“Good job!’ he praises her, and she fairly beams with pleasure. She kisses her father’s cheek, allowing herself to be cuddled, but then her attention wanders, as is the wont with the very young, and her eyes suddenly turn toward me. I smile at her. She easily returns my smile.
“Daddy, Jesus is here!” she cries with delight, as she pulls herself from his lap, scurrying in my direction, until only the bars separate us. I can hear Kaplan chuckle at what he perceives to be her mistake. Out of the mouths of babes…
She stands on the outside of the cell, looking in with perplexity at me, before turning back to her father. “Daddy, why is Jesus in jail?” she asks, and I can see the question flusters him a little, as he comes up behind her, putting his arm around her, looking at me.
“No, Sarah,” he says patiently, “this is Mr. Stone. He’s a visitor, for a little bit, that’s all, he isn’t Jesus, he just dresses like him, honey, that’s all…” His wife has joined them now. She offers me a sweet smile of her own, even as the confused Sarah continues to look me up and down, not entirely pacified by her father’s explanation, as evidenced by the look on her face. Tearing away from his grasp, she comes closer to the bars, reaches her hand through them, seeking mine. I take her hand, and hold it within my own. She smiles at me most knowingly, before turning back to her father, almost in triumph. “He is Jesus, I can tell.
Mommy, can he have lunch with us?”
I think Kaplan is too shocked to make an immediate reply, but his wife doesn’t hesitate. She takes her daughter’s place at the bars and extends her own hand through them. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Stone,” she says, a slight hint of a southern drawl in her words. “I’m Kathy Kaplan, won’t you please join us for lunch?” There is something so simply compassionate about her that I find myself unable to turn down her request. Before I realize how it has come about, the four of us are seated in my cell, sharing fried chicken and small talk. Perhaps the Sheriff isn’t totally comfortable with the arrangement, but his wife and daughter are, so he goes along with their wishes. He even leaves the door to the cell open, perhaps to give the illusion of freedom. That’s all it is, though, an illusion. If I were to walk through the door and attempt to leave this place, the illusion would be quickly shattered, I know. I can see Kaplan loves his family very much, and he rises that much higher in my estimation. I believe him to be a good man, an honorable man.
He’s simply doing his duty, as am I.
I’m not really hungry, but I make a show of eating, in order not to hurt Kathy’s feelings. She’s a good cook, and I appreciate her desire to share her repast with a stranger such as myself. Young Sarah has stopped referring to me by my real name. I can see she hasn’t changed her mind, but she finds it silly to argue with grownups. The conversation is kept deliberately lighthearted; we talk about the weather, the countryside, even the local market. Although when the Sheriff alludes to the arrival of the circuit court judge in two days, my reply to the question of bail is deliberately vague, and I feel his wife’s eyes upon me. I look at her and she meets my glance evenly.
“I’m sorry I missed your first night,” she says quietly, “will you do another?
I’d like to bring Sarah.”
“Kathy, I don’t think…” her husband begins, and I know I must say something, but I have no wish to lie, and I know there won’t be another night, nor any bail. Of course I cannot explain that either. So I simply content myself with, “I’m unsure what will happen.” Which is true, I don’t really know. I just know I won’t be here in two days’ time. I can feel it.
Once lunch is eaten, and everything has been restored to its normal order, Sarah climbs into my lap, despite her father’s protests. “Tell me a story,” she insists.
“What kind of a story?” I smile at her. Kathy Kaplan is glowing at both of us, as she takes her husband’s hand, and leads him from the cell, placing a finger against her lips as if to say not a word—and he doesn’t. Pretty brave of them considering the charges against me, but of course I know I’m innocent. It pleases me that they trust me with their child.
Sarah considers the question for a moment, as if mulling over choices in her head, before replying, “Tell me about Noah and the animals.” So I tell her the story of how God came to Noah and told him there was a flood coming, and how he was to gather the animals, two by two…She is spellbound by my words, resting innocently against me, and in a short while, a combination of my voice, and the lunch she’s ingested, she is sleeping the sleep of the innocent. For a while no more is said, while I’m content to merely hold this young one, and think about many things.