Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [43]
“Yes,” I said. “We will bring it out in the open. We will demand a verdict on your innocence, and with that you'll go to Capernaum or Bethany or wherever it is that's best for you.”
She gazed up at me, steadily for the first time.
“This is possible?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “It is possible. Your father has said he has no daughter. Well, then he has no authority over that daughter, and we, your kinsmen, now have that authority, and the elders have that authority. You hear what I say?”
She nodded.
“Forget the words you spoke here; they were for me, for your brother who knows the innocent and suffering child who you are.”
I laid my hand on my heart.
“Lord, give to my sister a new heart,” I whispered. “Lord, give her a new heart.”
I remained quiet, my eyes closed, praying, holding her shoulder with my left hand.
When I opened my eyes, her face was calm. She was Avigail again, our Avigail before it had all begun.
“Come then, let's get to it,” I said.
“No, you needn't go to the elders, you needn't do this. It will only humiliate my father. I'll go to Capernaum, to Salome,” she said. “I'll go to Bethany, to wherever you say.”
I straightened her veil again. I tried to brush some of the leaves from her veil and mantle but it was impossible. She was covered in broken bits of leaf.
“Forgive me, Yeshua,” she whispered.
“For what? For being frightened? For being alone? For being hurt, and for being condemned?”
“I love you, my brother,” she said.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted just to hold her close to me again in purest love and kiss her forehead. But I didn't do it.
“You're really the child of angels,” she said sadly.
“No, my beloved. I'm a man. Believe me, I am.”
She smiled, the saddest most knowing smile.
“Now, you go on down to Nazareth before me, and you walk right into my house and ask for my mother, and if you see your father, you turn and you run from him, and round about until you come again to our door.”
She nodded. And she turned to go.
I stood waiting, catching my breath, drying my own tears quickly, and trying to stop my own trembling.
Then, from beyond the grove, I heard her give a sudden anguished cry.
14
I RUSHED THROUGH THE BRACKEN.
She stood only a few feet in front of me, and beyond on the descending slope there stood a loose and silent crowd.
James, Joses, Simon, my uncle Cleopas, and dozens of other men stood staring up at us. Shabi and Yaqim started forward, but the older boys took hold of them. Only Silent Hannah broke from them nodding and pointing and rushing to Avigail. James stared at me, at her, and me again, and then, his face stricken with grief, he bowed his head.
“No, stop it, all of you, get back,” I said as I came forward, passing her, and standing in front of her. Silent Hannah stopped in her tracks. She stared at me, and then back at the crowd. In an instant she seemed to realize what she'd done.
And I realized it as well. She'd sounded the alarm that Avigail had run away. She'd brought them here, and only now did she realize her terrible mistake.
Behind me Avigail murmured a strangled prayer.
More and more men were coming, it seemed from everywhere, out of the fields, from the village, from the far road. Boys were running towards us.
Up from the village came Jason striding with Reuben of Cana beside him.
Someone shouted for the Rabbi. Everyone was shouting for the Rabbi.
James turned and shouted to his sons to get Joseph and the elders this very instant. The name “Shemayah” was bursting from everyone's lips, and suddenly Avigail ran towards me, and in a gesture as fatal as that of Yitra when he had reached for the Orphan, she flung herself against me with both arms.
Stones whizzed through the air, one narrowly missing my ear. Cries of “Hypocrite” and “Harlot” let fly along with the stones.
I turned and sheltered Avigail. James rushed forward and stood in front of us, his arm outstretched. My aunt Esther had arrived with a group of women streaming behind her and she ran forward now as well. She screamed as she backed up into us. The stones stopped.