“There was a lady,” he said. “She called me her son and said she’d sent the light of goodness to shine on me.”
I told him to treasure that dream and to keep it safe. It’s all he has left of his mother.
I still don’t know what it was that Jesus did to Jacob. Perhaps it was just a small piece of salvation Jesus put into my son. Perhaps he took away the evil like other people might brush a fly out of their hair. I’ve tried to come to terms with the fact that I’ll never know. His brothers don’t want to know. They saw a healthy Jacob return and didn’t ask any other questions. Jacob never talks about that meeting out in the wilds either, as far as I know. But I’m old, and I don’t have enough time left on this world to let myself be fooled by everything that people keep hidden. We live in a world that’s evil, and when my time’s over, I’m letting Jacob take over everything. He’ll maintain our wealth and salvation and will take care of the family.
This is the story of my son. It’s the only story I wish to leave behind. My son, my firstborn, is the last leaf on the last branch of the great, tall tree that is our family. But I believe in the small things, and I believe in the great things, and who knows whether or not another branch will shoot out. Maybe my first son will lead our family to new heights, so I say that, when I leave and make my way to the Lord, this is all I’ll ask of Jacob: to carry on working on the great monument we’ve been building so far. May the Lord keep you.
After my father died, I gave my half brothers everything they wanted. I bade them farewell, took the clothes I was wearing, a donkey, some food, and my name: Jacob. Even though I miss what I grew up with and shared with my father, it’s over now. None of it will return. Only new memories will grow, and I don’t want them to destroy the good things I still remember. In the same way I’ve treasured in my heart what little I have of my mother, I wish to treasure all the memories I have of my father.
Naomi was waiting for me in Nazareth, and we were united. Obed was there too, and he gave his consent. Many had departed, but others had joined the fold. We were scattered. The rain was rolling in from the vast sea, and it had become cold. We remembered Jesus, his deeds and words. We prayed for freedom from the occupying powers and those who collaborated with them; we prayed that the forces of darkness would give way to the light of goodness. And finally we sang and danced to celebrate that I had come. All I saw were Naomi’s eyes. They were what kept me sure and steady. If I should ever lose my way, I’ll look for those eyes.
The sound of the rain on the ground, the smell of our bodies, it all swayed softly and tasted sharp and sweet on the tongue.
I kissed Naomi that evening. I slipped inside her and held her beautiful, battered face between my hands while she moved on top of me. I was free in this world.
It was a new beginning, and we knew what was coming. Some of us had been persecuted and beaten, and a couple, John the Younger and Mary of Sepphoris, had been taken by the Romans, and nobody had seen them since. I was one of the eldest now, and my bald head and Naomi’s disfigured face made us stand out. We left Galilee and traveled down through Samaria, remembering Jesus’s words about the Samaritans. When we’d gone as far as Bethel, we both longed for the fertile area around the Jordan. I told Naomi about the trips on which my father took me.
“My father did everything for me,” I said.
Later on, I told her about my mother and how I remembered her from a dream. Naomi put her arms around me, and in the shade of a tree, by a spring where nobody else could be seen, she kissed me.
In Bethel, people welcomed us. I wasn’t able to find the family with the old woman whom my father and I had visited, but the people who opened their doors and invited us in were kind and friendly. Some of the children were frightened by Naomi’s face, but once we’d explained that she wasn’t ill, that there weren’t any open wounds or infections, none of them were afraid to touch her.
“I had problems breathing and speaking,” Naomi told them. “My previous husband tried to kill me. But the Lord Jesus healed me. You can hear me now, and you can see me.”
I spoke to the men. They listened to my story, and I heard what they had to say. Their taxes were high and were difficult to pay, and they were afraid of what would happen if the occupying forces found rebels among them. But they all straightened up to listen when one of them told the extraordinary and mysterious things he’d heard about Jesus. They wondered if it was true, and who he was. I tried to answer, I tried to sketch a picture of the Master and of everything that had happened.
We left Bethel after a few days, heading for Jerusalem, but it was full of soldiers in the area, so we went on to Jericho and crossed the river Jordan. We spoke with people we met, and set up camp for the night with another group of travelers. I got speaking with an elderly man who spent the whole time sitting there with his eyes closed and a walking stick in his hand. He seemed odd, and Naomi kept away from us. The old man told me that he’d been looking for followers of Jesus, and that he’d once spoken with somebody who’d been close to the Master.
“But he was strong,” the old man said. “Stronger than anybody I’ve ever met. He beat my doubting ways hands down, can you believe it? I’ve lost control of it now, it’s growing bigger and bigger. The story your master created will be everywhere sooner or later. But I’ll always be there by his side, like I am here. Faith and doubt, me and him.”
I noticed a black creature sitting on the ground next to him. The animal’s claws tapped against the man’s stick, and the sound kept making me look back and forth between the old man and the animal.
“Is he making you nervous?” the old man asked. I apologized, but the old man just smiled and whispered something to the animal, which then crept off.
“Was Jacob your name?” the old man asked.
I nodded.
“It’s taken its time,” he said, “but here you are.”
I told him I didn’t understand.
“I promised to free you,” he said.
The old man had now placed his hand over mine and was staring right at me. His eyes were a grayish white.
“I’m blind,” he said, “and yet I see many things.”
He lifted up his other hand and ran it over my face. I felt cold, freezing, and I wanted to pull away.
“I’m what stays in the shadows while the light falls elsewhere,” he said. “Let me smell you, he’s taken it away from you. You no longer carry the mark, you’re like your mother wished now.”
I tried to snatch my hand back, tried to get up. What did he know about my mother?
“No, relax,” he said. “Your master has touched you, he’s taken it away, but it’ll never vanish altogether. You’re part of his story, maybe you’re my way into it. You’re one of his followers, and you could do with something to doubt, couldn’t you? Listen to this. Did you believe yourself when you believed your master? I say that doubting or giving up is natural. I’d like to have a word with you. Could we be alone for a minute? I’m hardly ever alone, I’m doubting even now. Can you believe that? I give you my word.”
That was when Naomi came over to us. She must have noticed that something was wrong, as she took hold of me.
“Jacob,” she said, “what’s happening?”
“Go away,” the old man said. “Get lost.”
“Let go of him,” she said.
“Get away, woman-creature,” he said. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Naomi hit his face, her nails scratching him. The old man began to hiss and spit, but he didn’t seem old anymore; he seemed younger.