Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [39]
“But I must do that, Jason, and you know I must,” Reuben said. He looked to us as he took his leave, nodding to us. “My grandfather hasn't seen me in two years,” he said. Joseph answered Reuben's nod with his own. All the older men nodded.
Jason shrugged. “Don't come to me tomorrow,” said Jason, “and tell me the sad story of how you woke up and found yourself—in the great city of Cana!”
All the young men around them broke into laughter.
Reuben seemed to melt away in the shadows, amid the happy voices, and the crush of those who wanted to clap Jason and clasp his hand, and all those struggling to come and go.
Finally, having taken our leave fifty times over, we did go into the house.
Old Bruria had gone before us and lighted the coals, and the aroma of the hot pottage was strong and inviting.
As I helped Joseph to take his place against the wall, I saw Silent Hannah.
Amid all the comings and goings, she stood stock-still, staring only at me, as if no one else brushed past her.
She looked weary and old, positively old—like an ancient one, so thin and so stooped and making fists of her hands that held on to her veil as if it were a rope in the sea. She shook her head No. It was a slow, despairing negation.
“Did you give her the writing?” I asked. “Did she read it?”
Her face was blank. She made a gesture with her right hand, over and over, almost as if she were scratching at the air.
My mother said, “She gave the letter to Avigail. She doesn't know if Avigail read it.”
“Go now to his house,” said Old Bruria. “You, Cleopas, go! Go and take your daughter-in-law with you. Go now and bang on his door. Tell him you've come to give him this news.”
“Everyone who has passed has knocked,” said James. “Jason was pounding on his door just now, as we came in. It's enough for tonight. Maybe the old fool will wander out on his own. The noise will keep him awake all night, one way or the other.”
“We could somehow knock in his door, you know,” said Cleopas. “All of us, dancing and drinking, we could, just sort of knock in his door, and then what, of course, we'd tell him we were so sorry, but with this . . .”
He broke off. No one had the heart for such a thing.
“This is no night to tell Jason,” said James. “But we can count on him tomorrow to knock in that door if we must.”
We all agreed to that. And we knew that his uncle, the Rabbi, would undoubtedly tell him everything.
13
THERE WAS TO BE NO WORK the next day. It was a festival, a celebration, and a thanksgiving unto the Lord for the Governor's decision, and those who were wont to drink did so, but mainly people went from house to house, to talk over the grand event, which was to some the triumph of the people, and to the others the humiliation of the Governor, and to the older men simply the will of God.
James, because he could not keep still, swept the stables and the courtyard twice, and I, because I could not keep still if James did not keep still, watered and fed the donkeys, went out to see how bad things were with the vegetable garden, came back thinking it best to say nothing about the tender crops dying there, looked at the cold sky, and decided to go to Cana.
Of course this was no day to prevail on Hananel to do anything on behalf of anyone. His beloved grandson was home, and surely he should be left to savor this and give thanks as he chose to do.
But I couldn't wait. No matter what I did, no matter where I went, I saw Avigail in my mind's eye, Avigail, alone in her dark room. I saw Avigail lying on the floor, and sometimes I saw Avigail's dull eyes.
The little town of Cana, much smaller than Nazareth, seemed just as noisy with festivities, and I passed along unnoticed as everywhere men gathered to drink and talk, and people even took their noon meal on the dried grass under the trees. The wind was not so bad for this. And it seemed people had forgotten about the drought altogether; they had won a great victory over something they feared even more.
Hananel's house was full of commotion. Preparations for a feast were taking place.