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I started to cry, but it was quiet. Nobody saw it.
James closed his eyes in prayer as he held the two birds, waiting for the priest to come. There were so many priests I couldn’t count them. They received the lambs that bleated and the goats that cried until the last moment. The blood was caught in basins according to the Law. Then taken to be dashed on the stones of the altar.
“Now, you know,” said Cleopas to us in a clear whisper, “this is not the Altar of the Presence. The Altar of the Presence. That’s up, past the singers, in the Sanctuary, and beyond the great veil. And these things you’ll never see. Your mother was among those who wove those veils, two a year. Ah, it was such gorgeous embroidery. Only the High Priest goes into the Holy of Holies. And when he enters, it is filled with a cloud of incense.”
I thought of Joseph Caiaphas. I pictured him in my mind entering that sacred place. Then I thought of the young Aristobulos, the high priest whom Old Herod had murdered. If only the magi had not told Herod…
My mother’s words came back to me. “You are not the son of an angel.” What a little boy I’d been when she said that to me. I hadn’t thought of those words since the night she spoke them to me on the roof here in Jerusalem. I hadn’t let myself think of them. But I did now, and all the strange pictures which James had painted for me in his tale were fired in my mind with color.
But I didn’t want these thoughts, these fragments of something that I couldn’t complete.
I wanted the peace and happiness that I’d felt only moments ago. And it did come back to me.
Such a peace and happiness took hold of me that I was scarcely a boy standing there among others. I was my soul, my mind, as if it could grow beyond the size of my body, as if it could move outward from me, carried on the waves of music, as if I had no weight or size and in this way, in this moment, I could go into the Holy of Holies, and I did, passing through gate, and wall, and veil, and moving yet even farther outward. They called you Christos Kyrios. Christ the Lord.
Lord, tell me who I am. Tell me what I am to do.
The sound of crying brought me back to myself. A little sound amid the music and the Hebrew prayers whispered all around.
James cried. He was shaking.
I looked once more at the great stone altar of sacrifice, and the priests dashing the blood against the stones. The blood belonged to the Lord. It belonged to the Lord when it was in the animal, and it belonged to the Lord now. The blood was the life of the animal. Never could an Israelite eat blood. The stones of the altar were drenched in blood.
It was a dark and beautiful thing like the music rising, and the prayers spoken everywhere in Hebrew. Even the priests going back and forth seemed like the movement of a dance.
No, I’m not a child anymore. I’m not.
I thought of the men killed on that day last year. I thought of the men burned in the rebellion within this very Temple. I thought of blood on the stones of this Temple. Blood. And blood.
James held the two birds tightly as they tried to escape from his hands, his fingers a cage around them.
“I confess my sins,” he whispered in Hebrew. “That I am guilty of envy, of spite.”
He choked back his crying. At thirteen he was a man crying. I didn’t know that anyone else but me knew he was crying. Then I saw Joseph’s hand pressing his shoulder, rubbing it, and comforting him. Joseph kissed his cheek. Joseph loved James. He loved him so much. He loved me. He loved each person in a different way.
James held the birds, and he bowed his head as the priest came down the line towards us.
“ ‘For a child has been born to us,’ ” James recited from Isaiah, “ ‘a son is given us, and dominion shall rest on his shoulders.’ ” He tried to stop his tears. He went on, “ ‘And the name he has been given is Wonder-Counsellor, Mighty God, Eternal-Father, Prince of Peace.’ ”
I turned and looked at James. Why this prayer?
“May the Lord forgive me my envy. May the Lord forgive my sins, and may I be cleansed. Let me not be afraid. Let me understand. I repent of all.”
The priest was suddenly standing tall in front of us, and the blood spatters were on his beard and on his face. But he was beautiful in his white linen and his miter. The Levite stood beside him. The priest held the golden basin. With very narrow eyes he looked at James, and James nodded and gave over to him the two birds.
“This is an offering for sin,” said James.
I was pushed forward and bent over to see, but the priest was soon lost among the other priests and I couldn’t see what they did at the altar. I knew from the Scriptures what they did. They would wring the neck of one bird and pour out its blood. That was the sin offering. And the body of the second bird would be burnt.
We were not there very long.
It was finished. Paid in full.
We made our way back, pushing and almost shoving, and soon into the mob of the Court of the Gentiles. This time we walked not in the very middle of everything but along the colo
Teachers sat back under the porch, with many young men gathered around them. Women stopped to listen as well. I heard one teaching in Aramaic and the next one who had a very large crowd was answering a question in Greek for one of a great gathering.
I wanted to stop, but the family kept moving, and every time I went slow to look at the teachers, to catch a single word perhaps, someone took my hand and led me on.
Finally, I saw the great stoa coming up ahead. The crowd was easy now.
We passed the stairs for leaving and then I saw why.
Old Sarah was under the roof, seated beside one of the columns in the shade, with Bruria, our sad refugee, and also Riba playing with her little baby. My mother and my aunts were there.
I’d forgotten all about them. I hadn’t even known we were to find them. Old Sarah at once received James in her arms and kissed him.
As we were all very tired, we sat down there with them. And I soon saw that many people were doing the same, even though the stonemasons were working not far off on the back wall of the colo
Many were leaving the Temple. Even two or more of the merchants had packed up their birds in their cages and were going down the stairs. But still there were others complaining and even shouting at each other, and some people were backed up at the tables of the money changers.
The Levites who sold the oil and flour for sacrifice were folding up their tables. And then I saw the guards, perhaps the men who are called the Temple Police, coming near to the stairway to watch the flow of those leaving.
The evening sacrifice of the lamb would very soon be over. I didn’t know for certain. There was so much to learn. It would all come in time. I wasn’t worried about it.
Nearby I saw a blind man seated on a stool, a man with a very long gray beard, and he was talking in Greek to no one, his arms out, or maybe he was talking to everyone. People threw coins in his lap. Some listened for a moment and then moved on. I couldn’t hear him too well over the noise. Finally I asked Joseph if I might give him something and go listen to him.
Joseph considered and then gave me a denarius, which was quite a lot. I took it and ran at once to sit down at the feet of the man.
It was beautiful Greek he was speaking, smooth as Philo would have spoken it. He was reciting from the Psalm:
“ ‘Let my cry of joy come to you, Lord, give me understanding as you promised. Let my plea for favor reach you; rescue me as you’ve promised…’ ” He stopped to feel the coin I’d laid in his lap. I touched the back of his hand. His eyes were pale gray, covered with film.
“And who is this who gives me so much, and comes to sit at my feet?” he asked. “A Son of Israel or one seeking the Lord of All?”