“No,” Joshua repeated. “We will not.”
“Right, you leprous jar of camel snot,” I said.
Joshua looked at me, sort of disgusted. “Jeez, Biff.”
“Too much?”
The Greek screeched and started to swing the whip. The last thing I saw as I covered my face was my father diving toward the Greek. I would take a lash for Joshua, but I didn’t want to lose an eye. I braced for the sting that never came. There was a thump, then a twanging sound, and when I uncovered my face, the Greek was lying on his back in the dirt, his white robe covered with dust, his face red with rage. The whip was extended out behind him, and on its tip stood the armored hobnail boot of Gaius Justus Gallicus, the centurion. The Greek rolled in the dirt, ready to vent his ire on whoever had stayed his hand, but when he saw who it was, he went limp and pretended to cough.
One of the Greek’s bodyguards started to step forward. Justus pointed a finger at the guard. “Will you stand down, or would you rather feel the foot of the Roman Empire on your neck?”
The guard stepped back into line with his companions.
The Roman was grinning like a mule eating an apple, not in the least concerned with allowing the Greek to save face. “So, Castor, am I to gather that you need to conscript more Roman slaves to help build your house? Or is it true what I hear about you Greeks, that whipping young boys is an entertainment for you, not a disciplinary action?”
The Greek spit out a mouthful of dust as he climbed to his feet. “The slaves I have will be sufficient for the task, won’t they, Alphaeus?” He turned to my father, his eyes pleading.
My father seemed to be caught between two evils, and unable to decide which was the lesser of them. “Probably,” he said, finally.
“Well, good, then,” Justus said. “I will expect a bonus payment for the extra work they are doing. Carry on.”
Justus walked through the construction site, acting as if every eye was not on him, or not caring, and paused as he passed Joshua and me.
“Leprous jar of camel snot?” he said under his breath.
“Old Hebrew blessing?” I ventured.
“You two should be in the hills with the other Hebrew rebels.” The Roman laughed, tousled our hair, then walked away.
The sunset was turning the hillsides pink as we walked home to Nazareth that evening. In addition to being almost exhausted from the work, Joshua seemed vexed by the events of the day.
“Did you know that—about not being able to build on sand?” he asked.
“Of course, my father’s been talking about it for a long time. You can build on sand, but what you build will fall down.”
Joshua nodded thoughtfully. “What about soil? Dirt? Is it okay to build on that?”
“Rock is best, but I suppose hard dirt is good.”
“I need to remember that.”
We seldom saw Maggie in those days after we began working with my father. I found myself looking forward to the Sabbath, when we would go to the synagogue and I would mill around outside, among the women, while the men were inside listening to the reading of the Torah or the arguments of the Pharisees. It was one of the few times I could talk to Maggie without Joshua around, for though he resented the Pharisees even then, he knew he could learn from them, so he spent the Sabbath listening to their teachings. I still wonder if this time I stole with Maggie somehow represented a disloyalty to Joshua, but later, when I asked him about it, he said, “God is willing to forgive you the sin that you carry for being a child of man, but you must forgive yourself for having once been a child.”
“I suppose that’s right.”
“Of course it’s right, I’m the Son of God, you dolt. Besides, Maggie always wanted to talk about me anyway, didn’t she?”
“Not always,” I lied.
On the Sabbath before the murder, I found Maggie outside the synagogue, sitting by herself under a date palm tree. I shuffled up to her to talk, but kept looking at my feet. I knew that if I looked into her eyes I would forget what I was talking about, so I only looked at her in brief takes, the way a man will glance up at the sun on a sweltering day to confirm the source of the heat.
“Where’s Joshua?” were the first words out of her mouth, of course.
“Studying with the men.”
She seemed disappointed for a moment, but then brightened. “How is your work?”
“Hard, I like playing better.”
“What is Sepphoris like? Is it like Jerusalem?”
“No, it’s smaller. But there are a lot of Romans there.” She’d seen Romans. I needed something to impress her. “And there are graven images—statues of people.”
Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Statues, really? I would love to see them.”
“Then come with us, we are leaving tomorrow very early, before anyone is awake.”
“I couldn’t. Where would I tell my mother I was going?”
“Tell her that you are going to Sepphoris with the Messiah and his pal.”
Her eyes went wide and I looked away quickly, before I was caught in their spell. “You shouldn’t talk that way, Biff.”
“I saw the angel.”
“You said yourself that we shouldn’t say it.”
“I was only joking. Tell your mother that I told you about a beehive that I found and that you want to go find some honey while the bees are still groggy from the morning cold. It’s a full moon tonight, so you’ll be able to see. She just might believe you.”
“She might, but she’ll know I was lying when I don’t bring home any honey.”
“Tell her it was a hornets’ nest. She thinks Josh and I are stupid anyway, doesn’t she?”
“She thinks that Joshua is touched in the head, but you, yes, she thinks you’re stupid.”
“You see, my plan is working. For it is written that ‘if the wise man always appears stupid, his failures do not disappoint, and his success gives pleasant surprise.’”
Maggie smacked me on the leg. “That is not written.”
“Sure it is, Imbeciles three, verse seven.”
“There is no book of Imbeciles.”
“Drudges five-four?”
“You’re making that up.”
“Come with us, you can be back to Nazareth before it’s time to fetch the morning water.”
“Why so early? What are you two up to?”
“We’re going to circumcise Apollo.”
She didn’t say anything, she just looked at me, as if she would see “Liar” written across my forehead in fire.
“It wasn’t my idea,” I said. “It was Joshua’s.”
“I’ll go then,” she said.
Chapter 5
Well, it worked, I finally got the angel to leave the room. It went like this:
Raziel called down to the front desk and asked him to send Jesus up. A few minutes later our Latin pal stood at attention at the foot of the angel’s bed.
Raziel said, “Tell him I need a Soap Opera Digest.”
In Spanish, I said, “Good afternoon, Jesus. How are you today?”
“I am well, sir, and you?”
“As good as can be expected, considering this man is holding me prisoner.”
“Tell him to hurry,” said Raziel.
“He doesn’t understand Spanish?” Jesus asked.
“Not a word of it, but don’t start speaking Hebrew or I’m sunk.”
“Are you really a prisoner? I wondered why you two never left the room. Should I call the police?”
“No, that won’t be necessary, but please shake your head and look apologetic.”
“What is taking so long?” Raziel said. “Give him the money and tell him to go.”