He could not despise or revile them. But neither could he respect their devotion to a God so capricious and spiteful that He would allow what He had allowed to happen to Chavivi. In some small way, Levi wished he shared even a bit of his parents’ obvious despair over his leaving. In truth he was eager to just get out and get going. He was anxious about the future, how he would fare, who he would meet, whether he would succeed. He did not doubt his intellect or his abilities. He fully expected to dominate his class. And his goal was nothing short of becoming the wealthiest, most famous, and most hated tax collector in the land. It might take years, but this would allow him to decide his own fate, control his own future. He could think of nothing better.
Levi was already fluent in Hebrew, Greek, and Aramaic, so while he would be forced to study all those again to prove himself, they would take little work. He was also proficient in calculation, a talent indispensable to the trade. What he needed to learn were all the ins and outs of the job: how to determine a tax, how to collect it, how to exact the highest amount possible.
Levi suspected that he would learn as much away from the school as in it, as he would be paying for his education by apprenticing under a veteran tax collector. He could hardly wait to discover who that would be and where.
As he made the long journey south to Jerusalem, both the love and admonition of his parents rang in his ears with every step or borrowed wagon ride. His father had continued to remind him that he didn’t have to do this, that he could change his mind, stay home, come back to the Lord, petition to be welcomed back into the temple, even still become a priest.
Levi’s mother, however, had gone about the farewell with her jaw set and eyes fixed. She had embraced him hard and long before he set out, but it was clear she had resigned herself to this. He wished she didn’t wear her dishonor as personal failure. This was on Levi, on himself alone. It was his decision.
Also fixed in his mind was the sweet expression on young James. Plainly the boy did not understand all of what was going on, but he was timid and shy and quiet, saying nothing but good-bye. What would become of him? Spared a horrid tragedy, he would likely study the holy books and become the priest his parents so wanted to come from the family.
The farther Levi traveled from Cana, the more nervousness grew in his gut. But he was not scared. He was excited. A whole world awaited him. On the one hand he was eager to prove himself and impress his peers and his superiors. On the other, he cared about none of them—whoever they might prove to be. They were not people to be admired or trusted. They were people from whom he would glean everything he could, trying not to alienate them until he was independent enough not to care what they thought.
But what would his quarters look like, his classroom? What would his duties and studies entail? More important, how long would it take him to earn the tax collector’s stick that was used to rummage through goods and even to hold a man back who wanted to pass without paying an appropriate—or inappropriate—toll? And how long before he wore the telltale brass breastplate that identified him? Someday he simply wanted to be known for the profession he had chosen. And he would be known as the most feared.
Something about that very idea excited Levi. If it were in his power, he would skip all the instruction and training and get on with his career. Nothing else loomed on the horizon for him, so he just wanted to get on with it.
If Levi were to be despised and rejected and looked down upon, the sooner the better. He would proudly stick out his chest until the breastplate glinted in the sun.
If anyone had an opinion, something they wanted to say to the publican, the tax collector, the traitor, the cheat, the scoundrel, the sinner, let them say it to his face or keep their mouth shut.
EIGHT
The head of the publican training facility proved to be an enormous fat man named Chaklai who grunted as he rose to welcome Levi into his modest office. He seemed to move with great difficulty, and sweat poured from him. His head and face were a mass of tangled black-and-white curls, the beard and mustache hiding his lips.
He shook Levi’s hand with his own thick, greasy fingers, forcing a quickly fading smile that revealed brown teeth. Over the man’s shoulder Levi noticed a plate that appeared to contain the remnants of lamb and beef—rich man’s fare—and a chunk of bread. Levi wiped his hand on his tunic as Chaklai pointed to a chair, and they both sat.
“Tall and fair and young,” the fat man said. “I like that. And from the tribe of Levi?”
“My parents could only wish.”
“They are not favorable toward this?”
“Hardly.”
Chaklai cleared his throat loudly, mouth open, and Levi smelled his breath. “Families are never lukewarm about us, son. They either disown us or fully embrace the idea for themselves and their progeny. For instance, I am merely one in a long line of publicans.”
“And I am likely the first and last in my family.”
Chaklai pressed his lips together and seemed to study the young man. He shook his head. “Not if you prove worthy of the calling. Then everyone in your family will envy you and begin inquiring discreetly how they too can succeed like you.”
Levi held his tongue. He knew his family better than this crude man did.
Chaklai drummed his fingers on the wood table. “So you will work for your education . . .”
“Whatever is necessary. Cleaning, errands . . .”
“We have slaves for that. Your work will involve learning the business. You are fluent in Aramaic, and I know you were raised speaking Hebrew. Now you know you must also learn the language of Rome.”
“It happens that I am fluent in that too,” Levi said in Greek, causing the man to raise a brow.
“Indeed?”
“Sir, I want to know how this works. I know I will study, learn tachygraphy, become even more proficient at calculations, be taught all the taxes and so on, but I need to know how one acquires his own tax area.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Chaklai bellowed, leaning back and laughing. “You’re already a man now, prepared to supervise your own tax office?”
“Well, no, certainly not. But that is my aim.”
“And only the aim of everyone else here! All in due time, son. Believe me, if you prove yourself, your horizon is limitless. But it takes a certain, special kind of a man to do well at this work. We will have to see if you have what it takes.”
“Believe me, I do.”
“Is that so? You know, I’m sure, how we are viewed by our countrymen.”
“Of course.”
“Can you bear up under that? We tend to keep to ourselves, as no one else will have us.”
“That suits me.”
“Indeed? Our own people are angry enough that they are not masters of their own fate but are counted like cattle and taxed for everything imaginable. It galls them to no end that we, their brothers, work for the foreigners who subject them. It also makes us their vilest enemies.”
Levi knew what the man wanted to hear. “The Jews are also excused from military service, so they pay nothing to Rome in the way of their own blood.”
“So let them be taxed!” Chaklai roared. “Am I right? Tell me if I am not right!”
“Let them be taxed and let me collect it,” Levi said, enjoying entertaining the man so.
“We are going to get along well,” Chaklai said with a grin. “As for how you do that and how you go about procuring your own area, that is what we teach here. You will study under Divri, a most eloquent teacher. Anything you need to know, he will instruct you. If you do not master it, that will be to your charge and certainly not to his. But first I would like to show you to your chambers, which you will share with Efah, one of our brighter students.”
“One of but not the brightest?” Levi said.
Chaklai narrowed his eyes. “That is your aim too? To be the best student?”
“Nothing less.”
“Follow me.”
Levi had to keep himself in chec
k not to overcome and step on the heels of the big man’s sandals as Chaklai trudged ponderously to the dormitory. The man left in his wake a stench that made Levi hold his breath.
He was stunned to find the minuscule rooms in which two mats were separated by a tiny table and one chair. There was little room to move and mere pegs protruded from the walls on either side, apparently for hanging garments.
“You and Efah will trade off studying here or in our library. He is on assignment in Bethany today and will be back in time for the evening meal.”
“Where will I be assigned?”
“That will be up to Divri, but you have much to learn first, young man.”
THE TEACHER PROVED Chaklai’s opposite, at least in appearance. Tall and lithe, he appeared to have bathed recently. He was clean-shaven with short, wavy hair and sat placidly with his hands folded before him on a desk. He spoke precisely and softly and smiled a lot, but still Levi got the impression the man was looking down his nose at him. His aim was to not allow that for long.
“I generally advise younger pupils to remain silent at first. Do a lot of observing and listening. If you have aptitude, your time will come. And your practical training will quickly prove to us whether you are meant for this work.”
“Believe me, I’m meant for it,” Levi said.
“We will be the judge of that. And like I said, silence is more prudent than boastfulness.”
Perfect, Levi thought. I hate him already.
“I won’t need to boast any longer once I prove myself to you, will I, sir?”
Maddeningly, Divri acted as if he had not even heard the question. He sat perfectly still, as if at peace with the world. Levi had to wonder how the man felt about himself and his profession. He was the teacher, the instructor, the guide who made this most hated caste of people proficient at their odious tasks. And yet here he sat, smug and self-assured. Levi was convinced he could do Divri’s job better than the man himself could, given time to learn what he needed to know.
One thing Levi did not lack was confidence—in his intellect, his memory, and his ability to master whatever he set his mind to. These people could look down on him, doubt him, laugh at him, he didn’t care. Once he proved himself they would have to accept, even if be-grudgingly, that he was worth the trouble, because for every shekel he brought in, they would get a piece. He was determined to be worth a fortune to them. They didn’t have to respect or like him; they would have to put up with him because he would shine.
“This will prove your last day of respite, young man,” Divri said. “We rise early and study long and hard, and your assignment will begin immediately.”
“Where will that be?”
“What, you’re worried I was going to forget to tell you? Perhaps I would require you to just guess?”
Levi knew he was expected to apologize for pestering, but no. Never. There would be no apologizing to this preening fool.
“I am wondering when we’re finally going to get to the business at hand.”
“Oh, you are? We will cover the pertinent aspects of our work in the order I deem appropriate. Understood?”
Levi shot him a look.
“Well, do you understand or not?”
Levi sighed. “You would do well to spare me the parental tone. As I told Chaklai, I am fluent in three languages and have already mastered calculation. In my opinion, all I really need to learn now is the tachygraphy.”
“That’s all, is it? You have no idea how difficult it is, and you may think you have mastered calculation, but let me assure you, there is a vast difference between figuring out simple problems and adding and subtracting and multiplying in your head while the citizenry is alternately trying to cheat you and wishing you dead. You think you’re prepared for that?”
“Try me.”
Finally Levi had elicited some animation from Divri. The man put his hands in his lap and leaned forward, fully engaged. “All right. A man has brought to the market four wagons, sixty head of cattle, two dozen sheep, two slaves to sell, and forty bushels of wheat.” Divri then rattled off the amount of the tax on everything, including the axles of the wagons. “Even before he sells anything, what does he owe?”
Levi announced the total immediately. While he knew Divri would never show he was impressed, Levi was pleased to see that this had given him pause. The man then recited the sale price of everything the merchant sold and the standard percentage he would owe the tax collector for each.
Levi quickly calculated the total.
“Incorrect!” Divri said, chortling. “And you think you are—”
“Why? You think it’s twenty percent too high?”
The man’s smile disappeared. “Exactly.”
“You didn’t think I would exact my own profit from the transaction?”
“Well, I—uh, yes that would be correct. All right, and if the trader balks . . .”
“I tell him that the extra is to keep me from reporting to Rome that he was also smuggling illegal goods.”
“And if he denies this?”
“I will tell him where to report for a hearing so he may take it up with Rome. He will pay.”
Divri squinted. “Tell me. Just how is it you are so conversant in this?”
“I am not stupid,” Levi said. “I listen. This happened so many times to my own father that I . . .”
“And he came to accept it as a cost of doing business.”
“Naturally.”
“What happens when, every so many years, the citizens become fed up and threaten to revolt?”
“That’s up to Herod. He has given reprieves and refunds, just like his evil father did.”
“You were no fan of Herod the Great?”
Levi would not get into this. “The king, whoever he is at the time of a tax revolt, must do what he has to do to preserve his kingdom. But until he decrees otherwise, I will push for every mite owed.”
“And a few more for your own pocket.”
“As much as the market will bear.”
“You seem to have the personality for it. A tax collector must be persistent and persuasive.”
“Feared is the word you’re looking for.”
“You don’t seem so fearsome.”
“Give me a stick and a breastplate and then tell me what you think.”
EFAH PROVED A gloomy sort about ten years Levi’s senior. Levi thought the man looked Greek, trim and athletic with short black hair and beard. Efah let his bag slip from his shoulder and stashed it in the corner, hanging his cloak on a peg. “So you’re the new man.”
Levi hated someone stating the obvious. “When’s the evening meal?”
Efah eyed him. “Nice to meet you too.”
“I’m hungry, that’s all. That all right with you?”
“I was told only yesterday I would have a chamber mate,” Efah said. “I’m no more happy about this arrangement than you are.”
“How many get their own quarters?”
“I was the last. But I earned it. I have seniority.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Just over two years.”
“I don’t plan to be here that long.”
Efah smirked and motioned for Levi to follow, leading him down labyrinthine staircases to a long narrow room crowded with tables. Levi smelled fish and bread. “I expected better fare,” he said.
“Not used to poor man’s food? An aristocrat, are you?”
“Hardly, but publicans—”
“Are rich men, no? You expect to eat like the fat man immediately? Have you not been told that you must pull your weight from the beginning? I’m surprised they’re not charging you until you begin to pay your own way.”
“We have an understanding,” Levi said, immediately regretting that he felt the slightest obligation to explain himself to a fellow student. “Trust me, I’ll begin paying my way soon enough, and I won’t be here any two years, let alone more.”
“We’ll see.”
L
evi and Efah fell into a mostly silent truce that found them largely grunting acknowledgment of each other’s presence each day. Levi was assigned an internship in Lod, about twice as far west of Jerusalem as Bethany was east. There he reported to a middle-aged publican who ran a small tax office that levied charges on goods coming into the village from the port at Jaffa and from Jerusalem, and of course on goods that went to those cities as well.
Levi was expected to watch and listen. He was struck by how normal and even friendly the tax collectors were with one another, but how their ruthless nastiness was manifest against the citizens. There seemed no attempt to work with anyone in a businesslike manner. Publicans were stationed at every major thoroughfare, identified by their breast-plates and rapacious in their manner.
They stepped directly in front of carts and wagons, fully expecting them to stop immediately without a word or a signal—which they did. Every word to the public bore a tone of condescension and suspicion. It was as if each question carried an accusation of dishonesty. Commerce—the lifeblood of the village—was suspected and treated like a nuisance. Levi learned that regardless what the tax man said to the traders, it sounded like some variation of, “What do you mean trying to ply your illegal business in my town? What are you smuggling? Who are you trying to defraud?”
The tax men wielded their sticks with alacrity, using them to push beasts and slaves aside, to lift tarpaulins off loads, to pop lids off barrels and bins and baskets, to dig through grain as if expecting to find contraband. As they dug and commented and made lists, the assistant or an intern like Levi was expected to record everything they said.
Levi had taken to tachygraphy as if born to it, quickly outdistancing his classmates in recording every word Divri said during instruction. Some suspected him of having learned it before, and even Efah said he had an inhuman knack for it, almost as if he bore an evil spirit. Levi only wished that were so. Perhaps his hatred of God was evidence that he did.
The day he was privileged to take notes for the Lod chief tax man himself, Levi found himself scolded in the man’s office at the end of the day.