As long as Lazarans respect the authority of Rome they may believe whatever they like. Let the Romans take care of today, and with the right spiritual guidance, carefully administered, Palestine can become a new Gaul, full of prosperous Roman citizens living in religiously free cities.
One of which might be named after Lazarus, or after Cassius.
Lazaran Christianity will save Jerusalem from the certain doom of failing to assimilate with Rome. It concerns itself with the next world, not this one, which belongs to the wealthy and powerful and always will.
Lazarus offers peace and stability, an invitation to embrace material comforts, and evidence for thinking most positively about death.
Everyone will be happy.
Saturday’s Lazarus procession ends not at the Temple but at the Bethesda pool. At Passover, the numbers in and around the water increase with those seeking solace after exclusion from the Temple. The ill and imperfect, the diseased and disabled gather to wash themselves clean. Lazarus recognises his earlier symptoms many times over. He sees the work of Jesus left undone.
‘Go out and do good among the people,’ Cassius says.
‘There are so many of them. Where do I start?’
Lazarus is the victim of a miracle. He has no privileged explanation, nor secret indication of what to do next. Like anyone else, he wonders what to expect of himself. He looks at his hands, his forearms. He is sadly lacking in luminosity, and this confusion is one of the reasons that the era of miracles is about to end. In future, the faithful will be asked to believe without spectacular interventions, and most believers can do this: it is part of what makes them faithful.
At the Bethesda pool, Isaiah bundles his way through the sick and lethargic towards Lazarus. He has important news about Saloma.
‘Is she worse?’
‘No. That’s just it. We think she’s getting better.’
Yanav watches from the road above the Bethesda pool. His half-blind donkey chews on roadside weeds, bags and jars sagging across its back. The dog leaps on ahead.
Yanav plans to stop for a night or two in Jericho, and then turn south along the Dead Sea to Idumea. The Idumeans are great believers in the powers of peacock feathers and astronomy.
He takes a last look at the pool below him. From a distance, Cassius has the trick of blending in, but Isaiah is easy to spot with his extravagant arm gestures, pulling in his memories, throwing out his hopes.
Yanav has done what he can for Saloma. Last night he left a new concoction with her mother, thinking it might help with the spasms. One day, demons will be as easy to cast out as stones from a shoe, but not yet.
He regrets not learning more from Jesus, but envy had made him stupid and he’d missed the public healings. At least he’d been there in Bethany for the miracle of Lazarus, and he’d memorised the words of the spelclass="underline" Lazarus, come out.
He tries the three words in a different order, alters the stress and intonation. These words have power, and if he can find and control it then at some stage that knowledge will come in useful elsewhere.
‘Isn’t that right?’ Yanav says, clicking his donkey back to the road. He pulls her head round and whistles to the dog.
They’ll be all right, the three of them, because Yanav’s fame goes ahead of him. He is the healer of Lazarus, the man who came back from the dead.
5
‘We think she’s getting better,’ Isaiah says. ‘She smiled at me.’
Lazarus spreads his arms to take in the sick and poor at the Bethesda pool. ‘One among so many.’
‘Don’t stop at Saloma,’ Cassius says. ‘Of course not. You’re needed here.’
Isaiah is planning ahead. Saloma is sitting up with bright eyes and her mouth closed. She is changing almost by the hour. To be fair, Lazarus has also changed. He squandered his money making sure he didn’t die, and is no longer the catch he was.
‘You were very sick when you made certain decisions,’ Isaiah says. ‘You came to my house to apologise, and I wouldn’t begrudge you a change of mind.’
His daughter is healing, but Isaiah has already identified more to want: a messiah will never make everyone happy, as Jesus discovered. ‘Release Saloma from her betrothal. Give her some time to concentrate on getting well.’ Also, Isaiah has seen what happens to messiahs. He doesn’t want to rush into an alliance with Lazarus, not now.
‘They should marry,’ Cassius interrupts. ‘Set a good example.’
‘In a perfect world,’ Isaiah says, ‘I agree. But none of the priests are going to buy lambs from a dead man, not for some time to come. That’s the reality.’
‘He has the gift of healing,’ Cassius says. ‘Saloma is recovering. What more do you want?’
Isaiah wouldn’t mind knowing the future, if Cassius is asking, and also how to measure happiness. An explanation of luck and the nature of god would be useful, and a guide to what awaits us after death. Lazarus can’t even remember whether the afterlife is good or bad, which would be valuable information to have.
‘We’re very grateful,’ Isaiah says, ‘but we also have to be careful. Look at Jesus. Healing is fine, but there are limits.’
‘Help us to organise a gathering,’ Cassius says. ‘Lazarus, what do you think?’
He thinks it is never too late to start again and he should try to do some good. Lazarus knows he didn’t heal Saloma. He didn’t even touch her, but so much depends on belief.
‘We should so something here, at the pool,’ Lazarus says. ‘I know what it means to be sick, and people will come.’
‘Excellent idea,’ Cassius says. ‘Remind people you’re alive. Unlike some others.’
‘I wish I could help,’ Isaiah says, ‘but I can’t. Not on the Sabbath.’
‘Then we’ll do it tomorrow, Sunday morning. We’ll make this a Sunday Jerusalem never forgets.’
‘Can you show me the way?’
A man with an eye infection is trying to find the edge of the pool. His trachoma is so advanced that his eyelids have swollen and turned inward, the eyelashes scratching the cornea.
‘I can tomorrow,’ Lazarus says.
‘Will you tell me when the angels pass by?’
‘Tomorrow morning. We’ll bring good news, something for everyone.’
Isaiah is impatient to get home. He wants to monitor Saloma’s recovery.
‘Lazarus has the support of Rome,’ Cassius reminds him. ‘We will look favourably on any assistance you can offer.’
‘I’ll send out Arab messengers. They’re not constrained by the Sabbath, and they’ll let everyone know.’
This is enough, and Lazarus and Cassius watch Isaiah leave. They have until tomorrow to organise a memorable event.
‘I think Jesus would have wanted this.’ Lazarus says. ‘Every time he looked up, when he was dying, his eyes searched for mine. Every time.’
Cassius nods, even though Lazarus exaggerates. Every time Jesus raised his head his eyes searched for Cassius. It was distinctly unnerving.
‘Yes. He knew you were the one. He was making you accountable, handing on the role.’
They exchange some ideas, feeling for the shape of the future.
‘It will have to be spectacular,’ Cassius says. ‘Did you ever feel you could do what he did?’
‘He was the follower, not me. We’re different, but in Nazareth I was never second-best. We need something exceptional, completely convincing.’
The Romans control the water supply to the city, and have done since they built the high-level aqueduct. By opening sluice gates elsewhere in the watercourse they control the levels in the Bethesda pool.