Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [34]
I'd been looking at him for a long while, but only now realized he was stricken with sadness. He was silently imploring me.
“Come here to me,” he begged.
I stood a step nearer, then another step. I watched him reach for my hand and lift my hand. How silken his hand felt, the skin of his palm so thin. He looked up at me.
“When you were twelve years old,” he said, “when you came to the Temple to be presented to Israel, I was there. I was one of the Scribes who examined you and all the boys with you. Do you remember me from that time?”
I didn't answer.
“We were questioning you, all you boys, about the Book of Samuel, do you remember this, in particular?” he asked. He was eager and careful with his words. His hand clung to mine. “We were speaking of the story of King Saul, after he's been anointed for the kingship by the prophet Samuel . . . but before anyone knew that Saul was to be King.” He stopped, and ran his tongue over his dry lips. But his eyes were fastened to mine.
“Saul fell in with a group of prophets on the road, you remember, and the Spirit came over Saul and Saul went into ecstasy and Saul fell down into a trance among the prophets. And those looking on, those who saw this sight, one of them asked, ‘And who is their father?’ ”
I didn't say anything.
“We asked you boys, we asked you all, to think of that story and tell us, What did this man mean who asked of Saul, ‘And who is their father?’ The other boys were quick to say that prophets had to come from families of prophets, and that Saul did not, and so it was natural for someone to ask this question.”
I kept silent.
“Your answer,” he said, “was different from that of the other boys. Do you remember? You said it was an insult, this question. It was an insult from those who had never known ecstasy or the power of the Spirit, those who envied the ones who did. The man who mocked was saying, ‘Who are you, Saul, and what is your right to be among the prophets?’ ”
He studied me, holding my hand as tight as before.
“You remember?”
“I do,” I said.
“You said, ‘Men scorn what they can't grasp. They suffer in their longing for it.’”
Silence from me.
He drew his left hand out of his robes and now he held my hand with both his hands.
“Why didn't you stay with us in the Temple?” he asked. “We begged you to do it.” He sighed. “Think of what you might have done if you had remained in the Temple and studied; think of the boy you were! If only you'd devoted your life to what is written, think what you might have done. I took such delight in you, and we all did, and Old Berekhiah and Sherebiah from Nazareth, how they loved you and wanted you to stay. But what have you become! A carpenter—one of a gang of carpenters. Men who make floors, walls, benches, and tables.”
Very slowly I tried to free my hand, but he wouldn't let me go. I moved slowly to his left and saw even more of the light spill down on his upturned face.
“The world swallowed you,” he said bitterly. “You left the Temple and the world simply swallowed you. That's what the world does. It swallows everything. One woman's angel is another man's scornful tale. Grass grows over the ruins of villages until one can find nothing of them and trees sprout from the very stones where great houses, houses like this one, once stood. All these books are falling to pieces, aren't they? Look, see the bits of parchment all over my robes. The world swallows the Word of God. You should have stayed and studied Torah! What would your grandfather Joachim say if he knew what you've become?”
He sat back. He let me go. His lips curved into a sneer. He looked up at me though his gray brows were drawn down into a frown. He motioned for me to go away from him.
I stood there.
“Why does the world swallow the Word of God?” I asked. He couldn't hear the heat in my voice. “Why?” I asked. “Are we not a holy people, are we not to be a bright and shining light to the nations? Are we not to bring salvation to the whole world?”
“That is what we are!” he said. “Our Temple is the greatest Temple in the Empire.