Страница 49 из 63
“This is your cousin Joseph,” my mother said immediately. “Your cousin Joseph is a priest, and his father Caiaphas is a priest, and his father before him was a priest. Here is our son, Jesus.” She laid her hand on my shoulder. “We come to find our cousin Elizabeth of Zechariah. We’ve been told she’s not well, and is being kept here by your goodness and we’re grateful for that.”
“Elizabeth is my cousin, just as you are,” said the young man in a soft voice. He had quick dark eyes, and he smiled at me in an open way that made me feel at ease. “You come into the house, please. I’d offer you a place to sleep here, but you see, we have people everywhere. The house is overflowing…”
“Oh, no, we’re not looking for that,” Joseph said quickly to him, “only to see Elizabeth. And if we can camp outside. There, you see, there’s quite a tribe of us from Nazareth and Capernaum and Cana.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said. He beckoned for us to follow him. “You’ll find Elizabeth peaceful but silent. I don’t know whether or not she will know you. Don’t hope for that.”
I knew we were tracking the dust of the road through this house, but there was nothing to be done about it. There were pilgrims everywhere, on their blankets in every room, and people ru
We came into a room that was as crowded as the others, but it had big latticed windows and the late sunlight was pouring in, and the air was nice and warm. Our cousin took us to a corner, where on a raised bed, propped on clean pillows, there lay Elizabeth, very wrapped up in white wool, with her eyes towards the window, and I think she was looking at the movement of the green leaves.
Out of respect, it seemed, people grew quiet, and our cousin bent down to her, and held her arm.
“Wife of Zechariah,” he said gently, “there are kindred here to see you.”
It was no good.
My mother bent low and kissed her and spoke to her, but there was no answer.
She lay still looking out the window. She looked far older than she had been last year. Her hands were tight and twisted at the wrists, so that they pointed sharply downward. She looked as old as our beloved Sarah. Like a withered flower ready to drop from the vine.
My mother turned to Joseph and cried against him, and our cousin Joseph shook his head, and said that everything was being done that could be done.
“She doesn’t suffer, you see,” he said. “She’s dreaming.”
My mother couldn’t stop crying, so I went out with her while Joseph talked with our cousin who went over the ancestors and how they were co
We found the uncles and Old Sarah gathered on the blankets, in a good campsite near the edge of the crowd of pilgrims, and not far from the well.
Several of the kindred from the house came out to us and offered us food and drink, and our cousin Joseph was with them. They were all in linen, all well spoken, and treated us kindly, more kindly maybe than they would have treated people like themselves.
The eldest of them, the father of Joseph, named Caiaphas, spoke to us and told us that we were near enough to Jerusalem that we could eat the Passover here. We must not worry that we weren’t within the walls. What were the walls? We had come to Jerusalem and we were at Jerusalem and we would see the lights of the city as soon as it was dark.
The women came out and they offered us blankets, but we had our own.
Then Old Sarah and the uncles went in to see Elizabeth before it was too late. James went with them and came back.
When we were all gathered, and the rich cousins had gone down to Jerusalem for their duties in the Temple in the morning, Old Sarah said that she liked young Joseph bar Caiaphas, that he was a fine man.
“They’re descendants of Zadok, and that’s what matters,” said Cleopas. “Not much else.”
“Why are they rich?” I asked.
Everyone laughed.
“They’re rich from the hides of the sacrifices which are theirs by right,” said Joseph. He wasn’t laughing. “And they come from rich families.”
“Yes, and what else?” asked Cleopas.
“People never say good things of the rich,” said Old Sarah.
“Do you have good things to say of them, old woman?” Cleopas asked.
“Ah, so I can speak in the assembly of the wise!” she answered. There was more laughter. “Yes, I have more to say. Who do you think would listen to them if they weren’t rich?”
“There are plenty of poor priests,” Cleopas said. “You know that as well as I do. The priests of our village are poor. Zechariah was poor.”
“No, he was not poor,” said Old Sarah. “He wasn’t rich, no. But he was never poor. And yes, there are many who work with their hands, and they have to. And they go before the Lord, yes. But at the very top, those who protect the Temple? Who can do it but men whom other men fear?”
“Does it matter who they are?” asked Alphaeus, “as long as they perform their duties, as long as they don’t defile the Sanctuary, as long as they take the sacrifices from our hands?”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” said Cleopas. “Old Herod chose Joazer as High Priest because that’s who he wanted. And now Archelaus wants a different man. How long has it been since Israel chose the High Priest? How long has it been since the Lord chose the High Priest?”
I raised my hand just as I would at school, and my uncle Cleopas turned to me.
“How do the people know,” I asked, “that the priests do what the priests must do?”
“Everyone watches,” said Joseph. “The other priests watch, the Levites watch, the scribes watch, the Pharisees watch.”
“Oh, yes, the Pharisees watch!” said Cleopas.
And we did have a laugh at that. We loved our Pharisee Rabbi Jacimus. But he did watch all the rules.
“And you, James?” Cleopas asked. “You have no question?”
For the first time I saw that James was deep in his thoughts. He looked up and his face was dark.
“Old Herod murdered the High Priest once,” he said in a low voice. He sounded like one of the men. “He murdered Aristobulos because he was beautiful when he went before the people, isn’t that so?”
The men nodded, and Cleopas said, “That is so.” He repeated the words. “He had him drowned on account of it, and everyone knew it. All because Aristobulos had gone before the people in his vestments and people had loved him.”
James looked away.
“What kind of talk is this!” said Joseph. “We’ve come to the House of the Lord to offer sacrifice. We’ve come to be purified. We’ve come to eat the Passover. Let’s put this talk out of our minds.”
“Yes, let’s put it away,” said Old Sarah. “I say Joseph Caiaphas is a fine young man. And when he marries the daughter of A
My aunts, and Alexandra, agreed with this.
Cleopas was amazed.
“We haven’t been here two hours and you women know who Joseph Caiaphas is going to marry! How do you find out these things!”
“Everyone knows this,” said Salome. “If you weren’t so busy quoting the Prophets, you’d know it too.”
“Who knows?” asked Old Sarah. “Perhaps Joseph Caiaphas may be High Priest someday?”
I knew why she said it even though he was very young. He had a way about him, a way of moving and talking, an ease with everyone, a gentleness, and when he had greeted us he had cared about us, even though we were not rich, and behind his black eyes going on, there was a strong soul.
But now all my uncles and aunts were disputing on this, particularly the men, telling the women to be quiet, and they knew nothing about it, and some were insisting it hadn’t happened yet, but all knew that Archelaus could change the High Priest any time he chose.
“Have you become a prophet, Sarah,” asked Cleopas, “that you know this man will be High Priest?”