this King who doesn't wait on Caesar to confirm him on his throne has just done away with the Passover! This King who is as full of blood now as his father, who takes his stand with his father—."
"Don't say any more," said Alphaeus. "If they hear one word, they'll turn on the lot of us."
Yes, and how many innocents did they slay in there just now?" Cleopas said.
Joseph spoke up as he had in Alexandria. You will not say another word on this until we are out of Jerusalem!"
Cleopas didn't answer. But he didn't say any more. No one did.
We reached the bright light, only to see soldiers everywhere who spoke the orders as if they were cursing us.
People lay dead in the streets. They looked like they were sleeping. All the women started crying at the sight of the dead because we had to walk around them or step over them, and the mourners on their knees cried, and some begged for alms.
The men began to give out coins where they could, as others did. Some people were too miserable to want such a thing or they didn't need it.
But everywhere people cried even as they hurried. All of our women were crying, and Aunt Mary sobbed that this was her very first pilgrimage, that all her life in Egypt she had longed for this, and what had been done before our very eyes?
At the synagogue, we found everyone very afraid. Joseph gathered us inside the courtyard only to wait while the women rushed up to the roof for our bundles. He and Alphaeus went to get the donkeys. James told us to stand still and be quiet, to hold on to the babies. I had Little Symeon by the hand. Cleopas leaned against the wall and smiled and said things no one could hear.
The wailing over the dead still filled my ears. I couldn't stop thinking of our dead man, the dead man who had died so close to us. Did anyone come to bury him? What happened if nobody did?
I hadn't looked at the face of the soldier who killed him. I hadn't looked at the face of any soldier. All I saw of them was their strung-up boots and their armor, dark and tarnished, and their spears. How could I ever forget their spears?
"Leave Jerusalem," someone shouted even now in Hebrew here in the synagogue courtyard. "Leave Jerusalem and go to your homes. There is no Passover."
And our dead man. He must have known the soldier would kill him when he threw the stone he had hidden under his robe. He'd brought his stones to the Temple so that he might throw them.
Yet he had looked just like the rest of us. Same simple mantle, tunic, same dark curly hair, a beard like the beards of Joseph and my uncles. A Jew like us, though he shouted in Greek, why Greek, and why had he done it? Why had he almost flung himself at the soldier, when he knew the soldier had the spear?
I saw in my mind the spear go into our dead man. I saw it over and over, and the look on his face. I saw the dead all over the court of the Temple and the wandering sheep. I put my hands over my eyes. I couldn't stop seeing these things.
I felt cold. I huddled near to my mother, who at once opened her arms. I stood against her, against her soft robe.
We stood beside Cleopas, letting Little Symeon twist and turn and play. I said to my uncle,
"Why did that man throw those stones when he knew the soldier would kill him?"
Cleopas had seen it. We had all seen it, hadn't we?
Cleopas appeared to think, looking up into the bit of light that came in over the high walls. "It was a good moment to die," he said. "It was the finest moment perhaps that he'd ever seen."
"Did you think it was good?" I asked.
He laughed his soft slow laugh.
He looked down at me. "Did you?" he asked. "Did you think it was good?"
He didn't wait for my answer.
He said in my ear:
"Archelaus is a fool," Cleopas said. He spoke Greek. "Caesar should laugh him to scorn. King of Jews!" He shook his head. "We're in exile in our own land. That's the truth of it. That's why they were fighting! They want to get rid of this miserable family of Kings who build pagan temples and
"Don't say any more," said Alphaeus. "If they hear one word, they'll turn on the lot of us."
Yes, and how many innocents did they slay in there just now?" Cleopas said.
Joseph spoke up as he had in Alexandria. You will not say another word on this until we are out of Jerusalem!"
Cleopas didn't answer. But he didn't say any more. No one did.
We reached the bright light, only to see soldiers everywhere who spoke the orders as if they were cursing us.
People lay dead in the streets. They looked like they were sleeping. All the women started crying at the sight of the dead because we had to walk around them or step over them, and the mourners on their knees cried, and some begged for alms.
The men began to give out coins where they could, as others did. Some people were too miserable to want such a thing or they didn't need it.
But everywhere people cried even as they hurried. All of our women were crying, and Aunt Mary sobbed that this was her very first pilgrimage, that all her life in Egypt she had longed for this, and what had been done before our very eyes?
At the synagogue, we found everyone very afraid. Joseph gathered us inside the courtyard only to wait while the women rushed up to the roof for our bundles. He and Alphaeus went to get the donkeys. James told us to stand still and be quiet, to hold on to the babies. I had Little Symeon by the hand. Cleopas leaned against the wall and smiled and said things no one could hear.
The wailing over the dead still filled my ears. I couldn't stop thinking of our dead man, the dead man who had died so close to us. Did anyone come to bury him? What happened if nobody did?
I hadn't looked at the face of the soldier who killed him. I hadn't looked at the face of any soldier. All I saw of them was their strung-up boots and their armor, dark and tarnished, and their spears. How could I ever forget their spears?
"Leave Jerusalem," someone shouted even now in Hebrew here in the synagogue courtyard. "Leave Jerusalem and go to your homes. There is no Passover."
And our dead man. He must have known the soldier would kill him when he threw the stone he had hidden under his robe. He'd brought his stones to the Temple so that he might throw them.
Yet he had looked just like the rest of us. Same simple mantle, tunic, same dark curly hair, a beard like the beards of Joseph and my uncles. A Jew like us, though he shouted in Greek, why Greek, and why had he done it? Why had he almost flung himself at the soldier, when he knew the soldier had the spear?
I saw in my mind the spear go into our dead man. I saw it over and over, and the look on his face. I saw the dead all over the court of the Temple and the wandering sheep. I put my hands over my eyes. I couldn't stop seeing these things.
I felt cold. I huddled near to my mother, who at once opened her arms. I stood against her, against her soft robe.
We stood beside Cleopas, letting Little Symeon twist and turn and play. I said to my uncle,
"Why did that man throw those stones when he knew the soldier would kill him?"
Cleopas had seen it. We had all seen it, hadn't we?
Cleopas appeared to think, looking up into the bit of light that came in over the high walls. "It was a good moment to die," he said. "It was the finest moment perhaps that he'd ever seen."
"Did you think it was good?" I asked.
He laughed his soft slow laugh.
He looked down at me. "Did you?" he asked. "Did you think it was good?"
He didn't wait for my answer.
He said in my ear:
"Archelaus is a fool," Cleopas said. He spoke Greek. "Caesar should laugh him to scorn. King of Jews!" He shook his head. "We're in exile in our own land. That's the truth of it. That's why they were fighting! They want to get rid of this miserable family of Kings who build pagan temples and
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