An Echo in the Darkness(119)
Marcus sat stubbornly at the table for a long moment. Then he rose. He snatched up the heavy robe from the floor, shook the dust from it, and went after her.
People looked at them strangely as they passed through the village. He supposed they were a strange pair, an old woman with her walking stick and a Roman suffering the aftereffects of his night of drunken indulgence. She stopped twice, the first time to buy bread, the second, a skin of wine. She made him carry both.
“They don’t trust you,” she said when they left the marketplace.
“Why should they? I’m a Roman.” His mouth twisted cynically. “I’m a serpent in their midst. Spawn of the devil.”
The hills were new green, the sky blue. Patches of wildflowers splashed color on the slopes. Deborah stopped and set her walking stick before her, leaning on it as she gazed upon the hills. “We can carry water from the well and tend our gardens. Hard work for little gain. But one night’s rain from God brings forth this.”
“You’re like her,” Marcus said heavily. “Seeing God in everything.”
“You see no power in what’s before you? No splendor? No miracle?”
“I see rocky hills with some new grass. A flock of sheep. A few flowers. Nothing extraordinary.”
“The most ordinary things of life are extraordinary. The sunrise, the rain—”
“Just for today, old woman, speak to me of other things than God. Or better yet, don’t speak at all.”
She gave a soft grunt. “Nothing is important in this world except as it pertains to the Lord. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking for him.”
“I looked. He doesn’t exist.”
“How is it possible to hold such anger against something you don’t believe in?” she said and continued along the path.
Speechless, Marcus glared after her in frustration. He noted that walking seemed to ease the soreness of her joints. She removed the shawl from over her head and lifted her face as though the sun felt good to her.
He caught up and walked alongside her. “I don’t believe in God,” he said vehemently.
“What do you believe in?”
Mouth grim, he stared straight ahead. “I believe in right and wrong.”
“Have you lived up to your standard?”
He winced, a muscle jerking in his jaw.
“Why don’t you answer?”
“It was wrong that Hadassah died. I want to find a way to set things right again.”
“And how will you accomplish that and live up to the highest standard you’ve set for yourself?”
Her words pierced him, for he didn’t know what to say. Looking back on his life, he wondered if he’d ever had a standard. Right had always been what was expeditious; wrong, not attaining his goals, not getting what he wanted when he wanted it. For Hadassah, life had been clear. For Marcus, nothing was clear. He was in a fog.
They reached the top of a hillside. In the distance, he knew, was the Sea of Galilee.
“It is not far,” old Deborah said. “Hananiah often took his family down to Capernaum and along the shores to Bethsaida-Julias.” She paused, leaning on her walking stick. “Jesus walked the same roads.”
“Jesus,” he muttered darkly.
She raised her hand and pointed north toward the far end of the sea. “On a hillside over there, I heard the Lord speak.” She lowered her hand to her walking stick again. “And when he was finished, he took two fish and broke a few loaves of bread and fed five thousand people.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for God the Son. I saw it with my own eyes. Just as I saw him raise Hananiah from the dead.”
Her words raised gooseflesh on his spine. He gritted his teeth. “If he was the Son of God, why did his own people turn him over to be crucified?”
Tears filled old Deborah’s eyes. “Because, like you, we expected God to be something other than what he is.”
He frowned, studying her profile. She was silent for a long time before she spoke again.
“Two hundred years ago, the Maccabean overthrew the Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV and reconsecrated our temple. The name ‘Maccabee’ means hammer or extinguisher. When the Maccabeans regained power and entered Jerusalem, the people rejoiced by waving palm fronds.” Tears slipped down her aged cheeks. “And so we did again when Jesus entered Jerusalem. We thought he was coming in power, as the Maccabees had. We cried out, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’ But we did not even know him.”
“Were you there?”
She shook her head. “No. I was here in Nain having a child.”