as if in agony as he slept. The firelight illuminated the skin lesions and boils on his face.
On a bed in a corner of the structure another man laid, his body covered by a heavy cloth. This man had not moved since Lazarus’ arrival. If it had not been for a single moan of agony the man had made Lazarus would have sworn him dead. Barbacus had called him Matthew. A rash etched its way across the man’s gauntly face.
The second bed was near Lazarus and the man in it, a leper by the name of Nicholas, had spoken sporadically to him since his arrival. A shiver ran across Lazarus’ skin as he watched the man. He looks as if death will come for him in the night, Lazarus thought while pulling his thin sheet close to his body in an effort to keep warm. Nicholas’ body quaked as sweat beaded on his boil pocked face.
“Nicholas,” Lazarus whispered to him, careful not to wake the others. “Nicholas, can I do anything to relieve your pains?” There was no answer but the man’s bloodshot eyes opened and stared hollowly into his own. Lazarus pulled away his sheet and stood, using the cold earth beneath him to push himself up. He went to Nicholas’ bed and knelt beside the man. “What can I do?” Lazarus asked.
Nicholas’ dry lips opened slowly. “Water…” he rasped. “Salt water… for my skin.”
Lazarus hesitated a moment and then stood. “Will that relieve your pain?”
Nicholas’ eyes shut and he lay motionless on the bed, then shook with a surge of pain before becoming still once more.
Lazarus walked to the door and picked up a wooden bucket before walking out of the candlelight, pushing open the door and walking into the dark of night. The coolness of the outdoor air blew through him as he made his way to the Dead Sea. He could see the salt rocks in the moonlight around him as he walked. Is this why they are here? Does salt water heal their wounds? As he reached the sea he removed his sandals and waded int
o its water. He thrust the bucket into the saltwater and drew it up. It seemed to weigh so much as he walked out of the sea. It is because I have not eaten, he reasoned. My strength leaves me. He put on his sandals and headed for the rock home. “Lord, help me relieve Nicholas’ pain,” he spoke lowly in the darkness and stared up at the stars.
Light from the candle met Lazarus as he entered the stone building. It flickered across the walls. Somehow the light is not warming. It almost makes the room colder. What do I use to spread the water? He looked about the room and saw no rags that he could use. Instead he lifted his head wrapping from the floor and went to Nicholas’ bedside. Blood ran from the man’s nose as Lazarus placed his hand on the cover over his arm. “I have the sea water for you.”
Nicholas’ boil pocked head rolled toward him and his bloodshot eyes opened. There was a foggy look to his irises. He said nothing but breathed heavily as Lazarus tore a piece of his cloth off and whipped the blood from his nose. There was a look of agony in Nicholas’ twitching eyes.
“Here. Let me ease your pain,” Lazarus spoke lowly while uncovering the man’s arm and shoulders. He dipped the remaining cloth in the bucket of saltwater, wrung it out and brought it to Nicholas’ scabbed, lesion covered flesh. At the touch Nicholas closed his eyes and breathed a sigh. “Rest.” Lazarus moved the cloth up the man’s exposed body. He went slowly to let the saltwater ease the man’s sores. The feel of Nicholas’ flesh beneath the cloth made Lazarus nauseated. Bile came up in his throat and he swallowed it down. As it burned the back of his throat he thought about God. The Lord would want this. He would want me to care for this man.
As the night moved on Lazarus moved the wet cloth over the leper’s body and then stayed by his side as the man slept. Candle wax dripped down the candle in the center of the room until the light went out. When it did Lazarus was asleep on the ground beside Nicholas’ bed.
8
“Lazarus,” a voice spoke through the darkness of his mind. “Lazarus, wake up. You can not stay here.” The voice echoed around him.
He looked into the darkness. Have I been released and returned to the world of the dead? It was as if he were floating in the darkness of the night sky. I do not remember what death was before.
“Lazarus,” the voice spoke again.
A burst of light flooded into his eyes. “No.” He shook with fear, bracing his hands on the ground beneath him as Nicholas’ bed emerged in his focusing sight. I was dead and yet again I return.
“Lazarus.” He saw Barbacus as he turned his head. “What have you done? You were not to touch our flesh. This is our burden. Now you must leave.”
“I…” Lazarus struggled to stand, looking at the bucket beside him as he did so. “I only meant to relieve Nicholas’ pain. I do not care for my life, but the least I can do is help others if I must live.”
“And we would not take your life from you. Do you not understand this?”
“I have nowhere to go.” He went to pick up the moist cloth he had used on Nicholas and Barbacus put out his hand in a motion to stop him.
Nicholas opened his hazy eyes and Lazarus was heartened to see they had lost their redness. “Please… do not make him go. His heart is…” His rasped voice trailed off.
Lazarus stood and watched Barbacus for a moment. These men are frail but at least Barbacus has the will to stand. I suppose he has no choice though. Without his strength who would care for the others? I could do much to help them if they would only allow me.
Barbacus went to the door and opened it, letting daylight flood in. “Go to the edge of the sea and wait for me there.”
Lazarus opened his mouth to speak.
“Go,” Barbacus told him.
As he walked through the door the warmth of the morning blanketed his body. Where will I go from here? Lazarus walked past the worn boat he had sailed down the Jordan River in. I’ve just arrived here and now I must move on to some other unknown place. When will I find a home, a purpose? Resentment grew in him again as he walked to the seashore. How could Jesus let himself die? How could he leave me alone? I am still alone.
The wind was crisp and seeing the salt-stained stones lining the edges of the sea sent an uneasy feeling through him. This is an unnatural place. I should not have come. He kneeled before the water, held out his hand above the glistening surface and slowly let it submerge into the warm sea.
Moments passed and Lazarus looked to the sun above. Lord, would you forgive me if I walked into the sea and let it take this body? He imagined the warm water covering him and filling his lungs. It was an almost peaceful thought.
“Lazarus,” Barbacus spoke from behind him. His voice was both urgent and cold. “Come quickly.”
As he turned he could see pain behind the man’s eyes. What was happening? It didn’t feel like this had anything to do with the anger Barbacus had shown him a few moments before.
As he reached Barbacus the man gave Lazarus a hollow look and turned to lead him inside. “Come and see what it is I try to save you from. There is something… I do not want to ask, but we are in need of you. There is no other way.” With that Lazarus followed him out of the sunlight and into the building. He feared what he would find.
Lazarus looked first to Nicholas, wondering what was wrong with the man. He was curled on his side in bed facing the stone wall.
“It is not him. It is Matthew.” Barbacus stood still beside him. “Death has come for him in the night.”
Lazarus quickly went to Matthew’s bedside, kneeling and lowering his head to pray. I spent my night caring for Nicholas as Matthew met with death. The thought sent a shiver through him and an aching pain caused his chest to convulse. I wished to bring life with my hands, Lord, and yet death comes so close to them. His eyes began to sting with tears. He felt their warmth as they raced down his cheeks.
“Do not cry for him,” Barbacus spoke from behind him. “He has suffered so greatly for so long. This is release.”
Lazarus looked up at Barbacus. “Why do you speak of this man’s death with hope and yet speak against my own dark wishes?”
“Why are you so blind?” Barbacus asked. “It is because you have been given the gift of a well healed life while we suffer in agony.”
He thought on this for a moment before standing and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You say you are in need of me. What is it that you ask?”
“Matthew’s body must be moved and I alone cannot move him. Nicholas can not help, he can barely stand. I’m afraid I must ask your help in moving him to a cave a short distance from here. We do not have the burial caves you have in Jerusalem and other places and so we use a cavern we discovered in the salt mounds.” Silence held in the air for a moment. “I wished to keep you from our flesh and yet I must ask your help in carrying him there.”
Lazarus looked knowingly to Barbacus’ eyes. “All I wish to do with this life is help others. I will gladly do this for you.”
Barbacus retrieved two strips of worn cloth from beneath his sheet on the ground. “Here, wrap these over your hands to keep your skin from contact with his flesh.”
He wrapped the cloths over his hands and went to hoist Matthew up from behind his shoulders while Barbacus lifted the dead man’s legs. With a thrust he lifted upward, feeling the man’s emaciated shoulder blades pressing into his covered hands. He and Barbacus carried the body out into the sunlight.
Barbacus looked at Lazarus as together they carried the dead man. The lesions and boils on Barbacus were unnerving but respect and admiration were growing in Lazarus for the man. “Do you see the salt-rock hill a distance before us?” Barbacus asked.
“Yes.”
“That is where we go.”
Lazarus squinted in the sunlight and breathed deep breaths of salt infused air as he helped carry Matthew to the place. The man weighed little. His limp body was so frail. Lazarus found himself wondering how Matthew had managed to live as long as he had. As he crossed the rock and sand terrain toward the mound he thanked
the Lord for his life, though he was still uncertain why he had been granted his resurrection.
Soon they were before the cavern and Lazarus’ muscles burned with strain. Waves of nausea and dizziness were coming over him. He knew it was because of his insistence of not consuming anything since Jesus’ crucifixion.
“I can drag him into the cavern from here,” Barbacus said as sweat dripped down his scarred forehead.
“No. I can help move him the rest of the way.” Together they brought Matthew into the cool cavern toward a carved out section in the salt-rock. The cool air in the place helped relieve Lazarus’ nausea.
“Place him there.” Barbacus motioned with his eyes.
They laid Matthew’s frail, lifeless form down in the hollow space and Lazarus shuttered. There were bones of many men here beneath where they set the body. Some were broken and shreds of cloth protruded up from beneath them. A decayed human stench wafted into his nostrils. “I have to leave,” Lazarus said, turning and stumbling out of the cave. He coughed from the stench as he reached the sunlight, bending over and holding his knees.
“This is our reality. You do not have to make it yours.” Barbacus’ caring voice was behind him moments later. It almost felt like the man’s hand was on his shoulder although he knew Barbacus would never touch him.
“What else am I to do?”
“I have another favor to ask of you, if you would accept it. From there I know not where you should go. Maybe this will give you time to consider that.”
Lazarus turned to face him. “I will gladly do what I can to help you. What is it you ask?”
“There is a man named Thomas who brings us dried meats, vegetables and miscellaneous other things from Zeboiim, the city I am from. He replenishes our supplies so that we may live our lives in isolation. But he has not come for many days and we run low on food. Soon we will not worry about leprosy and instead will fear starvation. I cannot make the journey to Zeboiim or its surrounding cities because I cannot leave Nicholas alone. Would you make this journey for us and return with food and word of Thomas?”