Oh, Julie…I translated it into ‘son of God.’ How could I?”
“It says he thought he was Jesus Christ,” Tina whispered. “And people believed him. He was an ‘unparalleled sensation.’ ”
“He was trying to translate this entry into Greek. I helped him. I’m sorry,” Jacqueline added, close to tears.
Julie closed her eyes, hiding her face behind the open volume. “He’s eight years old. Was he eating in the library, pulling loaves and fishes out of thin air? Making wine flow from the reference shelves? Was he talking to God too loudly?”
Had another “historical” child come to Grantville?
“Julie!” Tina snapped. “It isn’t funny! Did you read the rest of it?”
“The boy would be, what, eight years old, Tina! It doesn’t matter what the rest says. He is not the man this book says he is. He is an eight-year-old boy.”
“And I told him he was the son of God.” Jacqueline looked prepared to be led to the gallows right this moment.
“Simple mistake. Could happen to anyone. Okay, where’s the kid? I’ll talk to him, then to Rabbi Yaakov, though I am certain Rabbi Yaakov and even Rabbi Fonseca know they got a Messiah running around somewhere. If people just communicate, so many problems just disappear. I should have been in the loop.”
“He said today was his birthday,” Jacqueline added. “I should have been careful. When I translated the word Messiah…he ran. I wasn’t thinking. I remember when Blaise found his name in that encyclopedia. I should have been more careful. Blaise ran away, too.”
“Yeah, and he came back, didn’t he? Why do you think it’s this Sabbatai Sebi?” Julie asked. “Maybe the kid was doing research on False Messiahs for a school project?”
“He told me his name,” Jacqueline said. “Why would he lie about that?”
Julie closed the book she held and set it down on the table. “Jesus Christ has the right to live in Grantville. Tina, let go of that cross before you bend it or cut yourself. Jacqueline, please go call Madam Delfault and tell her I am taking you out to Deborah to help me find the boy. I don’t think we’ll be disturbing their Sabbath Celebration if we go now. Sundown isn’t for a few hours yet. Sundown is like around 7:30 and it’s about 2:30 so…what? Five hours? And, Tina? I would appreciate it if you didn’t start a rumor that the Messiah has come to Grantville until at least I confirm that this boy is, in fact, the boy mentioned in this book. Okay?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Tina looked like she wouldn’t.
“I am serious,” Julie added. “Jackie? Phone?”
Jacqueline ran off.
“I didn’t know?” Tina whispered.
“What? About false messiahs?” Julie asked, pulling her radio out of her purse, “The Jews believe Jesus was a false messiah. That’s one of the reasons they’ve been massacred all over Europe.”
“I thought it was about having the Sabbath on Saturday or something. I don’t know. I guess I never thought much about it. There weren’t many Jews in Grantville. I just didn’t think about it.”
“Somebody should go through the entire encyclopedia, twice, and make a list of the famous people who might show up so at least I can prepare. I’ve read up on Blaise. Seems there’s someone named Fermat who might walk into the library looking for a certain pain in the ass, but at least Fermat’s an adult now. He’s beyond my pay grade, thank God. Just a second, Tina. Central? This is Officer Drahuta, over.”
“Go, Julie,” came the answer over the radio.
“I’m heading up to Deborah with Jacqueline Pascal so she can help me ID someone. You heard anything about a missing boy, Mimi?”
“Not a word, Julie,” Mimi Rowland, the dispatcher on duty answered. “I know Blaise has been with Steve behind the fire station in his disaster containment shed all afternoon. This isn’t about that boy, is it? Do you need some backup?”
“No, Mimi, not that boy. Tell me if you hear anything about a missing child, okay? Over.”
“Gotcha, over.”
“What if it is, you know, Him?” Tina asked.
“Well, I will tell ‘Him’ to come back here and put away his books.” Julie shrugged. “My quiet weekend destroyed by an act of God.”
Somewhere in Grantville, 24th of Av, 5394
(T minus 5 hours 14 minutes)
“Hey! You! Come here!” A boy waved at Shabbethai. He was a good-looking boy with a welcoming smile, the sort of smile that did not suggest violence or cruelty.
Shabbethai had learned early to recognize that smiles were not merely smiles. Smiles required understanding as the word of God did. They were complicated and to misunderstand one could be deadly or worse.
Shabbethai approached with caution.
“You wanna play with us?” The boy who spoke now was smaller. Shabbethai could tell there was little in the way of cruelty in this younger boy.
The game seemed to involve a stick and a ball. That was comforting. Games with only sticks involved hitting and when hitting was involved, Jews got hit if they were available.
“He’s too little,” another, older boy said. This boy looked different from the one who had called him over. Shabbethai thought he would not like it if this boy smiled.
“He makes the teams even. So, you wanna play with us?” The first boy smiled and that settled it.
Shabbethai couldn’t quite understand the words. He understood “you” meant him and “us” meant them. It didn’t look like they meant to kill him. Besides, there were three girls watching. Boys rarely, in his wide experience of eight years, were cruel around girls.
So Shabbethai nodded his head and hoped for the best. Already the thoughts of being the son of God and curiosity and books being translated from English to Greek by some girl who had looked at him with wide eyes were receding.
“I don’t think he understands English,” one of the children said.
Shabbethai understood “English” and the head shaking meant “no.”
“No English good.” Shabbethai smiled hopefully, stringing some English words together.
“That’s okay,” the boy with the welcoming smile said. “My name is Joseph Drahuta. Call me Joe, okay? Joe.” The boy pointed at himself and said “Joe” again.
“Shabbethai Zebi,” Shabbethai pointed at himself.
“ Sprecken she dutch? ” the boy named Joe asked in very bad German. Even his German was not that bad, Shabbethai thought, very much to himself. It would never do for a Jewish boy, lost in a non-Jewish part of town, to laugh at a non-Jew or criticize them, no matter how deserved it was.
“Your German is funny.” One of the younger girls laughed and clapped. Shabbethai understood the “your” and “German” part. The word “funny” was not one his father had taught him.
“He doesn’t look German,” stated the other boy; the one with the smile Shabbethai knew he didn’t want to see. “No German would wear hair like that.”
“What does it matter what he looks like, Gabriel,” one of the girls, the older one, snapped, her hands upon her hips. Shabbethai pretended he didn’t see her hips or even know what “hips” were. You had to be careful how you looked at girls, especially ones who weren’t Jewish.
“No Ger-man,” Shabbethai tried in English.
“Easy game,” Joseph said slowly, smiling at him. “Watch. I show you.”
Shabbethai watched very carefully, completely involved in the game.
The boy with the smile Shabbethai liked held a stick and looked determined to hit something or someone with it. Shabbethai was determined to make sure he was not that something or someone to be hit.
Deborah, 24th of Av, 5394
(T minus 4 hours 15 minutes)
“He’s the one who called me a boy when I asked him to teach me Hebrew. Rabbi Yaakov, him.” Jacqueline pointed, indicating the elderly man who was pretending not to see Julie’s car.
The fact that the good rabbi was doing a very thorough job of pretending that a car had not just appeared a few hours before the Sabbath with Officer Julie Drahuta inside told her a great deal. Maybe she would not need Jackie to identify the boy.