What sort of persona do I use? How would a foreigner act?
I fall back on what I know best, being The Cult Hunter.
Narrow eyes, tilt head by two degrees, be commanding.
The boys show no reaction at all, they continue with their conversation.
“Where do you think he comes from?” asks the first boy who appears to be the older of the two. “Could he have come from Jerusalem?”
Try a subtle lip curl.
Still no reaction.
“I’ve never seen a cloak like that, even in Jerusalem,” the second boy says.
“I bet he’s from Babylon.”
Try the classic Cult Hunter chin lowering. That always gets a reaction.
Nothing. None of my usual facial expressions work on them.
All this time I thought the masks were an asset. Could it be they were a liability?
“His skin is very white,” the second boy replies. “And he has no beard. I bet he’s a Roman.”
I can’t believe I didn’t think of beards. I hate shaving so I had my facial hair permanently removed with lasers years ago. I guess that’s also an enhancement but since it leaves no chips inside you I don’t count it.
“But he has no sword. All Romans carry swords so they can kill people for fun.”
Is that how all the locals think about the Romans?
The sheep sounds are getting closer so it’s likely that adults will be arriving soon. The only thing left to me is the most foreign option of all, being myself.
I clear my mind of manipulating my expressions and look straight at them with a natural smile.
“His eyes are blue. I’ve never seen blue eyes before.”
“He must be an escaped slave. I’ve heard the Romans take slaves from far away with blue eyes. I bet that’s why his neck was cut, because he was trying to escape”.
“He’s just looking at us and not speaking. I don’t think he understands us.”
I smile then point at my neck and try to speak but make the usual croaking sound.
“He sounds like a goat!”
“Can you not speak?”
I shake my head to indicate that I cannot and then stand. The boy’s eyes go wide.
“He’s a giant.”
I’m just under two meters tall. That’s an average height in my time and above average here but hardly gigantic. I smile again to indicate I’m a friendly giant as I put on my cloak and collect my water skins.
“Was your throat cut in battle?”
“Are you an escaped slave?”
The boys continue to ask questions as the lead sheep come into view and start to drink at the far side of the pool. I don’t want any trouble with the shepherd so I start to back off to show I’m not a threat.
The boys run through the sheep calling “Mother, mother”.
Now I’m curious. In the ancient writings female shepherds are a rarity. I stand and wait as dozens more sheep crowd the pool to drink. Soon a woman appears flanked by the two boys who are jabbering all of their suspicions about my origin. I just keep smiling as she eyes me and then lifts her skirt to her knees and walks straight through the pool towards me. She’s quite pretty and has penetrating, shining eyes.
There’s not a hint of the “doll eyes” that I see in my own time. She’s full of life.
“Eli and Seth say you can’t speak and I see your neck is bleeding.”
I touch my bandage and feel it’s soaked through.
“Do you understand our language?”
I nod my head to indicate that I do.
“Are you a slave?”
I shake my head.
“Good. I want nothing of escaped slaves. We have a camp nearby. Come and I’ll dress your wound and give you dinner.”
Not knowing local custom, I smile and bow my head.
Their “camp” is only two kilometers away but traveling at the speed of sheep it takes a long time to get there. I expect to find men at the camp but there are none. There’s no sort of pen for the sheep so they start wandering around and finding places to eat or lie down. I notice there’s a good view in all directions from this spot so it would be impossible for anyone to approach without being seen.
If I stay for dinner I’ll never make it back to my cave before nightfall and finding the small opening in the dark could prove impossible. The camp consists of a single cloth tent, a small fire pit and mats where the boys sleep out on the ground. From this I presume the nights must be warm.
The mother sets the boys to tasks in preparing dinner and motions for me to sit so she can look at my neck. She knows I can’t respond but she talks to me anyway.
“This is an odd cloth.”
It’s a bio-engineered synthetic skin infused with anti-biotic producing yeasts but made to look like a loose cotton weave. How would you like to hear that translated into Aramaic?
I have plenty of it back in the med kit so I throw it into the fire. She looks appalled.
“Who are you that you can waste cloth so easily? Obviously you’ve never woven it yourself or you would treat it as more precious.”
I just smile.
“This is an odd wound. It did not come from a knife. It’s more like you were ripped open by claws or teeth. How did it happen?”
I smile again at the thought of what she would think if I could answer her question.
“Luckily it seems to be healing well, but I’ll put a balm on it anyway.”
She goes to the tent and returns with some leaves which she places into a small pot of water which she puts onto the fire. It looks like she’s making tea but I presume she intends to put it onto the wound once it boils.
“Could you speak before this happened?”
I nod my head.
“It would be nice to know your name.”
I pick up a stick and start to write it in the dirt.
“You can read and write?”
I nod.
“Then you are definitely no slave. Your hands tell me that you have never worked a field or tended flocks. Do you come from far away?”
I nod.
“You are a traveler?”
You don’t know the half of it sister.
“I do not read, nor does my brother-in-law whose sheep I tend. They were my husband’s sheep but he’s dead. I used to live in the house where his wife is now the mistress so I spend the warm months here with the sheep.”
She sighs deeply.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t share my misery but it’s easy to speak to one who can’t talk back. Now, how shall I find out your name?”
I pick up a stone from the edge of the fire and hold it up.
“Your name is Cephas?”
I nod and smile.
“That’s an odd name, but perhaps where you come from it is common. It’s better than the name the boys gave you, they call you ‘goat man’ after the noise you make when you try to speak.”
I start to laugh at the name they gave me but it’s painful and the noise I make in the process just proves the point. She and the boys laugh too.
When the laughing is over I hold up the stone and point at myself and then I point at her.
“You want to know my name? My name is Esther.”
We sit in silence for a long while. In my time, a long silence would make people uncomfortable but she shows no signs that she regards this as anything but ordinary.
“Well traveler Cephas, where are you going next?”
I use the stick to draw a picture showing the Dead Sea, a mountain and a city then an arrow to show I’m going to the city.
“You are going to Jerusalem. My brother-in-law went to Jerusalem several months ago to sell wool. When he was there he saw a great healer who healed a blind man. Maybe he can heal your voice.”
A great healer? Now you have my attention.
I point to the stone and then open my hand in a gesture to ask for more information.
“Yo
u want to know the healer’s name?”
I nod eagerly.
“They call him Jesus of Nazareth. But you may not find him in Jerusalem. A goat herd bringing his stock through here told my brother-in-law that this man Jesus was across the Jordan in Perea and may be heading back to Galilee.”
It’s a long walk from here to Galilee.
***
The evening meal consists of some strange tasting meat, a coarse bread and dried fruit. They seem to think it strange when I put the rare meat back over the fire to cook some more but I want to avoid intestinal parasites if possible. The boys chatter throughout the evening while Esther tells me about her husband, how much she misses him and how sad she is over her new lot in life. I find tears rolling down my cheeks at times as I hear her story and wonder if Martha is now as lost to me as Esther’s husband is to her.
Don’t worry. You’ll see Martha again.
I awake often during the night. The hard ground is a far cry from my bed at home but the restlessness allows me to watch the moon and stars like I did on camping trips when I was a kid.
Esther and the boys rise with the sun and soon set about the tasks of the morning. Esther did indeed make a mush of the leaves she boiled, slathered it over my wound last night and wrapped it with a bandage that looked like some else’s blood was only half washed out of it. Now she adds the cold mush that was leftover and wraps it up again.
The family seems to be in no hurry to go anywhere. The sheep are content to graze and the family simply watches over them. Maybe they graze an area until the sheep have cleared it of grass and then move the camp.
We eat a breakfast of cold bread and dried fruit. I need to get on with my journey so I pick up a stick and repeat my drawing of a mountain and an arrow.
“Time to be on your way traveler Cephas?”
I nod my head.
“I wish you safe travels,” she says and the boys repeat it.
I can’t think of any way to respond so I reach into a cloak pocket and bring out one gold coin and two pieces of silver. I point at my neck and bow my head to indicate I want to thank her for her care and give her the gold coin. Then I smile and use my thumb to spin the silver coins to each of the boys. Their eyes all go wide in astonishment. Apparently I’ve given them a lot of money.
Esther begins to cry and drops to her knees. The boys join her.
“God has answered me.”
I approach her and put my hand on the top of her head. She jumps like she’s come out of meditation to find a wolf standing next to her.
“Seth. Find a fine lamb and slaughter it. Cephas must have meat for his journey to Jerusalem.”
I smile and shake my head no. I take her hand and close it tightly around the gold coin then hold our hands against my heart. I hope she gets the message that this is a gift given with no expectations. I give them all one last smile, pick up my water skins and start to walk from their camp.
“Wait,” Eli says. “Take my staff. A traveler should have a staff.”
He hands me a thick walking stick that has a handle wrapped in leather. I take the staff, bow my head to him and leave the camp with the three of them just staring after me.
***
I’m pleased to find my cave has not been disturbed and the air is fresher but there’s a note from “The People of the World” wishing me well.
I write a note to tell “The People of the World” that I spent last night with some shepherds and managed to communicate even though I’m mute. Then I tell them the shepherds confirmed Jesus is nearby and I’m traveling to Jerusalem so they should look for notes at most once per day starting in one week. Only the strictest of abolitionists have claimed Jesus never existed, so confirming he’s here shouldn’t raise too much of a fuss.
I take all of the food, the things I need from the med kit plus five pieces of silver and two pieces of gold for my travels and hide the rest of the coins in the cave. Once I’m outside I move a rock over the entrance then go a hundred meters uphill and make a stack of rocks as a marker. I’ll make additional stacks as I go to mark my way back.
With one last look over the little valley I’m on my way to Jerusalem.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Although my feet are getting tougher and my legs stronger I judge climbing over the Mount of Olives by walking up and down valleys is the more difficult way to travel. Instead I start walking southwest where I hope to find the road that leads from Jericho to Bethany and then into Jerusalem.
When I reach the road I only know I’ve found it because there are travelers going in each direction. The path through my local park back home seems wider. There are a lot of people heading towards Jericho so I rest by the side of the road under one of the few trees in the area. As I listen to their conversations as they pass, I realize many of the travelers are sick and injured.
In my time nobody is diseased, deformed or injured but here it seems like everyone has some sort of ailment.
After a while a man with a heavy pack sits next to me.
“Share your shade with a fellow traveler?”
I point at my neck and make my usual goat-like sound.
“Mute huh? You must be going to Jericho to ask Jesus of Nazareth for healing.”
I notice his right hand is little more than a club, like the bones were all broken and not set properly for healing. It probably limits the sorts of jobs he can perform. I’d planned to go to Jerusalem but with this many people heading towards Jericho I decide to join the crowd and seek Jesus there.
Joining the crowd becomes easy because there are so many traveling in that direction. Many try to speak to me so I take off my neck bandage so all can easily see why I can’t respond. The skin is healing well but I’m no closer to being able to speak than before. Some people give me bronze coins when they see I’m mute.
Ailments are common, but so is mercy.
By the time we reach Jericho there are hundreds of people crowding the streets, certainly many more than the town is able to house. I start to hear people in the crowd pass along the information that the healer is at the river so I continue in that direction. When the crowd slows I realize we’ve reached the river and the crowd is spreading along the banks to hear Jesus speak.
I leave the crowd and scramble down the bank which is high and steep at this point. When I look up river I can see a man in a boat just off the shore in a spot where the bank is more gently sloped. He’s using the bank as a natural amphitheater so more in the crowd can hear him.
I work my way towards him along the shore but the crowd is continuing to spill along the banks so I can’t get too close. I wish I had those cameras about now but no matter what happens, just being here is a historian’s dream. I can see him well enough to tell he looks pretty much like everyone else. He’s about one and a half meters tall with dark hair, a neat beard and an olive complexion.
He’s telling the story of the farmer scattering seed. I know I’m a man from the future and shouldn’t be so taken by him, but his oratory skills are mesmerizing. I listen to him tell many stories and watch the reaction of the people. They’re just as mesmerized as I am.
The crowds on the bank are so thick there’s no way for Jesus to pass through them so I play a hunch and move back downstream and look for a place to cross the river. The water is fairly slow and shallow on my side of the river but as I cross the water gets deeper and faster with each step. At first I use the staff that Eli gave me as an extra support by wedging it between rocks but when the water is up to my waist it seems that I’m facing a greater and greater risk of being impaled on my own staff as the current tries to sweep my feet out from under me.
With one misstep and the current takes me away. I manage to avoid my own staff and hold onto it until it’s also dislodged, giving me no choice but to swim for it. Unfortunately, swimming wasn’t part of my NASA training and my muscles quickly start to cramp up in the cold water. I try once to back float as a way to rest but my pack drags me down too far and
the choppy current sends water up my nose, causing me to flail and sputter. I cling to the walking staff despite the fact that it’s slowing me down.
As I’m pulled downstream by the current I’m also happy to note I’m being swept closer and closer to the opposite shore. My happiness ends when I see the telltale white patches that indicate I’m being swept into rocks. I turn my feet downstream and lift them as high as I can manage.
When I reach the first section of rapids I try to grab a big rock as I pass but the current sweeps me off and all I get for my trouble is scratched and bruised hands. The water is becoming more shallow so I try several more times but I just can’t get my feet under me long enough to stand. Each time I try I get painfully bounced along the bottom.
I still have the staff but I know if I try to wedge it downstream the force of the water will impale me upon it. I see two large rocks are sticking out of the water close together so I swim and position myself to be swept between them. Just before I pass through I hold the stick out horizontally and it catches as it spans the gap then the water presses me against the stick. The water is shallow so I’m able to get my feet under me and work my way to shore, where I collapse.
Eli was right. A traveler needs a staff. This thing just saved my life.
Luckily the late afternoon sun is warm and my cloak starts to dry quickly or hypothermia would be a real possibility.
After a rest I walk back upstream and see my hunch was correct, Jesus and seven of his disciples are in the boat and heading for this side of the river. I see a sandy landing spot where they could put their boat ashore so I hide in the bushes nearby. The historian in me desperately wants to speak with Jesus but even if I wasn’t mute I’d force myself to simply observe. Anything I do or say could potentially change history. Instead I conceal myself in the leaves about twenty meters away.
The boat lands and the eight of them sit in the soft grass near the river to rest awhile and eat bread. They’ve been sitting quietly when one of the disciples asks Jesus “Why do you always tell stories when you talk to the people?”
He gives his disciple a patient smile like a parent teaching their child and begins to speak.
“You have been permitted to understand the secrets of the Kingdom of Heaven, but others have not. To those who are open to my teaching, more understanding will be given, and they will have an abundance of knowledge. But to those who are not listening, even what they have will be taken away from them. That is why I tell these stories, because people see what I do, but they don’t really hear, and they don’t understand. This fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah, which says: